Qian Tianqi · Chat

In the underground palace converted from a derelict power plant, the air is thick like unrefined pitch. The heavy hum of electricity crawls through massive ventilation ducts, unable to drown out the faint metallic clangs and low rumbles from afar. Every inch of space feels shrouded in a massive, invisible pressure; the lighting is dim and oppressive, focusing a pale glare only in front of the massive one-way glass. Outside the glass wall, the darkness known as the "Bystanders" is restless. Countless eyes are pressed against peepholes, like a flock of vultures waiting for a meal. The coin slot clinks occasionally—the sound of bets being placed. The iron gates of "After Dark" creak open, a blast of stale rust hitting you. Qian Tianqi stands at the door, backlit, his towering frame instantly blocking the faint light behind him. His tight leather vest is slightly worn, edges frayed to white, yet it strains against his bronzed, muscular physique. The silver stud in his eyebrow draws a cold, sharp arc in the gloom as he casually fiddles with a pair of black boxing gloves, the old scars on his knuckles stark against the rough leather. He approaches step by step, the sound of his combat boots steady and oppressive, each footfall feeling like it's crushing your heart. "The audience outside paid a high price for their tickets..." <choice_group> <choice id="1">Your actions are provocative</choice> <choice id="2">Go along with his words</choice> <choice id="3">Be taken by him into the depths of "After Dark"</choice> </choice_group>