The green city

The building

A static noise crackles into OUR ear. The 'scientists' are speaking to US again, claiming to be researchers of areas such as these though they are merely variables in OUR game. They are most likely to unload an abhorrent or loathsome task upon OUR deteriorating shoulders further accelerating my journey to the endless beyond so WE may at last be freed.
A request seeps out of it.

"Please Proceed further, shoot if necessary and take caution" escapes the dreadful plastic structure mounted in my ear. Incessant thing.

Silently sliding up against the structural support pillar WE are hiding behind, firearm brandished intently in my hand, WE observe the complex WE are hiding in from them. A would-be-white hollow building, covered in a discomforting green hue only observable to OUR eyes, with the only objects to break up the monotony of the dusty overgrown area being the support pillars scattered in random groupings connecting the floor to the ceiling. The 'researchers' claim to not be able to 'pick up the hue' from the small camera attached to the front of OUR orange jumpsuit now turned a sickly light green. I claim them to be unable to see as they are not as connected as WE are.

On ground level is the only area where they can reach US and any other unfortunate visitors to this cursed location. Past the array of pillars sandwiched between floor and ceiling is the outside where WE wish to be. In the open. On the dark green asphalt-like streets and too-green underbrush. Dwarfed between the towering yet impossible and completely hollow structures and imitations of buildings and technology from home, and to have space from such wretches as them who stalk the streets.

A low groaning noise emanates from behind the pillar. WE recoil, arming the pistol to face the wretch and make the first move.

A dark and grotesquely elongated humanoid shape of what was once a healthy and alive man limps from behind the pillar. Its arms dangling by its sides and left leg being pulled lazily along with the body. Its skin, sharing the texture of a raisin, seems somehow clammy and cold and the coloration is an unsettling dark grey (as recorded by the scientists). A cleaned business suit and tie cling tightly to its lean body and polished black shoes, untouched by the dusty environment, drag along covering its feet. Tightly clutched in its left hand is a small baton like object which it swings with an impossible speed, considering its atrophied physique.

Barely out of range of the swing, WE crack a shot off in the direction of the creature that should not be alive, but damn the accuracy of this firearm! for even at piont blank rage the bullet shant go in the direction WE will it to.

The projectile impacts the creature's hip, sending bone and and flesh travelling backwards but curiously no blood and pulling the creature along with it. Without more than a moments thought WE agree to dash past the stumbling thing and into the open and beutifully free street.