The planet is disfigured by centuries of reckless exploitation. The skies, once vibrant and full of life, are now choked with pollutants. The sun’s light, filtered through layers of toxic haze, casts an eerie, sickly glow over the twisted landscape.
A lush forest has morphed into something unrecognizable—a nightmare carved out of ecological despair. A group of visitors ventures into this desolate terrain, their suits the only barrier between them and the hostile environment. The silence is oppressive, a suffocating reminder of nature’s lost vitality. Every step they take echoes, amplifying the eerie stillness. There are no birds, no rustling leaves—only the haunting sound of the toxic wind. As they venture deeper into the zone, the air grows thicker, laden with the scent of decay and chemicals. The trees, once tall and proud, have transformed into grotesque caricatures of themselves. Their branches, now twisted and gnarled, reach out like skeletal fingers, grasping for something that is no longer there. Their leaves, if they can still be called that, are shriveled and blackened, clinging to life in a world that has none left to offer. The silence is broken only by the occasional creak of a dying tree or the faint rustle of something unseen moving through the underbrush. Nature’s voice, once a symphony of life, has become a mournful dirge. The wind whispers tales of sorrow and loss, carrying with it the toxic remnants of a world that has been pushed too far. -- http://thevisitors.jeron.org/
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