Untitled.

Sharp angles, concrete and glass, a monolithic extrusion piercing the hazy sky. Identical modules stacked, repeating, endless. Windows like vacant eyes, staring out at the city below.

Inside, the air is still, heavy with the scent of disinfectant. Long corridors stretch into shadow, lined with doors, each bearing the same number. Rooms echo emptiness: a bed, a desk, a chair. Precise. Impersonal.

Footsteps fall on hard floors, a rhythmic beat in the silence. Faces pass, etched with blank expressions, eyes reflecting the cold light. Words exchanged, hollow echoes in the sterile air.

Ascending, the numbers climb, the air thins. Windows frame the cityscape, a sea of identical structures stretching to the blurred horizon. A sense of unease, a feeling of being lost in a maze of repetition.

The top floor, the air cold and thin. The final door, the highest number. Behind it, the same room, the same furniture, the same cold light. A sigh escapes, a whisper lost in the vastness.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, the weight of the structure presses down. Closing your eyes, you search for a different world, a world of color and variety. But all you see is the same endless expanse, repeating, repeating, repeating…