GOWONU Worldbuilding & Lore Guide

Setting & Environment

GOWONU is a cursed brutalist labyrinth – an immense sentient apartment complex inspired by the

density of Kowloon Walled City . Its concrete superstructure, once merely overgrown and decrepit, is

now fused with organic corruption: walls bulge with flesh-like growths, pipes pulse as if veins, and vent

shafts exhale a moist, rotten breath. Corridors & Alleyways: The halls are claustrophobic, some scarcely a

meter wide , with water dripping from exposed pipes and faulty fluorescents casting sickly flickers. Paint

and wallpaper have sloughed off to reveal mottled concrete alive with mildew and strange veins. In the

dim flashlight beam, you might swear the walls are breathing – because they are.

Architecture & Layout: Originally a dense 1980s mega-block with mixed-use facilities, the complex’s

design was a maze even before the infestation. Ad-hoc staircases, crawlspaces, and makeshift bridges

connected units, much like Kowloon’s infamous tangled architecture . Now, under the influence of

GOWONU’s sentience, the layout has become shifting and dreamlike. Brutalist pillars and rebar

reconfigure when unobserved, turning familiar routes into Escherian traps. Elevators sit dead, their shafts

converted into vertical tunnels of flesh. Stairwells spiral in impossible ways – one graffiti-scrawled stairwell

is known to lead downward into loops of the same four floors, until a hidden sigil breaks the cycle. Roof

access stairs might end at a wall of organic matter, as if the building itself denies escape.

Urban Decay Meets Body Horror: Every space marries concrete ruin with visceral horror. The rooftop,

once cluttered with TV antennas and laundry lines, is now a graveyard of rusted metal entangled by sinewy

cables and roots. Parasitic tendrils crawl up water tanks and wrap around neon signage, silhouetted against

the smoggy sky. The roof’s edges are patrolled by colossal Shinigami Behemoths (visible only when one’s

mind is nearly broken ), giving the feeling that ancient, skeletal guardians watch from above. Hallways

are choked with debris and a thin fog of spores. Broken overhead lights stutter, so hallways plunge into

darkness between each flicker – and sometimes, in those black moments, something wet scuttles just out

of sight. Individual apartments remain frozen in time under layers of mold: moldering couches fused to

the floor, 1980s calendars on the wall (all turned to October 1982), family photos bleached by mildew, now

unrecognizable faces. In some units the very walls have become sinew, quivering as if the building

dreams.

Notable Spaces Within GOWONU: The complex contained myriad facilities, all now twisted by the curse:

The Rooftop Shanty Town: A clutter of sheet metal huts and stairwell sheds where some residents

once lived. Now it’s overtaken by an oily black moss. Balconies and roof huts are connected by

planks; standing here, one hears whispers carried by the wind and sees shapes flitting in peripheral

vision. The rooftop offers a rare glimpse of the city outside – neon signs in the distance – but

GOWONU’s air tastes of iron and rot, isolating it from the living world.

The Market Mall: On the third level was a small indoor shopping arcade – a mall corridor lined with

vacant shop fronts. Old signs for a laundromat, a dim sum stall, a video rental store remain. The mall

is now eerily preserved: mannequins slump in a clothing boutique, their plastic flesh sprouting

barnacle-like eyes. A defunct laundromat still hums with a phantom rumble, as if an unseen force

continues an endless wash cycle with black water. Tiles underfoot are slick with algae. This space is a

nexus of “cursed nostalgia” – the familiar setting of daily life turned ghostly. Urban explorers report a

radio repair shop here where all the TVs flicker in unison, playing family home videos from

unknown families, or broadcasting static faces of GOWONU’s victims.

Sub-Basement & Parking Garage: Below ground lies a sprawling parking lot, a maze of concrete

columns receding into darkness . The air is stagnant and wet; puddles reflect graffiti in dripping

red paint (or is that blood?) reading messages like “DON’T FOLLOW THEM” or “THEY LIVE HERE TOO.”

Every sound – a drip of water, a distant scrape – echoes for ages. This area is the heart of the

infestation: the lowest sub-basements are partly flooded, and in one chamber the concrete floor has

been broken by a tumorous mass of flesh and machine parts (possibly the parasite’s point of entry).

Rusty sedans and motorbikes from the 70s remain parked and barnacled with growth. Ventilation

fans spin intermittently, spreading the low fog that seeps upward into the halls. This is where the

Infestation Spawn clusters are most common, skittering in the dark (spider-like things oozing black

fluid ). Explorers have nicknamed one section the “Colonnade of Teeth” – an access tunnel whose

concrete columns have developed tooth-like stalactites of calcium, making each column resemble a

gaping jaw.

The Schoolroom: Deep in the core is an old community classroom (perhaps once used for evening

classes or as a daycare). Children’s desks remain in neat rows facing a chalkboard covered in faded

writing. Chalk dust and spores dance in the beam of a flashlight. Drawings still pin the walls – crayon

sketches of smiling families next to something that looks like a giant black scribble. In this

classroom space, the psychic residue is strong; some say if you sit at a desk too long, you’ll hear the

sound of chalk writing on the board by itself. Indeed, explorers have found fresh chalk messages like

“IT’S NOT THEIR FAULT” or “HELP US” appearing here. The mix of childhood innocence and the

pervasive evil makes this one of GOWONU’s most unsettling locations.

Maintenance Tunnels: A network of corridors behind the walls – service passages, crawlspaces,

piping shafts. These are extremely narrow (one must crouch or crawl) and pitch-dark, with the ever-

present feeling of being watched. Some tunnels are lined with occult graffiti (sigils and prayer

talismans left by desperate residents or later intruders). Others contain makeshift shrines: e.g. a

janitor’s closet filled with melted candles and offerings to appease “Mother GOWONU.” Deep in

these tunnels, the boundary between building and creature blurs completely: living tissue

intertwines with electrical wiring, and pipes throb with a pulse. It’s here that one might truly sense

the building’s sentient awareness – the walls might gently contract as if “breathing” around you

, and you might hear a distant heartbeat-like thump.

Every environment in GOWONU combines real-world urban decay – peeling paint, graffiti, rust, stagnant

water – with a retro-futuristic occult twist. Picture a derelict 1980s tower block under flickering neon as

seen through a haunted VHS tape: the image is grainy, colors washed-out except for occasional lurid neons,

edges of the frame smeared as if the video itself is haunted. This world feels tangible and gritty, yet

otherworldly – a place where concrete and flesh have merged, and where everyday places (a stairwell, a

parking lot, a mall atrium) have become stages for unholy nightmares.

Lore & Timeline

Origin of the Curse (1982): GOWONU’s dark saga began on October 18, 1982, when the apartment

megastructure – then home to thousands – became infested by an unknown parasite that burrowed into

its concrete foundation . According to fragmented reports, residents spoke of walls “sweating” and an

awful organic smell weeks before the incident. That autumn night, the power fluctuated violently and the

entire block’s electricity failed. In the darkness, tenants heard a chorus of wet skittering within the walls.

The next morning, the building was changed – an expanding web of flesh and tendrils had woven through

the infrastructure, claiming many lives. Panicked officials dubbed it an “unprecedented toxic mold outbreak”

and forced an evacuation of all residents within days . Families fled, leaving all their belongings; some

people simply vanished in the chaos. By the year’s end, GOWONU was officially sealed off and declared

condemned. Rumors spread of a failed cover-up: whispers of a secret government bioweapon experiment

gone wrong, or a ritual by a cult of apartment residents that invited something in.

Quarantine and Early Incursions (1983–1989): Throughout the mid-1980s, GOWONU stood abandoned

behind barricades, an ugly concrete husk looming in a quarantined zone of the city. 1983: Attempts to

cleanse or demolish the complex were aborted – demolition crews reported equipment malfunction and

men going missing in the basement. The site developed an aura of taboo. Still, the curiosity of outsiders

only grew. 1985: Local youth gangs began daring each other to sneak inside for bragging rights. Most

never got far beyond the lobby, spooked by strange noises. One infamous story tells of four teens who

entered in 1985; only one stumbled out, incoherent and aged prematurely white-haired overnight. 1986:

Strange lights were seen in the building’s windows at night, described as old TV screens flickering on and off

in empty flats. Authorities occasionally swept the perimeter, finding dead birds and rats around the

building – as if even animals that strayed too close were infected by the malevolent presence.

Urban Explorer Discoveries (1990s): By the early 1990s, GOWONU had become an underground legend

among urban explorers and occult enthusiasts. 1990: A group of three explorers made a documented

penetration of the first five floors. They carried Polaroid cameras (preferring instant film to document

evidence) and a camcorder. Two of them were never seen again; the survivor, found wandering the streets

days later, clutched a single Polaroid photo showing a hallway with something fleshy crawling on the

ceiling. This photo, known as the “1982 Polaroid”, circulated in hushed communities, fueling rumors

that GOWONU was not just haunted but alive. 1992–93: More intrepid adventurers tried their luck.

Many of the era’s Polaroids were later found scattered near the building’s exits – as if the explorers

dropped them in terror. Some of these images survive, showing impossible things: a stairwell where

human teeth lined the steps, or a blurred figure with too many limbs standing at a classroom

chalkboard. It became clear that “cursed Polaroids” were a key medium of GOWONU’s lore – physical

artifacts that carried pieces of the curse. Indeed, a few photos that made it out were said to radiate

misfortune; handlers complained of nightmares and paranoia, and some sealed the photos away in red

envelopes marked with protective sigils to contain their influence . By 1994, stories of GOWONU had

spread on early internet bulletin boards and zines, comparing it to other urban legends and dubbing

it “the Nameless Labyrinth**.”

The Cursed Polaroids & AR (2000s): In the late 90s and 2000s, GOWONU’s legend only grew. 1998: A well-

known paranormal investigator (and former resident) attempted a “rescue mission” – he believed his

younger sister’s soul was trapped inside. He entered with a team and sophisticated equipment (full-

spectrum cameras, EMF sensors). They vanished without a trace, but a year later a package arrived at a

local newspaper containing a blood-smeared Polaroid dated 1998 and a cassette tape. The tape contained

distorted audio of a little girl singing an Cantonese nursery rhyme echoing through hallways, ending with a

man’s scream. This incident blurred the line between reality and myth, convincing many that GOWONU’s

story was not just a ghost tale. 2003: A government-sponsored demolition attempt began – workers with

HAZMAT suits and bulldozers moved in. The operation abruptly stopped after a series of horrific accidents

(workers experiencing psychotic breaks, one crane operator driving his vehicle into the bay after reportedly

seeing “my dead mother’s face on the building”). GOWONU was left standing, its curse undisturbed.

Through the 2000s, fragments of the GOWONU story seeped out. 2007: An anonymous user on an internet

forum claimed to have a set of cursed Polaroids taken inside GOWONU. They posted low-resolution scans

online, which purportedly showed ghastly figures. Forum users who viewed the images complained of

sudden nosebleeds and dizziness – giving rise to the idea that even digital copies of GOWONU’s images

carried a memetic curse (the “myth-as-virus” concept). The images were quickly taken down, but by then, a

small cult following had emerged. People traded tales of red envelope rituals: to view a cursed photo

safely, you must encircle it with salt, use a red envelope as a frame, and only look through a mirror. Late

2000s: Tech was catching up – enthusiasts began discussing using augmented reality (AR) tech to explore

GOWONU remotely, by overlaying known floor plans with paranormal data.

AR-Connected Era (2010s–Present): In the 2010s, GOWONU entered modern consciousness as both a

haunting tale and an interactive myth. 2011: Ghost hunters livestreamed a drone entering through a

broken window, only for the feed to cut out as the drone’s lights caught an eyeless face peering from the

darkness. 2015: A tech-art collective created an experimental AR mobile app called “Parasight” that let

users scan specially prepared Polaroid replicas. These Polaroids, distributed in sealed red envelopes, would

through the app display 3D specters – effectively bringing GOWONU’s entities to (augmented) life. It was

billed as an art piece, but rooted in GOWONU’s lore: “Use A.R. to activate the curse,” the instructions warned

. Participants reported that after viewing the AR ghosts, they felt a presence in their own homes, as if

something had “followed them through the screen.” The project creators insisted it was all simulation – yet

they themselves abruptly halted the project after mysterious incidents (one developer went missing for 3

days, reappearing with partial amnesia).

2018–2025: The timelines converge. GOWONU’s story now lives in multiple layers: the physical derelict

building that still stands, sealed and looming; the trove of found footage, photos, and diaries from past

explorers; and the augmented reality experiences and online ARGs that engage new audiences with the

mythos. It’s said that in 2020, a final expedition is being assembled – a mix of scientists, exorcists, and

gamers – to enter GOWONU and either cleanse it or harness it for study. Meanwhile, the curse continues

to evolve. In recent years, people residing miles away report seeing GOWONU in their dreams, as if the

building’s consciousness extends outward, searching for new hosts. And every Halloween, without fail, the

building’s long-dead neon sign (once reading “GOWONÚ APARTMENTS”) inexplicably flickers on in blood-

red, humming softly against the night.

Timeline Summary (Key Events):

Oct 18, 1982 – The Infestation: Parasites invade GOWONU’s structure overnight; first reports of

walls “coming alive.” Mass evacuation ensues within the week . Building is sealed off by

authorities.

1983–1986 – Quarantine & Mysteries: Area quarantined. Multiple failed demolition/cleansing

attempts. Rumors of survivors trapped inside. First illegal intrusions by thrill-seekers end in

disappearances.

1989 – Project Nameless: A covert government experiment (suspected) attempts to communicate

with the sentient building – ending with all researchers disappearing on site. (All records are

classified, fueling conspiracy theories.)

1990–1994 – Urban Explorer Era: Numerous adventurers brave the complex. Cursed Polaroids are

taken and leaked. Notable finding: a Polaroid labeled “They laugh at fear” showing a dark silhouette

with a wide grin (believed to be The Laughing Man entity). Lore of red envelope containment starts

after a near-disaster when a cursed photo causes a haunt outside the building .

1998 – The Lost Expedition: Paranormal investigator Cho Wen leads a team to rescue his sister’s

“soul.” Team disappears; only evidence is a chilling audio tape and a final Polaroid of a little girl’s

apparition in a hallway. This solidifies GOWONU’s reputation as “unescapable.”

2003 – Demolition Halted: Official demolition aborted due to inexplicable accidents and the

psychological breakdown of crew members. Building remains intact and more “angry” than before.

2007 – The Digital Leak: Scans of GOWONU Polaroids appear online briefly, causing sickness in

viewers. The myth of GOWONU becomes a digital urban legend (often compared to the Kusanagi

urban legend from the film Pulse, where ghosts infiltrate technology).

2015 – AR Curses: The “Parasight” AR project uses cursed Polaroids in a controlled app . Some

users experience paranormal phenomena, blurring alternate reality game and real haunting. Red

envelope and sigil practices make a resurgence to “contain” these digital spirits.

2020 – Present: GOWONU is now a fully fleshed mythos. Current day explorers coordinate via dark

web forums to plan a new incursion armed with modern tech (drones, AR mapping, etc.), hoping to

succeed where others failed. The building’s sentience grows bolder: neighbors report seeing shadow

figures on GOWONU’s upper floors at night and hearing faint laughter echoing through the

concrete canyons of the adjacent blocks. The cursed world of GOWONU awaits, hungry for new

stories – and new victims.

Themes & Atmosphere

GOWONU’s storytelling is rooted in rich, unsettling themes that define its emotional tone and gameplay

atmosphere. The core themes include:

Isolation & Loneliness: Entering GOWONU means being utterly cut off – physically from help and

psychologically from sanity. The player/explorer experiences profound isolation wandering empty

apartments that once teemed with life. The architecture reinforces this – endless repetitive

hallways, locked doors behind which you sense someone (or something) watching. This isolation

breeds introspection and despair. The atmosphere channels the lonely dread of Silent Hill-like

environments – familiar places now abandoned and wrong. Every footstep echoes as if you’re the

last person on earth, with only the building’s voices to answer you. Emotional beats of the narrative

emphasize how truly alone one is in GOWONU, sometimes throwing the player into pitch-dark

silence broken only by the character’s breathing and the distant drip of water. This isolation can

morph into existential terror: perhaps you have always been here, alone, and the outside world is a

fading dream.

Urban Entropy & Decay: GOWONU embodies urban entropy – the natural decay of man-made

environments compounded by supernatural corruption. Peeling paint, crumbling concrete, and

flickering neon signs are visual reminders that time is collapsing here. The theme is reinforced

through environmental storytelling: graffiti messages from 1982 pleading for help, apartments still

stocked with vintage 80s appliances now all mold-ridden and useless. There’s a strong sense of

nostalgia-gone-wrong – a home that should be warm and lively is now a tomb. The game leans into

nostalgia-horror: old technology (cassette tapes, Polaroid cameras, CRT televisions) evoke the 1980s

setting, but each nostalgic item is cursed or broken, creating an eerie dissonance. For example, a TV

might suddenly play a cheerful 1980s commercial jingle in an empty room, echoing hauntingly down

the hall before devolving into static and screams. The decay isn’t just physical; it’s spiritual – rituals

were forgotten, community ties rotted, and the building became a petri dish for evil. This theme

asks: what happens when we abandon a place and it remembers being abandoned?

Cursed Technology: The interplay between technology and the supernatural is a signature theme.

GOWONU’s horror feels distinctly 1980s-90s because ghosts manifest through analog tech.

Televisions are a prime example: they flicker on with static and sometimes the static forms faces or

messages (the GOWONU entity often speaks through TV broadcasts , issuing cryptic phrases or

replaying residents’ final moments on screen). Radios tune themselves to phantom stations

broadcasting distress calls or number stations reciting apartment numbers. Telephones ring in

empty rooms; picking up might connect you to the voice of a long-dead resident begging you to

come upstairs. The theme of cursed tech also extends to more modern devices in the AR timeline –

cameras might show things not visible to the naked eye (e.g. a digital camera screen reveals a figure

standing behind you that isn’t actually there), and the AR app that players use in lore becomes itself

a conduit for haunting. This theme taps into J-horror vibes (Pulse, Ring, Noroi) where technology is a

doorway for spirits, turning the tools meant to connect us (phones, TVs) into sources of dreadful

isolation and danger.

Surveillance & Paranoia: The feeling of being watched pervades GOWONU. In the game world,

security cameras are mounted in corners, their lenses cracked but still sparking to life as you pass –

as if the building itself is surveilling you. The theme of surveillance ties into paranoia: many spaces

have hidden peepholes and two-way mirrors (a nod to the illicit and lawless nature of Kowloon

Walled City, where residents spied on each other). As a player, you frequently have the sense that

something sees you even if you can’t see it. Sometimes you’ll catch it: a fleeting reflection of a

Wall Walker peeking around a corner (and disappearing when you look), or the building’s intercom

crackling to life with the sound of breathing. The myth-as-virus idea also plays here: just learning

about GOWONU or seeing an image might “let it into your head,” as if the story is watching you. It

creates a meta-paranoia – the idea that by participating in this narrative (even reading about it),

you’ve caught the attention of the GOWONU curse. Surveillance cameras in-game might occasionally

show the player character on a monitor with something standing right behind them that vanishes

when they turn around. The constant tension of being observed with malevolence feeds the mental

illness aspect – prolonged exposure leads to paranoia, hallucinations, and doubt about what’s real.

Are those your own thoughts, or the building’s thoughts in your head?

Mental Illness & Sanity Erosion: GOWONU leverages a sanity mechanic not just as gameplay but as

lore. The longer one stays, the more the complex preys on their mind. Isolation, darkness, and

exposure to entities cause gradual psychological breakdown . This is both a theme and a

mechanic: characters begin to suffer anxiety, depression, hallucinations – reflecting real mental

illness symptoms but induced by supernatural means. The narrative treats this with gravity; it’s not a

mere fright, but a suffocating dread and confusion that builds. The atmosphere often slips into

surreal, Lynchian territory – mundane objects or scenes suddenly carry deep personal significance or

horror, reflecting the character’s psyche. For example, an explorer finds an old family photograph of

a tenant – for a moment, the face of the mother in the photo shifts to the explorer’s own mother’s

face, and maybe they speak a line of dialogue from childhood. Are you going insane, or is GOWONU

digging into your memories to unnerve you? The theme underscores that in GOWONU, reality is

unstable. The border between the inner demons of the characters (grief, guilt, fear) and the outer

demons of the complex blurs. Ultimately, confronting GOWONU is as much a battle of mind as of

body. The longer you stay, the more you question: Is this real, or am I losing my mind? The

environment will exploit that, using hallucinations to mislead and trap you – a classic slow-burn

horror approach where dread accumulates over time rather than relying on constant jump scares.

Forgotten Rituals & Folk Horror: Despite its urban setting, GOWONU incorporates elements of folk

horror and ritual. Scattered through the building are signs that the original residents tried

traditional means to quell the evil: Taoist talismans plastered on doors, makeshift altars with

offerings of fruit and incense now long rotted, circles of salt by doorways (many disrupted). There’s a

layer of mythology suggesting that the site where GOWONU was built might have been cursed

ground – perhaps it was a temple or a cemetery that was destroyed in the rush of urbanization, its

guardian spirits angered. Forgotten cultural rituals (like the ghost month offerings or cleansing

ceremonies) were neglected, which allowed a “ritual vacuum” that the parasite exploited. The

game’s puzzles sometimes require performing such rites: e.g. finding a certain sigil and drawing it in

blood to open a sealed door, or recreating a banishing ritual described in a recovered journal. The

theme of rituals extends to player actions – drawing sigils, chanting phrases, etc., which gives a sense

of actively grappling with arcane forces. It also adds depth to the lore: you may discover that in 1982

a small group of residents, led by a local shaman, attempted a ritual to contain the outbreak – the

remnants of their failed spell are etched on the lobby floor in charcoal. This old magic versus new

horror interplay adds an ominous vibe that something older and more spiritual underpins the madness.

Myth-as-virus comes in here too: perhaps a ritual chant itself acts like a contagious meme; one log

mentions that simply reading a certain incantation can let the “rot of GOWONU” take root in the

reader’s mind.

Nostalgia & Memory as Horror: A subtler theme is the weight of memories trapped in GOWONU.

The complex was built in the late 70s, flourished in the early 80s – a time of optimism for its

residents, now twisted. The rooms are time capsules of 1982, and there’s a heavy sense of nostalgia

turned macabre. Family videotapes, photo albums, children’s toys – all these personal artifacts are

left behind, imbued with the psychic echoes of their owners. The game often confronts you with

these in unsettling ways: e.g. finding an old Walkman cassette player that, when you press play,

broadcasts not music but the terrified final confession of its owner. Or you enter an apartment that

momentarily reverts to its 1982 appearance (a hallucination) – you see a family eating dinner, hear

a radio announcing the weather – then it flickers away leaving only the rotten remains. This

manipulation of nostalgia creates a profound sadness mixed with fear. It asks the question: What

tragedies played out here, now forgotten? and forces you to witness them as ghostly tableaus. This

theme makes the horror personal: the entities are not just monsters, but possibly the memories

and emotions of the people who lived (and died) here, turned grotesque. The result is an atmosphere

thick with melancholy, as if the very building mourns, even as it hungers.

Myth as Virus: Perhaps GOWONU’s most meta-textual theme is the idea that the story of GOWONU

itself is a contagion – a memetic virus. Simply knowing about it, seeing an image, or hearing a tune

from inside can infect you. This ties together many of the above themes: cursed media, surveillance,

and paranoia. In-universe, characters realize that certain information (like the cursed Polaroids or a

survivor’s journal) spread the curse beyond the building’s walls . It’s as if the myth wants to be told

and by telling it, you carry it. This theme amplifies the fear to a conceptual level – beyond physical

space. A player might hesitate to examine a document or photo they found because in doing so,

their character (or even they themselves) might invite danger. The fourth wall gets shaky: the game/

AI might include subtle references that the player’s reality is now contaminated (for instance, a

character on a tape addresses the listener by the player’s real name, or an entity in AR appears in the

player’s actual room through the device). The “myth-as-virus” theme ensures the horror lingers even

when you’re not actively exploring GOWONU; it plants the seed that some part of GOWONU has now

infested your world, just as it did the apartment’s foundations. It’s a modern take on horror that

leverages our interconnected, media-saturated lives – very much in line with ARG storytelling where

the fiction crosses into reality. By the end, the question isn’t just “will you escape GOWONU,” but

“will GOWONU ever let you go?”

Overall, the atmosphere in GOWONU is one of slow-burn dread and mounting tension. It’s not constant

shock or gore (though gore is present in the environment); it’s the pervasive feeling of wrongness and

doom. It draws on the psychological horror of Lynchian surreality – mundane spaces made subtly (or

overtly) nightmarish – and the relentless despair of cosmic horror – that the building is an inscrutable

entity far beyond human, to which you are insignificant. Players often traverse dim halls with only diegetic

sound: their footsteps, a dripping pipe, maybe a distant child’s giggle echoing, building an oppressive

anticipation that something – anything – could happen at any moment. This is the heart of GOWONU’s

horror: not the monster that jumps out, but the ever-present certainty that the entire environment is hostile

and alive, watching you, and waiting for you to falter.

Entities & Creatures of GOWONU

The cursed complex is populated by a horrific bestiary of entities, each blending physical grotesquery with

metaphysical significance. From the building itself to minor phantoms, every creature in GOWONU carries

symbolism and unique threat mechanics. Below is a catalog of major entities and monsters, described in

the style of a 1980s paranormal field guide or retro horror documentary, complete with appearance notes,

behaviors, and lore annotations:

1. The GOWONU Itself – “Mother GOWONU”, “The Breathing Walls”

Appearance/Form: The entire building is an entity, infested with a biomechanical parasite that has merged

concrete, metal, and flesh into one . Visually, this is seen in walls that have veins and grimy flesh-like

textures under cracked plaster, cables that twitch like nerves, and doorframes that ooze resin. The complex’s

layout shifts slightly of its own accord – a door that was there yesterday may be gone today – suggesting a

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living organism reshaping its internal anatomy. Sometimes faces or forms press out of the wallpaper then

dissolve back, as if the building’s soul has countless absorbed victims. Behavior: GOWONU is sentient and

malevolent . It communicates by controlling electronics (e.g. TVs that suddenly turn on to speak in a

distorted voice) and by subtle architectural manipulation. A signature behavior is the sound of breathing –

explorers often report the walls softly expanding and contracting, as if inhaling. GOWONU can entrap

people by sealing exits, locking doors at will, or collapsing passageways. It “feeds” on fear and sanity;

prolonged terror in its halls seems to strengthen it, causing more aggressive phenomena. The building can

also manifest poltergeist activity: lights flicker, objects fly off shelves, floor tiles pop loose underfoot like

snapping jaws. At times, through static on a TV or whispers in the plumbing, it will speak – cryptic phrases

like “...stay with me...” or the name of someone who died inside. Threat & Significance: As the overarching

antagonist, GOWONU is essentially a living dungeon and a god-like presence. There is no killing it outright;

at best one might appease or momentarily disrupt it via rituals. It represents the concept of the home

turned predatory – shelter becomes the hunter. In a metaphorical sense, “Mother GOWONU” is an

amalgam of all the despair, pain, and evil that transpired within, now unified into a single will. It views

intruders as either potential new “children” (to absorb) or threats to eliminate. Understanding its behavior

is key: it might toy with victims (creating illusory safe rooms, for example, then plunging them into danger)

or test them, almost like an immune system testing a virus. The building has weak points (e.g. certain sigils

pacify it, certain areas like the temple ruins below might anchor it) but also triggers (loud noises, attempts

at demolition, or use of its name aloud can enrage it). In documentary style, one could imagine a narrator

intoning: “In the heart of GOWONU, the walls themselves are alive – and listening. The only certainty is that the

house wants you, and it will never let go willingly.”

2. Soul Snatchers – Wisps of the Devoured

Appearance: Faint, wispy humanoid shadows that flit across walls and ceilings, each distinguished by the

glint of two or more floating eyes within the darkness . They have no defined edges – like living smoke

or a human silhouette made of black fog. Sometimes, just for a moment, a Soul Snatcher’s form will clarify

enough to reveal a tormented face or twisted expression before dissipating again. Behavior & Abilities: Soul

Snatchers lurk at the edge of vision. They often appear when a player is alone in a quiet room – in a corner

of your eye you see a shadow with eyes watching. The moment you turn, it vanishes or flits behind you.

Their primary threat is psychic: meeting a Soul Snatcher’s gaze induces a paralyzing terror, freezing

victims in place and siphoning their sanity . They drain sanity when looked at directly – essentially

feeding on your fear . Victims describe a cold that grips their spine and an overwhelming sense of

sorrow as the Snatcher “drinks” their emotional energy. They typically do not cause physical harm

themselves; rather, if you’re frozen in terror, another entity might attack, or the building might seize the

chance to trap you. Lore & Significance: Soul Snatchers are believed to be the echoes of those consumed by

GOWONU – possibly the lingering essences of residents who tried to escape but couldn’t . In lore, they

are sometimes called “The Unforgotten”. They represent the fate of the lost souls: not at peace, not fully

ghosts with identity, but shadows forever bound to the cursed halls. Each Soul Snatcher might replay

snippets of final moments: if you get close without them vanishing, you may hear them whisper in

disjointed phrases (“...can’t get out...”, “...so cold...”) reflecting the last thoughts of the dead. To avoid or

combat a Soul Snatcher, one must not look directly – a counter-intuitive strategy. Players learn to traverse

with eyes downcast or use a mirror to indirectly view them (though mirrors come with other risks!). In

documentary terms, these entities underline GOWONU’s tragedy: the building doesn’t just kill; it imprisons

souls**. Their metaphysical role is like “emotional vampires” – they propagate despair, making escape

psychologically harder.

3. Wall Walkers – Camouflaged Stalkers of the Halls

Appearance: Emaciated, long-limbed humanoids that cling to surfaces like grotesque lizards. Their skin is

mottled grey-green and patterned to match the mildewed wallpaper or exposed piping of the areas they

inhabit – a natural camouflage. At a glance, a Wall Walker can flatten itself against a wall and appear as

just another patch of mold or a tangle of wires. Their limbs are multi-jointed and can elongate. They often

have elongated fingers and toes that dig into cracks in the wall. Their faces are featureless save for a wide,

lipless mouth full of needle-teeth; some accounts say they have no eyes, others that they have many tiny

eyes like a spider (perhaps variations exist). Behavior & Abilities: Wall Walkers are ambush predators. They

slip through walls via cracks or holes – their bodies can contort and even temporarily liquefy to squeeze

through plumbing gaps . This means they can disappear into one wall and emerge from another, making

them unpredictable. They prefer to attack from behind: a signature move is to wait until an explorer

passes, then silently crawl out behind them and strike when the victim isn’t looking . They move with

unnerving quiet; the only telltale might be a faint scratching in the walls or a drip of rancid water (they often

are wet from slithering through pipes). Interestingly, Wall Walkers can’t be seen directly unless conditions

are right – they seem to have a slight dimensional phasing. Often they are only visible in reflections or if

the observer is blinking . Players might catch a glimpse in a broken mirror or in a puddle’s reflection of

something spindly clinging above them! Mechanically, this plays with perception: you might have to use a

camera flash or mirror to reveal one. Their attack is swift and feral – they drop onto victims, clawing and

biting. They’re not extremely strong individually (a prepared person could fight one off with a weapon), but

their stealth makes them dangerous. Lore & Interpretation: Wall Walkers are thought to be manifestations of

the sneaky, invasive nature of the infestation. Just as mold creeps behind wallpaper, these creatures

personify that creeping dread. Some say they were once human – possibly particularly adaptable residents

who survived the initial infestation by hiding in walls, only to become mutated servants of GOWONU. In a

metaphorical sense, they are the paranoia of “something in the walls” made real. They teach the player to

never feel safe even in “empty” corridors. Folklore among survivors (or in recovered notes) advises tossing

dust or flour around – a desperate trick to reveal their footprints. They reinforce a key horror motif: the

enemy could be literally right behind you at all times. The documentary style voiceover might note: “Only

when you look away do the Wall Walkers reveal themselves. To be in GOWONU is to never fully trust your

surroundings – even the walls may sprout claws.”

4. Shinigami Behemoths – Towering Specters of Death

Appearance: Massive, skeletal-mechanical giants that roam the open spaces – most often seen on the

rooftops or in the central courtyard of the complex . They appear as towering figures (3–4 stories tall)

with a mix of bone and corroded metal composing their bodies. Imagine a Shinto death god (Shinigami)

fused with a derelict construction crane. Their limbs are long and angular; rib-like structures visible in a

torso that seems part flesh, part rusted girders. Some describe their heads as like skeletal horse skulls or

a horned demon, often trailing wires and antennae like dreadlocks. Despite their size, they often seem hazy,

like a heat mirage – an indicator of their partially spiritual nature. Behavior & Abilities: Shinigami Behemoths

are relatively rare encounters, almost more environmental hazards than chaser enemies. They patrol high

areas – one might see one striding silently across the rooftop against the moonlight or looming in the

courtyard amidst swirling mist . They move slowly, with a heavy grace, and do not acknowledge the

player unless triggered. Their presence has a profound effect on sanity: simply sighting one from afar can

induce horrifying hallucinations in the viewer – these could be visions of the city in flames, or the sky

turning to a void, or personal visions of death. Notably, Shinigami Behemoths are only fully visible when

the viewer’s sanity is very low (below ~20%) . At higher sanity, one might only see vague shapes or

nothing at all. This means encountering one is both a cause and effect of insanity. If one approaches or

becomes aware of the player, they can emit a bone-rattling wail – a sound that can echo through the entire

complex – which can knock a player unconscious (a kind of ultrasonic terror attack). They rarely attack

physically (one could crush you with a single step if it wanted), as their role is more symbolic and

psychological. Lore & Significance: These Behemoths are often interpreted as guardian spirits of GOWONU

or avatars of the curse. The moniker “Shinigami” (death god) implies they ferry souls or judge the living

who enter. Some think each Behemoth is the amalgamated spirit of many who died at once – e.g., one

might be the combined wrath of all those who jumped or fell from the roof, now rising again. They

represent inevitability of death in this cursed place; if you see one clearly, it’s a harbinger that your mind is

almost broken and you are close to death or loss of self. In gameplay/narrative, they might serve as a kind

of timer – if you linger too long (sanity too low), these entities manifest to end your journey. However, there

are folktales of an explorer who bowed to a Behemoth and was spared, or even guided out, suggesting they

have a role in the “judgment” of GOWONU’s prisoners. From a design perspective, they inject an epic, dread-

inducing visual element – a slow, nightmarish titan that occasionally reminds players of how small they are.

Imagine a grainy VHS documentary shot: a camcorder pans across the dark rooftop, lightning flashes, and a

huge skeletal silhouette stands for just an instant – then it’s gone. That is the vibe of the Shinigami

Behemoth.

5. Infestation Spawn – Crab-Spider Aberrations

Appearance: Horrific flesh-wrapped arthropods about the size of a large dog. They resemble a nightmarish

fusion of spider and crab: eight spindly jointed legs, but their bodies are soft, pulsing sacs of reddish flesh

wrapped in strands of sinew . Black, tar-like fluid oozes from seams in their hide, leaving sticky trails.

Instead of a distinct head, they have a gaping vertical slit lined with teeth or hooks – possibly both mouth

and sensory organ. Some have what look like human-like eyes embedded randomly in their flesh (remnants

of victims?), though they may not function as normal eyes. These spawns often cluster together in nests,

appearing like a writhing pile of raw meat and legs when at rest. Behavior & Abilities: Infestation Spawns are

the earliest stage of the GOWONU parasite’s life-cycle and act as the building’s “workers” or drones.

They scurry along floors, walls, even ceilings, in jittery, unpredictable motions. Individually, they are skittish

– they often flee light or loud sound, preferring to lurk in dark corners. However, if they sense a vulnerable

intruder (injured or low sanity), they become aggressive pack hunters. A group will attempt to surround

and overwhelm a person, crawling over them. Their goal seems to be infection: Infestation Spawn can bite

or stab with pointed limbs, and their black ooze is highly toxic, causing delirium and hallucinations in

those it enters . A victim scratched by a Spawn might start seeing spiders crawling on their skin (even

when none are there) or hear whispering voices telling them to “stay… blend… join…”. Mechanically, an

attack from these creatures might temporarily distort the player’s inventory (items “disappear” or become

other items, reflecting confusion) and induce a sanity drop or a random hallucination event. Their presence

often heralds areas of heavy organic growth. They also exhibit hive behavior: if one is killed, others nearby

might swarm to that spot (drawn by pheromones in the black fluid), so fighting them can be risky. Lore &

Significance: These creatures are believed to be the “seeds” of the curse – possibly fragments of the original

parasite that infested GOWONU in 1982. Early reports from the initial infestation describe “giant insects”

scuttling in the basement; likely these Spawn. They illustrate how the evil is biological as well as spiritual.

If GOWONU is a mother, these are her offspring. Their ability to infect aligns with the myth-as-virus theme

– literally spreading the curse through venom. Some lore suggests if a Spawn’s fluid gets in you and you die,

you might become part of the building (i.e., your body assimilated). They’re also one of the few entities with

somewhat tangible, biological bodies, so they bridge the gap between the physical and supernatural

elements of the game. In design, they provide a more frenetic horror (fast-moving, creepy-crawly scares)

among the slower, more psychological entities. Aesthetically and thematically, think of the scuttling

facehugger-like creatures in The Thing or Resident Evil’s monsters – they are pure body horror and a direct

threat. The encyclopedia note calls them an “early stage” – implying there may be later stages (perhaps

The GOWONU Itself is the final stage). Killing them might slow the spread of corruption in a local area

(giving the player a brief respite from shifting walls, for instance). In a faux-documentary narration: “These

Spawn are the larvae of GOWONU’s curse – each one carrying the infection to every corner of the complex.

Wherever they crawl, madness follows.”

6. The Mirror-Lurker – Reflection Doppelgänger

Appearance: At first glance, a Mirror-Lurker is identical to the viewer – it appears as your own reflection.

But observant individuals notice subtle wrong details: the “you” in the mirror may blink out of sync, or have

a faint smile when you do not. Its eyes might be just a bit too dark, or its movements a half-second delayed.

On rare occasions, if not mimicking someone, a Mirror-Lurker might appear as a pale humanoid shape

lurking in mirrors, but typically it tailors its form to whoever observes it. Behavior & Abilities: The Mirror-

Lurker dwells within reflective surfaces – mirrors, glass panes, even still water – and it has one terrifying

ability: it can swap places with a person through the mirror . The rules seem to be that when

conditions are met (often the presence of a specific sigil, or the person being alone and vulnerable in front

of a mirror), the reflection suddenly reaches out. Imagine staring at a grimy bathroom mirror by weak

flashlight; you rub at the glass and suddenly your reflection’s hand grabs yours from the other side. In an

instant, the explorer is pulled into the mirror-world (trapped behind the glass, now an image), and the

Lurker exits, taking their place in reality . This usually happens so abruptly that companions might

not realize the switch – the Mirror-Lurker can mimic voices and basic behavior just enough. However, it

often has subtle malicious glee; if unchecked, it may lead teammates into traps or sabotage them. If a

player becomes trapped as a reflection, they might have limited time to escape (perhaps by solving a puzzle

or finding another mirror) before they fade away and become yet another echo in GOWONU. Notably,

Mirror-Lurkers only manifest in certain marked rooms – rooms with occult sigils associated with the

mirror realm. These might be places where rituals involving mirrors occurred, or where previous victims

were taken. Lore & Significance: In folklore, there’s an idea that mirrors are gateways to the spirit world, and

the Mirror-Lurker embodies that. It symbolizes identity loss and the fear of being replaced. Perhaps it

originates from a specific tragedy – e.g. a vain resident who survived by hiding in a mirror, or a ritual where

someone attempted to summon a guardian through a mirror and instead unleashed this parasite. The

Mirror-Lurker adds a paranoia element: can you trust your own reflection? After encountering one,

characters might avoid mirrors entirely (which itself heightens difficulty). It also ties into puzzle mechanics;

some safe rooms might contain mirrors you intentionally use to traverse secret areas (stepping through

reflections). But always with risk. Thematically, it’s a manifestation of GOWONU’s penchant for trickery –

the building can literally turn you against you. In meta terms, this creature could even allow clever narrative

twists (an ending where the protagonist who “escaped” is hinted to actually be the imposter). The

encyclopedia note hints it appears “only in sigil-marked rooms” , implying the environment warns you –

players might learn to recognize those sigils and either prepare or avoid mirrors there. This entity is pure

Lynchian horror: the unsettling wrongness of seeing yourself do something you didn’t do, and the existential

terror of being erased and replaced.

7. The Helium Monster – Laughing Gasbag Entity

Appearance: A floating, grotesque balloon of flesh, roughly person-sized. Its form is like a bloated bladder

or an inside-out stomach, pulsating and veined, with bits of hair or teeth occasionally embedded in its

rubbery skin. It has no conventional face, but along its surface are stretched patches that resemble a

childish grin or wide eyes – as if crudely drawn or grown. The entire entity hovers about a meter off the

ground, bobbing gently as if filled with lighter-than-air gas. When it moves, it wobbles and undulates.

Behavior & Abilities: The Helium Monster drifts in certain areas (often in open spaces like the mall atrium

or long corridors). Its hallmark is that it is visible only at certain angles . You might walk right past

one and not see it, only to step a few paces and suddenly it pops into view at the edge of your vision. This

creates disorientation – players might hear it before they see it, as it emits an eerie helium-induced

giggling or high-pitched babbling . The sound is akin to a child’s laugh played on an old tape at double

speed, often echoing. This laughter has a mind-altering effect – prolonged exposure induces giddiness,

confusion, or uncontrollable laughter in the victim, which can attract other creatures. The Helium Monster

itself is not physically aggressive; it feeds on emotional responses. It will follow at a distance, giggling and

making sudden moves to startle you into fear or laughter. The danger is if you disregard it – some accounts

say if you turn your back and ignore it for too long, it can silently position itself right above or behind you.

At that moment, its giggle can crescendo into a shrill scream directly in your ear, causing a heart-stopping

fright (a possible jump-scare that can drop sanity or cause brief paralysis). Essentially it’s a roaming

scarecrow of madness. Lore & Interpretation: Such an odd creature likely stems from the idea of toxic cheer

– making something normally joyful (a balloon, a laugh) into horror. Perhaps it’s connected to some event in

GOWONU’s past: maybe a birthday party that ended in tragedy, the happy laughter of children now curdled

into this. It’s called “Helium” monster because of the voice, but also because it’s lighter-than-air. Some

theorize it’s filled with some gas that keeps it afloat – possibly the souls of children or a mix of chemicals

from the building’s decades of decay. It might also tie into gas leaks or hallucination-inducing miasma

(explorers have noted a sweet smell near it, like old vented refrigerant). Metaphysically, it represents

mockery – the way the building mocks human joy. Encountering one can feel like the building is laughing at

you through this entity. They are often found near places of former happiness (the rooftop playground, a

nursery, etc.), now turned into sick jokes. In game design, the Helium Monster is an agent of chaos:

unpredictable, unsettling but not directly lethal – it’s there to erode sanity and create auditory

hallucinations. For example, after hearing its giggle, players might occasionally hear it even when it’s not

there, inducing paranoia (“is it around the next corner or just in my head?”). It adds to the weirdcore

aesthetic, something you might see in a fever dream or an ARG image dump – a fleshy balloon smiling at

you from a dark hallway. The retro documentary notes that it “emits helium-giggling” – it’s both comical

and deeply disturbing, a perfect embodiment of GOWONU’s brand of horror.

8. The Cube Parasite Boy – The Guiding Aberration

Appearance: The figure of a young boy, gaunt and sickly, perhaps 6-8 years old in size. His skin is pallid,

almost translucent, with veins visible beneath. He wears tattered shorts and nothing else, appearing as a

forlorn child at first glance – except for the horrific feature in his torso: his chest is an open transparent

cube (as if the ribcage formed a glass-like box) filled with writhing limbs and organs . Inside that cube

you might see disembodied arms, a few eyes, possibly those of other children, pressed against the glass as

if desperate to escape. These could be the remnants of other victims, absorbed into him. The boy’s own face

is emotionless, with eyes that sometimes reflect light like a cat’s. Behavior: The Cube Parasite Boy is one of

the strangest entities because he does not immediately attack. In fact, he often appears to help or at least

interact without violence. He tends to manifest at crossroads or near exits. Witnesses report he will silently

lift an arm and point towards an exit or a safer path, then vanish . He can appear and disappear with a

slight glitchy flicker, like a skipping frame in one’s vision. Importantly, if followed, the paths he points to are

usually real exits or critical escape routes – but often inaccessible until certain conditions are met. It’s as if

he shows you the goal but not the solution. At times, he might also point at something the player missed

(like a key item or a hidden door). He never speaks and if approached, he tends to blink out of existence.

Unlike many entities, he doesn’t drain sanity; actually some logs say encountering him restored a small

measure of hope/sanity to the player, as if he radiates a subtle calming effect amidst the horror. However,

this might be a double-edged sword: some theorize that by giving false hope, he lures victims deeper into

the complex. Lore & Significance: Who or what is this boy? Some think he’s the lingering spirit of a child who

tried to help others escape during the evacuation and died in the process, now compelled to continue

helping. The gruesome cube in his chest possibly signifies that he’s infested – perhaps an advanced form of

the parasite that has taken a child’s form to trick people. The limbs in the cube could be those he has

absorbed; maybe every person he “helps” gets absorbed, adding to his collection. Others think he’s a

neutral or even benevolent ghost, cursed with the burden of the parasite (hence the chest), trying to fight

its control by guiding the living. In the mythology of GOWONU, he stands out as a rare possibly benign

figure. Survivors have given him nicknames like “Guide Boy” or “Exit Boy,” and some graffiti on walls even

depict a crude childlike figure pointing, suggesting that knowledge of him exists in the survivor/urban

explorer community. In terms of gameplay, encountering him is a moment of eerie relief and dread

combined – you’re glad to see a human form that isn’t attacking, but his uncanny appearance keeps you

uneasy. He is often used to steer players towards objectives subtly. The Cube Parasite Boy also reinforces

the theme of innocence corrupted: a childlike presence in a nightmarish form. It’s as if even the purest

things (a child) are not spared by GOWONU – either they become tools of the labyrinth or they suffer

eternally. A retro horror documentary might present him as an enigma: “Many have reported the specter of a

boy with a hollow, cube-like chest filled with...parts. He beckons to safety – but why? Is it mercy, or the trap of

Gowonu itself?”

9. The Laughing Man – Manic Stalker

Appearance: A tall, thin humanoid figure resembling a man in tattered resident clothing (an old 80s style

jacket and slacks, now stained). His most distinctive feature is his face: stretched into a permanent

grotesque laugh . The mouth is unnaturally wide, corners tearing almost ear to ear, lips cracked and

teeth exposed in a skeletal grin. His eyes are open wide as well, often bulging and bloodshot, giving an

expression of eternal hysteria. Dried blood trails from the eyes and mouth, as if he’s been laughing so long

it caused hemorrhaging. He often carries something in his hand – reports vary: sometimes a bloody knife,

other times a broken bottle or just clenched fists with nails dug in. Despite the grin, his movements are

jerky and angry, not merry. Behavior: The Laughing Man is one of the few entities with a clearly aggressive,

territorial behavior. He often “patrols” certain hallways or sections, and if he spots or hears the player, he

will lock on and pursue relentlessly. While not supernaturally fast, he is tireless. He emits a horrible

laugh constantly – a dry, rasping cackle that echoes. It actually helps the player know he’s coming (like an

audio cue akin to RE’s Mr. X footsteps, but laughter). If provoked or even just detected, he will break into a

shambling run, attacking with whatever weapon-like object he has or with claw-like hands. His laugh

intensifies in pitch and volume as he closes in, often causing panic. The more you injure him, the more

manic and loud the laughter gets; it’s as if he feels no pain, only more “jokes”. He can appear to be killed

(knocked down), but much like classic slashers, he might reanimate later. A crucial note: in some instances if

left alone, he doesn’t immediately attack – one could observe him from hiding, and he might be seen doing

unnerving things like standing in front of a wall scribbling nonsense with a finger, all while laughing under

his breath. But the minute he knows he’s not alone, the relentless stalking begins . There are hints he

might be a former long-term resident who lost his mind and became an instrument of the building. Threat

Mechanics: Essentially, The Laughing Man is GOWONU’s equivalent of a slasher villain: near unkillable

(always comes back later), and he stalks the player mercilessly if triggered . The game often forces a

fight-or-flight decision with him: ammo is scarce, and straight combat is risky, so sometimes you must

evade or hide (he can be temporarily lost if you break line of sight and silence, though his unpredictable

patrol may cross paths later). Notably, his laughter causes a steady sanity drain when he’s near – it’s

infectious madness. If he corners the player, he doesn’t instantly kill; he might toy, standing there blocking

the way, laughing inches from your face until you make a move. If you manage to evade him without

fighting, his laughter may linger in the distance for a long while – a psychological pressure. Lore: Theories

abound that he was one of the last holdouts during the evacuation, a resident who snapped completely.

Perhaps he was a serial killer pre-dating the infestation, and the curse amplified his sadism into a

monstrous new life. Or he could be a manifestation of the building’s cruel sense of humor, given form.

Either way, he represents madness uncaged – not the subtle, creeping insanity of the environment, but

full-on maniacal violence. Some have called him “The Comedian” or likened him to a hyena. He’s often found

around areas that might have once been lively – like the entertainment lounge or mahjong room – now

twisted. There’s a tragic angle too: on rare occasions, if somehow knocked out or calmed (via a special item

like a music box with a lullaby), he stops laughing and whispers intelligible words like “…it hurts…please…

make it stop” before erupting into laughter again. This implies he’s possibly a victim trapped in a cycle of

forced mirth, like the building is puppeteering him. In a creature documentary style, he’s the one they’d

label “extremely dangerous, avoid at all costs” – a human shape with inhuman persistence, embodying

GOWONU’s endless cruelty.

10. The Gutterlings – Swarm of Verminous Imps

Appearance: Diminutive, about the size of large rats or rabbits, these creatures look like a mash-up of urban

pest and machine. Each Gutterling has a body composed of clumps of mossy hair, tangles of wire, and

scrap, roughly forming a small hunched quadruped or crawling thing . They have multiple tiny teeth

made of metal shards (nails, staples) forming their gnawing mouths. Some have what looks like a single

camera lens or shattered light bulb for an eye; others are eyeless. They scurry on all fours, though a few

might stand momentarily on hind legs like a meerkat to scout. They often inhabit the actual gutters, vents,

and crawlspaces, hence the name. One might mistake them for piles of trash until they move. Behavior:

Individually, a Gutterling is skittish and mostly harmless . They flee from humans or larger creatures,

and will hide in ducts or piles of debris. They’re akin to roaches – the sight of one skittering away is gross

but not life-threatening. However, in groups, they become deadly . The creatures have a pack

intelligence: when they sense weakness or when they are in large number, they swarm. A pack of

Gutterlings will emerge from all sides – holes in the walls, under furniture – and converge on a victim to bite

and tear with their razor-teeth. They especially target those who are immobilized or cornered. Their small

size lets them get into armor or under clothes to bite flesh. An individual bite is minor, but dozens can bleed

you out. They also chew on electrical cables and can cause power outages or sparks that create distractions.

Essentially, they are the “piranhas” of GOWONU’s ecosystem. Players often hear them before seeing them: a

scratching, chittering chorus from the dark. Shining a light may reveal a couple dozen reflective little eyes

staring from a vent. Lore: Gutterlings are thought to be manifestations of the filth and neglect of the

building given life. They could also be actual rats and pests that were mutated by feeding on the

contaminated flesh growth. Some believe they are the building’s spies: they listen and watch from the

shadows (hence some having camera-like eyes). Their swarm behavior might be triggered by the building’s

will (“flush the intruder out”). In keeping with many horror tropes, they emphasize that even the smallest

things in GOWONU can kill. The phrase “harmless alone, deadly in groups” is practically their motto.

One explorer’s diary mentioned he kept tossing scraps of food to placate the little ones and traveled

unbothered – implying one might avoid attack by offering tribute (or by moving confidently, not appearing

weak). They add to the soundscape – always some skittering in the walls – reminding players that the

complex is teeming with life, even if they rarely show themselves openly. Visually, they evoke the imagery of

something like the little mechanical/organic minions seen in Cronenberg or Silent Hill (e.g., the Grey Children

in SH1, though much smaller here). On film, you’d see a pool of darkness suddenly bristle with dozens of

tiny forms. Gutterlings ensure that even resting is dangerous; if you stay in one spot too long, they

congregate. They are also scavengers – feasting on corpses (both player allies and other creatures). Thus,

finding a half-eaten body with dozens of tiny bite marks is a warning that you’re in their territory. In

summary, they are the low-tier enemies that, collectively, present a high-tier threat – emphasizing the

“death by a thousand cuts” theme and the idea that the entire building, down to its vermin, is against you.

11. Echoes – Residual Hauntings

Definition & Appearance: An Echo is not so much a creature as a phenomenon: the replay of a resident’s

final moments imprinted on the environment . These appear as ghostly apparitions or auditory/visual

loops. For example, you might walk into a corridor and suddenly it shifts to look like it did in 1982 –

complete with spectral figures of panicked residents running, or a mother desperately trying to open a

jammed door, reliving the evacuation. The Echo might be fully three-dimensional but slightly transparent, or

it might be a flat projection on a wall like a moving painting. Some Echoes are just sound: disembodied

voices crying or arguing. Behavior: Most Echoes are initially non-interactive – they loop a scene. E.g., you

see a ghostly man banging on an elevator door shouting “Let me out!” three times, then he and the sound

flicker out, only to repeat a minute later. These loops can be unsettling set dressing, but can become sentient.

Certain Echoes break their script if noticed. An Echo might suddenly turn and look at you, realizing you’re

there, thereby becoming a ghost that can follow or speak (this is when an Echo becomes a true ghost rather

than a recording) . At that point, they might plead for help or unleash anger (if they blame the living).

Some Echoes do harm indirectly – for instance, an Echo of a screaming person might trigger a sanity loss

or attract other entities with the noise. Others might unknowingly reenact dangerous things (an Echo

lighting a cigarette could actually manifest fire). In general, they are one of the less immediately dangerous

phenomena, but they contribute heavily to narrative and atmosphere. Lore & Purpose: Echoes are

essentially the memories of GOWONU made visible. They remind players of the human tragedy that

occurred. In the lore, they say that GOWONU absorbed so much pain and fear on that fateful day in 1982

that it replays those moments over and over. It’s part of how the myth-virus spreads: people see these final

moments and are emotionally scarred. There’s also a suggestion that helping an Echo complete something

(say, opening the door the man was banging on) can release that spirit or yield a reward (maybe the Echo

fades gratefully and reveals a key left where he died). But caution: interfering with Echoes can anger the

building, as you’re tampering with its “memories.” The term “Echo” implies they lack full consciousness, but

as the notes say, they can become sentient – which is truly frightening: a soul fragment gaining

awareness that it’s stuck in hell. Imagine realizing you’re just a loop of your worst moment. Some Echoes,

upon becoming sentient, might beg the player to end their loop (perhaps via some ritual or by finding their

remains and giving them a proper burial). These phenomena also tie into puzzles (figuring out what the

Echo wants or says can provide clues). In a faux-documentary, Echoes would be depicted with that double-

exposure effect, voices overlapping with static, etc. They reinforce the theme that time is broken in

GOWONU – past events persist like ghosts, infecting the present. And dramatically, encountering Echoes is

very much like scenes from Silent Hill where you witness past atrocities in surreal fashion. They provide

exposition (you might overhear a key bit of lore from an Echo conversation) as well as emotional depth. To

the AI model being trained, Echoes highlight the world’s tragic backstory and give opportunities for

inserting mini-narratives (like “found footage” style scenes).

12. The Red Envelope Phantom – Curse Courier

Trigger & Appearance: This is a peculiar entity that doesn’t have a constant form. It is associated with the

discovery of a red envelope – those used in East Asia for gifts or money, often in rituals. In GOWONU,

finding a sealed red envelope is both fortune and doom. The Phantom manifests if the envelope is

touched or opened . At the moment of triggering, the environment might distort and a presence

appears. Descriptions vary: some see a faceless old woman in a cheongsam with long claws, others a

shadowy figure wreathed in red mist. It’s as if the phantom takes a form drawn from the opener’s

subconscious fears or perhaps related to the envelope’s original owner. Behavior: The Red Envelope

Phantom is essentially a curse in physical form. Simply touching the cursed envelope may cause a sudden

vision or even instant death if the curse is severe . For example, a player might pick up a red envelope

and suddenly collapse as if their heart stopped – a result of the phantom’s attack. If not immediately lethal,

the phantom will haunt the player, appearing intermittently like a personal specter. It might follow at a

distance, appear in reflections, or whisper in the player’s ear at random times (“return it…return it…” or

creepy laughter). This haunting increases in intensity the longer one holds onto the envelope. The

environment might react too – doors slamming or lights bursting when the phantom is near. To others, the

phantom might be invisible; it targets the envelope holder specifically. The only way to rid oneself of it is to

put the envelope back or perform a ritual to seal it. In game terms, it’s a time-bomb curse: keep the item

too long and it will kill you. However, the envelopes usually contain something valuable (a clue, a key, a

photograph) so players are tempted. This mechanic reflects that double-edged sword of seeking knowledge

in GOWONU – it can kill you. Lore: Red envelopes in Chinese culture can carry not just gifts but also curses if

used in funerary or taboo contexts (e.g., sometimes funeral attendees are given “cursed” cash to take

misfortune with them). The lore likely is that some residents tried to seal evil or evidence into these

envelopes using sigils. The AR concept specifically mentions an envelope and sigil sealing process –

likely referencing these. If you break the seal, you release the curse – hence the Phantom. So the

Phantom is the personification of whatever was sealed. Possibly a vengeful spirit of a resident or even a

piece of the GOWONU entity’s malice being held at bay. They act as guardians of secrets. The envelope

might contain a Polaroid that’s too dangerous to look at without AR filtering. Or a note with a ritual that the

building doesn’t want used. So whoever tries to open it faces the Phantom. They link strongly to the AR

storyline: “Use A.R. to activate the curse” was said – an AR user scanning a Polaroid from an envelope

essentially summons a Phantom in their own space. In analog world, the envelope itself is the physical

containment. The tagline could be: “Touching a red envelope may lead to visions or death” – i.e., high risk

high reward. For the model’s understanding, the Red Envelope Phantom underscores the interactive

narrative item – bridging story and mechanic (an item that triggers events). It also emphasizes the cultural

horror element (the use of a culturally specific object – red envelope – in a supernatural way). Scenes with

the phantom might be reminiscent of The Ring (a curse you bring upon yourself by looking/opening

something). It encourages players to think twice before grabbing every shiny item they see. Narratively, it’s

an elegant way to incorporate AR meta-lore and give tangible form to curses.

13. Sigil Guardians – Glyphbound Sentinels

Appearance: Normally invisible, these entities only reveal themselves under specific circumstances – notably

when a protective sigil is traced incorrectly or broken . The moment that happens, a Sigil Guardian

may flash into visibility, often as a flickering outline of a humanoid or beast. Some have described them as

tall, multi-limbed shadows with no clear features, others as armored figures covered in glowing symbols.

Essentially, they look like living drawings made of light or shadow, often resembling whatever the sigil was

meant to ward (for instance, a sigil of a tiger might summon a guardian with a vaguely feline shape). They

might be partly two-dimensional, appearing as if projected on surfaces, then stepping out into 3D. Behavior:

Sigil Guardians exist to punish the unworthy or the careless. If a player attempts to use an occult symbol

– say to unlock a door or protect themselves – and makes a mistake, the guardian strikes. It appears

instantly and attacks the player who erred. The attack could be a direct lunge causing physical harm or a

curse (e.g., marking the player with a rune that attracts other monsters). These guardians are extremely fast

and relentless but short-lived – they often dissipate after delivering a single punishing blow or scare. Their

presence is heralded by the sigil itself glowing or catching fire. For example, imagine drawing a protective

circle on the floor incorrectly; the lines glow red, and a booming voice screeches, then a shadowy hand

emerges from the circle to grab you. They essentially enforce the correct use of GOWONU’s language of

symbols. Lore: Throughout GOWONU, sigils and symbols are a common theme – drawn by past inhabitants

or the player for protection and unlocking. The Sigil Guardians are the “fine print” of that magic. One

interpretation: these guardians were bound by the residents who created the sigils to guard those spells. If

someone without proper knowledge tries to use them, the guardian is summoned to stop them. Another

view: the building corrupts even the protective sigils; a broken sigil is like an open door for a waiting entity.

They emphasize that knowledge in this world must be earned – an amateur reading from a copied

spellbook may do more harm than good. For gameplay, they present a clever hazard: the player must pay

attention to detail when performing rituals (draw the sigil correctly, place the offerings correctly) or face

immediate consequences. It adds tension to puzzle-solving. These entities tie into the forgotten rituals

theme strongly; they are literally the spirits of those rituals. If a door says “only the faithful may enter” in

sigils and you attempt to fake it, a Guardian might literally throw you out. They can also serve as keys:

defeating one (if that’s even possible – perhaps with a counter-sigil) might dispel a barrier. In aesthetic, they

might appear similar to how ghosts are in some Asian horror – sudden, angular movements, possibly

accompanied by the sound of paper talismans flapping. The note says “Invisible until a sigil is traced

incorrectly.” So players might not even know a guardian was lurking – maybe watching them as they

work – until a slip unleashes it. This creates a great suspense: performing any ritual is nerve-wracking

because you know something is watching from beyond, ready to punish a mistake. Sigil Guardians underline

GOWONU’s nature as a place of rules and contracts; even the supernatural has its code, and breaking it

has swift repercussions.

14. The Trance Man – Silent Guide or Decoy

Description: A mysterious NPC-like entity appearing as a stiff, silent man in outdated clothing . He

might look like a middle-aged apartment resident from the 1980s – slacks, button shirt, perhaps glasses –

but his demeanor is unnaturally rigid. He does not blink or speak. His eyes may be glazed as if in a trance

(hence the name). When encountered, The Trance Man typically stands motionless until noticed, then

performs a simple action: he points toward something (a direction, an object, a door) , and after a

moment, he vanishes as if he was never there. The vanishing is instant – one second you glance away, he’s

gone. Behavior: The Trance Man never engages in combat or conversation. He is an enigma that either helps

or misleads. If followed or if you go where he pointed, the outcome varies – sometimes it’s the correct path

to progress, other times it’s a trap or a loop. It’s as if multiple “programmed” Trance Men exist with different

purposes. Because he’s silent, the only clue is perhaps his body language: a slight urgency or reluctance

might be inferred from how sharply he points, etc. He may appear multiple times in a playthrough, always

wordless. In some instances, he has been seen performing a mundane repetitive task (like sweeping an

already clean spot, or trying a locked door handle over and over) until approached, then he stops and

points. Lore & Theories: One theory is that The Trance Man is a fragment of a helpful soul, maybe a former

maintenance man or a resident who stayed to guide survivors. Another theory posits he’s an illusion by

GOWONU to herd players – sometimes into safety, sometimes into danger, depending on the building’s

whim. The fact he’s silent and disappears makes him feel like a ghost caught in a loop who briefly intersects

with the player’s reality. Some have anecdotally called him “The Pointer” or “Guide”. He could be an ally:

possibly the building’s last bit of conscience or the spirit of someone who resisted the evil. Or he could be

bait: leading you into an ambush orchestrated by the building (for example, pointing to a “safe room” that

turns out to seal you in). Players must use intuition and possibly previous clues to decide whether to trust

him each time. Notably, if the player is in possession of certain blessed items or after completing certain

puzzles, the Trance Man’s guidance might become consistently reliable – implying you’ve “earned” real help.

A retro horror doc style entry would mention him as one of the cryptic NPC entities: “the Silent Pointer who

appears to show the way, but to what end?”. He contributes to the Lynchian feel – an inexplicable figure in a

dreamlike state helping you in a nightmare. Mechanically, he can replace typical game markers or hints

diegetically. But the uncertainty around him keeps tension: he’s not a blatant arrow, he’s an in-world

suggestion that could be a lifesaver or a trick. Visually, one might recall the ghosts in Fatal Frame that just

stand and point, or Twin Peaks’ strange lodge characters. In essence, The Trance Man is a piece of the

puzzle that gives the world depth – not all you encounter attacks; some things inexplicably assist, making

the player question the building’s true intentions or the existence of benevolent forces within.

15. The Janitor – Keeper of the Halls

Description: An auditory and occasionally visual entity: you often hear him before you see him. The Janitor

is characterized by the sound of a mop dragging on a wet floor or a rusted wheels of a bucket echoing

down a hallway . Sometimes accompanied by a soft, melancholic humming of an old tune. On rare

sightings, he appears as a hunched man in a dirty janitorial uniform, pushing a mop or cart. His face is

usually obscured by shadow or a cap. When one turns a corner to look, they may just see the last part of

him going out of sight (like a foot or the swaying mop handle). He seems to be endlessly performing

cleaning tasks that never end – wiping bloodstains that reappear, mopping up leaks that never dry.

Behavior: The Janitor does not directly attack or chase. He roams the corridors and may interact indirectly

with the environment. Notably, he might unlock certain doors or create temporary safe paths – e.g., an

impossibly flooded corridor might suddenly be dry as if freshly mopped when he’s around, allowing

passage. Conversely, he might also set traps: e.g., polishing a floor to a slick shine right before you come,

causing you to slip at a bad time, or leaving a mop bucket that trips you during a chase. The note in the

bestiary says he “May lead to safety or traps.” This duality makes him a neutral, unpredictable element.

Some players follow the sound of his mop hoping it leads to a safe zone (and sometimes it does lead to a lit,

monster-free room that smells of disinfectant – perhaps an old janitor closet turned safe room). Other

times, following him might lead into a nest of monsters (perhaps he “cleaned” that area of interference so

monsters could gather). The Janitor never speaks directly, but some have reported hearing a sigh or a

muttering like “so dirty, it’s so dirty…” as he works. Lore & Role: The Janitor is likely the remnant of an actual

person: maybe the real building’s janitor who felt duty-bound to care for it even after everything went to

hell. In tragedy, maybe he stayed behind during evacuation to help people and perished. Now, he’s either a

ghost trying to maintain some order in the chaos (cleaning up after the mess of the infestation), or he’s

become a tool of the building, “arranging the halls” to its liking. Thematically, he represents the concept of

maintenance – even a cursed place has a grim custodian to keep it running. This is a common horror trope

(like the caretaker ghost). For players, he injects uncertainty: unlike all-out hostile entities, the Janitor forces

you to make a judgement call – do I trust the presence of this ghostly cleaner? When you find a corridor

inexplicably cleared of hazards, is it a boon or bait? Possibly there’s a pattern: e.g., the Janitor “helps” those

who show respect (maybe if you don’t step on his freshly cleaned area or you say thank you, etc.), and

“misleads” those who are brash (running around making messes). This can add an immersive layer of player

behavior influence. The Janitor is a very WideWorlds style element – an NPC that isn’t simply enemy or

friend but adds ambient storytelling. A scene of stumbling into a room to escape monsters and finding

the Janitor quietly scrubbing graffiti off the wall, ignoring you, can be surreal and haunting. If approached,

he might vanish leaving only the wet mop standing upright. In summary, The Janitor keeps the environment

dynamic (clearing or adding obstacles) and enriches the lore – hinting that part of the building’s original

essence (daily routine, caretaking) still echoes on, warped though it may be.

16. The Polaroid Watcher – Photographic Pursuer

Trigger & Behavior: This meta-entity activates when the player views certain cursed Polaroid photos .

These could be found images of GOWONU’s interior or selfies of prior explorers. Once triggered, the

Polaroid Watcher essentially enters the game as an unseen follower that gets closer every time the player

enters a new room . Think of it as a malevolent presence that teleports incrementally nearer whenever

you transition areas – a mechanic similar to the classic Weeping Angel or certain horror game ghosts. The

player might notice subtle cues: the first time after viewing the photo, nothing obvious; the second room,

maybe a distant silhouette at the end of a hallway that wasn’t there before; the third, the same figure

halfway down the hall; later, it might appear right outside the door just closed behind you. It’s called the

Watcher because it’s often just standing and watching in these glimpses, not immediately attacking. It often

appears in the corner of the eye or in reflections on shiny surfaces of the photo itself (some players report

that if you keep looking at the Polaroid, you’ll see a tiny figure in the background that grows bigger each

time you look). Appearance: Hard to describe because direct confrontation is rare. It’s often a blurred,

humanoid silhouette – maybe resembling the person who took the Polaroid, or a generic figure with no

distinct features, sometimes with pinpoints for eyes. It might adopt a form related to the photo’s subject;

e.g., if the photo was of a stairwell, the Watcher might appear as a dark figure on a landing. Threat: The

Watcher’s purpose is to build dread and eventually corner the player. If too many rooms pass and it’s fully

caught up, likely a high-stakes encounter occurs: it might lunge at the player resulting in heavy damage or

an instant game-over if not countered. Essentially, viewing that photo starts a pursuit clock. To survive, the

player might need to perform a cleansing (burn the photo, etc.) or reach a certain sanctuary before the

Watcher closes the distance. The tagline “Gets closer each room” is a literal mechanic but

metaphorically it’s about an image coming to life. It forces players to consider: do I really want to look at

every creepy photo I find? Because knowledge has a price. Lore: The Polaroid Watcher ties into the cursed

media concept. Perhaps it is the spirit of someone who died while taking that photo – their soul bound to it

and enraged at anyone who looks. Or it could be an embodiment of GOWONU’s attention: by looking at an

image of the building, you make the building “look back” at you through this specter. It is reminiscent of The

Ring (you watch the cursed tape, the entity comes for you) but in mini form with each Polaroid. It also

encourages a meta gameplay: players might physically note “once I pick up Photo A, I need to hurry

through rooms or find X to dispel the Watcher.” It adds urgency and a payoff to collecting lore items.

Thematically, it’s myth-as-virus again: the act of viewing draws the monster out. In world, maybe the AR

project or others had stories like “everyone who looked at that selfie saw a man in the background following

them later.” It’s also possibly connected to the concept of “the camera steals your soul” – in GOWONU,

maybe it’s true: that photo has a piece of something that now wants you. The entity’s name explicitly

“Polaroid Watcher” suggests it’s intimately linked to the Polaroid medium (perhaps only that analog film

type, tying to 80s tech vibe). If one were to destroy or lose the photo, one might lose track of the Watcher –

but maybe it keeps coming regardless once summoned. It’s a great tool for dynamic horror: entering each

new area with trepidation, scanning for the silhouette. Did it get closer? Is it right behind that door? It can

generate procedural scares effectively. In a training context, we emphasize the mechanic and the feeling: a

creeping pursuer bound to your actions, exemplifying consequence for gathering story clues.

17. The Static Child – TV-Bound Lure

Appearance & Habitat: The Static Child appears as a blurred child-like silhouette visible within TV screens

or other monitors . Picture an old CRT TV left on with only static snow – amid that noise, one might

discern the outline of a small child standing in a room, or pressing their hand on the other side of the glass.

The image is never clear; it’s like tuning an analog channel that almost comes through but not quite.

Sometimes two faint glowing dots (eyes) can be seen in the static. Outside of screens, the Static Child has

no form – it exists in that electronic medium. Behavior: Whenever the player stares too long at a powered TV

or static-filled screen in GOWONU, the Static Child may manifest. At first it could be passive, like just

watching you from inside the TV (creepy but contained). But it has a dangerous mechanic: if you look for

too long, it will teleport you . The screen suddenly flashes and the player is no longer where they stood.

Often they get teleported to another location in the complex – potentially a very dangerous one (imagine

suddenly being moved from a relatively safe lobby to the center of a monster-infested basement). It’s as if

the child reaches out and drags you “through” the broadcast into their realm or elsewhere. This is

disorienting and can separate players from safe zones or group members. The teleport is often

accompanied by a burst of static noise and a child’s giggle or whisper. There may be minor electrical

disturbances leading up (lights flickering more as you stare). Intent: Is the Static Child malicious or just

lonely? Hard to tell. It could be a trap by the building: lure someone with curiosity or sympathy (who

wouldn’t feel drawn to a lone child figure) and then isolate them. Or perhaps the child wants a playmate

and moves you to where they “live” (which could be a special hellish pocket dimension of static, or just

another room which was significant to the child). Some survivors claim that if you follow the Static Child’s

subtle gestures (maybe it motions or tilts its head), it can actually lead you to secret passages – but one

must not stare too directly. Lore: Most likely, the Static Child is the ghost of a child resident who died during

the infestation, now fused with the technological aspect of GOWONU (like the TVs that broadcast the entity’s

messages). It’s a blend of innocent and eerie: a child that appears on a TV like a cartoon character might,

but with sinister consequences. It is reminiscent of Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s “Pulse” ghosts, where spirits come

through screens to snatch the living. Possibly, during the chaos of 1982, a child was glued to the TV as their

escape, and died, their soul imprinting on the device. Now that ghost has the run of all the building’s TVs.

Metaphysical angle: The Static Child highlights the invasion of the private/domestic by the supernatural –

even something as common as watching TV becomes deadly in GOWONU. It reinforces “don’t stare at what

GOWONU shows you.” Mechanically, it prevents camping in one place watching security monitors or similar

for too long. The risk of teleportation (especially into known hazardous zones or even a pocket “Static

Realm”) adds unpredictability. It could also serve to move the story along if needed – e.g. teleporting a player

to a needed location unexpectedly. Some players might try to use it tactically: “If I stare at this, maybe it will

warp me near the exit” – a risky gamble that could become an emergent narrative. The #17 entry likely

closes the bestiary with this note of technology-meets-spirit. In writing, one might describe how a found

camcorder tape shows static morphing into a child’s face before the camera person vanished. The training

here is to incorporate how modern devices can be gateways for ghosts in this world.

Each of these entities contributes to GOWONU’s rich horror tapestry – from relentless physical threats to

psychological mind games. They often interconnect (e.g., a Red Envelope Phantom encounter might attract

a Gutterling swarm if you run blindly, or a Soul Snatcher drain might make you vulnerable to a Laughing

Man). The bestiary isn’t just a list of monsters, but a collection of living lore elements – each creature

reveals something about the nature of GOWONU, whether it’s the way it preys on fear, the remnants of its

victims, or the corrupted echoes of normalcy (janitors, children, photos) turned against the living. Together,

they make the apartment complex feel like a complete, cursed ecosystem, where every dark corner has its

demon and every encounter is a story in itself.

Sigils, Objects & Rituals in GOWONU

The cursed environment of GOWONU is not just populated by monsters – it’s also rich with arcane symbols,

haunted artifacts, and ritualistic gameplay mechanics that deepen the lore and interactive horror. These

elements serve both narrative and functional roles, often blurring the line between puzzle and story. Below

we explore the key sigils, objects, and rituals that players and characters engage with:

Occult Sigils & Door Seals: Many doors and passageways in GOWONU are barricaded not by physical locks,

but by occult sigils drawn in blood or chalk. These symbols are remnants of resident attempts to contain

the evil – or sometimes barriers set by the entity itself. To progress, players must decipher and correctly

trace these sigils with their own blood or a special chalk, effectively performing a ritual unlock . For

example, a heavy steel door might have a glowing 封 (Chinese character for “seal”) on it; only by drawing the

counter-symbol taught in a found diary will the door release with a hiss. Mis-drawing a sigil can have dire

consequences: a Sigil Guardian may manifest and attack , or the door could “curse” the player (perhaps

making their hand temporarily unusable as it goes numb with dark veins). This sigil tracing mechanic is

both a puzzle and a tense mini-game – the player often has reference notes from scattered documents (like

a torn page showing half of a symbol) and must piece them together. The process might require performing

it in a specific order or under certain conditions (e.g., “trace the sigil under candlelight while the corridor is

silent”). Narratively, each sigil often has meaning – a protection rune on a “safe room” door that kept

entities out (stepping inside one might find respite), or a binding sigil around a particularly grotesque

growth, indicating someone tried to lock it in place. The existence of these marks tells the story of the

desperate measures residents took in 1982. It also paints GOWONU as a place where language and

symbols hold power – knowledge of them is as valuable as any weapon. From a visual standpoint, hallways

are tagged with strange graffiti, occult diagrams on apartment walls, and red-painted charms around

entrances, making the scenery as unnerving as it is intriguing.

Cursed Photographs & Polaroids: Throughout the complex, players discover Polaroid photos left behind

by prior explorers and residents. These are more than mere collectibles – they are windows into GOWONU’s

soul. Many are cursed photographs, identifiable by a subtle motion or life in the image when observed

closely (like a “Living photograph”). Some depict horrifying scenes or entities that the naked eye might miss.

For instance, a Polaroid might show what looks like an empty stairwell, but upon examining (perhaps via an

AR device or magnifier), a faint figure (the Polaroid Watcher) is visible on the stairs, and as described,

looking at it might draw that entity closer to the player . The game often uses these photos as

environmental storytelling – a photo found in a bloodstained envelope might, when safely viewed, reveal

the moment of some character’s death or a hidden room’s existence (clues like a specific graffiti tag or a

pattern on the floor). Interactive mechanics: Some photos are puzzles themselves: deciphering cursed

Polaroid photos is a side quest noted in design . Players may need to find safe ways to view them –

such as in a darkroom under red light, or using an AR application on a provided in-game tablet that can

scan the photo to reveal an overlay (blending the lore of using augmented reality to detect supernatural

elements). The AR concept from the meta-lore is mirrored here: in-game, a diegetic AR device can be used

to scan certain symbols or images and produce ghostly AR projections – for example, scanning a Polaroid of

a room might overlay a ghost in that real room when looking through the device. However, these photos are

dangerous. Without the proper precautions (like the red envelope and sealing sigil), simply picking one up

triggers curses. A prime example: the Red Envelope System. Scattered in the world are sealed red

envelopes with Polaroids or documents inside, marked with protective sigils in wax. To examine the

contents, players have choices: perform a warding ritual (like burning incense or drawing a safety sigil

circle) to open safely, or risk it. If done improperly, the Red Envelope Phantom attacks . But if done

correctly, players get crucial info without harm – rewarding knowledge of rituals. Functionally, it’s a risk-

reward collectible system: dare to peek for lore at your own risk.

The AR-connected Red Envelopes: Beyond in-game usage, these red envelopes tie to the wider ARG

dimension. The prompt tells us about a pre-release AR experience where polaroids in red envelopes,

sealed with sigils, had to be scanned . In lore, we can incorporate that as follows: Sometime in the 90s or

2000s, an occult scholar packaged some of GOWONU’s most potent images in enchanted red envelopes to

contain them. These envelopes have since been strewn or hidden in the complex (or even mailed out to

unwitting recipients in the real world as the curse tries to propagate!). An AR device exists in the game

world (perhaps an experimental tool the player character carries) that can interface with these envelopes –

e.g., the device might display “WARNING: cursed content – enable SigilShield mode?” thus teaching players

about the needed ritual before opening the envelope. When scanned through the AR device, the polaroid

might display an interactive 3D scene of the moment it was taken, allowing players to inspect a frozen-in-

time recreation for clues. This ties modern technology into the game’s narrative seamlessly and makes the

player feel like a ghost investigator. However, misuse – scanning without precautions – “activates the curse”

as the docs said , which in game terms could mean the entity in the photo breaks out into your current

room (basically what the Polaroid Watcher does).

Ambient Haunted Technology: GOWONU is suffused with haunted electronics from the era – TVs, radios,

telephones, arcade machines, even PA systems. These objects serve as both storytelling devices and

sometimes puzzle elements. Examples: A television might suddenly turn on when the player enters a room,

cycling through static-laced broadcasts. One channel might show a local news report from 1982 about the

evacuation, another might display live CCTV of a different part of the complex (allowing the player to see

something useful or horrifying there). Then a channel might cut to a POV of a creature roaming – essentially

the building taunting you with where its minions are. Finally, the TV might speak directly in a mash of

voices: “We see you… come play with us… [in a child’s voice] …downstairs.” These messages are often cryptic,

possibly lies or lures. Radios similarly tune themselves: you might hear a normal music station degrade into

static, then a voice emerges: “–the basement– (shhhk) –they’re in the walls– (krrrr) –help us–”. Such bursts can

hint at objectives (“basement”) or simply scare. The trick is the player never knows if these are helpful hints

from trapped souls or tricks by GOWONU. Telephones might ring at a critical moment. If picked up,

sometimes you hear only heavy breathing or a dial tone from decades ago. Other times, it’s a full dialogue

scene: perhaps a call between a resident and her husband the day of the disaster, playing out for you like an

auditory Echo. Or worse, the phone might start speaking directly to the player: e.g., the voice of a loved one

begging you to come deeper into the building (playing on hallucinations and psychological torment). These

haunted tech encounters are often triggers for sanity effects too.

Interactive Rituals: GOWONU presents multiple opportunities where the player must perform rituals to

survive or progress. Some examples: - Cleansing Rituals: In certain contaminated rooms pulsating with

organic matter, a ritual might temporarily suppress the infestation (e.g., burning a bundle of sage or joss

paper at a small shrine table found in that room). Perform a correct sequence (maybe align some items,

light candles in order, recite a line found in a diary) and the fleshy walls retract slightly, making a path, or

ward off creatures for a time. - Appeasement Offerings: There might be altars or graffiti demands like

“Feed me their flesh, Tommy” (as an example from a user snippet of imaginative writing ). The player

could choose to sacrifice an item or even an NPC to satiate the building at certain chokepoints. This dark

moral ritual could quell activity in one area while making another worse (since the evil grows stronger with

each sacrifice, maybe). - Connecting Timelines (AR Ritual): A very meta ritual might involve doing

something in the real world (ARG style) to affect the game – for instance, the game might prompt the player

to hold a real camera up or scan a QR code – blending reality. In lore, this could be represented as doing an

“Augmented Reality ritual” where the character uses their phone (in-game) to overlay a sigil onto the

environment that only appears through the lens, then tracing it via AR. The Dragos AR Concept mentioned

scanning images via an app – that concept can appear as an in-game tool: an AR Camera that reveals

hidden sigils or spirits when you hold it up. It’s essentially using modern tech to complete old rituals (like

revealing invisible ink but via digital means). - Time-loop Rituals: Perhaps there’s a classroom chalkboard

with a ritual chalk circle drawn. If the player steps in and follows an on-site set of instructions (like reciting a

phrase or positioning dolls), they experience a flashback (Echo) or temporarily shift to 1982 timeline to

glean info or even alter something (think Silent Hill’s alternate worlds). The timeline aspect suggests there

might be AR-connected timeline puzzles: e.g., find a Polaroid from 1994 that, when viewed in the present

AR, overlays an image of the room as it was then, revealing a code scrawled that is now painted over. In

essence, rituals tie to timeline by letting players straddle times.

Sigils as Gameplay HUD: There’s even a note that GOWONU avoids normal HUD and uses diegetic cues

– one example: the sanity meter is invisible but maybe represented by a sigil tattoo or talisman the

player character wears that degrades or changes color as sanity falls. For instance, a protective amulet

inscribed with a sigil might crack as you lose sanity, providing a visual cue in-game. Or the character’s own

notebook, where they’ve drawn a sigil of mental protection, slowly gets more corrupted and messy in its

drawing as sanity wanes.

In summary, objects and rituals in GOWONU are deeply interwoven with story: - Sigils unlock physical and

metaphysical barriers and require player precision and knowledge (reinforcing the theme that

understanding the mythology is crucial to survival). - Cursed Photos and Red Envelopes encapsulate the

idea that knowledge is dangerous. They are key to uncovering the mystery (side quests to piece together

what happened ) but each piece you collect increases the haunting around you. - Haunted Tech (TVs,

radios, etc.) serves as the voice of the complex (often literally controlled by the GOWONU entity ) and as

atmospheric puzzle pieces (tuning radios to the right frequency to hear a ghost message, etc.). - Rituals

and interactive items turn the act of playing into a kind of ceremony – whether it’s drawing a sigil (literally

drawing on the screen or using controls to simulate it), lighting virtual candles in the right order, or

performing AR scans, the player is constantly engaging with the world in a tactile, deliberate way. This

increases immersion and the sense that you are performing magic or delving into forbidden acts –

heightening tension.

By codifying these elements in the world guide, we ensure that any AI-generated content keeps these

mechanisms consistent and evocative. Characters in this world would talk about “finding chalk for the door

symbols” or “don’t open red envelopes without a circle of salt” or react to a flickering TV with dread because

they know the Static Child or GOWONU’s messages might come. It grounds the supernatural rules of the

game world in a way that’s coherent and deeply atmospheric.

Aesthetic & Visual Style Guide

GOWONU’s visual and sensory aesthetic is a unique blend of 1980s retro-futurism, analog horror

grittiness, and biomechanical decay. This section codifies the look and feel in detail – vital for guiding AI-

generated descriptions and images to maintain a consistent atmosphere. The style draws on influences

from VHS-era media, photography quirks, and architectural gloom. Key components:

Photography & Film Grain: The world often appears as if seen through a camera lens of the late 20th

century. Imagine the environment with a slight film grain and noise, like high ISO 35mm film. Many

scenes are tinged with the Polaroid aesthetic – colors slightly desaturated, with a soft blur at edges and

that distinctive Polaroid photo white border sometimes creeping into UI or cutscenes for stylistic framing.

VHS textures are prevalent: expect occasional analog glitch lines, tape warping, or color bleed in the

game’s visuals to simulate found footage. For example, when a monster is near or a sanity effect hits, the

screen might momentarily flicker as if it’s a worn VHS recording, complete with the muffled hum of tape. At

times, the image might briefly go black-and-white or blown-out like an overexposed daguerreotype

photograph, especially during flashbacks or ghost encounters – lending a ghostly, antique quality

(daguerreotype textures bring a silvery, ghost-halo effect and scratches). Combining VHS and

daguerreotype yields a feeling of old-meets-new uncanny; it’s like watching a 1980s documentary of a

ghost from 1880.

Lighting & Color Palette: Low-light and high contrast define GOWONU’s spaces. Much of the complex is

in darkness save for sparking fluorescent lights or the red glow of emergency exit signs (some blinking off

and on). Volumetric lighting is used – hazy beams of light through dust and fog, especially when a door to

the outside cracks open or when using a flashlight in a smoky corridor. The color palette skews towards cold

tones: sickly greens of mold, dirty blues of fluorescent light, concrete grays. But punctuated by neon and

blood. For instance, hallways might have a faint neon sign flicker in an old shop (casting a dull pink or

electric blue glow onto puddles) – very Cinestill 800T vibe: that film is known for capturing neon lights with a

cinematic halo (the halation around points of light), which we emulate to highlight the retro urban night

feeling. Meanwhile, dark rooms might be illuminated only by the warm glow of a CRT TV (casting pale blue

flicker on everything) or the orange pinpoint of a cigarette in an ashtray (if a ghost reenactment). Fog and

particulate are everywhere – an ever-present thin mist indoors gives depth to lighting and hints at decay

(mold spores, dust). Colors of decay: deep rusty reds and browns where metal has corroded, creeping black

of rot, and the fleshy pinks/red of organic infestations. Occult graffiti and sigils often appear in stark red or

white, standing out on concrete.

Architecture & Environment Details: Inspired by brutalism and Kowloon Walled City, the architecture is

massive, monolithic concrete but also chaotically dense. Brutalist elements: blocky geometric shapes,

exposed concrete surfaces with harsh right angles, repetitive window grids (many of which are now dark or

shattered). But unlike pristine brutalism, everything is weathered: concrete surfaces are mottled with dark

water stains, cracks with weeds or tendrils poking out, rebar exposed like bones. The Kowloon-like density

means clutter: narrow alleys between apartment blocks where cables and clotheslines crisscross overhead

forming a web against the sky, so cluttered that even daylight is dim and tinted. Interiors have low ceilings,

oppressive and filled with detritus: old newspapers, overturned furniture, neon signs half-broken (“麦当劳”

McDonald’s sign in a food stall, one letter flickering). Think of Sigourney Weaver’s apartment in

Ghostbusters meets Silent Hill’s Otherworld. The complex’s layout is labyrinthine – halls that turn at odd

angles, sudden dead ends that look like a wall of flesh, staircases that lead to collapsed floors. There are

many liminal spaces: e.g., an empty, long corridor with flickering lights and no movement, which feels both

familiar (we’ve all seen an empty apartment hallway) and deeply unsettling here . Occult decorations:

aside from graffiti sigils, you’ll see peeling posters (maybe eviction notices or missing persons flyers from

’82), altars with melted candles and rotten offerings in corners, mirrors shattered or covered (some

residents knew to cover mirrors, hinting at the Mirror-Lurker).

Textures – Wet & Moldy: The complex is damp. Surfaces often gleam with moisture, especially in basement

and bathroom areas. Mold and fungus thrive – black mold in corner patterns on walls, mushroom-like

growths on ceilings. In some places, the mold is so extensive it forms a carpet like lichen. Flesh-covered

walls have a slimy sheen, often with pulsing veins or cyst-like bubbles of yellowish fluid . When

describing these, analogies to organic things help: “walls feel like clammy skin,” “columns extrude tendon-

like cables.” The combination of wet, glistening organic matter with cold concrete and metal is key to the

body horror. Even tech devices have growth: a TV might have tendrils wrapped around it, or an old

telephone with its cord covered in a thin layer of mold, receiver seemingly fused to the cradle by slime.

Cameras & Lenses (for visual generation): The perspective can be imagined through various cameras that

influence style. A Canon 5D (Mark II/III) – a high-end DSLR – would capture scenes in crisp, detailed clarity,

cinematic full-frame goodness. Use this when envisioning high resolution stills of the environment for

promotional images: it gives that modern clarity but can still capture low light with noise. In contrast, a

Voigtländer 35mm film camera (perhaps a Bessa or old Leica with Voigtländer lens) implies a more

vintage shot with vignetting and film grain; good for in-world “found photographs” or aesthetic framing.

Many “photographs” the player finds might look like they were shot on Kodak Ultramax 400 – a consumer

film stock with bold, slightly unsaturated colors and noticeable grain, which fits the everyday snapshot feel

of tenants and explorers. Another film, Cinestill 800T, as mentioned, informs the nocturnal color palette – it

renders tungsten (indoor) light in blue and captures neon reds beautifully. So night scenes inside lit by

flickering fluorescents or far-off neon have that bluish-green cast with pops of red, exactly what we want.

Combining these, an ideal mental image is: a hallway at night, lit by a failing greenish bulb, captured on

800T – the corners fall into deep blue shadows, a smear of red graffiti catches the light, the overall mood is

sickly yet oddly beautiful. Analog artifacts like lens flares (especially the halation around lights on film), light

leaks, and even frame burns may appear in visualizations – as if the reality itself is recorded on decaying

film stock. For instance, entering a particularly paranormal area might cause the “screen” to have a washed-

out corner like a light leak, or jitter like a misfed projector, integrating aesthetic into the experience.

Analog Glitch & UI: Any on-screen interface (like camera viewfinders, the AR scanning mode, or security

cam feeds) should appear analog – CRT distortion, static overlays, green monochrome monitors etc.

When AR is used, perhaps it’s represented not by sleek sci-fi HUD, but by a clunky late-90s VR vibe: grainy,

low-poly outlines overlaid, or a PDA with a small screen the character holds up. In essence, even advanced

tech in GOWONU feels a bit outdated and gritty, keeping the tone consistent.

Weirdcore & Surreal Elements: The art direction embraces “weirdcore” – uncanny imagery that’s not

overtly horrific but deeply disconcerting. Examples: a door with teeth scribbled in graffiti at the end of a

hall, which you almost take as just art – until you see something glint behind it (maybe a literal tooth

embedded in the door crack) . An underground parking lot maze of identical pillars and flickering

lights, no cars, giving that endless backrooms vibe . Perhaps an old mall mannequin with a CCTV

camera for a head, placed as an art piece by someone – now looking like a silent sentinel. These surreal

touches amplify the feeling that the normal has become wrong. David Lynch inspiration shows in moments

like a seemingly normal room with slightly off proportions or a constant low hum that shouldn’t be there,

making one uneasy without knowing why.

Audio Aesthetics: (Though not visual, worth noting for completeness of atmosphere) – expect lots of

reverb and echo in sounds (footsteps, distant screams) due to enclosed concrete spaces. Ambient audio

might include muffled 80s music (like an old radio playing a Cantopop song from 1981 in the distance,

warbling) or the warped sound of a child’s music box, as well as mechanical drones (elevators stuck, fans).

When entities are near, Geiger counter clicks or tape whine might fade in. Silence is often pregnant with a

faint tape hiss, as if the world itself is an old recording.

In framing guidelines for generative content: when describing scenes from GOWONU, the AI should evoke

these aspects heavily. Phrases like “VHS footage-style visuals,” “neon-lit fog,” “rust-stained brutalist walls,”

“grainy polaroid snapshot quality,” etc. are appropriate. If generating images (in AI or concept art terms),

prompt elements would be: post-apocalyptic Kowloon Walled City, cyberpunk horror, VHS glitch,

daguerreotype ghostly, volumetric lighting. The AR concept doc literally gave a prompt example with

many of these keywords , which aligns with what we’ve described (e.g., “cursed haunted kowloon

apartment hallway, weirdcore, VHS footage, daguerreotype, volumetric lighting” ).

Also mention camera specifics: “Shot on Canon 5D Mark III – high detail, low light; or captured on 35mm film –

with authentic grain and light bloom.” That way, any stylistic output can lean into those cues.

To tie it up: the aesthetic is grim yet strangely beautiful in decay. Scenes should feel like stepping into a

photograph that’s been left to rot in an attic – images faded, colors shifted – and now that photo’s subject is

coming alive around you. Brutalist architecture provides the oppressive stage, the mold and machinery

provide the texture, and the analog tech provides the filter through which all is experienced. A common

example: A player raises their flashlight in a dark corridor; the beam catches motes of dust (fog effect). On the

concrete wall, a spray of black mold outlines the vague shape of a screaming face (pareidolia unease). The scene

in the player’s view has slight VHS fuzz around edges, and the sound of the flashlight tube hum is noticeable. They

snap a photo with a Polaroid camera – when it develops (the game would even show it developing slowly), the

image has that bluish tint and there, faintly, behind them in the photo is a figure. The whole experience is tactile

and analog.

Such attention to aesthetic detail ensures that everything generated for GOWONU – whether text or images

– remains true to its signature style: Retro Tech x Urban Rot x Occult Horror.

Narrative Devices & Examples

GOWONU’s narrative is delivered through multiple immersive devices, mimicking found footage, diaries,

environmental storytelling, and character inner thoughts. For the AI models to generate coherent content,

it’s important to illustrate these styles with examples:

Character Monologues (Interior narration): Often, the deepest lore and emotional beats come from

characters processing the madness. These could be presented as diary entries, voice-over monologues, or

hallucinated speeches. For example:

Monologue Example: “I can hear the building breathing again. In… out… every wet inhale rattles the pipes around

me. I haven’t seen daylight in… how long? Time died here in ’82. No sun reaches these halls, only that eternal

buzzing fluorescent hum. Sometimes I talk to myself just to remember my voice. ‘My name is Aaron Cho,’ I whisper

to the moldy walls, ‘I’m still human.’ The walls don’t believe me. They ripple with each heartbeat of Mother

GOWONU, as if quietly laughing. I must keep moving – if I linger, the memories that aren’t mine start to whisper.

There’s a door ahead, marked with a red handprint… God, grant me courage to open it.”

This sort of monologue would appear as a diary entry or a voiced thought while exploring a tense area,

conveying isolation, time dilation, and the living-building aspect.

Found Footage Logs: Throughout GOWONU, players might encounter old camcorder tapes, audio

cassettes, or logs left by previous explorers. These are typically formatted with timestamps or some static

effects. They provide outsider perspectives and often foreshadow dangers.

Found Footage Log Example: (Imagine this as a transcript of a camcorder tape found in an abandoned

handycam)

[Video Log – March 14, 1994, 11:42PM, 1F Laundry Room]

[CAMERA pans unsteadily across rows of rusted washing machines. The only light

is the camcorder’s.]

VOICE (whispering): We made it to the laundry. It’s… all the machines turned on

when we came in. No power anywhere else, but here…

[The camera focuses on a washing machine; it’s running, water sloshing inside,

but the water is dark black.]

SECOND VOICE (female, trembling): Check the next room, Tom.

FIRST VOICE (Tom): Right.

[CAMERA turns toward a door marked “STAIRWELL”. A faint child’s giggle is heard

off-screen.]

FEMALE VOICE: Did you hear that… a kid?

[Camera operator opens the stairwell door; the view plunges into darkness, then

the night vision kicks in, casting everything in green. On the stairs sits a

small figure (hard to discern in static). It looks up – eyes shine. The female

voice gasps.]

CHILD VOICE (echoing, distant): Come down… play…

[Suddenly the camera glitches — heavy static and a loud buzzing. The image

warps. A frame of a grinning child’s face fills the screen for a split second.]

TOM: Run!

[The view becomes chaotic as the camera jerks and the two people run back. Loud

laughter (the Laughing Man?) overlaps with the child’s giggle. The camera falls

to the ground, tilting. For a moment, as it sputters with static, a tall shadow

can be seen lunging through the doorway.]

[Log ends abruptly here.]

This found footage snippet conveys a bunch of lore: power anomalies, presence of a child entity,

introduction of the Laughing Man perhaps, etc., and does so in a chaotic, firsthand way. The formatting

includes static and glitch to simulate the medium.

Cursed Photo Captions: When the player finds a Polaroid or photograph, it often has something scrawled

on it. These captions are usually cryptic warnings or last words. They capture a mix of sorrow, madness, or

advice from those who snapped the pic.

Cursed Photo Caption Example:

(Polaroid Image: A dim parking garage pillar with a distorted shadow)

Written on the back in shaky pen:

“They live here too.

I took this so someone would believe me.

If you see them, DON'T LAUGH.”

- J.H., 1987

Another:

Polaroid #7 - "Roof at Dusk"

(On the photo border, written in faded marker)

"Don't leave me here. I'm still on the roof."

These short notes tell micro-stories and often directly address the finder (creating an eerie breaking of the

fourth wall, as if the past victim speaks to the current player).

Ambient Audio Cues & Whispered Messages: The world itself communicates through sound. These aren't

always tied to a visible ghost; sometimes it's the complex itself or residual energy. They help guide or

unsettle the player. The model should be able to generate sensory descriptions of these audio cues.

Audio Cue Example 1: As you step into the 5th floor corridor, the static of an old PA system crackles overhead. A

distant, distorted voice announces in Cantonese: “...all residents must evacuate...” then cuts off with a screech of

feedback. The speakers pop, and you hear what sounds like a faint sobbing intertwined with the static.

This gives exposition (evacuation notice) and atmosphere (sorrow in static).

Audio Cue Example 2: In the second-floor classroom, when the player examines a desk, a sudden soft tune plays –

the unmistakable jingle of an ice cream truck echoing as if from outside, circa 1980. It slowly warps and slows

down, becoming out of key. As it fades, a whisper right by the player’s ear says, “It’s time to go back…” .

This directly uses one of the AR concept phrases “Its time to go back.”, repurposed as a ghostly whisper. It

combines nostalgia (ice cream truck song) with direct messaging.

In-Game Documents & Metadata: We might also provide example tables or data points as found in-world.

For instance, a timeline log discovered:

[Evacuation Log – Oct 19, 1982 – Security Office]

08:45 – Reports of "creature" in ventilation. Dismissed as panic.

09:15 – Power fluctuations building-wide.

09:47 – South wing barricaded by residents. Unconfirmed fatalities.

10:30 – HK police arrive, perimeter established.

... (etc)

This dry log contrasts with the emotional diaries, giving factual backbone.

Dialogues with NPC-like entities: For example, if the player meets The Trance Man or The Janitor under

special circumstances, maybe they mutter something. But most human-like NPCs are dead or ghosts.

Perhaps occasionally a surviving explorer (rare) via radio. An example of a radio dialogue:

[Radio Transmission on handheld]:

A: "...Hello? Anyone... (shhkk) ...hear me?"

B (Player): "I hear you! State your location."

A: "I'm by... I see the sign says 14F. I'm not alone. Oh god--" (LOUD METALLIC

BANG, distant laughter).

B: "Get out of there! Head down if you can!"

A: "No stairs... only up. It wants me to go up."

(Transmission dissolves into static and a sound like a child singing)

This conveys how even other survivors can fall under the building’s influence (being lured up).

Intended Gameplay Tone – Integration of Narrative & Mechanics: Finally, we mention how all these

narrative devices support the tone. GOWONU is a slow-burn dread experience . The player often moves

carefully, soaking in story from these devices, all while an invisible clock (sanity) ticks down . The

narrative pacing should make the player feel the pressure: e.g., after a long quiet exploration with diaries

and environmental story, suddenly the Laughing Man shows up to chase – now the lore you gleaned (like

where a shortcut is or a sigil for a door) becomes crucial under duress. Another tone aspect: exploration

under time pressure and sanity management. The design docs emphasize that you can’t linger

indefinitely or sanity will run out, causing hallucinations and difficulty . This is not just a mechanic

but narratively conveyed – perhaps via the character’s monologue: “I have to keep my head... these

hallucinations are getting worse the longer I stay on this floor.” Or visually, environment starts having more

ghostly Echoes the lower sanity gets, pushing the player onward. The tension is that you want to uncover

the story (which encourages slow careful play) but the game’s dread mechanics force you to make choices

about what to read and what to leave behind for later, creating a stressful dynamic.

In terms of writing style for the AI: content should emulate these examples. Keep diary entries personal and

often fragmented (people under duress). Found footage logs should read like transcripts with atmospheric

detail. Ghost dialogues are cryptic and short. Always there should be an undercurrent of urgency – even in

calm exploration, a reminder of the sanity clock (like describing your vision swimming or hearing a

heartbeat if you tarry).

Connecting it altogether in gameplay tone: The world guide will point out that these narrative devices

are not just decoration; they work with gameplay to create slow-build terror. For example, a player might hear

a faint radio hint about “the key is with the janitor” early on (ambient clue), then hours later finally

encounter the Janitor ghost in a tense moment, remembering that clue to follow him for the key. All while

juggling scarce resources and sanity – which is explicitly noted in design: “push too far and you could perish,

but go too slow and you’ll run out of time (sanity)” . The atmosphere should always be thick with dread –

that expectation that something could happen, supported by these narrative tidbits that foreshadow or

mislead. Jump scares happen (the game has fight-or-flight spikes) but the tone is maintained as somber,

creepy, and unrelenting in pressure.

So in summary, the narrative devices – monologues, logs, captions, audio cues – are the lifeblood of story

delivery in GOWONU. They ensure that even when no monsters are attacking, the player is enveloped in the

tragic, haunted narrative. For the AI, including these in generated output ensures any content remains

richly in-universe and stylistically aligned (with short, spooky snippets, emphasis on sensory detail and

emotion).

Intended Gameplay Tone & Experience:

To conclude the world guide, it’s clear how all elements support a survival horror gameplay that

emphasizes: - Slow-burn dread: The design of long stretches of exploration with only environmental

spookiness (like strange noises, minor Echoes) before big encounters. This slow pacing builds

apprehension. Players learn to fear even quiet moments (anticipation of the next scare). - Exploration

under time pressure: The sanity mechanic is the in-world reason you can’t simply sit in a corner. It’s often

described as an “invisible clock” ticking down . So while the level might not have a literal timer,

narratively the character’s trembling hands, blurring vision, and rising panic (which the AI can describe via

second-person or internal monologue) push them onward. Example narrative insertion: “You pause to read

the crumbling note by candlelight, but your hand shakes – you’ve been here too long; the edges of your sight

darken with each passing second. The apartment’s walls seem to inch closer. You need to move – now.” - Sanity

Management & Fear: As sanity drops, distortions occur (we instruct the model to occasionally describe

hallucinations or false signals when appropriate). The tone of writing can become more frantic or surreal to

mirror the character’s mind. E.g., describing a corridor normally at high sanity vs describing it at low sanity

(where it might appear blood-soaked or full of whispering voices that aren’t real). This immerses the player

in the character’s deteriorating mental state. - High-stakes encounters: When combat or chases occur

(Laughing Man chasing, Soul Snatcher freeze moments, etc.), the writing should become urgent, clipped

sentences, reflecting adrenaline. The player’s decisions (fight or flight) are informed by narrative (hints that

some creatures can’t be killed, etc). It’s noted some encounters are unwinnable head-on – the narrative

might even warn “an overwhelming dread fills you as the hulking Behemoth comes into view – this is not a foe to

fight, but to flee.” - Constant tension: Even safe rooms are not 100% comforting. They halt sanity drain

but do not restore it, and maybe you hear faint banging on the door. The design keeps players on edge –

the only true relief might be finishing a level or finding a major secret (and even that may be Pyrrhic). The

emotional tone for players should be exhausting but rewarding – the weight of oppression lifts only

occasionally, giving just enough hope (through small victories like solving a puzzle or finding a “Selfie” item

that restores a bit of sanity ) to keep going.

In the context of training the AI, we want it to generate content that aligns with these feelings. Descriptions

should seldom feel completely peaceful or comedic; there should almost always be a looming unease, a

detail that’s off. When a moment of respite comes (like a memory of sunlight on the roof from an Echo of

kids playing), it should be bittersweet and likely quickly interrupted by reality’s decay (e.g., the sound of

those kids’ laughter turning into wails).

By merging all these aspects – environment, lore, themes, entities, items, aesthetic, and narrative

techniques – the world of GOWONU is fully established as a coherent, deeply atmospheric setting. It is a

place where every wall has a story (often written in blood), and every story might save or doom you. The

output content from the AI, armed with this guide, should consistently reflect a world of urban decay

haunted by memory, where fear is both physical and psychological, and the only way out is to confront the

building on its own twisted terms.