Reed's Perspective:
The doors to sickbay, the ones containing this hall of mortality, slid open to reveal its pristine white surface displayed across the entirety.
Before a second could pass he was through the gateway, leaving Tucker behind, trapped inside that darkness while he himself escaped to the bright haven outside.
The very walls resonated with joy and safety, and a relieved sigh came jagged from the depths of his throat.
He was out of there, had made it before his own resolve could crumble underneath that constant barrage of- of-
Dammit!
The resources of his rage, his pain, emptied by the lifted burdens as he exited that corridor connecting to the morgue, returned full force in their brutality, fueling the primal instincts of ages past.
With a strangled cry he rammed his foot into the bulkhead, all pent up energy forcing itself into that one kick.
"Arrhh-!"
He bit down viciously, silencing the tongue as blood pooled in his mouth and the bitter taste could barely be recognized amongst his conflicting sensations.
His hands clutched uselessly at the raised foot while he stood on a single quivering leg, hopping from time to time to correct its tilting. Unbalanced as he was, the Lieutenant soon ran out of luck, falling backwards as arms flailed franticly, searching for any support they might find.
His body landed with a thud on the cold floor, head smacking into the material with a sickening crack as he yelped at the sudden loss of balance.
He laid still, systems trying to cope with the abrupt fall and the pain quickly numbing in the back of his skull.
Bloody hell.
But within his semi-functioning brain time couldn't afford to be wasted. One groan later his frame had flipped onto its stomach, and was clawing at the floor with both hands.
Faintly he recognized something dripping down his face, curiosity bounced through him, but weariness eventually won the battle, and the springy ball of wonder was left to roll tiredly.
A lifetime of crawling, reaching hand after hand across the ground with painstaking slowness. And just as the feeling of hopelessness took over, that it was futile to even try, another surface, a counter, came within reach.
He didn't know whether to clap or scream, and so with a moan, indistinguishable for either he lifted his arms.
Steady hands dragged their way towards the top, scraping against the metal, leaning for any handhold as huffs of exertion pounded the air.
With a grunt the first elbow latched itself aboard the top, followed by his black haired head, panting as quivering legs struggled to uphold themselves.
As he leaned there with blood dripping to the counter top, weary head tucked into his forearms and body slowly drooping back to its knees, he heard something.
It was so quite his ears had to strain just to identify it, it was-, crying, someone crying.
Malcom lifted his face from the peaceful oblivion between his arms, searching from side to side with lids half closed.
Goddamn.
Whatever the reason, he felt drawn to it, as if his bloody purpose in life revolved around that sound, that crying.
His body might just as well have been lying atop that medical counter, and in fact the upper part of it was, even his legs managed to use it for support, somehow angled against its plastic in a way that stopped their shaking.
Take a breath, now a deep one.
Silent commands completed, Malcom launched off his lifeline. Abandoning himself to the treacherous sea where no other counter or bio-bed was to be found.
Stumbling steps dragged him around the corner, lurching in every direction as he staggered about the room.
Forwards.
Backwards.
To the left.
More backwards.
Far to the right.
The added dizziness was enough to sicken him, and the pounding in his skull didn't help either.
His chin was pressed into the collar of his uniform, head lolling in whatever direction he happened to tilt to, a living rag doll with a mind barely its own.
On a whim he raised it, eyes widened and mouth hung open as the object of his search appeared right before him, magical in her presence.
She was lying crumpled between the main sickbay doors, hands over her eyes as a stream of tears flowed underneath her palms.
Malcom's face tilted, as if seeing her through an angle would make the picture before him clearer.
She was collapsed, defeated, frazzled, unintelligible, she was-
"Beautiful" he whispered it, the awe unmistakable in his voice as eyelids continued to recede, the visible whites increasing in size.
Dropping to his knees he had to stabilize himself, almost losing balance in the descent. He reached out his hands, placing them softly on the Ensign's tear reddened face, stroking a loose strand of hair as his fingers moved downwards, splaying around her collared neck.
She didn't react to his touch, and with his eyes wide open and his breathing steady, Malcom tightened his grip on the woman's throat before a quick jerk of his hands-
And he effectively snapped her neck.
His face remained in its position, not a muscle moved as he gazed in fascination at the lifeless, tear stained face of Ensign Mary…