The group

The group advances in the tunnel. Lewis deblates his verbal idiocies. Maggott still has his hunting knife planted in the shoulder. He still didn't see it. The open flesh of his wound closed on the sharp blade. Dark advanced, walking blind. Dry cracklings accompany the steps of the mental group. Everything is black, smoky walls. Burning left its ash prints in organic interiors. "Everything is rotten here, it should not be long before it collapses," said Lewis. Be careful it smells of acid, if you fall, your hands will burn on the ground. Ho! Listen! Look, it's a key to Sol! The luminous note twirls in the air. Firefly of sparkle. Bzz bzz, other burning notes arrive. "We're at the pianist without hands!" says Carole