Somewhere Industrial — The Forbidden Gallery

After crawling through the remains of the last shattered factory (see previous blog), we kept moving — chasing that next forgotten beast. The road led us straight into the industrial gut of the city. Warehouses. Smoke. Silence.

And then it stood there.
A 7 or 8-story monolith.
Steel skeleton. Brick flesh. Shadowed windows like dead eyes staring us down.

At first glance? No way in.
But Fragmenta doesn't quit.
We wrapped around the back, slipping through a narrow alley sliced between decay — until we found her open wound. A door? A crack? A chance?

Nope.
Just a broken window.
One of those that laughs at your clothes, your dignity, and your skin.
We squeezed through... and the damn thing slammed shut behind us.
As if the building itself didn’t want us to leave.

Straight into a collapsed office — mountains of paper rotting like leaves, memories discarded and soggy with time.


We crossed that space, hearts still, breaths thin... and landed in what can only be described as a forbidden art gallery.

Every floor was an exhibit.
Massive concrete pylons framed the space.
Trains once rolled straight inside through huge doors now frozen in rust.
Empty rooms — yet haunted by echoes of movement, light, noise.

And then we climbed.
Step after step — sweat pouring, air thick like molasses.
The concrete stairs turned into a death-level from Super Mario — 40°C inside, no breeze, sun above trying to fry us alive.

But we made it.
The rooftop.

A full panorama of rust, smog, and skyline.
Breathtaking.
Unreal.

It was empty — but strangely photogenic.
As if the place had been waiting for someone to come document its final form.
A warehouse turned museum. A grave turned monument.

This is the kind of place that doesn't just exist —
It persists.