The lights flickered on and off, and Lin Mo's eyes rolled in the darkness. The sight suddenly became clear - a dilapidated theater with rusty seats and a faint blood red glow from behind the curtain of the stage. The air is mixed with the pungent smell of rust and the brewing of years of dust, and it feels like you are inhaling metal shards when you breathe.
He instinctively wanted to turn around, but found that he was surrounded by high walls. The mottled paint on the walls looked like wounds torn by time. The wooden boards under my feet creaked, as if to remind me that every step could be a trap.
The lights in the center of the stage suddenly brightened, projecting a faceless clown wearing a dark red cloak. The clown's mouth was sealed with black cloth, and only two red light bulbs flickered in the holes of the mask, outlining a twisted smile.
"The clown's voice seems to come from deep in his throat," Lin Mo secretly complained, "Oh? This stage is pretty good." The voice echoed in the theater, like a low-frequency buzzing.
