Behind his Shadow

The temperature changed. It was a fickle thing in the massive tunnels that made up the sewer, the warm air clinging to my shoulders while small drafts drifted through my sleeves causing me to shiver. I remained crouched for several minutes listening keenly for the corridor and the thing through the grate, I'm not sure what I was waiting for. Or if I was aware that I had been waiting for some time before the small spark of a nerve pulsed up my spine.

I needed to keep moving. Whatever was there I was either following it or barely staying ahead of it, couldn't decide which it was. Either I'd stumble into it or linger too long in one area, and that would inadvertently allow it to reach me before I had time to realize I had been hunted all along.

I wobbled as I rose to my feet and took some small steps toward the corner of the tunnel, watching the dark shades beyond the large grate with avid caution. What happened to the person that looked down upon me? The path on my right was open for exploration.

My nerves were too high strung, in the hollow quiet I startled myself back when my foot broke the surface of the water with a soft swish. I backed away and rolled my eyes, though my jumpiness couldn't be discredited. But still, I was spooked by my own footsteps!

A plate on the wall indicated Administration Block on the right with an arrow to clarify this. I really didn't have any options, my only comfort came that this path would not branch out into additional tunnels and I couldn't possibly get lost down here. Given, there was a way out and my batteries would last.

Originally I had wanted to pause and wring out the excess water from my coat as best I could, but I didn't want to stay stationary longer than necessary. It clung to me like a soggy glove, at least the sewers were warm with decay, only upside here. It was well received given circumstances.

The tunnel was dim with enough light I didn't need my camera, I carried it beside my hip for the comfort of it. The tunnel curved and I followed it into a well-lit channel with large drain pipes beneath the floor, grated over and filled to the brim with thick runoff. The cooler air settled low, generating a murky steam that clung to everything and swirled around my shoulders as I cut through it. With no area visible to hide enemies I jogged along taking in the constructive details of the abandon sewer.

It looked like railing was installed along the side, or guardrails for the workers that had to come down when it was flooded. Support beams ran across the ceiling every few feet, but didn't seem to help much in preventing cave-ins. At the end of the channel was another collapse, I was approaching it when a light flittered through blinding me.

A soft voice hummed out, I wasn't sure if I should retreat now or wait. He was on the other side of the fallen debris, unless there was an access through on the open tunnel to the right. The song sounded familiar but against the echoing walls I couldn't decide if it was 'Father' Martin, or one of his disciples. It didn't sound like him….

"Till all the lambs in the church of god…"

I couldn't make out what he was saying at this distance. He had already taken off, on the other side of the tunnel I saw his light glitter as he ran and his feet chopped up the shallow water. The song was somehow depressing. Maybe because of the 'Father' Martin's Gospel of Sand, or maybe seeing the man down searching as I was for his own way out, armed with only a flashlight.

I kept to the left and strained to see through the vapor where he might have gone, the tunnel had a neighboring channel but I didn't have any ambition to explore that side further. The forgotten corpse of Murkoffs doctors lay dissolving in the drainage gutter, even from where I stood I could pick up the heavy fumes of his bloated body.

A door waited innocently at my backside. I tried the handle half expecting it to be broken or locked, but the knob gave with no effort and I entered to find a patient hidden behind a shelf near the back. I must've looked shocked by his presence as he held up his arms and backed away.

"You don't have to be scared of me. I can tell we're the same. You still know what's real."

I stepped out of the room to glance around and return my eyes to the patient, before reentering and shutting the door behind. This was the first human in this place to actually comfort me, and not sound creepy about it. First person to attempt a conversation with me.

"Do you mind if I film you?" I held up my camera, keeping my distance.

"Not at all. Go ahead. I'd actually prefer it." I raised the camera and zoomed in on him framing his head and shoulders nicely. He looked no different from the dozens of unaccounted victims, his face ruined by malpractice, scars up and down his arms. But he was fully clothed.

"The doctor's dead, you know that, right? Dr. Wernicke." I nodded. "Died before he even started working here." He pinched the bridge of what remained of his nose between his fingers as though recalling some detail, or harmed by the recollections. "What kind of experiments does a dead doctor perform on living patients? That's the question."

"I found the obituary."

"Yeah." To me it sounded like he didn't credit this fact too much. "A few of us have seen it too, a little proof he's never been here." He glanced at the shelf beside him and ran a finger along its metal support. "Doesn't change what he's done."

"But…he's dead, isn't he? It's on file." My breath hitched when he gave me a venomous look, but it dissolved and he turned away toward a mattress abandoned on the floor behind him. He curled up on its filthy surface and turned his back to me.

The interview was over.

"The Patients know Dr. Wernicke is dead. One asks me, 'What kind of experiments does a dead doctor perform on living patients?' What is PROJECT WALRIDER?"

I examined the room lightly without disturbing him, and always kept my attention trained to any sort of sound he would make, pausing when his breathing wheezed or the broken springs of the mattress shifted. There was no visible aid, aside from some cracked shelving and a vent that might've led to better venues - I couldn't reach it. There was only a ladder in the center of the floor leading down a short ways. I secured the camera and climbed the rungs, that familiar scent of copper whirled around me and I anticipated what would meet me.

The sewage in the drain gutter was a soft rose color, the sharp scent of death thick in the humid tunnel. It was fresh otherwise it would have diluted out by now. All the screaming I'd heard in the upper level?

I shivered as I pulled up the camera but decided not to film, instead I held it between my palms and stared into the water. What was PROJECT WALRIDER? kept ringing through my thoughts. What was the screaming I heard? What happened to those people? It could've been Chris Walker. Maybe I misheard them, others had expressed fears in his violent tendencies, I must've misheard them. But I couldn't stop shaking. My coat was damp and cool, my nerves were shot. I needed to keep moving, keep my mind focused on what was around me.

Across from my position a plate was fixed on the wall that labeled the contrary directions to take, the Male ward to the left and the Female ward to the right. I glanced down at the river of swirling red before I set my foot on the side of the gutter and teetered, beside a metal gate. The Male ward was where I needed to be, I think. I wasn't sure anymore, I could've as easily headed to the right if I thought there was a way out through the Female section but…I didn't want to see what that area had to offer. I didn't want—

A body flopped down from above nearly on top of me. I pivoted sloshing through the metallic froth back to the direction where the Female ward was, only to turn the bend and find a solid metal gate. I wasn't satisfied to turn back yet, not until I took the handle and fought to turn it. The latch was solid, my only course obvious.

I switched between breathing through my mouth or through my nose, the stench sought my senses no matter what, I could hardly bear it. Halfheartedly I attempted to walk on the side of the drainage gutter out of the liquid, if only to settle my conscience. The body that impacted the cement looked torn and twisted in bizarre ways and his arm looked infected, possibly blood poisoning but I was no doctor. I couldn't tell if he was this mangled before he fell, or whatever killed him had maimed him.

I was better off never knowing.

As I passed under the huge drain he fell from, I could see the grate above had been removed and the bright light from the upper floors descended unrestrained. Light was still the enemy, but it was hard not to take comfort in its strong brilliance.

I checked the charge on my camera as I continued into the darker portions of the tunnel, stunned to find it nearly half dead. That was a good battery, I had seen it when I put it in. Or wasn't it? I wasn't sure. But if I needed my night vision down here for prolonged periods at a time, it might be on its lowest functions.

It must've been the chill. The cold had a tendency to drain battery life fast. But, no…the sewer was at times stifling, almost unbearably so in my damp coat.

The cadence of gushing water traveled around the next corner, elevating my anxiety further. The fore sound could cloak a stew of early warnings from feet to voices, or other unnamed things. I squatted behind some waterlogged crates stacked at the edge, and glanced over them when I saw red splatters. Slowly I eased around the side and peered into a foggy tunnel muddled by failing lights, but enough visibility was there to utilize the zoom on my camera. I couldn't make out movement, even with the running water dividing my attention. A new scene of horror awaited me.

I slipped around the boxes keeping low, and moved to the opposite side of the channel in an effort to avoid further soaking. Water spewed from a broken water valve of a large pipe connected between the floor and ceiling, I didn't bother to check it as my eyes focused on the red splattered on the walls and floor. It looked like someone had been straining chunky human pieces from the large drainage pipes in the ceiling, the sides splattered with bright globs of black and red. It was all spilling from the rim of the gutter into the water staining it the crimson hue. Beneath the surface I could view small fish like things squirming about, as persistent as the flies burrowing into soggy guts or body parts.

I closed my eyes and swallowed, I could feel myself shaking harder as I lowered my arms beside me. This nightmare looked recent, it smelled fresh and raw. I had memories as a kid, being with my dad at the local butchers as they cut up the hindquarters of a hog. This reminded me sharply of that. Those years long ago.

Maybe after this I'd turn vegan. I never was a big fan of steak.

There was no end to it as I moved through the tunnel, blood was stained up the walls, and pieces of inner organs left strew over pipes and crates lining the gutter. Each drain I passed under had blood running down its interior, more innards, or large sheets of skin imbedded with bone. A leg bobbing in the drain still had blood seeping from the stump, as the little black sewer guppies thrashed into their meal.

Finally, a full human body was laid dead in the bend of the tunnel. I didn't care to identify his death, I continued and placed myself on the side of the gutter. The channel darkened and a cold draft crept through my coat, I was forced to use the camera to keep from stumbling on the slick sides.

Something hissed ahead of me. I sighed irritated by how jumpy I was, given I was still alone, it was just a pipe—

A thick splash sent cold beads of water through the bars. I retreated a few steps and gazed through the visor, seeing nothing but a sturdy grate where the movement had occurred. The bloated body of a Murkoff researcher was crammed against the bars, some of the skin exposed at his neck and face had been disturbed by the sudden kick in the water and floated freely from the muscles of his skull. Above, or around me there was that same sound, ball bearings rattling through pipes. I turned my camera filming wherever I thought the sound twittered though there was nothing to see, the noise sent shivers up my spin. Or it could've been the sudden chill locked in the stale air. Couldn't stop here.

Need to keep moving. Had to escape. Thoughts of Chris and what he could do to me vanished completely with the presence of this 'unknown.' I wasn't sure what I was running from, only that I somehow kept out of its path of slaughter. Dumb luck.

I entered an intersecting tunnel on my right but drew back, there was light ahead but the sounds were still present, sounded like it had filtered out of the pipe and was now crashing around behind the door in the tunnels side. The uproar grew in volume as whatever tore the room apart, shelves cracked as all manner of furniture was flung about. The metal barrier quivered and my breath came labored, I wasn't sure if I was actually experiencing this. How did it get from here to that room?

I took small steps forward, before springing away for no real reason other than my fear of the sounds and I recalled the slaughter. I could almost hear it now, shrieking voices of the deranged as skin was peeled back and bones cracked. Then all at once everything ceased and silence saturated the calm tunnel.

It felt like I was in some sort of danger, though no visible evidence was present to suggest this notion. The air was filled with the metallic reek and rot of old sludge, I could almost pick up the soft warble of water spilling down cobblestone. I felt my heart sank as I realized it could just as easily be blood spilling from a ruined neck.

I debated trying the handle to see what was in there. The highest probability would be its displeasure with the intrusion, followed by my abrupt death. In the dark red liquid of the gutter I could see the drains grate was removed from the wall, a possible means to get away from this area. For a moment I couldn't move, my eyes flashed to the silent door with its unassuming threat.

Quickly I zipped along the far side of the wall across from the door and gently stepped into the rosy liquid, there was no sound as I shuffled along in the cramped space in the dark. I choked on that thick oil reek as I felt about, feeling light headed with the sudden collision. My camera was also getting low on power, but I insisted on using every last bit of what it had. I still only had two more batteries, and one I was certain was on half power. My leg stung as I bore my grungy pants into the wounds with the chilled water, I shifted my weight and adjusted the camera in my hand before I could fall over. This drain lacked the curving edges I could rest my hand upon to keep my balance, as it was I could barely keep my knees and lower edges of my coat dry. I felt an immediate difference in temperature the moment I entered, the air was cold and calm causing my shoulders to ache as I trembled uncontrollably.

The small tunnel felt near endless in the consuming black, the edges of the green night vision made it more oppressive than should be possible. What was only mere seconds felt like ages, until I reached a fork. I attempted the one side that curved left, only to find it dead end at a sturdy grate. Returning to the original route, I made certain where I was headed before trying the other side.

When the patients came down here earlier, they might have removed some of these grates together for shorter routes. As long as the path was open, I was obligated to take it. Every wrong turn wasted battery life and I attempted to conserve the energy by switching the NV off whenever possible, but in the black slate of nothing I felt the patient approach of something deadly.

I crawled out into a small room, a pump station. It was drained, perhaps by the patients that came through or what was left of the staff still surviving this madness. Some crates sat stacked in the diluted blood channel, and large pipes bore down through the grates upon which I stood, separating me from a nasty swim. The thick fumes of oil and gas filled my lungs and the water I stood in had that translucent, iridescent sheen of chemical residue. Neglected machinery, yet still worked long after abandonment. Some miracle.

I put the camera away, with such nice lighting I just should. The rail ahead was within arm reach if I jumped, and climbed over rather struggle between the bars. A set of shelves at the opposite side of the room were loaded with tools and parts, and some cans of oil. Two doors on either wall indicated the only options out of this room, if they were unlocked.

I tried the one nearest to me set on the solid cement floor, its appearance almost pleasant against the cold brick. Behind the door was a wall of black, which would take me somewhere worthwhile I decided that instant. The air within felt sharp and chilled, unlike the humid sewers.

The other door may have accessed the room I was locked from, as with it something dangerous and incomprehensible. I doubted it, but decided not to risk it. Strange shuffling and scratching sounds came from the other side, I had no wish to meet its gaze and learn its nature. I slipped into the dark chill of the next channel, and shut the door.

Best leave some mysteries, my sick curiosity was going to be the death of me.

I was up on a high grated walkway, without the night vision I could feel the danger press close into me. Decay, mildew, and every manner of disease. My finger with the missing nail was in a good deal of pain, easily ignored but a frequent reminder whenever I fumbled with the cameras operations.

The path to my right was loaded with boxes, a precarious place to climb for a view if they gave out and I fell into god knows what below. When I checked over the side I could make out the walls of metal sheeting gapped for water flow and ruined by corrosion of the mountains natural minerals, the oily water rippled with garbage from the main ward. I was vaguely reminded of Star Wars, and half expected some unknown monster lurking in the depths to coil about my leg and drag me downwards into a set of jaws lined with thousands of tiny teeth.

I laughed at this. My laughter echoing off the great expanse of this chamber, deep into the dark, lost in this hell hole. Somewhere out there a patient was laughing with me. I swore I could hear him.

Or maybe that was my echo.

My knees gave out and I slumped to them lowering the camera beside me, but never letting go of it. I laughed until my sides ached and I tasted that copper residue in my mouth. I had fallen to deep chuckles before I started to cough on the foul air, then I flopped to my good side and lay there snickering quietly to myself on the frigid bridge.

What an idiot I was coming to this place! "The story that breaks these bastards." Weren't those my exact words? Don't quote me on that. Looks like I got what I was looking for, fuckin' story of the century, and Murkoff's crushing demise. They looked pretty broken to me, but maybe I wasn't squinting right. I should get that in fine print, signed by Dr. Wernicke himself. Oh the irony he died before this place flipped its lid.

I waited till I had control again before attempting to rise, I didn't need to buckle over the rail and make a graceless swan dive.

The path going left looked clear, but the rail was shattered to some distance. With no better option I bit down on my reservations and dropped into the water, prepared for the jolt though not taking it as well as I had hoped. I murmured to myself as my sides settled and I continued, camera held near my face as I waded through chest deep water. It had the sharp rust smell, that was more metallic than blood, the pipes around here were made of zinc I thought. Probably wrong, I wasn't a plumber and I wouldn't tell one how to do his job before I researched it.

I stopped and listened when I heard something that sounded like hissing, or grinding. The way echoes twisted between the distant walls….maybe it was shrieking? Maybe I was shrieking and wasn't aware of it.

To reassure myself I touched my lips with my hand, never once considering how filthy my fingers were after I had been crawling down in the gutters. In about five minutes it would come back to me. I took a shaky breath to smooth my frayed nerves but it didn't help at all. I tried not to bite down on my tongue to prevent my teeth from chattering, in the event something did surprise me, I'd wind up biting off my tongue.

In the dark a shape flittered by, startling me back a step. I gazed at it until my eyes told my brain what it was, just a scrap of blanket from somewhere. I hated this place. It was obvious by now.

I searched around the small channel, not sure what to make of this area. I decided not to worry about it. There were large grates, massive, separating this area from the channels I might have viewed or come through. There was no way into them. I hurried my movement, struggling to build a mental map of where I was going and prevent wasting the battery by getting turned around. The chamber was extending beyond the dividing sections and cement walls far spread enabling me from following one side without losing too much power in the process. I ventured into a small area open by a tear in the steel mesh, but found nothing other than a cluster of crates and some magazines that dissolved around my coat.

My battery was done, and I was forced to change it out. The next one was full power, good to get me out of here. Just had to find somewhere to get too.

When I returned to the area I had just left, I noted a stack of crates beneath a broken rail. It's connector. I climbed the crates and dragged myself up onto the path, or what was left of it. A few steps and I was already splashing below in the next channel, wading along with water bubbling into my coat. I supposed I was looking for ways to get up and walk on these broken paths to reach a door or ladder, anyway to get out of here. Good plan. I had a good sense of direction on me, so long as I didn't overthink which way I was facing. If I memorized where I came from and kept my back to the drop or path, then I could navigate across the murky waters with a good mind where the next catwalk would appear.

As I was moving the same clatter of pellets in a pipe twittered off the fences and walls. I checked the ceilings and zoomed to locate large pipes hung above, it was difficult to follow a direction consistently. I also wasn't certain if I wanted to follow that eerie sound, I was trying to keep avoid it.

After walking halfway around the small pool I located the grated steps leading up to my next pathway. One way was the broken remains of the metal bridge, the other took a sharp right. I walked along, wrenching back when a form came into view. Just a cold body slumped on the rail, I lowered the camera to rub my face with my hand. When I pulled my hand back I held it out straight and viewed it through the NV feed of the visor. My hand was trembling like an addict suffering heavy withdrawals. I didn't feel frightened here despite the odd sounds and the lurking threat, I was just cold. It was very cold and I was trembling.

I turned the camera back on the patient. It was a rather odd place to die, I gave the corpse plenty of space as I passed. The small detail that I was viewing murdered patients in the sewers was not missed, it could mean a number of things. They were lost down here due to 'Father' Martins guidance, and the big fucker had found them. Or, the remaining survivors of the staff had retreated down here, and were defending themselves from the variants. While the latter speculation seemed the most plausible, I doubted it. I had already accepted that everyone affiliated with Murkoff for whatever reason, had been killed. And nothing could change that.

The catwalk came to its inevitable end, and I was certain I heard something glide through the liquid below. It was only fair to note that at this point I was disturbed, and I couldn't tell if my mind was playing tricks on me or if there was really something lurking below in the untold depths.

Star Wars.

The water swirled about me when I plopped in, and I took a moment to check the power on the battery before continuing. I was stunned to find it half done. What was this? I found these batteries abandoned throughout this place, had they lost most of their juice exposed the way they were?

For now it would hold, I'd worry over it later. Probably when it was too late.

I swore I felt the water ripple around my chest. Maybe my movement caused ripples that returned to me. Echo ripples? Seemed logical. I needed to get out of here before something did drag me under and drowned me. I kept walking, careful steps and slow movements, try not to disturb the surface too much. The silence grew thunderous as my heart pumped in my chest, I was completely and totally alone here in this channel.

The water burst in front of me spraying the camera as with my face with an icy sheet, it successfully spooked me into a full retreat. It was nothing I assured, after I had calmed myself and gawked back at the burbling surface. There was nothing there, no one in the water. Just…something from the ceiling. Worn brick, or that nasty shit. Fuck, a decapitated head, none of those things could consciously hurt me.

Another walkway curved overhead to the right, it felt like I had gone in a complete circle only because I didn't trust the stability of some boxes. I could see no boxes from where I was stationed below. I grunted and hauled myself up, bringing the camera back to my face as I took the path. A few feet and I found an innocent looking door to my left, the slim crawl of light at the bottom crack. The hinges stuck and creaked as forced it open, only to meet a despairing sight.

The room was empty aside from a bare utility shelf, some plywood, and a man slumped in the furthest corner. A thin black puddle had formed under him, indicating an advanced post mortem state. At his hand was a wrinkled notepad suffering water damage, and the remains of a brown crayon.

I gave the body a distrustful glare before I stepped forward and took up the pad. The writing was mostly eligible, only because crayon was waterproof, but it had not taken well to wet paper I surmised.

"Already weak, cold. It's still bleeding but it doesn't hurt anymore and I almost have quiet. I can't hear the Walrider anymore. Maybe the therapy is wearing off, I can't remember the dreams. Said I could earn my release from this place by submitting to the therapy. Lies. Of course they were lying. It was not therapy. We were sacrificed to conjure a demon. Please, let there be no more dreams. The only hel…."

Out of habit I flipped the page over to see if there was more, but the writing had a thick crescent mark trailing off the unfinished word.

I returned my gaze to the dead man. One patient had said there were no experiments, but rituals, and had called it a 'conjuring.' What exactly did the experiments for Project Walrider entail?

But who did this man refer to? Murkoff, or 'Father' Martin. "Accept the Gospel, and all doors will open"' What was the therapy he referred to? The mutilation each patient bore? Too many new questions, not enough answers. Even the authentic documents Murkoff published made little more sense than the patients statements.

I recorded the note, doubting even with the descent light of the room that it would be eligible, but I went ahead and tore off the page and folded it up to slip into my notebook. My coat wasn't waterproof, but the pocket I kept perishable items in was lined with a water repellent material that kept them safe. A bit of liquid did seep through the zipper, but it was more than my body could say.

I shut the door and resumed on the walkway, only to find its sudden end. I splashed into another channel coughing at the odd shift in my ribs, it didn't hurt but tickled more like I had a mild cough. I waded around the perimeter but located no visible way to exit here, nor an overhead path. Off on the side I climbed out on a wide drainage chute to take a moment and exchange out the battery. For a moment I listened to the water drip off my coat and trickle into the large body below, aside from this the chamber was total silence, even the rattle of needles had faded away leaving the echoing vibrations of the solitary water rippling against metal sheeting.

The battery was a half dead one as well. Might as well use it while things felt calm, I'd have to tread cautiously and maybe give this one up early if I wandered near danger. Though, the way my batteries were dying, it seemed inevitable that I would change it soon.

With no visible exit here, I decided to backtrack. I must have missed something. An opening probably, skipped in the poor NV quality. Excuses, excuses. I chided myself for being so careless, even distracted as I was I needed to pay attention to my surroundings or I wouldn't survive much longer. I shuddered at the thought as I slipped into the cold channel. It was just cold.

I returned to the previous pool, before had I climbed up into the catwalk with the dead patient. I scoured the perimeter over wasting precious battery life, before I decided to climb that damn drainage chute with the grate. I had missed a small opening in the side, looked like someone had kicked it out with fire. I crawled into the next channel, chamber, flow - whatever, and stepped down into water that was not quite as deep. It was freezing though, I was shaking so hard the images of the visor were not clear enough to see until I had paused to get my quakes under control.

Felt like my knees were numb, but it did ease the pain in my chest. I was going to be a female before the end of this. Damn.

I tried along the outer wall locating all the discarded papers, folders, cans, and cardboard. My pulse quickened and I was trembling harder than before, I found out why as I turned the camera. Rotted decapitated heads floating at the sides. I could see the heads due to the eyes, eyes always glowed. I hated that. Somehow my peripheral vision had picked up on them before I consciously realized it, the notion itself elicited a tiny moan from me. Across the channel I could zoom on the camera and locate more heads balanced on crates staring with vacant expressions across the black expanse. I shut my eyes and looked away.

There was a sound. Someone screaming, most likely. I continued, bumping a few items that became water logged and sunk. Bodies floated after some time. Eerie thought right there. I wasn't paying enough attention at the moment, couldn't bring myself to focus on where I was going. A small knot had buried into my spine like an obnoxious ache, but it felt more like stress and the cold twisting my nerves.

When I finally staggered in the water nearly dropping the camera I looked out, revaluating my position. A few large pillars supported what must've been the upper floor. There was a way out, somewhere to climb up on and get a better view of my surroundings.

Movement. Ripples. They could have been mine, but they traveled from the opposite side of the room far from walls, that I could tell. Something solid was down here with me.

I shuffled near the curving wall carefully, taking small steps as I turned the camera in gradual sweeps and zoomed in. Trying to find what, before it found me. I drew too near to it and picked up the dull clink of chains, and the rather aggressively way the water broke.

Chris Walker. Down here! Damn it, if there was no way out!

But as I turned the camera, up in the ceiling there beamed a light from some sort of opening. It meant nothing, probably from where the big fucker crashed in from. But it was my only chance. It was more than what I'd found so far.

I hid behind a stack of crates and peered out, as his eyes glimmered phantom like in the NV mode. Just beyond him I could make out a set of steps leading up, and a walkway. That was something, and the light source right there, it could have been where Chris plunged in from.

What was he doing down here? Lost? I didn't care, it would be a nice change of pace if he was stuck. I doubted his fate would end in a place like this, he wouldn't rest until he saw me dead.

"Stacked neatly side by side," he hummed, taking a turn and wandering a ways from my position.

I zoomed out, heading in the general direction I had seen the steps. "Too good at what I do." He must've been lost in recollections of his past, or a session with the doctors. It kept him distracted and that was good. "Someone's here." Not nearly enough.

The rings were getting smaller as he closed in on me, I was barely climbing the steps when the power in my battery began to fade. Fuck, what bad timing! I bolted up the steps rather bother with it. Chris gave a sharp snarl when he must have seen my form in the faint light. I ran, not realizing the path ended before I nearly bolted off the broken walkway into open air.

There was a ladder that would've extended down to the bridge, if it was still intact. The lower portion of it and much of the catwalk was torn to shreds and dumped in the water below.

I felt the vibrations of the big fucker as he stormed up behind me.

I jumped down into the water and wadded away. He did much of the same, only he seemed to have an easier time charging through the froth after me. My camera was depleted, but it did punch a small hole of perception in what was otherwise a black wall. I was in a mad hobble to keep out of his grip, and he was catching up.

A very insignificant memory came back to me, way back from my child hood. When the kids in my old neighborhood got together Saturday nights to play outdoor games, like kids my age used to do many moons ago, we would often play tag. I had many fond memories of being it, and not being it. Sometimes we got bored and would antagonize the tagger, so we could run. No one liked trying to tag me much, I was good at getting away. But if ever I was in a jam and close to getting caught, I had a very unique way of eluding my pursuer.

With Chris close at my back, I managed several long strides in the impeding water and leapt forward, twisting in midair and coming down so I faced the opposite way I was headed. Albeit, it was sluggish in the water, I shoved off glancing by Chris as he fought to jerk about.

The back of his arm slammed into my lower hip as he fell, a loud yowl expelled from my throat as the chains multiplied the pain by six. I stumbled but recovered quickly, adrenaline pumped through my veins as I made it back, guided only by the poor light of the night vision.

"You had your chance!"

I could hear him stagger upright and resume the chase. The metal steps were a few feet off but I redirected myself and took them three at a time, never mind the throb building in my hip. Never mind any of that shit, I wouldn't have another go at this if I fell.

I stuffed the camera strap between my teeth before I lunged forward, relying on my meek sight alone and the faulty light to identify the ladders bars glinting in the fog. I hit them with a muffle grunt, my boots slipping through the space and I swung backwards barely catching the rungs with my feet splayed against them. When I hit the lower side with my back, holy hell, the bolt of pain shot up my shoulder blades and numbed a spot in my tongue. Somehow I never lost my grip on the camera, probably because I had bitten hard into the strap due to the shock. Dumbfounded, I hung there as Chris thundered across the bridge with a murderous growl. I registered his intentions with enough time to jerk myself up, as he leapt slashing at my shoulder.

Complete silence.

I imagined Chris Walker falling forever into a dark void, or well. A poisoned well, before he splashed at the very bottom. My abdomen began to ache, and I was forced to haul myself up and climb the ladder the rest of the way. Below, he snarled with fury and maybe promised next time would be different, before he broke off into mad cackles that sounded a little too feminine to be MY big ugly fucker.

I was delirious by the time I reached the top of the ladder, my body sort of oozed out onto the icy concrete floor and I rolled away from that large gaping hole. Away from danger, away from that wicked monster. I curled myself up beside some shelving and lay there, clutching the camera to my chest. A dull throb pulsed up my side and a unbearable warmth seeped through my lower thigh, I fumbled for my wet pants leg trying to decide if I was bleeding but it was impossible to tell. I probably shouldn't be clutching my only light source to my wet coat, but my brain wasn't registering the warning at this time. It felt like everything was spinning, the dull beige room I lay in was whirling and twisting, I felt my eyes roll back under their lids as I tried to follow the motion.

I thought I heard someone crying, but it wasn't me. Fuck that. I rolled off my side and looked over at a man in a chair.

Beware men in chairs.

For a long time I stared at him and I think, he stared right back. His face looked like it was infected, or a bees nest had made a home in his brain.

Miles. Up. Get up Miles. Walk it up.

I don't really want to. But I made the effort, slipping my hands under me and pushing off the dusty ground. A small whine escaped me as I pushed, literally dragging myself to my feet. Once I was standing, I moved towards the open door. A familiar sort of door, I couldn't recall where I had seen doors like this.

I managed to reach it before I dropped. A moment, I needed a moment. Just a short span of time in the quiet, away from the screaming and the oppressive death, and the dangers. Just give me five minutes to get my shit together and get up. As I sank heavily to my side I exhaled a sharp breath scattering the dust near my face, my forehead thudded with pain as the warmth subsided in my calm state. I'm not sure if I was on my good side or if I had a good side anymore, perhaps a more favorable position to lie in? I couldn't sleep here, but I couldn't resist either. I wouldn't sleep. I would not sleep. Wouldn't sleep.

The soft shuffle of feet interrupted my coaxing. I turned my head just enough over my shoulder to see the man from the chair approach me. I did my best to glare at him, or to not look terrified before I blacked out.

A massive thanks to all my viewers. Remember if there are inaccuracies or a structure flow that doth not make sense, throw me a bone and I'll gladly change it. I hope to keep you entertained for chapters to come