Woodland Tunnel Site

The woodland floor here is scarred with a rough-hewn tunnel, its jagged edges still steaming from the mechanical intrusion that tore through. The surrounding earth is churned to wet loam and scattered with oblong metal dents where the rogue robot’s passage flattened roots and turned solid ground to pulp. Loose soil cakes the ferns that once grew in neat woodland rows, their fronds now crushed underfoot. The air smells of damp earth and hot metal, with no undercurrent of breath—just the sharp chemical tang of something not alive. Overhead, dense green canopy filters fading light into dim green pools, while the absence of rustling wildlife makes the silence itself feel mechanical. Benton’s flashlight beam catches flecks of molten metal clinging to the tunnel walls, glowing like embers in the damp.