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... dows pursuing him, yelling unintelligible things at him. I can only hear their grunts, but I know they hate me.
Alan saw himself running through brick corridors lit by torches. The place reeked of blood and oil. Its layout, strangely similar to the Santa María's engine area.
When he came to a dead end, he turned around to face them, but no matter what he tried, the black silhouettes in front of him were indiscernible.
Then, a giant hand rescued him from the hellish labyri ...
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