Surrounded.

Again.

There was no surprise, no panic at this point. Just the fight.

Sebastian slung his shotgun off his back and fired at the two creatures closest to him. The single shot sent shrapnel into both of their chests and necks, knocking them back but not killing them. Five shells left.

He heard a hiss behind him and swung around hard, the butt of the shotgun slamming to the Haunted's jaw, severely unhinging it and sending the creature stumbling away from him. He pumped the shotgun and fired, blowing the head off the stunned one just as another wobbled forward and slashed at him savagely with a knife. The blade ripped open his shirt and cut into his upper arm, but it didn't slow him down. He ducked a second swing and swept a kick into the side of the Haunted's knee, knocking her over.

Dodge, kick, fire, reload. It was a routine Sebastian knew well. He thought he'd killed all of them—some eight or so—when a gun exploded from behind him and pain lacerated his leg, sending him down on one knee. He pulled out his pistol and turned, firing toward the masked Haunted behind him. The shot missed and the creature fired again. Sebastian tried to move, but his range was limited and part of the explosion from the sawed-off shotgun sent needles of pain into his side.

Then blood burst from the side of the Haunted's neck, where now the grip of a knife protruded. Sebastian kept his pistol in one hand as he fumbled for the syringe in his pocket with the other. A hand drew the knife away—Seb did his best to move away so the body wouldn't fall on him—and the killer was revealed.

No.

The syringe dropped out of his hand and hit the floor with a small clink.

"You looked like you needed some help," she said nonchalantly. A streak of blood marked her cheek.

Sebastian struggled to his feet and leveled the gun at her head. "What the fuck are you?"

"Well that's no way to talk to someone who just saved your life," she said with a defiant eyebrow. "Look, I know it's hard to believe, but you're not the only sane human left in here, so relax. What's your name?"

Sebastian kept his gun up, but not directly aimed at her, and pressed his other hand against the wound in his side. "What's…my name?" he choked. His expression dove into a scowl. "What's yours?"

She gave the barrel of the pistol a skeptical glance and said, "Myra. Myra Castellanos. You—"

"No," Sebastian growled, pointing the revolver at her forehead. He started to move forward, his pain forgotten despite the blood seeping through his fingers, and backed her up toward the wall. "Don't use that name."

She glowered at him, backing away from his advance but not appearing threatened otherwise. "I think I know my own name, you lunatic. What's wrong with you?"

"You're not her." She could go no farther and the barrel of the pistol lightly pressed against her head. "Tell me what you are, get out of here, or I shoot."

"I'm just like you," she snapped, "maybe minus the crazy. I've been stuck here for—I don't know how long. Days, maybe. A week. My name is Myra Castellanos. I work for Krimson City Police Department—or I did before everything when to shit and I ended up here. I don't remember what happened between there."

He could see the truth in her steely gray eyes and the way she looked at him with measured confidence, even at the wrong end of a gun. It was either a particularly stunning illusion or….

He stepped away, slowly lowering the weapon, then turned with a grunt back toward the syringe he'd dropped.

She looked young. Not as young as when they first met, or when they had Lily. But he was sure she seemed younger than she should be now, maybe slightly younger than when she'd left.

But maybe…maybe he just didn't remember. It had been so long….

He shook his head and limped back to the syringe, picking it up and pressing the needle into his arm.

"Do I know you?" Myra asked cautiously.

He turned halfway to her, but didn't look at her. "Do you recognize me?"

"No." The answer was immediate, but not rushed like a lie. "But you said I'm not her. Do you know me?"

He hesitated, then turned away again. It was easier to talk to her when he wasn't looking at her. "No," he replied coldly. "I don't."

He sensed another raised eyebrow from her, but she seemed to know she wasn't about to get through his defenses.

"So are you going to tell me who you are?" she asked.

The serum in the syringe worked unreasonably fast. The pain in his side was almost gone and his leg was good enough to put weight on.

"Sebastian Ca—" He stopped himself. "Just call me Sebastian. I was a detective for…another city," he said vaguely.

"How long have you been here? I'm going to wager a lot longer than I have."

He pulled the dead Haunted's shotgun ammunition from him and pulled his own gun off his back to reload it. "I don't know how long it's been. I lost track."

"I think we should stick together, Sebastian. You're the first person I've found here and I think we'll have a better chance of getting out if we stay together."

He looked at her briefly, then brushed past her to get to the doorway. "No."

"What? Why?"

She was following him.

"You're not even real," he said, refusing to look at her. "You're just a figment of this fucked-up world."

"I think that's my call, not yours."

He shook his head and kept walking.

"Detective," she said firmly, in that Myra voice that he knew meant he had to turn back and look at her. Still, he fixed her with a hesitant frown. "Neither of us have any clue how long we might be here, and there's a chance one of us might end up dead if we don't stay together." She gestured back the way they'd come to indicate the Haunted she'd killed for him.

He glanced between her eyes for a moment, trying to repress the flood of memories that came back to him now that he was looking at her and she seemed so…real. So present.

He wished he had alcohol.

"Fine," he said flatly. And he kept walking. What harm could it do if she wasn't real, anyway?

He heard her take a deep breath and let it out slowly enough it couldn't quite be a sigh. It meant she was annoyed and trying not to show it.

"What is this place?" she asked. "Do you know?"

"The remnants of a madman's mind," he said, with a glance at their surroundings. The building was mostly concrete, stained with grime and blood and mildew. Though it didn't appear to be a hospital, the occasional wheelchair could be found in the corner of a room. Other times, it was a bathtub full of intestines.

"Someone who's seen some shit," she commented. "Why are we here?"

"I don't know. At this point? I don't care. I just need a way out."

"Any idea how to find that?"

He paused. "No."