She checked every door she ran past, but most of them were empty or storage rooms. By the time she opened what must have been the twentieth door she was starting to freak out. Despite her attempt at holding her emotions back panic began to well in her chest and she could feel the burning of tears in her eyes. She sniffed, and shook her head, pushing them back, and nearly missed a door. She stopped and looked over her shoulder at it, wondering if she really needed to open it. She didn't know what she would do if it was another empty room.

Something drew her to it though. She felt herself step back without remembering her brain telling her body what to do. Her hand reached out, turn the knob, and open the door to darkness. Well, not quite darkness. Red and green lights flashed on counters and walls and she hesitantly stepped in. She hated the feeling of the room and the smell of metal that reminded her too much of blood. As she stepped farther in she noticed the tables of dials and buttons and scales and measures. There were blocks of the same on the walls and a six foot empty vial that sat in the far corner of which the inside was coated in spots by a silvery substance. She backed away from it, not sure why she was thinking that the substance was silver blood.

The small of her back bumped into a counter and her hand moved back to steady herself. Her palm pressed down on a button and she jumped back as a grinding sound filled the room. She didn't wait a heartbeat as she took off for the room, but she stopped midstride as light suddenly bathed the room. Slowly turning she watched as a visor started to rise off of what she realized was a large window that spanned from either side of the room and from about four feet off the ground to the ceiling. As she neared closer she noticed that there was another room below filled with more lighted blocks and a small dead end catwalk that was raised over a tank of some sort…

She let out an ear piercing scream as she saw what was in the tank. She sank to her knees and let out another shriek. They were the first two screams to have left her mouth in three years.

She leapt up from her spot on the floor and launched herself at the window, battering against it with her fists but to no avail. She couldn't think properly, couldn't see properly through the tears that streamed down her cheeks.

Mark lay in the tank, submerged completely, and even though a breathing mask lay over his mouth and nose there were no bubbles coming from him. He was dead. She could see it in the way his face was more pale than usual with the lack of blood; she could see it in the way that the water around him was still with the absence of his chest rising and falling. He was gone, kicked the bucket, on the other side of the ground, pushing up daisies…dead. Just. Plain. Dead.

Quinn couldn't handle it. Despite all the evidence and the realness in it all she had to make sure. She had to get down there and make sure.

In her despair she hadn't noticed the small door in the corner, but she spotted it now and raced to it. She threw it open and jumped from the landing, not bothering with the stairs, and let her wings soar her to the catwalk. She leaned over it, seeing if she could grab Mark from there, but she couldn't, she was about two feet too high up. She bit her lip and stared into the tank, wondering how deep Mark was in. He didn't look to be sitting on what would have been the bottom of the platform that the tank was on, but about a foot sunk in. She swallowed. That would make the tank about two or three feet deep. Not too deep but you could drown in three inches of water…

She shoved her fear aside and jumped in, resting her feet on the edges above her best friend. She took a deep breath and plunged in, grabbing Mark's arms and pulling. It was then that she realized that he was strapped to the table by his ankles and wrists and she came back up for air, flicking her hair off of her face. A shiver from both the cold water and the situation ran through her as she drew her knife. It may rust but she didn't care; if the last thing it did was save it's maker then that was fine with her. She went back under and sawed on the bindings, getting through one with each gulp of air she took. She didn't know how long had passed since she had been in the torture chamber but he was free now and all she had to do was pull him up.

Quinn swallowed and rubbed her eyes, but that still didn't cease the tears that continued to flow. A sob escaped her lips as she took another breath. She looked back down at her friend, who was floating a couple inches off of his resting place. Holding her breath she slid beneath the now stirred water and wrapped her arms around his waist, hauling him up. He was heavier than before, heavier than the time when she had to half-carry him down an alleyway one night when they were being chased by some gang members and he had tripped and banged up his leg pretty bag.

She raised her head above water and took another breath, grabbing his arms now. She tugged and pulled until her arms screamed at her but she would not let him go. She braced her feet against the far ledge and pulled even tighter on the dead weight in her arms.

The dead weight.

Another reminder that he was really gone…

As she disappeared into her dark thoughts her grip loosened and Mark slipped away from him, sinking slowly back into the water. She let out another scream as she scrambled to grab onto him again.

That's when the sound of a gun being cocked resonated in the room, in her brain, and the small part in her heart that was still alive.

All she could think was: Yes. Please. I have nothing left. Just kill me now.

To answer her prayer a gun went off.