The Left Path

The left path seems good. Cula nods, and follows just behind you, enough that they'd completely trample you if you tripped or stumbled. You try not to think about that possibility.

"This is where the boss lived, persumably. Here the bathroom" they gesture to a small, clean room "and over there was the laundry room, for washing clothes. Don always comes here to wash his stuff, rather than using the laundry room by the labs, which is awfully rude of him." You nod along. You don't know what laundry is, but that does sound rude to go to another person's home. Even if it a really nice place.

"Oh yeah, there's also the guest bedrooms. At least, I think they were for guests. They just have that sort of look you know". Cula gestures a little bit, rearing up on their hind legs to wave their arms around. You nod again. The room is dim, but inviting. There are two beds, the proper, cloth-covered kind.

The two of you continue to the final door. Cula hesitates, then creaks the door open. There's no carpet here, just concrete and drywall. It's dark, but it's a darkness that hides something hideous, rather than hiding you. There's a puddle of some foul-smelling chemical leaking onto the floor, and a giant machine takes up most of the room. It glows, but not enough for you to see what is could possibly be. There is a doorway into it, but you do not go forward. Cula is silent.

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