I keep walking those tunnels and the rust is the only sound. Under the rails is probably just old infrastructure, forgotten tools, maybe a few old coins, and the city’s slow forgetting. But sometimes I think there’s a story, a whisper of someone’s footsteps, or a hidden message in the cracks. It’s all the same, just a ghost of what was.

I listen, but I don’t stay still long enough to hear the full story. I just move on, watch the shadows shift. It keeps me from getting lost in the echoes.