The long road has been heavy for Carlos. Outside, the world moves. Cars pass by his van in either direction, billboards displaying short videos are spaced evenly, and structures of various twisting designs stretch to the sky. Occasionally, they pass large nets standing on thick pillars, with the nets connected to pipes that lead the captured moisture to underground storage containers.

The sun has begun to set, dimming everything around him, and while his eyes stay on the road, his partners chatter among themselves. Their voices are occasionally broken by the munching of burgers or fries, or the slurping of their drinks. Carlos has yet to touch his food.

His van is packed with clothes and toiletries for their travel, and equipment ranging from headband cameras to audio equipment, and radios. 

The van’s dashboard displays a map with their vehicle moving down the interstate, passing marked gas stations, charging stations, hotels, and eateries. But they're full of fuel, so Carlos is only focused on the little flag on his map, which is approximately an hour away.

The relief of this is tainted with annoyance. Carlos wants to get the recording done and over with, but he also wants a power nap, which he is certain he won't be getting anytime soon.

Another few minutes of driving passes before the map is replaced with a shaking green phone, and a ringing blurts through the speakers. Beneath the phone are bold white letters spelling: ADAM BROCKMAN (MANAGER).

Carlos begrudgingly hits the green phone and a nasally voice speaks before he can.

“Hey, Carlos, how's it going? Have you reached your destination yet?” asks Adam.

“Hey, Adam. I have not gotten there yet. I'm about an hour away,” replies Carlos.

“Good. Good. Look, I talked to Georgia from AdVenue, and she ain't happy. She's not happy with the views.”

Carlos throws his hand up, and the others in the van silently stare at the dashboard.

“We gotta kick it up a notch,” continues Adam.

“Then stop sending us to stupid locations to explore,” says Carlos.

“You think they're dumb, but the focus group thought they were great!”

“Your focus group sucks ass, dude. We've been bleeding views ever since we started using these people. Get rid of them and I guarantee you we'll see a big improvement.”

“Look, Carlos, buddy, amigo, let's get back to what's important. If these next few episodes do not rake in the views, your ad revenue contract is going to be renegotiated,” says Adam.

Carlos rubs his face, breathing heavily through his nose while the rest of the group looks at each other with worry.

“Don't get mad at me, alright? I'm doing my job as your manager keeping these sharks happy. But if the episodes don't show any viewership improvements, then the ad revenue will be renegotiated to something lower. None of us want that. So, make this episode and the next… oh, maybe three… good, and we'll be in the clear. Got it?”

Carlos drags his hand down and slaps it on his steering wheel. He looks at his group, and they all nod and murmur their affirmation.

“Yeah, we got it,” says Carlos.

“Good. I'll see you guys in a few days. Give me that juicy content and our editors will handle the rest. Good luck!” says Adam.

He hangs up before Carlos can reply, and the group remains silent for a few seconds before the front passenger, Ricardo, speaks.

“I hate that guy.”

“Yeah, he's getting fired after this. We did great without a manager or a focus group” says Carlos.

“I’m pretty sure the focus group is just his relatives,” says one of the back passengers, Fredrick.

“I can see that,” says the lone female, sitting next to Fredrick; her name being Hallie.

“Have you seen the focus group?” asks Carlos.

Frederick nods. “I have, actually. They look like him.”

Carlos shakes, lips tight and his knuckles turning white from the iron grip on the steering wheel. The sun has nearly set now, casting an orange glow across the landscape.

As they drive on, the traffic thins, the billboards become less frequent and the structures more dilapidated, until finally there is nothing but brown prairie stretching out on either side of the road. Both sides protected by large electric fences with red lights above them. High voltage warning signs and protected land proclamations are tied to the fences.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" asks Hallie, peering out the window. "It doesn't look like there's anything out here."

Carlos double checks the map on the dashboard. The flag indicating their destination jiggles and the number of miles remaining gradually shrink as the van icon drives down the digital road.

"We're almost there," says Carlos.

A little while later, the sun is fully down, covering everything in thick darkness They crest a small rise and the van’s headlights shine on a broken sign, consisting of a large circle in the middle of a trifecta of small orbs, and a rectangular plaque saying, “WELCOME to INNOVA-PARK”

Beyond the sign is an expansive parking lot with lampposts placed evenly. The asphalt is broken, and some of the posts have tilted to the side. Past the parking lot is a large concrete wall, with a ferris wheel and roller coasters peeking above it, their colorful metal frames darkened by the lack of sunlight.

As the van rumbles down the worn, cracked road, the amusement park looms larger ahead. Carlos’s heart quickens and his fingers are slick from sweat as they approach the rusted, entrance gate guarding the parking lot. Ricardo gets out to open the gate, leading to the metal to groan and screech in protest. Once the gate is opened all the way, Carlos drives through, and stops long enough for Ricardo to hop back in.

Carlos continues into the expansive parking lot, the van bouncing and creaking as it navigates around gaping potholes and chunks of broken asphalt. Scraggly weeds poke up through the fissures, reclaiming the neglected space. Crumbling medians are choked with overgrown shrubs and vines that snake around toppled light posts.

Carlos parks the van in a relatively clear spot near the damaged ticket booths. Hallie and the others peer out van windows, staring at the shattered windows and broken roofs. Tattered remnants of faded park maps and advertisements flutter in the evening breeze.

The perimeter wall stretches out on either side, covered in splotches of graffiti, ranging from cartoon characters dressed as gangsters, lovely and vulgar phrases overlapping each other, and pentagrams, upside down crosses, and Leviathan crosses competing for space.

“This looks fun,” says Ricardo dryly.

“We’ve explored worse,” says Carlos.

“Yeah, before you hired Adam as the manager,” says Fredrick.

“He's getting fired after this, trust me,” says Carlos. “Anyway, let's get started. Just as we rehearsed.”

Ricardo readies a small handheld camera, and the others take the moment to inhale and exhale to get themselves prepared.

“Everyone ready?” asks Carlos a few seconds later.

The group nods and vocalizes their affirmation, and Carlos looks at Ricardo, counting down with his fingers.

“One. Two. Three. Roll it!” says Carlos.

Ricardo turns on the camera and Carlos's tired voice snaps to an energetic tone and a bright smile on his weary face.

“What's up everyone! It's your favorite urban exploration group, Team Explorers! For all you new people seeing this channel for the first time, I'm the host, Carlos.”

Ricardo flips the camera to himself, flashing a smile and V sign at the lens.

“I'm Ricardo.”

Ricardo turns the camera to Fredrick, who times it so it records him tossing the crumpled fast-food bag over his shoulder. 

“I'm Fredrick.”

Ricardo turns the camera to Hallie.

“And I'm Hallie,” says Hallie, smiling and waving at the camera.

“And tonight, we're going to be doing something special,” says Carlos.

“Ooh, what is it?” asks Hallie, leaning forward and gripping Carlos’s seat.

“We're going to be exploring an abandoned amusement park,” says Carlos.

“What's this amusement park called?” asks Ricardo.

“Innova-Park,” says Carlos. “For those who don't know, it was built by Inno-Life Corporation and is considered one of the biggest financial flops in business history.”

“Because the park sucked, right?” says Ricardo.

Carlos smiles. “Yeah, that's the simple reason. There are also other reasons. Price of maintenance being the biggest. Crappy rides, expensive maintenance, and people just not being interested led to costs becoming too much. Now it's shut down and being reclaimed by nature and vandals.”

“And now we're going to vandalize it with our eyes!” says Fredrick.

Hallie smacks him playfully, and the camera turns to Carlos.

“We're going to gear up and do some exploration, and I promise you guys, it's going to be a blast. Aaaaand~ cut!”

Ricardo turns off the camera and Carlos slumps in his seat, rubbing his face.

“Vandalize it with our eyes?” says Carlos.

“I forgot my line,” says Fredrick.

“I think we should keep it. It's going to get some laughs,” says Ricardo.

“Maybe we can make it into a meme?” suggests Hailie.

“That's not how memes work, though,” says Fredrick.

“We could put it on a shirt,” suggests Ricardo.

“Let’s worry about shirts and memes later. We have work to do,” says Carlos.

Carlos kills the engine, plunging everything in darkness. He and Fredrick then turn on the interior lights, and the group quickly dons small cameras with flashlights on their heads, and clip mics to their shirts.

After they are set, they exit the van and turn on their cameras and lights, illuminating decent sized circles of the decay.

The group approaches the ticket booths, which at their prime looked like Tesla coils, and find that the thick gates have been welded shut behind a chain link fence that has been bolted to the concrete walls.

They shine their light through slits of the barrier, revealing a crumbling main street and a dry fountain. Beyond the fountain is the ferris wheel, with a giant gear in the center for display. Colors faded, pieces chipping off, and debris dangling from it.

“We're going to need to find another way in,” says Carlos.

The group leaves the main entrance and explore the concrete wall surrounding the site.

Large cracks split the concrete, with tendrils of ivy curling through and tugging at the edges. Rusted lamp poles barely hang on to the wall, and at regular intervals are rusted yellow warning signs, boldly proclaiming "DANGER: KEEP OUT" and "NO TRESPASSING."

The group chatters lightly as they explore the perimeter, barely paying mind to the signs as their lights and cameras scan the wall for any signs of entrance while they nimbly navigate through overgrowth and rubble. Part of their forced conversation is to give their editors content to work with when they return to Adam, and another part is to keep themselves calm.

Soon enough, the group spots a gaping hole in the wall poorly guarded by a chain link fence bolted into the concrete. Next to the opening is a fairly new depiction of a female gray wolf anthro character wearing a green forest ranger outfit, hand on hip and the other held out to them. Above her is a white speech bubble and bold black letters.

“HALT! No entrance without tickets! Violators will be punished!”

The group stares at the picture, and Ricardo snickers.

“She can punish me anytime,” says Ricardo.

“You're weird, dude,” says Carlos. He tests the chain link fence by tugging on it and shaking it. Then he hooks his fingers in and climbs up a few feet before looking over his shoulder at his group. “The fence is fine. We can hop over easily.”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Carlos tightens his grip on the fence, his gloved fingers finding purchase in the gaps as he hoists himself up. The metal rattles and shakes under his weight, but holds firm as he scales the barrier.

When he reaches the top, he pauses to survey the abandoned park. His headlamp pierces the darkness, illuminating the overgrown path leading into the heart of the abandoned park. Shadows stretch at the edges of the light, and as his light drifts side to side, he spots a pair of beady red dots looking at him.

He stares at the dots, throat tight and eyes wide, but the dots don't move.

“Hey, what's going on up there?” asks Ricardo.

“There are two, small red lights from the building right in front of me,” replies Carlos.

The lights from his teammates sweep the area from the other side, and Carlos tilts his eyes just enough to see the sign of the building the red lights are from. The Innova-Park Gift Shop.

With a deep breath, Carlos lowers himself down the other side, his boots crunching on the debris-strewn ground as he lands with a soft thud. He immediately crouches low while keeping his eyes on the red dots. Wind rustles the tall grass poking through the asphalt and the distant creaking of rusted metal echoes in the emptiness.

One by one, the rest of the group follows Carlos over the fence, their cameras and gear clanking softly as they descend into the other side. Ricardo walks next to Carlos, while Fredrick and Hallie bring up the rear, their faces tight with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. All of them stare at the red lights, and Ricardo scoffs.

“It's nothing. If it was an animal, it would have left by now. It's probably emergency lights,” says Ricardo.

“Yeah, you're probably right. Let's go to the ferris wheel. We can do some B-roll in front of it,” says Carlos.

Carlos walks ahead, his light probing the dark park. The path is choked with weeds, and tangled vines snake up the broken structures and rusting lampposts. Cracked and faded signs hang from the buildings or mark paths for guests to explore, their cheery slogans and cartoon mascots rendered faded and chipped, exposing metal and rotting wood.

To the left, the skeletal remains of a coil shaped ticket booth for a theater sags under the weight of a collapsed roof, its once-bright paint peeling in long strips. The theater takes the shape of a lightbulb, and shards of glass from its shattered windows glitter in the beam of Carlos's headlamp.

On the right, a towering sculpture of gears and cogs rises from the dry fountain, its concrete cracked and chipping off in parts, and the metal is rusted and pitted.

Crumbling buildings line what was once the colorful, bustling main thoroughfare, their retro-futuristic facades covered with faded, peeling murals depicting smiling mascots and towering cityscapes of the future. Tattered awnings flap limply above the rows of doorways. Some boarded up, and other having their boards broken down.

As they draw closer to the ferris wheel, more details emerge from the darkness. The giant central gear is pitted with rust, its teeth jagged and broken. Sections of the passenger cars have rotted away, leaving them looking like skeletal husks. Tattered remnants of safety harnesses dangle limply from the rusted frames.

Carlos leads them to the base of the wheel, where a small operator's booth sits in shadow, its windows long since shattered. Faded safety notices and warning signs plaster the walls, their text nearly illegible. A console with numerous levers, knobs and buttons sits in the perfect spot to see the whole ferris wheel, and its formal yellow paint has been discolored.

"This must be where they controlled the ride," Fredrick says, leaning in for a closer look. "I wonder if it still works."

"Probably not. Its old and broken,” says Hallie.

“Worth a shot to test,” says Ricardo, butting past Fredrick.

He reaches towards the panel and sporadically pushes buttons, twists knobs, and pulls levers. All that happens are empty clicks, broken clacks, and a lever snapping off, getting a barking laugh from Fredrick.

“Ricardo! Really?” snaps Hallie.

“Smooth,” says Carlos.

“My bad,” says Ricardo, gently setting the broken lever on the panel.

“Alright, let’s try to get some more shots before Ricardo breaks something else,” says Carlos.

The group vocalizes their support of the idea, some more enthusiastic than others. They move around the base of the ferris wheel, documenting the surrounding decay and forcing out sporadic commentary, and while they do that Carlos spots a nearby trolley station, so he goes to explore that.

The operator booth is not too far from the ferris wheel, and Carlos carefully steps into the darkened structure. Shattered glass crunches under his boots and the light from his headlamp shines on the rusted control panel. Cobwebs drape the corners, and a thick layer of dust coats every surface.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement catches his eye from a nearby building.

It is the Innova-Park Gift Shop again, and just like last time, there are two glowing red pinpricks in the dark. But this time, they are moving slowly, yet remain fully focused on him.

Carlos quickly exits the booth and approaches his group, which have returned to the ferris wheel and are now messing with its gear shaped cart. Hallie is inside, sitting on a moldy chair, and giggling nervously as Fredrick and Ricardo rock it back and forth, its connectors squeaking and groaning.

"Hey guys, I saw those red lights again," says Carlos, his voice tight with a mix of excitement and unease. "Over by the gift shop. I'm going to check it out."

Hallie leans out of the cart. "Are you sure that's a good idea? It could be a rabid animal. Like a raccoon, or an opossum."

“A homeless guy high on meth,” says Fredrick.

"Or its just some old emergency lights or something," says Ricardo.

“You said that last time, but these lights were actually moving,” says Carlos.

Fredrick, Ricardo and Hallie look at each other, and Carlos walks ahead, not giving them a chance to suggest another explanation.

“Do you want one of us to go with you?” asks Haillie.

“Nah, I'll be fine. It's just a quick look,” says Carlos. He turns around and walks backwards, shining his light on his team. “Keep recording B-Rolls and cinematics. I'll be back in a minute.”

“Alright, suit yourself!” yells Ricardo, his voice echoing in the ruins.

Carlos’s steps slow down as he approaches the gift shop, the camera headband recording every step and shaky breath. The shop’s once vibrant facade is now a patchwork of peeling paint and rust, the cheerful mascots faded to ghostly silhouettes. A lopsided sign hangs above the entrance, creaking softly in the night breeze.

Carlos steps through the doorway, its barrier broken into splinters. Inside, the shop is a maze of toppled shelves and scattered merchandise. Mildewed stuffed animals lay strewn across the floor, their synthetic fur matted, and eyes clouded. Shattered snow globes, broken toys, and cracked commemorative plates crunch underfoot as he makes his way deeper into the gloom.

As he rounds a corner, his light illuminates a flash of movement. Carlos freezes, heart in his throat, as two glowing red eyes stare back at him from the upper shelves.

"What the hell is that?” mutters Carlos.

The red eyes remain fixed on him, unmoving. Carlos takes a tentative step forward, his camera trained on the strange sight. The oddity is a squat, boxy form perched atop a pedestal with the help of blocky limbs and rounded joints and fingers, and blocky feet with grooved soles. Its head is round with a circular speaker underneath its red eyes. Its paint has faded and chipped, turning the red and dark blue to faint pink and pale blue, and the metal body is dented and rusted in parts.

“Tickets please,” says the machine, it's voice crackling and tainted with a grating buzz.

Carlos walks towards it, slow and steady. “Wow, that is cool… and creepy. How are you still working, little guy?”

“Tickets please,” repeats the machine.

“Sorry, buddy. I don't have any tickets.”

The machine’s circular head tilts to the side, and then its arms stretch out towards a hole in the ceiling. As the arms stretch, there are a series of squeaks, groans, and pops, and Carlos can only watch with a slack jaw as the small machine pulls its body through the hole. His eyes follow the noise, with each step the machine takes causing dust to fall from the ceiling. Soon, the dust stops shaking, and Carlos exhales heavily, his body losing all tension.

“Wow…” Carlos pulls the camera off his head and holds it out in front of his tired, yet excited, sweat covered face. “I know there's going to be some haters out who's going to say it's fake or staged or whatever. But here's my face. Get one of those body language analysts to verify that I am legit not lying. That actually happened!”

He smiles and slips his camera back on his head.

“I can't wait to tell the others!”

Carlos quickly exits the gift shop and sprints towards the ferris wheel, his heart pounding with excitement. The beam from his headlamp bobs erratically, casting fleeting shadows across the crumbling structures.

"Guys! You won't believe what I just saw!" shouts Carlos, his voice echoing through the abandoned park.

Ricardo, Fredrick, and Hallie turn to face him from a broken souvenir cart, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern.

"So, I went into the gift shop, right? And there was this old robot thing, like a ticket taker or something," explains Carlos, gesturing animatedly. "Its eyes were glowing red, and it asked me for tickets!"

"No way, dude. You're messing with us," says Ricardo, but still sporting a smile.

"I'm serious! And then, get this - it stretched its arms, grabbed the ceiling, and just pulled itself up and disappeared! It was insane!"

Hallie's eyes widen. "That's... that's not possible. Are you sure it wasn't just a trick of the light or something?"

“That's one hell of a light trick,” says Fredrick.

“You know what I mean. I'm just trying to think of an alternate explanation,” says Hallie. “Like, maybe it was midget in a costume?”

Carlos and Ricardo sneer at her.

“Hallie, there's a difference between being skeptical and being stupidly skeptical. A robot climbing around can't be done with light tricks or a midget in a costume,” says Fredrick.

Carlos nods and bobs his hand to Fredrick. “Thank you.”

“I'm hoping you got it on camera, though. Because I want to see it.”

"I did! I haven't stopped recording ever since we got out of the van. I'll show you the footage later. But this is huge, guys. We've got to find that robot again," says Carlos excitedly.

Ricardo picks up a stuffed animal in the likeness of a red velociraptor with colorful feathers on its head.

“So, we're going from urban explorers to robot hunters now?” asks Ricardo.

“Hunting for the robot will add to the exploration. Plus, this is the kind of thing that's going to set our channel to bounce bacl. We've got to investigate further," says Carlos.

“Eh, why not?” says Fredrick. “We can finally use something that isn't clickbait.”

"I'm glad you agree. Ricardo, you're with me. We'll check out the gift shop again. Fredrick and Hallie, you two search the other buildings nearby. Keep your cameras rolling and stay in radio contact," says Carlos.

Fredrick gives a thumbs up and walks away with Hallie, and Carlos and Ricardo make their way to the gift shop once more, their headlamps casting a glow over the dilapidated facade. They step inside, glass and broken wood crunching underfoot as they navigate the cluttered interior.

"It was right here, on this shelf," says Carlos, pointing to the spot where he encountered the robot.

Ricardo leans in closer, examining the area for any clues. And while Ricardo inspects the area, Carlos scans the shop, freezing when his light shines on a partially collapsed souvenir stand. There, peeking out from behind a pile of moldering stuffed mascots, is another pair of dim red dots.

"Hey, Ricardo. Another pair of lights is here," whispers Carlos.

Ricardo quickly goes to Carlos's side and studies the lights.

“Those the eyes of your robot?” asks Ricardo.

“No. My robot had little eyes. Those eyes are bigger and not as bright.”

Their lights reflect off the glassy eyes of the machine, and as they stare at it, they realize it is bipedal and has an hourglass shaped body, among other details. Its once vibrant synthetic fur, now a shade of faded gray, clings to its form, marred by mildew and decay. Patches of the covering have broken away, revealing metal that mimics the skeletal structure of a real beast. It is dressed in the tattered remnants of a green forest ranger uniform, with its wide brimmed hat tied snugly on its head. Its long jaw hangs loose, exposing sharp pieces of metal welded to its frame.

“I'll pay you twenty bucks to poke it,” says Ricardo.

“Hell no. I can't even get a kids meal with twenty bucks,” says Carlos. “You touch it.”

“Only if you pay me a hundred.”

The robot's eyes suddenly flicker and glow brighter. With a grinding of gears, it begins to twitch and stir, stiffly rising from the rubble with its gears and pistons groaning and hissing.

"What the hell?" says Ricardo, stumbling backwards.

“Holy shit,” says Carlos, also stepping back.

The machine towers above the two by a foot, revealing its body to have a wolfish build, and it tilts its head sharply and its fingers twitch, welded claws reflecting the lights from their headbands.

Carlos and Ricardo take another step back, and the machine silently lunges forward, its movements jerky and erratic, and servos whining in protest with every step.

Carlos and Ricardo scream and run out, and behind them, the machine gives chase, its metal feet clanging on the pavement and its eyes glowing like hellish coals. It moves with uncanny speed and agility, bounding over every obstacle in its way. Carlos risks a glance over his shoulder and to his horror, the thing is gaining on them.

“Run faster!” screams Carlos.

Carlos and Ricardo’s cameras catch every step with jerking recording as they sprint through the abandoned amusement park. Their hearts are pounding and lungs burning as they navigate the broken paths. The beams from their headlamps bob wildly, illuminating glimpses of crumbling facades and tangled weeds in strobing flashes. Behind them, the relentless clanging of metal against pavement grows louder, punctuated by the whirring of servos and the crackle of sparks.

They round a corner, coming to an area of carnival games surrounding the tattered remnants of a once-grand carousel. Its canopy sags, the colorful panels now faded and mildewed. The retro-futuristic vehicles are losing their paint in both color and coating, and the exposed metal rusts while the seats gradually dissolve from mold.

Carlos and Ricardo race towards it, leaping over fallen beams and jagged chunks of masonry.

But right as they reach the edge of the carousel platform, the machine slams into Ricardo’s back, sending him sprawling across the cracked and splintered wood. He screams as razor-sharp claws rip open his back, drenching his clothes and the wood beneath in blood. The robotic wolf pins him down, its mangled jaw clamping onto his shoulder with a sickening crunch of bone and a free flow of blood.

"Carlos! Help me!" cries Ricardo, his blood-streaked hand reaching out in desperation.

Carlos skids to a halt, his chest heaving and eyes wide with horror as the wolf machine drags Ricardo away, his screams echoing through the desolate park. It bounds over the ruins with uncanny agility as it hauls its writhing prey out of sight. Ricardo's cries grow fainter, and then his voice abruptly ends.

Carlos stands rooted to the spot, his mind reeling and heart hammering against his ribs. His breathing is ragged and his hands tremble as he fumbles with his radio, and his eyes snap around for anything he can use as shelter or a weapon while speaking into his radio.

"Fredrick, Hallie... Ricardo's been taken. The robot... it attacked him. Dragged him away,” says Carlos, his voice trembling and cracking, barely above a whisper. "We need to find him."

Static crackles over the radio, but no one answers. And then his eyes catch the blocky ticket master, climbing on the roof of a shooting game, where all the rusted ducks sit in a row and the pellet guns are locked in place, aiming at the doomed targets.

The machine’s red eyes stare at Carlos, its body silhouetted by the moonlight, and Carlos steps back, legs shaking and throat tight.

Then movement from the corner of his eye catches his attention. He turns to it, light shining on another pair of large red eyes, but its body is mostly hidden by tarp strapped to it. What he can see are is sharp claws welded on, gripping the rotting wooden wall tightly, and a mechanical muzzle with faded and chipped red paint.

The new machine coils, and Carlos runs.

His heart pounds, and his breathing is reduced to ragged gasps as he sprints away from the new machine, his headlamp bobbing wildly. The metallic scraping and clanging behind him grows louder, spurring him on through the twisted remnants of the amusement park.

He vaults over crumbling barriers, his boots crunching on shattered glass and debris. The beam of his light catches glimpses of decaying art and structures as he frantically searches for a place to hide.

Ahead, the skeletal frame of a towering roller coaster looms, its tracks twisting and corkscrewing into the night sky. Carlos veers towards it, hoping to lose his pursuer in the maze of supports and scaffolding. He ducks under a collapsed section of track.

The robot is relentless, its glowing eyes never wavering as it nimbly navigates the twisted wreckage, its claws gouging deep furrows in the rotting wood and crumbling concrete.

Carlos spots a small structure nestled beneath the coaster's final loop - a security booth shaped like an oversized police badge. Its once polished surface now pitted with rust and grime, but it still has thick metal walls and a large door.

With a final burst of speed, Carlos races towards the booth, his lungs burning and legs trembling with fatigue. He slams into the door, frantically tugging at the handle. To his relief, it swings open with a screech.

He hurls himself inside and slams the door shut just as the robot leaps towards him. Its claws scratching against the metal. Carlos fumbles with the lock, his shaking hands struggling to turn the mechanism as he presses his weight against the door in a struggle to keep it shut.

With a final twist, the lock clicks into place, and Carlos staggers back, collapsing against the far wall. The robot howls brokenly with rage, pounding against the door and hurling itself at the small, reinforced windows, but the structure holds firm.

Inside, Carlos gasps for breath, his chest heaving and sweat dripping from his brow. The cramped space reeks of mildew and mold, and the flickering light of his headlamp illuminates scattered papers and broken surveillance equipment.

He hears the robot circling the booth, its metal feet scraping against the pavement and its servos whining with each movement. The red glow of its eyes filters through the grimy windows, casting warped shadows across the walls. But soon it gives up and runs away, its metallic steps rapidly fading.

Carlos waits a few seconds, listening for any signs of the machines, and when he hears nothing, he fumbles for his radio. He raises it to his lips, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Fredrick, Hallie... I'm trapped in a security booth under a roller coaster. The-”

His voice suddenly stops with a sharp gag, and blood splatters on the door with the sound of ripping flesh and snapping bones.

His breathing breaks down to gurgled wheezes and he looks down at four thin, sharp metallic fingers sticking through his stomach. Bits of torn muscle and fabric hang off its blood-soaked fingers, and the machine behind him clicks as the fingers hook into his gut.

Then the distance from the door sharply increases as Carlos is tugged away. The headband camera falls off as his scream fades, the crooked recording focused on the blood splatter.

There the camera remains, recording in the darkness until its battery runs out.

Once it does, the video snaps to black.