Philip had never been so terrified in his life.

His lungs felt like they were caving in. His world was dusk, the small cramped hallways lit only by the brief pendulum swing of his flashlight-wielding arm as he sprinted down the corridors. Sweat had been dripping down his face and the salty taste was in his mouth. He had no time to wipe his face; he was on death's doorstep. His legs, feet, arms, chest, everything was aching, but if he stopped, they would get him.

He needed a safe hiding spot, since he was spotted by one of the Tuurngait's flashlights near his last one. But none of the doors would open, and he started to wonder if he was making circles, because he swore he made the same turn before. And it didn't help that the voice in his head was shouting at him non-stop.

"Not there, Monkey!"

"They're right there…"

"Monkey, I can feel them, they're right up ahead…!"

Philip started panicking because he realized Clarence was panicking. Clarence was never worried; he seemed to realize what Philip was capable of. That made it that much scarier when Clarence's nerves merged with his own.

Somehow, Clarence seemed to know what was up ahead better than he did. Philip trusted him, against his better judgement. Despite all the times Clarence purposefully tried to get him killed (no, that wasn't true; Clarence messed around with hallucinations to frighten him, but he wouldn't put him in actual danger), Philip knew the Tuurngait was just as scared of death as he was.

Still, no matter how much Philip did or did not trust him, he couldn't just turn around. If he turned around now, there was little chance he would get away with his life. He felt a small ripple of agreement in the back of his mind.

He made a turn into another hallway just as one of the Tuurngait turned the corner up ahead and caught sight of him. He briefly saw its features intensify — blistered human flesh and bones that peeked out from inside the skin. Its eyes were sunken into the sockets and nearly lifeless, but they seemed to open wide at the sight of Philip. Once he was in the next hall, he heard its warbled groans increase in volume as they followed him. He could tell, by the sound, that more than one of the things had heard him.

This hall had an intersection coming up. Philip panted, too breathless to speak. His legs felt like they'd turn to mush any second now. He couldn't afford to waste time with this decision; he needed to get somewhere safe, somewhere he could rest, now. 'Any ideas?'

"Not the right. Definitely not the — shit."

'Clarence?'

Time was up. Philip prepared to turn left, and he heard Clarence yelling at him as he did so, but it was too late; two of the Tuurngait came charging out of the hall, one clutching a cleaver that it swung his way. Philip changed direction quick, turning himself back on the straight path, but not before the metal sliced through his coat. He didn't even feel it. He wasn't sure whether he'd been cut, but he didn't have the energy to care. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping him going; his lungs were hardly functional, his muscles barely hanging on. He felt himself running in slow motion, as if in a dream, never quite fast enough to escape the monsters behind him.

"Shit! Shit!" Clarence cursed. This was one of the times the Tuurngait really wasn't helping.

"Monkey!" Clarence seemed to be screaming in his ears. "There's one on your left!"

As Philip neared the next intersection, he made a sharp sudden turn to the right, narrowly avoiding the charging Tuurngait body honing in on him from the other side.

"No, no, NO, that's a dead end!" Clarence cried, just as the horror of the realization gripped Philip. His chest constricted; his heart felt like it might leap out of his chest. He couldn't breathe, and he was about to turn and make a break for it when Clarence yelled, "THERE! CORNER!"

Philip saw it; a small hole in the corner of the wall. It would be a tight fit, but honestly, Philip had no other option except to run headfirst into the pack of alien pursuers. He just hoped it led to a room, and that no dogs were inside.

He threw himself onto the floor and crawled desperately through the hole, having to use force to get his torso through. As soon as his body was inside, he pushed over a heavy shelving unit to block the hole, just in time to stop those creatures from ducking in after him. Not giving himself time to breathe, Philip jumped to his feet, his eyes darting back and forth to take in the entirety of the room. There were no dogs, no Tuurngait, no open doors. Just a few hanging lights keeping the room from complete darkness.

The vicious sounds of the Tuurngait outside made it even harder for Philip to breathe. His legs gave out on him, and he fell down hard on one knee. He dropped his leg so he was sitting on both knees and hunched over with his arms wrapped around his waist, trying to suck in some air — but something wasn't computing, something wasn't working, and he could feel himself suffocating. His vision became spotted, and he realized Clarence had been yelling at him for who knew how long.

"—key! Monkey, come on, breathe, you gotta breathe. They ain't getting in here, we're safe. Hey. Hey, you listenin' to me? Monkey! Hey!"

Philip was trying, he really was. But it felt like he'd forgotten how. He gasped, but no air entered his lungs. His chest was burning; he was on fire, like Red, and sooner or later he'd be nothing but ashes in the incinerator and then he'd never leave this place, he'd never reach Amabel, he'd be even less than his father and there was nothing he could do —

"Monkey. Monkey, please, you — All right, there it is, made me go rootin' through your brain, huh? Here we go, listen to my voice this time, human. In for four seconds. Come on, there you go, hold for seven. … Can you count, human? Well, I'd say exhale for eight, but you're already — Okay, in for four, monkey. Count to four. We're using seconds, right? 'Cause you're clearly not going by the same time as — Okay, relax, relax, hold for seven, hold — Okay, we'll try next time. Stupid monkey… In for four—"

What felt like hours passed by, Philip desperately clinging to Clarence's voice as he tried to block out the sounds of the Tuurngait growling from outside. He still felt out of breath when Clarence piped up, "Good job, monkey! I'd give you a banana if I had one. That is, if I couldn't keep it for myself. You've got memories of some good grub in here; you're making me jealous. What I wouldn't do to have a body. Sure I could actually handle it, unlike you. Look at you, curled up in a fetal position. Tryin' to be an infant again? How do you forget how to breathe, anyway? Maybe eating's too soon for you, I'm sure we can move up to that once you learn to crawl—"

"Shut up, Clarence."

"Ohhhh, looks like you're sassing me again. And, look — my brothers must've gotten tired of waiting for ya. Coast's clear, if you wanna keep searching for your damsel in distress."

Philip rolled his eyes. He didn't quite feel like pulling himself to his feet yet. He sat there on the floor, his eyes taking in the room he was in. There was a desk on the wall furthest from the door, and another one beside the door. A computer sat atop the far desk along with some papers, while the other one was bare. There was a shelving unit at two of the corners, and a small storage closet at the third. One of those strange devices sat on the second shelf from the bottom; Philip felt himself being drawn in, even without touching it. He wished he could say he was bothered by that fact, but it was strangely comforting. He felt safe just being near it.

"There's a reason for that, you know," Clarence chuckled. "But you're not gonna like it."

"I don't want to hear it."

"Of course you don't. Wuss."

Philip sighed. "Can't you say something nice for a change?"

"What's there that's nice to say? What, you need a pat on the head for escaping my brothers? Grow up, monkey. You're only here right now because of me."

Philip opened his mouth to argue but the words got caught in his throat. Clarence had a point. He'd narrowly escaped a grim fate, and without Clarence giving him direction, he might have been caught and killed.

"Fine," he allowed begrudgingly, "but don't forget, you're nothing without me, either."

"Nothing? Ha, ain't that a laugh. If you weren't here, monkey, I'd have everything. I wouldn't be me. I would be them." Clarence fell silent for a moment. It was clearly a touchy subject for him. "... And if it weren't for that little accident with your 'infection', as you call it, you wouldn't have hardly any you left right now, so don't forget it."

"If you're so desperate to be rid of me, why'd you help me escape?" Philip countered.

"Oh, would ya shut up and get moving already? You'd think, after emptying out your lungs, you'd be a little less wasteful with your air."

'Well, if you shut up, I will, too,' Philip offered. Clarence cackled.

"You drive a hard bargain," he teased, but then he let his voice fade until his presence was lingering only in the back of his mind. Philip gave the room another quick glance, then groaned internally as he pushed himself off the floor and began scouring every inch and corner of the room. He found some painkillers on one of the shelves, along with some batteries for his flashlight and even a can of beans. He was rummaging through each individual drawer and coming up with nothing when he caught sight of the tear in his coat. Philip recalled the Tuurngait attack with a shudder, and after making sure he wasn't bleeding anywhere from the encounter, his thoughts swooped back to his own response, and Clarence's.

Philip couldn't remember much of it, which was, admittedly, terrifying in and of itself. He wasn't sure if it was Clarence's doing or just his own, but what he was sure of was, Clarence helped him out of it. Clarence's voice had been the only thing keeping him from passing out. He hadn't had to do it. Philip wasn't sure if being unconscious would really affect the virus all too much, and even so, they were in a safe place when it happened. He didn't see a reason for Clarence to have helped him… and yet, he did.

"All right, monkey, enough of your sappy imagination. Let's get a move on — I'm dying of boredom in here," Clarence complained, though this time his gruffness sounded forced.

Philip gave him a look. (Meaning, he just looked off into space and imagined himself giving Clarence a look, because surely the virus could see it if he thought hard enough.) "You sure? You want me to walk out of here now, after that, with no plan whatsoever?"

"Jeez, shut up already. If you're gonna camp out in here, I might as well go through your most humiliating teenage memories. Don't go calling me the next time you forget a basic human function, monkey."

After he spat out those words, Clarence settled down in a deep part of Philip's memories, and Philip could no longer hear him. He sighed, contemplating what he'd just gone through. Of course Clarence wouldn't actually want him to leave already, considering not only the Tuurngait, who had made Clarence almost as much of a panicking mess as him, but also how Philip was still set on finding Amabel and getting a cure as soon as possible. Of course Clarence didn't want that; he was just as set on living as Philip was at this point.

Philip hesitated. He really didn't want Clarence, or anyone, really, to have as much power over him as the Tuurngait did. But… if there was a way to separate them, without killing whatever it was that made Clarence Clarence… He'd make an effort to find it.

Like untangling a ball of intertwining cords, a tension in the back of his mind smoothed out.