Hey, look, I did a thing, and it didn't take a year! WOW! ...lol, I'm so sorry it's come to this. It's so sad that I have to acknowledge that. I felt inspired a bit more than usual, and decided it was time to speed up the process on this one a bit. I think this one is better than previous chapters (I should hope it is anyways), and I felt like I kind of took on a similar, but more...nuanced(?) style to the way the others were written. It's pretty subtle, I think, but let me know if you noticed a change, and if you liked it.

You're all literally the best for coming back and sticking with this despite the massive delays. In fact, you know what? That's it. I just promoted all of you. Congratulations.

I promise we will finish this story. :) Enjoy!

"RUN SCOOB!"

"Raggy!"

Behind them, the mad doctor Trager pursued with a wicked gleam in his eyes. Brandishing rusty shears, he rapidly snapped them open and shut, snipping the air and fueling the adrenaline in Shaggy and Scooby's veins.

"Somebody wins, somebody loses! I don't make the rules, I just play the game!" The doctor called.

Velma was bobbing up and down on his back, and Shaggy's lungs were burning. The doorway up ahead had been boarded shut, and the left path was absolutely covered in mold; to the right lay darkness, and the unknown.

"Cthulhu calls, boys!"

Shaggy bent down a bit lower and readjusted Velma mid-step, and hurried himself around the corner. The lights were out, but at the end of another long hallway, the stuttering light of an elevator burned hope into Trager's domain. The lighthouse shimmered, the flare had been sent. If they could outrun him, surely they could ride the elevator away. Or else.

They didn't make it.

Fred couldn't bear to look at the nurse, while she was eager to be the center of his attention. She wrapped the mostly clean bandages around his burnt arm slowly, tight enough that he was already feeling the creeping tingles of cramped circulation. Her breath was still very warm, and he realized, smelled of flesh. He tried to lean back further into the cot, to no avail.

Maybe she was a cannibal too, or maybe she was a whore and a necrophile. Maybe all that and worse. Whatever she was, she smiled at him in a way he wouldn't even want Daphne to, like he was a pet at best, and a toy at worst. She stared, going through the motions of healing and treating, but watching intently at every breath he took. It was getting harder and harder not to squirm.

When she stopped wrapping his arm, her fingers glided up his chest and turned at his shoulders. She traced his muscles beneath the bandages. Her fingers were like snakes, slithering in a wavy pattern, coiling around his biceps.

"There...that's much better isn't it?"

He swallowed hard "...Uh huh."

He refused to look her in the eyes, and resorted to counting the cracks in the stone wall of whatever dark corner she'd taken him to. So far there were thirty-nine, but the counting was just a delaying tactic, an activity to keep his mind busy. She acted nice, sure, but she was as deranged and deadly as everyone else in here. He had to remember that. He had to remember that. The moment he forgot, he was as good as dead.

"Now, let's take a look at that gash on your cheek."

It was hardly a scrape, let alone a gash, but the way her fingers pressed tenderly into it was like he pulled his cheek muscle. She licked her index finger, wetting the dried blood on it and dirtying him further, but not in her eyes. She took another mostly clean rag and wiped it all off, and stuck on a bandaid.

"There, much better."

"Uh huh."

"Why don't you look at me?" She said the words as a question, but forced his gaze into her eyes. Her grip was stronger than he expected, but her eyes were as seedy and cunning. They told stories of treachery and lust. Her right eye was blue, the left was too, for the most part, but it looked like someone spilled a bit of green in the top of the iris. The mixed eye's pupil was much smaller than the other. The longer he gazed into them, the harder it became to keep his mind on track.

Fred swallowed the lump in his mouth, "I, err…"

"Fred Jones, do I sicken you?"

Fred stared at her then, whispering, "How do you know my name?"

"I'm your biggest fan."

Something deep inside him lurched, and only with sheer willpower did he keep himself from shuddering or wretching. The walls were closing in, he was sure of it. Everything was heating up.

"Fan?"

"You were on the Coolsville High football team, the backup quarterback Won the biggest game of the year when Red Herry sprained his ankle in the third quarter."

That was true. How could she know that? How could she know of a place so far away as Coolsville? It couldn't be that she was from his hometown...could it!?

"W-What else do you know?" He asked, forcing as calm a face as he could.

"I know your address is 31 W. Bradford Road. I know you like to drink a protein shake when you wake up, and that you've been volunteering at the community center."

He swallowed again, but there was nothing left to swallow. He did not see her get closer so much as he felt her creep onto him. Her breath was steamy and virile. Her slender, spidery fingers were tracing his cheek again, just as tender over the bandaid as before. The world was shrinking, and he was paralyzed.

"I know you wash your van at the lot on Earl Street and get ice cream after. A single scoop in a chocolate cone with pink sprinkles. I know your mother emails you twice a month. And I know the day before you came here you visited the mall to look at jewelry FOR THAT SKANK!"

She slapped him. He saw blood leak onto the bandages of his arm and felt it run down his nose. She looked down on him. Both her pupils were smaller than ever. The high she was on began to fade and the hand that struck him went to her mouth. Her eyes watered, and she half turned from him.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry sorry sorry sorry…."

Fred looked away again, lifting his good (but shaky) hand to his nose. The blood seemed tainted from the source of the wound. This time he couldn't help but shiver and closed his eyes. He felt something snap.

His instincts kicked in, it was time to leave. Now.

He kicked the sheet off of himself and and stood, taking the abnormal weight of gravity onto himself and stepping away. She grabbed his good hand, and yanked him back on the bed. He fought to stay upright, and lost.

Without warning she kissed him, and after the shock of it all, Fred managed to shove her away, and heaved uncontrollably. The bitter taste of iron was on her tongue, and her breath smelled like a corpse. She smiled and growled like a cat, pouncing back onto him and tearing at his shirt.

He lifted his knee and hit her between the legs, and shoved her into the wall, taking off into a slippery sprint. He made it as far as the door, but the padlock was inches thick, and the door frame too sturdy to knock down. He tried anyways, kicking and shoving and fighting, but the nurse came for him, and he was cornered.

"You're not leaving yet, Fred Jones," She told him, waving the scalpel in one hand in front of his face, and bearing a glistening orange syringe in the other.

Daphne had been struggling against the door for hours, at least it felt like hours. The small office that once belonged to Dr. Irma Giovanni had been scoured through, files all over the floor. From the light of the blank computer screen, Daphne found another of the manilla folders, with commentary from Velma's friend.

Reports of false pregnancies among the female patients are soaring. We need to flush out the system and try again. We've had to bury eleven mythical babies in the last two weeks. One member of staff (Jacqueline Barnes) has also suffered from a phantom pregnancy, and, unlike most others, is displaying telltale signs of gestation (morning sickness, loss of period, etc). She has been confined in a private cell for the past month. Studies as to why and how she was affected by the morphogenic engine have come up with bupkis so far. All female staff members are advised to take emergency precautions. It's a hurdle I hate to jump through, but whaddya do?

The commentary from Waylon was written messily on the side

Avoid at all costs was wedged into the left margin, and to the right, Irma Giovanni was found dead in her home two days after this was recorded. Police reports told of a terrible accident, she slipped and busted open her head. I got a buddy who took a deeper look, and he says that story is bullshit. This woman was murdered.

Daphne had examined more notes, records, and files, banged on every wall, tried the door for the hundredth time, but it was all useless. She was stuck in a cage without a key, and the clock was ticking. It was only a matter of time until the Nurse came back for her. The moment she did would be a sink or swim situation, and possibly her last chance.

She slumped against the wall, doubting herself. The disapproving stares of her parents, the mean looks from her sisters, the rejection of the very house she'd grown up was flooding back for the first time in years. Her only lifesaver in the torrent was a voice that came from inside her. She chose to take it at face value.

For Freddie's sake.

Doctor Trager got a hold of Scooby's tail, yanked the great dane off his feet, and pulled him in for the kill.

"You first!"

Shaggy turned back and let Velma fall to the ground. For the first time in his life, he threw a punch. It hurt, but he was pleased to see it hurt the doctor more. The cord of the surgical mask snapped and it floated to the floor, revealing rotten and red stained teeth.

Scooby kicked the Doctor in the gut and scrambled out of reach while Shaggy grabbed Velma again and followed close behind. The Doctor hollered and threw the sheers at the fleeing victims. The handles caught the back of Shaggy's head, but he stumbled along. Trager pursued with renewed vitality, pulling from his brown apron a handheld surgical drill. The whirr of the small motor filled the hallway and flooded their ears as he gained on them. The elevator was so close. Within seconds they would reach it.

Trager threw himself forward and tackled Shaggy to the ground, rolling and wrestling with him, Velma once more falling down forgotten. Scooby skidded to a halt and ran back for his friends. Trager forced the spinning drill closer and closer to Shaggy's forehead as the teen fought to keep himself alive.

"Can you feel it!? Can you smell the rotten air yet? The ghost songs of the great red sea are ringing in my ears!" Trager let one hand off the drill and snapped Shaggy's index finger out of place; Shaggy grimaced and screamed. He was giving in, not by choice but by lack of strength.

Scooby Doo bared his pointed teeth and leapt onto Trager, drawing blood from the mad doctor's shoulder, forcing him to drop the drill. Trager howled and grabbed Scooby's cheek with his other hand, ripping the dog off of him and diving for his tool.

Shaggy snapped his finger back in place and grabbed Velma, "Come on Scoob!"

The trio made it to the elevator, and Shaggy slammed on the controls. Up, down, it didn't matter so long as it was away from here. Scooby tried to force the birdcage door shut, and the elevator lurched in place and slowly levitated upwards. Trager jumped and forced his arm through the door, and pushed it open, the drill shouting and bouncing its horrible sound in the confined space.

Scooby bit at the maniac's leg, and Shaggy wrestled him above the waist, and together the forced him half out the lift. It was enough. Trager gasped as his left foot fell out and he held onto the interior for dear life. His shock became horror as his shoulder stopped against the frame of the doorway.

His agonizing screams were the most horrible thing yet, as his body bent and snapped between the elevator and the ceiling. If he was still alive, he had no way to show it. His head hung down and his still body crunched between the two hard places, broken like a mouse caught in a was enough room to climb up into the next floor, and leave him behind.

This hallway wasn't much better to the one they'd just left behind, except for the fact that the monster definitely could not follow them here. Not too far ahead Shaggy, Scooby, and the still unconscious Velma turned into a storage room, and closed the door behind them.

Mercifully, they had found refuge, and better yet, it must have been some kind of kitchen storehouse, because most of the items stock in boxes or on the many shelves were culinary.

The result was the best worst meal of their lives. The food wasn't a masterpiece in any sense, but it was far from slop, contrary to what one might expect in a run down asylum taken over by monsters. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that the kitchen staff hadn't taken a crack at it yet. Regardless of the reason, they enjoyed the canned fruit, juice boxes, and the commissary goods ranging from chip bags to soup cups. They ate their fill and filled their pockets with as much as could be carried out. The warm sensation of comfort was foreign at first, but quickly welcomed back.

Mount Massive still loomed all around them, ghastly and all encompassing, but for the first time since they drove up the winding, mist filled roads, Shaggy felt a sense of hope. It wasn't going to be easy, but escape was possible. The mad doctor had been evaded, and found his own demise. Reclined against the wall and breathing easy for the first time since they entered, it all seemed to be working out okay. Except for the fact that Fred and Daphne were still nowhere to be found. And that Velma was inexplicably helpless. And showed no signs of waking anytime soon.

The lanky man frowned. Suddenly the sense of hope was blocked off by a dark cloud. Beside them Velma stared blankly into the floor. Her breath was shallow and her skin was cold. They had tried to get her to eat, but all they managed was to pour a bit of juice down her throat. She was still living in her own world.

Shaggy felt a growing hole in his stomach, but not from lack of food. Velma was...well, she was a liability now. He appreciated her and all that she meant to Mystery Inc. He was grateful that he'd been able to save her, and wanted to carry her out those front doors, but the realization that it might be necessary to leave her behind had hit him hard. If it came down to saving himself and the others, or leaving her behind, what would he do?

Scooby had been in mortal danger, and Shaggy didn't hesitate to save him. That was good, that was brave and heroic and Shaggy was darn proud of himself for making that choice without question. But this was different...wasn't it? Velma was a good friend too, but Scooby fought back too. He carried his own weight, wasn't a liability. Not like Velma.

His dog laid down next to him, shivering from time to time, musing things over in his own mind, Shaggy supposed. He dared not voice this concern to his companion. Both were loyal, and both of them had chosen to follow their friends into a literal hell, but Scooby was a dog. It was his nature to be loyal, rooted in his DNA. He wouldn't be having the same apprehensions Shaggy was. He might even think less of his owner for suggesting such a conundrum, especially after they fought off Trager together.

But the burning sensation in that hole was growing. What if it happened that Velma never woke up? Would she want to live like a vegetable for the rest of her life? Maybe it was, in a twisted, bizarre way, a mercy to leave her hidden here. Maybe even stop her from breathing now so the suffering could-

Shaggy smacked himself across the cheek.

"Rhat's rong?" Scooby asked.

Shaggy shook his head and slapped his other cheek, "Nothing, I just wasn't thinking straight."

He wiped the only tear he was willing to shed for himself and shook his head again, scratching half heartedly behind Scooby's ear, "So like, you have any idea where Fred and Daph are?"

"Rope," Scooby shook his head.

"Me neither. Phew, boy…"

The worst case scenario, as loathsome as it was, was the deaths of his friends. It was unsavory, but very possible. Between the mad doctor, the sociopathic twins, the hulking beast who threw him out a window, that creepy priest, and any number of other loonies, it could be that Mystery Inc was now a trio instead of a team of five.

Shaking off the worst case scenario, and the desire to run for the exit as quickly as he could, Shaggy thought about the asylum the way Fred would. After a minute of puzzling (thinking like Fred was harder than it sounded) he thought he knew where they might go.

Getting there was going to be a trick, but if Fred and Daph were okay, then the first place they'd go would be the radio room. Shaggy saw the giant antenna before crawling through the gate, they must be somewhere nearby. In any case, much as he wanted to, Shaggy knew staying here wasn't really an option. Hiding too long had a tendency to get yourself discovered, and that was a death sentence around here.

"Well, come on, I think I know where we might find them," Shaggy announced, scooping up Velma and putting her onto his back, "Check the door."

"Rokay," Scooby reported after looking both ways.

"Let's go," Shaggy led into the hallway.

He was just guessing at where the tower was, but when a big red arrow painted in blood pointed the same direction he was already headed, it did not inspire his confidence.

The sea of blood was revolting in a way Velma could never imagine.

Every action felt slow and foreign, like she was examining herself through an organic camera, a slippery lense. The red waters all around her burned, not quite physically, but….in her soul.

She was not alone here, other beings, most of them malformed to lurk in this abyss, floated and swam around her with curious eyes, flexing claws, and squirming tentacles. The darkness was to them as sunlight was to her. They spoke without using tongues or making sounds, they spoke to her mind, and she was horribly dismayed to find that she understood them perfectly.

Some of them were titanic, throwing her into a shadow that stretched all across the sea floor, and some of them were tiny, microcosmic beings that floated beside her eyes, into her ears, inside her skin. They made her itch, everywhere, all at once, and scratching was so futile, she had given up within minutes.

Below her weightless, frail body a trench marred with the remains of a lost city revealed itself. Atlantis came to her mind, but she'd always pictured that as a sort of fallen utopia, whereas the sight before her felt more like a dark empire that had regressed in the face of extinction. The trail she had been following led below into the darkest of the darkness, and all the creatures around her, big and small, said the same thing.

Down. Down. Down. Down. Down.

She obeyed. Soon enough it was only darkness, and the whispers. Velma was not sure how long it took to reach the bottom, but the entire way down she felt less and less like herself, and more like an inconsequential memory, absorbed into the terrifying ecosystem that lived in the blood ocean. Slowly, it was becoming natural. Slowly, she was beginning to doubt all she had known. Every fact and truth she prided herself on knowing, all her intelligence she once spouted, she began to consider as the ramblings of a child. The whispers were all she was sure of.

Your existence was a mistake. Your light has come into the great dark. Now, you will see it, your ruin come to pass.

Death is the end of all things. Embrace it.

Our patron god is the Gifter, and his creeds are to be spread.

Hope is the way of denial. It is a lie suckled on by the unworthy. It shall wither and die with them.

His coming was foretold in ancient days. Long he slumbers under the tides. Soon he will return.

The House of the Damned shall be our new prophecy.

The names of all our tribute were written. The names of all our enemies were branded into the book. The echoes of our conquests live in your nightmares.

You have failed the ones you love. Yes, you see now. Bow before the unflinching universe.

The Great Old Ones call your soul! The scales will be brought to balance!

What human sensation she still had intact went wild, and Velma was overloaded by many emotions, mostly terror.

Farther below, farther than she could fathom, and yet frighteningly close, something massive stirred. The ocean shook, the waves crashed and raised thousands of feet into the air. The seal was crumbling. The whispers ceased, and the world went silent. The night sky above her lit up in fire, and the ocean of blood boiled. She was destroyed in an instant.