You jump and though it’s only a short wy, it hurts when you land.
It seems you have fallen into a service tunnel. The walls are narrow and a rancid odor hangs in the air. Walking along, you find that the walls gradually expand but then begin to contract as though lungs inhaling and exhaling air. It is an odd choice, you reflect, on the architect. Eventually, though, you come across bones strewn before a sliding, iron door of an oriental nature. Stepping over the skeletons, you open the door and step into the room.
You enter into what looks like an open mining pit. Large platforms are interspaced between dig sites. Piles of gear, though, make traversing the platforms hard and you are occasionally forced to walk on the bare support beams to get around.
Going, either, direction appears fruitless. But, as there are many terminals and platforms, you search. Eventually, you find an abandoned line-car, its purpose apparntly to make quick travel around the pit easy for large groups of workers. Though small and antiquated, power seems to be flowing.
You were about to activate the vehicle, just finishing clearing away the skeletal remains of its previous conductor, who appeared to be slumped over the wheel with a knife in his back, when the words swimming before your eyes fire into the world, compelling you to release them from the misery of their existence.
“Slain by the bloody Piemontese that roll’d / Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans / The Vales redoubl’d to the Hills, and they”
[This is an experimental challenge; feel free to place the words in any location you feel is right or exists. Feel free to be as creative as you would like.]