Welcome one and all to the penultimate chapter! I started this one years ago on a whim, and I gotta say I'm glad I did. Now that it's almost over and I've come this far it seems like a big accomplishment, though it took me so long I don't think it can really make up for the frustration I can only hope it caused to be left hanging for so long. (Sorry about that...hehehe) Regardless, here we are, I hope you enjoy without a doubt the longest chapter yet, and stay tuned, the final piece will fall into place Soonᵀᴹ.

Stay safe, stay home if you can, and wash those hands! Hold onto the good things in life. I love all you guys for bearing with me and coming back to be entertained, I hope this latest effort does not fall on it's face, and provides a way to kill time. Enjoy!

Shaggy jumped into the secret hole in the wall and crawled further in as the way shut once more, and he breathed deep and heavily, his heart bouncing around like a jumping bean bathed in caffeine.

"Zoinks! Is it gone!? That thing that tore him apart?"

An old, bald man in an electric wheelchair rolled towards him and nodded. His face was more wrinkles than skin, his eyes were green, but sapped of color, likely from his age. His hands and legs seemed curled up and of little use to him. He spoke with a German accent, and from a throat that had not received regular use in some time.

"It is. You have stumbled upon a curious and dangerous secret, Mr. Rogers."

"Man, like have we met?"

"I have spent an unfairly long life researching the occult and the supernatural. I have known of you and your friends for some time now. I had anticipated the possibility of your arrival, but I must admit...I did not think you would ever come here."

Shaggy began to take in the secret room. It was small, and consisted mainly of a computer terminal with four screens and was lacking a chair, as well as a bookshelf holding many works, most in German, and a table with several pill bottles and syringes. The smell of isolation was thick in the air.

"I am glad you're here though," the German went on, "I had expected my little private chamber would become my tomb. The Walrider is angry with me. He will never let me go. Neither of us, for that matter. You have to stop him."

Shaggy shook his head and almost laughed for the irony, "How am I gonna stop that thing? I can't exactly pull off a mask and call the police to take him away."

"I will tell you how to kill it, and with my computer I can direct you where you need to be."

Shaggy nibbled on his lower lip. It was just one thing after another tonight, "How?"

"If we kill the host, we kill the Walrider's connection to our world. The nanobots it inhabits were specifically designed to host its essence, and cannot be destroyed by normal means. If Billy Hope were to die they would not have the power to act anymore. It's not just the nanobots that makeup the Walrider. There's a human element too, the human being who has seen and experienced much horror. Only such a mind can be used to keep the Walrider tethered to this world, and can be used to enact its dark deeds through the nano swarm."

This was all too much, and it came too fast. Shaggy cradled his head in his hands, "Are you saying this whole mess was caused by some robots and a mental patient wired into a machine."

"In the short hand, you could say that. Here," The old man directed his motor wheelchair to his computer station and reached a decrepit hand forward to press a few buttons.

The image of a dark room came into view, and a mountain of computers and machinery loomed over a small glass dome, filled with clear liquid, and a man floating inside. He seemed at peace, although his mouth, nose, back, and arms were all being used as ports, with long spindly wires and cords hooking him into the dark tower.

"That is Billy Hope."

"That crazy priest talked about him a lot."

"Yes. Father Martin was close to Billy. I think the Walrider knew we would choose him. And the Walrider somehow got to Martin a long time before we were ready to bring it into the world."

"We?" Shaggy took a step away, "What's with the 'we' talk dude?"

The old man sighed and looked at Shaggy with years of regret, "I am Doctor Rudolf Wernicke. I was called to head this project by Murkoff based on my research for the Nazis in the 1930s and 40s. I knew they were dabbling in...unspeakable power, and I knew they would pursue this goal with or without me. I thought I could keep the worst of it in check by shaping their touch, instructing them. I was wrong. I have made many mistakes, and I am begging you, please, help me erase the last one. Help me stop the Walrider by killing Billy Hope."

Shaggy looked at the screen again, at the floating man who was both responsible for and somehow the farthest thing from all the chaos and horror that had befallen Mount Massive. Shaggy had never hurt more than a fly in his life. Would he kill a man in cold blood to stop this terror? He already decided he would leave his friends behind to spread the truth, and that was a hard reached decision. Would he let himself become a murderer to stop a murderer?

"It will be quick. Painless, perhaps," Wernicke said, as if reading Shaggy's mind.

"Let's say I will help you, how do you expect me to kill it? You saw what it's done, you should know better than anyone. How am I gonna get past it?"

"Strangely enough...it seems to like you. Pity you, even. Since you've come here, has the Walrider ever directly gone after you? And did it not just keep you safe by destroying the one who had been hunting you tonight?"

Shaggy paused, "Well…"

"I assure you, if you had done as Father Martin wished, if you had brought more bodies here for it to devour, you would have spelled doom to this world. The rift between the natural and supernatural is thin here. Strange things have happened since recorded history came to these parts. Mountain men killed and skinned. Settlements along the mountain burned down overnight. Strange symbols etched into trees and rocks. Pets and little children have gone missing, never to be found. Now this. The more who perish here, the more the terrors here spill into our world. The Walrider will rip it open from here to Las Vegas if it reaps many more human souls. You must kill it. Failure spells doom for the rest of the world."

That news brought Shaggy weak knees again, "Why me? Like...why is it me?"

"This is not an enviable position, but it is a job that must be done."

A rotting feeling gushed up from his belly, and Shaggy held in vomit. He was this close to making it out, now he was betting the fate of the world on his game of cat and mouse with a man killing evil spirit controlling robots. God it was such a stupid problem to have, such a dumb situation to be in. He hated that it was all unfortunately true.

Beware the Groom was written in blood on the wall of the room the trio walked in on, but none of them yet realized how important or applicable a warning this was.

The women's wing had been kept in much better shape than the men's and the primary facilities. Things were still beaten down, chaos had still erupted, and bodies still littered the hiding places and the floors, but all said and done it had not been hit so hard by the disaster. Some of the bodies they found were even positioned as though death had hit them fast, like they didn't have the time or chance to become affected by the pandemonium. Scenes of life that looked as though they were things which might have been: women lounging in bed, playing cards at a table, sitting together in front of a television set, all of them complacent on all fronts except for the fact they were dead.

The voices in her head were quiet for a change, and that disturbed Velma for some reason. It was distracting, like an itch that demanded to be scratched. God knows she didn't want to keep hearing them, but now that they had been quiet, at least here, in this eerie, isolated place, it felt wrong. Something sticking out of the ash filled fireplace grabbed her attention and served as a distraction to the itch.

Someone had tried to burn some documents. One slip of paper was still half readable:

Patient File: Edward "Eddie" Gluskin
Residing Doctor: Abraham Nyer (taking over for Dr. Leslie Shay)

Misogynist. Transmisogynist. Serial killer. Sexual abuser and abusee. Eddie Gluskin's past is not kind. When God dealt our playing hands He made a point of throwing Eddie some stinkers. His father and uncle both raped him many times, and I feel this is the root of his misdeeds, not the least of which was attacking Dr. Shay. He is prone to extreme violence but

"What's that?" Fred asked from over her shoulder.

"A patient file, but most of it was burned up. Oh well, let's keep moving."

The slip of paper fell between her fingers and floated into a pile of gray waste, and that brought the voices back, if only for a moment.

A token of our Master. A drop of prophecy in a world of lies. You will meet him soon.

Shaggy had been leaning against the wall, his head back and eyes closed, thinking. Yesterday his life was pretty good. Now the fate of the world was resting on his shoulders, and fate was heavy. Dr. Wernicke had asked him to take down a book from the shelf, some essay collection from Miskatonic University. He had been thumbing through it the past ten minutes while Shaggy contemplated his path.

"Okay. Fine. I'll do it," he relented finally.

Wernicke folded the book shut and nodded, "It is a simple task. You need only to unlock the central control bay, and power down the life support systems."

"And where's the control bay?"

"Back the way you came, just before you reach the main lobby, take a turn in the other direction, and take a flight of stairs down to the lower floor, to security. Unlock the bay, then go back up to the level above us. You will see Billy Hope from there, but the only way to neutralize him is to get to the terminal at the very end of the office, the one elevated on a small platform."

"Kind of a long way, don't you think?"

"Yes, a bit of a journey. You should be safe, at least until you unlock the bay. If the Walrider knows you plan to stop it, it may turn hostile. I advise you to wait until you are able to sprint."

"Great. Give me a few more minutes...say you don't have a last meal on you, do you? I'd take just about anything at this point."

"Only supplements."

Shaggy sighed, "Yeah. That figures."

What a time to grow a sense of bravery.

Most of the sewing machines in the next work room had been toppled or were completely missing, making it seem large and empty. A light had been left shining in the corner, coming out of the supply closet. Velma and Fred went on towards it as Scooby sniffed the air then froze, whining.

"What's up?" Fred asked.

Scooby shook his head and buried his head face under his paws, his tail curled up around his body. From the closet Velma gasped and turned away. Her hands shook with tentative tremors halfway to her face, but she keeled over and let the vomit out, falling down and heaving afterwards. Fred stood with a choice, and despite his rampant curiosity, he decided it was better to not see this thing. Too much more horror, and he would be lost for good. As it was he was lost now, the Fred Jones of yesterday dead and buried, but there was, perhaps, some slim chance of resurrection. It worked for Jesus Christ, so there was some precident at least. But if he allowed the terror to break him beyond the point of no return then that Fred Jones of yesterday was never coming back, and he wanted to be that Fred Jones again.

Velma looked like she was seeing ghosts, and Scooby couldn't tear his paws away from his eyes. At this rate they would be trapped here forever. Some of the only lingering remains of Fred Jones were sparked to life by his desire to live. There was no time to give in to scare tactics. That was how the Asylum won. It bet on your inability to overcome fear and it got you while you were down. No more. He grabbed Velma by the arms and lifted her up, shaking her for effect until the ghosts behind her glasses dissipated, and she saw him again.

"Come on! Snap to it! We have to keep going!"

"I-I'm sorry, I just…"

"Don't think about it. Move on. We'll die here if we stay. Scooby!"

The dog shuddered at the sound of his own name, and whined again. Fred yanked him to his feet by the collar, "Come on! We need to find Shaggy and get out of here!"

The mention of his owner brought some stability to Scooby Doo, and both he and Velma were now looking at Fred with some control over themselves. This would be the hardest expedition of their lives, the toughest challenge to his leadership he'd ever faced, and Fred Jones welcomed it.

"Let's go. Follow me."

He strode out the door and led them through more of the women's wing. It seemed darker now, the mannequin posing from before was largely lost here. Whatever evil Scooby and Velma had come across almost seemed to be tracking them, following them down every hall and through every nook and cranny they maneuvered through. They just couldn't seem to get downwards.

Finally, he led them into another hallway, the left path blocked by the usual self made barricades of bookshelves and stretchers. But the right path held two doors to two separate stairways. Fred tried the left door first, and found it locked. Velma tugged on the right, and likewise it did not move.

"Bastards!"

All of them jumped as a naked man with an iron pipe ran at them. He was lanky and clean shaven everywhere, but his face was burned and scarred, especially around the eyes, which seemed twenty years older than the rest of him. And for some reason he was mad as hell. Why not?

"Git 'em!" He shouted in a different tone and dialect.

"Bash their heads in and throw 'em to the Groom!" a third distinct voice from the naked man cried.

"Scatter!" Fred called as the pipe came whooshing beside his head.

Scooby and Velma ran past the naked man on either side, and back the route they'd come. Fred danced around the pipe for a few swings then grabbed it before the naked patient could swing it again. Fred wanted to yank it free, but his arms weren't up to the task, and he was forced against the wall, the pipe bearing into his chest, driving the breath from his lungs. The naked man's teeth were yellow, a few were missing, his breath reeked of feces.

Fred lifted his leg and connected with the man's exposed scrotum, and he backed away and dropped the pipe to cradle his jewels. Fred took off after the others while the patient nursed himself.

"My pecker! You cock sucking sonuvabitch! I'll-" One of the voices howled before a different one took root in his mouth.

"The bastard's getting away! Catch 'im!"

Just like that the kick seemed forgotten, and the pipe was back in his hand, and he sprinted with renewed speed. Fred had just gotten into one of the workrooms when he heard the familiar whoosh of the pipe swinging behind his head. How many times did he have to hurt this one before he relented? How many times could Fred still square up and come out the victor? The burns from the oven ached, the tending to by Nurse Jackie reverberated in him. Every wound the Asylum inflicted stung all at once and he nearly fell over. More. It just kept sending more.

He tripped through the next doorway and landed on his hands and knees, scattering along the splintery wooden floor as the naked man with three voices rushed in for the kill. The pipe came down and put a hole in the floor inches from Fred's skull. The naked patient smiled his broken smile and readied the pipe again.

"Ha ha! That's the way Dennis! This'll put hair on your pecker!"

"Now! Do it now! Kill 'im!"

The pipe went up and Dennis's head came off. A fire axe cleaved it from his shoulders and sprayed blood all over Fred. Fear and pain had not entirely transcribed onto Dennis's face before he died, and as a result he looked more confused and disappointed than anything else. His body fell backwards, and the pipe rolled away into the shadows. Fred wiped the blood away from his eyes and found an outstretched arm in a tuxedo undershirt waiting for him.

"Hello darling," A deep and refined voice spoke from the shadows above the arm.

Fred knew it was danger. He'd made too many traps not to recognize one, he'd just been saved from being a mushy faced corpse, but what was this offer going to do to him? He followed the arm up to a black vested chest, but the man's face and identity remained shrouded in darkness.

"Did I startle you? I'm very sorry. I certainly didn't mean to. Come, take my hand. Let me help you."

Fred told himself to stop. He told himself it wasn't a good idea, but he found his hand moving towards the offered one all the same. Lightning flashed outside and through the window on the far side of the room, his savior's face was illuminated for a brief instant.

The left side didn't seem so bad, except for his eye, which was half red with blood. The right side was blistered and burned, skin was hanging in groves, and his lip was split open. The right eye wasn't white at all, just a green orb floating in a tiny red sea. His hair was speckled with blood and shaved down on the sides. A smile flashed and he revealed clean teeth, which only put the rest of his image in a more horrifying context.

"You're a very pretty woman, you know. I'm Eddie. Eddie Gluskin. Nice to meet you."

Fred caught his hand just before it made contact with Gluskin's, but he couldn't move away fast enough. At the first sign of shrinking back, Gluskin bent low and slammed the side of the axe against Fred's face, and everything began to darken.

The last thing he heard was Gluskin's dour voice, "I'm sorry I had to do that. But I will make you love me."

Oh good, Fred thought with some sure measure of hysteria as he slipped into the blackness, another one. Fuck me.

The itching was too much. Velma hated to hear the voices, but in his desolate, frightful place she longed for something to occupy her time. Earlier she had calmed herself by reciting things she knew to be true, but lately she wasn't sure if anything she called true was the truth. The voices were beginning to unravel her, and the worst part was she wanted more of it, if only to stop the unreachable itching created by fear and silence in this moment.

The sounds of struggle and chase had stopped, and she and Scooby had hidden under one of the sewing machine tables, but now she was wishing they were on the move. Even the sound of footsteps on wood was enough for her, but she couldn't stand the quiet.

"Do you hear Fred? Or anyone?" She asked, mostly for the sake of noise.

Scooby held up his ears, then shook his head, "Rope."

"Okay, let's go look for Fred."

Every time they found someone from the gang someone else seemed to get lost. The forces here were toying with them, making them fools. The stray thought of just going with Scooby, leaving the others behind struck her, but she let it go quickly. They were in it together. If they were to die, let it be together.

The women's wing seemed darker than ever before, colder too, but the sounds of movement relieved the itch. The voices were not far though. They never really were.

Yes. Deeper in. Your path leads to the drowned City. Your footsteps echo in the chamber of the Great Old One.

Somewhere a pipe was leaking. The drips plopped into a puddle, and the sound took hold of Velma. They led towards a dark hallway, and she didn't want to traverse it, but her feet itched when she attempted to turn away.

"Rhat're rou roing?" Scooby asked.

"I...I don't know. Let's check this way out."

Halfway down the hall whistling began to serenade out to meet them. It was happy, a work day's tune perhaps. It made her uneasy, especially as it grew closer and louder. Velma's intuition, or whatever was masquerading as it, led her to a slightly ajar door three quarters of the way down the hall. She pushed it open with a tense hand, and found a supply closet devoid of most supplies, only an empty bucket holding a few dry mops.

The next thing she knew she was on the ground inside the closet, and Scooby landed on her.

"Hey!"

The door slammed shut and something big and heavy slid across the ground to lock them in. A sultry male voice spoke through the crack between the door and its frame.

"I'm sorry. I just met someone I'm crazy about and I can't have anyone snooping around right now. I'll come back for you later."

Velma and Scooby clawed at the door, to no avail. The cold was getting more intense, and a shiver raced down her spine. The voices returned.

Yes, this is the way down. Down to meet him, and at last fulfill your small part. Rejoice, child. Soon the Master shall be free.

Fred Jones woke with the all too familiar sensation of groggy recovery. How many times he'd been hit over the head or knocked out some other way since coming here he could not say, but at this rate he refused to believe it had only been a single night in the Asylum. In the windows on the right side of the room the first light of dawn was poking up from the mountains surrounding Mount Massive, but that didn't mean it was the first sunrise since they'd been trapped here. Time lost most of its meaning when your entire existence was spent keeping yourself alive. This was the first natural light he'd seen since before driving up here on a fool's errand. It felt so long ago, he was positive he'd been in here for days, but only fierce rationality kept him from believing it was actually years. It felt like years. Fucked up nurses, deranged patients, mutilated vegetables, and dreams of blood red seas had all consumed his mind for so long that he could barely accept a few days as an answer.

It was only when he turned his head in the other direction that he made two startling discoveries. One, he was stark naked, no more clothed than the day he was born, and bound with his arms together above his head and his legs spread apart. Second, The Groom was sitting in a wooden chair on the left side of the room, bent over and facing the floor with his hands together, like a sinner in church.

Rather than rouse the beast, Fred attempted to break himself free, but pulling quickly became futile. His wrists were bound by multiple layers of rope and then strapped in a leather restraint, much like the kind he choked out Nurse Jackie with. He could do it again on this sicko if he got the chance, but that required slipping free, and that seemed impossible on his own. The rope keeping his legs apart and still wasn't as bulky and restrictive, but he'd never been much for leg day. The effort was getting to him, but he still tried his best to keep silent. The last thing he needed was Gluskin taking notice of him.

"Ah, good, you're awake."

Oh fuck.

Gluskin stood and regarded Fred like a teenage boy who catches a glimpse of the girl's locker room. A smile broke on his blood encrusted face, and he strode towards the center of the room with gentle footsteps. Fred exerted himself harder but he made no progress.

"You've got a few naughty bits that need to be trimmed and cleaned, but by the time it's over, you'll be a lovely young woman, and we can move on with our relationship."

Fred tensed as Gluskin's calloused hand hovered over his chest, and pressed tenderly on his skin, "What are you talking about!? Let me go!"

Gluskin's hand slid down Fred's abs and stopped just above his waist, staying there a moment and then being taken away like a snake was about to bite it.

"I'm not giving up on you, and I won't let you give up on yourself either."

He walked past the captive blonde, to the part of the room Fred could not see. Gluskin let out a grunt and squeaking wheels carried something big towards him. Fears of some kind of lobotomy machine or electric chair console flashed through his mind. The straining of the floor underneath it hollowed his will, he was trapped, and something awful was going to happen. It was going to be something awful, maybe a sewing machine rigged to use him as thread, or an industrial oven to cook in (again!). His imagination ran rampant with wild theories about whatever was coming for him, but the truth was worse.

A table saw mounted on a wheeled platform scooted past him. It was covered in dried blood, especially the blade, whose metal was stained orange more than it was gleaming or shiny. Hanging on the side of the platform was a pouch that reeked of blood and decay. Fred's empty stomach heaved at the sight of severed, dried, deformed, and rotting male genitalia. His heart began to run overtime as Gluskin lined up the saw directly in front of the table Fred lay bound to.

"Now dear, this will be painful, I won't lie. And of course the birthing will be tough. And motherhood is no easy task, but I believe in you; you can hold my hand if you like."

Velma was beginning to feel claustrophobia shrink in on her. The closet she and Scooby had been left in was filling. Scooby was clawing at the door, he wasn't noticing, but Velma saw it. It was pooling in from the ceiling, dripping down with wet plops. Blood. The closet was filling with blood. It was already up past her ankles. She leaned against the back of the closet, knocking over the mops and the bucket that were in her way. The voices were so loud now.

The City draws close. Your world stands on a shaky precipice. Sanity hangs on the brink, it will fall into the blood sea, and with it, you shall follow. Truth is a lie. Reality is an illusion. Humanity is insignificance.

"No…"

A chill fell on her, and the blood slipping into the closet began to drip faster. It took everything she had not to fall into it. All she was sure of in this moment was that she really didn't want to fall in. Somehow she knew, that would be the end of her.

Such a small mind. You still do not understand. Your fear is delectable.

The ceiling cracked and blood streamed in. Scooby was lost in the spray, and Velma did her best to stay back, but the blood was pushing past her knees now. The sound of straining and stress filled the closet and a hole broke in the ceiling, now blood poured in as a waterfall.

Drown. The City awaits.

Velma screamed as the blood took shapes. Red tentacles, claws, and eyes began to manifest and take her. The claws grabbed at her shirt and skin, the eyes stared into her soul and delivered judgement, and the tentacles wrapped around her neck and her head, pulling her down. She dug her nails into the closet walls, but they crumbled away and the Asylum was gone. She was on the surface of the great red sea, the gray sky of night extending as a mirror, both stretching as far as she could see. More claws and eyes and tentacles formed and her struggling was for naught as she was pulled down.

As before, she saw creatures, some familiar and most almost too horrific to really take in. None of them seemed to regard her at first, but as she fell into the dark trench where the City was located, they began to take notice of her. Eyes, bulbous and single colored, began to follow her. Tendrils motioned in her direction, echoes like whale calls, but more alien and harsh, rung out below the surface.

The City was not quite as she remembered it. It seemed vaguely human, with monolithic spires and towers, domed buildings and temples, winding stairs and streets connecting them all. It was also nautical, half organic half stone, and dark. It was not level, in fact it seemed to have been made along the sides of the trench, and in the center there was no rhyme or reason about the construction. Direction became useless, buildings were streets and vice versa, and the creatures swam in all directions. She was not moving of her own free will, but the claws and tentacles around her had dissipated. She was falling towards a dark cavern.

When the darkness of the cavern swallowed her she felt an immediate trepidation. The blood no longer seemed so red, in fact, the cavern glowed yellow-ish green, and the sea turned dark like night. The sound of humming and chanting found her, and the voices were so clear they might have been whispered from right inside her ears.

Now you will see, now you will understand, and your pathetic life can be given for the Master. Look upon him! The Great Dreamer. The Sleeper of R'lyeh. The High Priest of the Great Old Ones.

Velma felt her soul quake as she floated into a chamber so large it might have been the size of a city block. It was impossible to tell how deep it was, but a behemoth monster with wings and dragon claws nestled itself in the darkness. Its scaly face bore many tentacles and two red eyes brimming with hate and cosmic power began to open.

They put his name in her mouth, and forced her to speak it, "Cthulhu."

As soon as she said it the red eyes opened fully, and a rush of water surged from the darkness below, the great wings began to beat, and the tentacles rushed to consume her. She could not blink before a massive suction cup drew her in. As soon as she was taken by it a stinger shot out of the cup and her physical form was destroyed, totally and wholly disintegrated, but her soul was trapped in the tentacle.

There, her essence being absorbed by Cthulhu, unimaginable agony ravaged her. She had no mouth with which to scream, no arms to flail, no legs to kick, no nerves to experience pain, but it hurt all the same. This was death beyond death, she thought, and it was horrible.

"Relma!?"

Scooby's touch broke the spell, and Velma Dinkley collapsed on the floor of the closet. There was no blood. She was okay, whole and intact. R'lyeh was far away, Cthulhu had not gotten her. But nearly.

Sweat ran down her face, as did tears, her mouth was dry and her eyes stung. Her heart was beating faster than it ever had in her life. Her body went numb, and she looked at Scooby with a pained face as the world shook around her.

"I think...I'm having a heart attack."

"Get the FUCK away from me!" Fred strained against the bindings on his wrists and spread legs with all his might, but the Asylum had softened him up too much to break free. Torture and lack of nourishment had rendered him easy prey. Gluskin's saw buzzed and spun its angry teeth, making sawdust fly when it bit into the table. The Groom had lined it up straight with his penis and scrotum, and studied the path like a scientist calculating complex math.

"Hold still dear," he consoled as Fred grunted and fought, "it'll be over soon enough."

The saw came forward with alarming speed.

"HELP!" was all Fred could shout, but the chances of help were beyond minuscule. What precious little remained of his identity was on the threshold of being a bloody memory.

Like lightning a tremor rocked Gluskin aside and pulled the saw off the table just as Fred began to feel the air rushing away from the saw's teeth. The Groom sighed in frustration and lept to his feet with a running start; he left the imprint of his palm on Fred's face.

"What do you think you're doing bitch!?"

Gluskin, hand curled into a bony fist, hit fast and hard again, and if not the most deadly it was perhaps the most hateful physical strike levied against him tonight.

"You skank! You whore! What do you have against me!? Why aren't you just willing to try!?"

Fred screamed with bloody spittle spewing from his mouth, "Let me go! I'm not going to be your bride!"

The floor began to spread apart and crumble. Gluskin's last words were precisely and confusedly, "Oh fuck!"

"Alright, I'm ready."

"Remember," Wernicke warned Shaggy, "Save your speed for the last leg. It likely will not be hostile to you until it knows you are there to kill it."

"Right…"

The secret panel in the wall of the computer lab opened and Shaggy stalked out, ready to jump back into safety at the drop of a pin if necessary. Then the secret panel shut him off again and Shaggy was alone with his fear.

He gave it a minute, but the Walrider did not come. He took the camera with him, set to the night vision screen, and looked around himself frequently. The journey back the way he came was terrifying and altogether worse than the trip in. Previously the goal had been escape. Now it was murder, and he might have to throw himself into the Walrider's grasp to do it.

Halfway to the flight of stairs the cold sensation filled him, and he spun the camera around to see the Walrider's visage behind him.

"H-H-Hey man," Shaggy greeted, holding up a shaking hand to wave.

From the camera screen, the Walrider regarded him with curiosity, and dispersed into a cloud Shaggy could almost make out with his naked eye. It swirled around him, swimming in the air freely and without a care, like a parent supervising a toddler.

When he came to the hall that led to the stairs, he saw into the lobby. The elevator had power again, and the Walrider had reformed into the black visage of a man, holding out a hand to guide him towards it. Shaggy halted. It was going to let him go. He was scott-free if he took the lift back up the surface. He could leave.

"Remember what you're doing," Wernicke's voice rang out over the intercom, "Remember why you set out from my office."

Shaggy swallowed and took a sharp turn passed the lobby. The cloud reformed and swirled closer to him, gently nudging back towards the way out. Every time it got closer than a few inches from his skin the cold feeling swept him, and he was shivering with every other step.

The stairs leading down were metal, as was the security room. The guards posted here had been killed much like anyone else, bits and pieces torn away, ripped off, left to stew in their own innards and puddles that had once been the rest of them. The switch labelled "DOOR FUNCTIONALITY" had four settings, and was currently on the third, labelled "MINIMAL ACCESS". The top setting was "ALL OPEN", and he knew that was what he wanted.

Shaggy gripped the lever and felt the Walrider hovering over his hand. He was already breathing hard. This was it. The chase was about to begin, the race for his life, and perhaps the fate of the world.

"Do it," Wernicke encouraged from the safety of his chamber, "Do it!"

Shaggy flung the lever up and sprinted out of the security room. He went straight up both flights of stairs and down a short hallway with two doors: an entrance on either end, one of which he had just come, and the Walrider was chasing after him. The cold was back, and it was colder than ever. Even if he was faster than the nanobots, sooner or later the chill would slow him down enough to be caught. There was little else to think about now. Only to focus on what was ahead, and try not to freak out about what was directly behind.

"Aha!" Wernicke shouted over the intercom, "Faster! Faster!"

The doors to the central control room were closing again. If he could do that from the start why didn't he!? Shaggy pushed himself into overdrive, even as the Walrider began to get a grip on his shoulder, and the icy grasp began to coil on his shirt. He jumped sideways through the door, landing on hard metal and sliding to a crash stop under a desk. The doors had closed behind him, and the few nanobots that had followed him in were trapped on the other side, cut off from the rest of the swarm, and this seemed to be enough to stop them from murdering him. The swarm pounded at the door, but it held for now.

Shaggy's ragged breath was stolen by the display on the other side of the glass. The dark tower, in all it's fearsome glory, lay blinking and moaning in the lone chamber, the sleeping Billy Hope floating in his pool of ignorance, allowing the deadly swarm on the other side to chase after him.

"At the end of the room, all the way down!" Wernicke hurried him along.

Shaggy had a hard time tearing his eyes away from the behemoth tower of machinery, the beacon that broadcast a great evil entity into his world. He found the life support center where it should have been, elevated about two inches off the ground on a small platform.

"Bring up the biometric menu," Wernicke ordered, "Good. Now, enter the support mainframe. Towards the bottom. Good!"

The pounding was getting louder, and the metal of the door was beginning to shriek in defeat. Sweat was dropping off Shaggy's face, falling distantly onto the keyboard.

"Get into the host's profile. Yes."

The door bent in just enough to let the swarm through, or so he thought, because the pounding had stopped. Then it hit him. Shaggy felt like he'd fallen into a snowdrift, every pore on his skin felt flooded by cold.

"Terminate host! Terminate host!" Wernickie yelled.

Shaggy clicked the corresponding button just as the Walrider picked him off the floor; after a momentary pause, he was dropped and landed on his knees, catching himself before his head was knocked into the computer.

On the screen, red lights began flashing and a camera feed popped up, showing two angles, one of the office and dark tower themselves, the other of Billy Hope's face. He was woken from his dark slumber, and immediately terrified. He tried to speak, but the intruding wires and chords flowing into his open mouth made that impossible. Pain must have struck, despite Wernicke's promise, because his eyes widened and his body flailed in the liquid, which began turning red as his blood leaked out from an unseen wound.

"You've done it!" Wernicke triumphed.

The swarm overhead went mad, buzzing and blitzing in different directions, then as if unified by a terrible command, it rocketed into Shaggy's face. He coughed and waved his hands and tried to back away, but he was made aware of the Walrider's presence taking root inside him.

"Oh mein Gott…" Wernicke said, "It is making you the new host!"

Everything in his head went dark, except two directives. Run, and give in. Run had been dictated to him by his natural humanity: flee, get out of here, survive. The other was foreign, but sickly sweet, a siren's call asking him to stay calm, and accept the virus of the Walrider. It would all be better in a moment. Just wait till it's over.

His body began to levitate and crashed through the glass, flown in front of the dark tower that channeled the Walrider's essence. The call for survival became quieter, and the will of the evil inside him grew stronger.

The pod Billy Hope had died in was lowered into a pit in the floor, and a new host chamber rose from a grate beside it. It was just like Billy Hope's, but this one was closed. The Walrider directed him to the console at the base of the tower, and his hands began to move against him. Shaggy Rogers began to fade away, and the Walrider began accessing the systems for a new host.

"Es sollte nicht möglich sein. Oh mein Gott. Ich habe uns alle zum Scheitern verurteilt!"

Shaggy was no longer aware of Wernicke, but the menu was bright in his eyes, and it pervaded the darkness encroaching upon him. This was the system mainframe of the dark tower. This was the heart of the Walrider. This was his chance!

He forced a hand to stop. This was his body, damn it. He would not surrender control to this spirit. Power off. That's what he had to do. Force his hands to obey him, and power off! Shut down this dark heart. With a groan, more sweat, pain wracking his insides, and a whole lot more determination, he forced his other to obey him.

The Walrider was clawing at his hands, literally and mentally. It had most of him, but Shaggy was in control of his hands and his head, and that was enough. He worked his way through many screens, and found a shutdown option. A warning flashed in front of him.

THIS OPERATION WILL SHUT DOWN THE MORPHOGENIC ENGINE. IF PROPER PROTOCOL HAS NOT BEEN TAKEN THIS SYSTEM AND THIS FACILITY WILL BE DESTROYED. DO YOU WISH TO PROCEED?

Shaggy paused for only a moment. He wasn't going to make it after all. His friends, oh God his friends, if they were still alive, were not going to make it. A small part of him had been allowed hope when he killed Billy that the nightmare was over. But the nightmare was just beginning. If he was going to be the new host, he would become the avatar of darkness. He would become a real life Dracula. A Frankenstein. No, far worse than that.

But you'd also be alive. You would become happy. You wouldn't be able to tell the difference. The Walrider whispered to him.

Shaggy couldn't hold the tears in, he couldn't stop his heart from pounding, and he was beginning to lose control of his hands again.

Give in. You have so much left to live for. Let your wildest fantasies come true. You will be happier than ever before, and nothing will take that away from you.

The morphogenic engine - the dark tower that radiated misery and pain and death and which brought the gang to this godforsaken place - began rumbling. It demanded an answer. His fingers weighed tons, he could barely make out the words anymore, either from tears or for the swarm of nanobots in front of his face.

All the monsters, all the haunted houses, all the terrible things he'd witnessed in his life, most of which were from the past few hours alone, and this was how he died? This was it. His whole existence, two decades spent in the search of food and fun, snuffed out in a bloody, dim hole in the middle of nowhere, under a dark tower that threatened everything and everyone in the world.

There were worse things to die for.

The morphogenic engine let out a straining sound as steam began to spew out of a vent and sparks leapt to life on the console in front of him. If there was a God, and Shaggy supposed that deep, deep down he always believed there was one, he imagined the force that began to quake the core of the mountain was His wrath. The ice splintered and cracked, the lights flickered on and off, and the machine that was the mechanical heart of the Walrider began to heat up so fast and with such intensity the black metal was turning orange. Good. If the national guard wasn't going to raze this place, Shaggy was glad he could do it.

You've doomed yourself to kill us! You will reap your reward in R'lyeh soon enough!

Something exploded in his eyes, and he cried out, and then through bloody fingers realized that his eyes exploded. The nanobots went into his ears next, and the buzzing and whirring was loud enough to nearly mask the morphogenic engine going nuclear. His screams were cut short as an unnatural mass filled his mouth.

You will suffer for your brief, pointless insolence. Those who are not useful are cast into the abyss!

From the night vision filter on the camera that had spilled onto the floor somewhere in the chaos, it seemed that a man made of shadows was funneling himself into the skull of Shaggy Rogers through every available orifice. Shaggy's death cry was muffled as his tongue was eaten alive by the mist of little black killers, as more of them spilled down his throat. The final prophet of the Walrider was destroyed by his supposed patron deity, and his only consolation was that it happened after he threw the morphogenic engine beyond the point of no return.