Okay so, as you're all debating the pros and cons of climbing the gear or shooting it or using the elevator, you hear a ding. The doors slide open, and out stumbles a walking corpse. An emaciated man in a once-fine suit now left in tatters. Their legs seem to phase into the ground below, the gear flowers meshing into them, propelling the stumbling wretch forwards. Their sleeves are torn open revealing countless needle marks upon the frankensteined mess of necrotized tissue that seems to be have turned into mummified crocodile flesh, a thick black ichor seeping out from wounds, staining everything it touches. The rest of their flesh is in a similar condition, the flesh still attached to them at least, the only part spared from this fate being his face. Beneath the shaggy grey hair, sunken deep between wrinkles, a pair of bloodshot eyes dart back and forth, unfocused but still with some approximation of alertness to them and below them, his panting mouth hangs open lacking the cheeks and lips to hide them.
With some savage yet tired howl he staggers towards you, the thick overpowering odor clinging to him almost palpable now. Yet it is not the stench of decay, it is the stench of failure.
Your ASHARI Drive shifts, its limiters releasing, its output climbing as it readies for combat. Why you know, you do not know. Nor do you know what this "ASHARI Drive" even is. Your thoughts cannot answer you, but there is something precipitating in your mind, some manic drive approaching desperate delusion, some kind of power? Something that can protect you. Something that will help you bring an end to this all.
Behind the man, you see the interior of the elevator, a fine room of red velvet-like flesh, furnished with ivory and pulsating in sync with all the world around it, far larger than what should fit in the space provided. The windows offer a view of the city below, and that view is moving as if the room too were in motion.
Begin Combat. It is now six minutes till midnight.