Intense whispering filled the tunnel, as if came from above. I stepped dead in my tracks, shooting an arm out to grab at Minho's shirt. His hand met mine, gently pushing it back to my side as he yelled for the others to halt. The sound hadn't come from any one of us, of that I was sure. "Did you hear that?" he questioned.

As several people muttered various answers conveying 'yes' and began asking questions the faint flash of whispering could be heard if you listened for it. Just a few short clipped indecipherable words that sounded as if they came from a very old very frail sick man.

Minho shushed everyone again.

It wasn't even a minute before the voice spoke again, harshly. Its voice echoing through the air and bouncing off the walls before it faded out. Several people gasped, like they'd only just gotten it, only just heard the voice and were shocked. I still couldn't make out the words however.

"Did anybody get what it said?" Newt called out around him.

Winston was the one to answer. "Couple of words. Sounded like 'go back' right in the middle."

"Yeah, it did."

"Well, that's not happenin," I muttered, but the sounds sort of echoed around the tunnel.

"Everybody slim it and listen real hard this time," Minho interrupted, the darkness we stood in lapsing into complete silence.

And this time the voice came through, everyone heard it loud and clear. "One-chance deal. Go back now, you won't be sliced."

"Won't be sliced?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He said we can go back!"

"We can't trust some random shank whispering in the dark."

"Just keep going!" I think it was Tommy who shouted the words up to Minho, "I can't take this much longer. Just go!"

"Wait a minute!" Frypan's voice rang out. "The voice said this was a one-chance deal. We have to at least think about it."

"Yeah," someone added. "Maybe we should go back."

"No way. Remember what that guy at the desk told us. That we'd all die horrible deaths if we go back." Tommy said.

Frypan countered. "Well, what makes him any more in charge than this whispering dude? How're we supposed to know who to listen to and who to ignore?"

"The voice is just another one of their stupid variables," I said, my voice sounding almost bored. "If we're doing anything, I say we find some light and get the hell outta this darkness."

"She's right," Minho said next to me, suddenly sounding much closer than before. "Come on, let's go."

He had only just said the last word when the voice spoke again, just as clear as before, though this time laced with a sort of hatred as the words ripped through the air. "You're all dead. You're all going to be sliced. Dead and sliced."

Every hair on my neck stood straight up as a chill slid down my spine. No one said a word. No one called to go back. It was dead silent. And pretty soon we were all on our way. Minho had been right after all, all the sissies had been weeded out. That was made evident as we delved deeper and deeper into the darkness. It was warming a bit, the air seeming to thicken with dust. It got all up in your face, you breathed it in. Your mouth dried and you coughed.

And then it got warmer.

Dustier.

And you got thirstier, but no one dared reach for their water in this darkness. It was all that was need to spill the contents on the floor.

But we kept walking. And time passed slowly. It was excruciatingly frustrating, just walking in the blackness, no one saying a word, not knowing how far we'd gone, or how far we had to go. We just walked. It provided much too much time for thinking. Finding Newt crossed my mind, but there wasn't really a point. I'd just cause a mess in trying to find him. He was fine where he was, I was sure of it… but I couldn't help but wonder… if maybe he was thinking about me…

Minho's arm brushed my own. What was he thinking about, I wonder?

Someone screamed behind us.

It started out like a shriek, a yell of surprise, but it quickly escalated into a scream of pure unadulterated terror. I didn't know who it was, it was impossible to tell. He was screaming his throat raw, shrieking and screeching like an animal trying to escape slaughter. The thump of a body hitting the round echoed around the walls. And then he was thrashing, or that's what it sounded like.

And I was pulling Minho towards it, attempting to push past the shell-shocked boys.

Someone hit the floor, presumably beside the amusedly injured or dead boy. Tommy was yelling. "Hey! What's wrong with you? Stop it! What's wrong!"

And then the screaming creased, cut off by a gurgling sound before everything went quiet.

Was something… rolling?

People had pulled Tommy to his feet, letting him lean up against the wall. Minho was in front of him, and by the sound of ruffling fabric I could tell he'd gripped his shirt as he spoke. "Thomas! Thomas! What happened?"

"I… I don't know." He seemed shocked. "Who was that? Who was down there screaming?"

Winston answered with a shaky voice. "Frankie, I think. He was right next to me, just making a joke, and then it was like something yanked him away. Yeah, it was him. Definitely him."

"Look," Tommy said before taking a long breath. "I heard him screaming, and ran up here to help. I jumped on him, tried to pin his arms down, find out what was wrong. Then I reached for his head to grab his by the cheeks –I don't even know why- and all I felt was…"

"What?" Minho shouted. I reached for his shoulder, to calm him down a bit. Tommy seemed a bit shocked, by the sound of his voice. It was shaky, hesitant, unbelieving.

He groaned. "His head wasn't a head. It was like a… a big… metal ball. I don't know, man, but that's what I felt. Like his shuck head had been swallowed by… by a big metal ball!"

"What are you talking about?" Minho asked, his voice softer that time. His free arm had knocked my hand off his shoulder, but grabbed my wrist, pulling me closer to him, his grip was soft, but firm enough that I wouldn't slip away.

"Didn't you hear it rolling away right after he stopped screaming? I know it-"

"It's right here!" Someone shouted, cutting him off. Newt. There was a heavy scrape of metal against concrete, and then newt grunting with effort. "I heard it roll over here. And it's all wet and sticky –feels like blood."

"What?" I muttered weakly, a whisper of a sound.

"What the klunk?" Minho half whispered, "How big is it?" the other joined in, questions drowning out questions.

"Everybody slim it!" Newt shouted. It was useless looking for him in this complete darkness, but I did it anyways. "I don't know." He said flatly once they quieted. "Bigger than a buggin' head for sure. It's perfectly round –a perfect sphere."

This was… so weird. Like nothing we had ever faced before. What was this?

"We need to run," Thomas said surely. "We need to go. Now."

"Maybe we should go back." Was that Hank? "Whatever that ball thing is, it sliced off Frankie's head, just like the old shank warned us."

"No way." Minho reacted angrily. "No way. Thomas is right. No more dinkin' around. Spread out a couple of feet from each other, then run. Hunch down, and if something comes near your head, hit the living crap out of it."

No one argued, though there was some shuffling around before a hand clasped over my bicep. "MaC?" It was quiet, barely a whisper.

"Newt?" I asked, squinting in the darkness, trying to see him. It was useless, of course. Letting go of Minho, I reached in Newt's general direction, and promptly smacked his chest.

"Be careful," He muttered quietly, almost in audibly quiet. It was meant just for me. For my ears and mine alone.

I nodded, not that he could actually see that. "Good that," I mumbled in response, feeling for his arm.

He almost laughed, I felt his shoulder shake with the familiar sensation. His hand brushed my shoulder, and then my chin, he brushed his fingers over my cheek. And just as I was beginning to wonder what he was doing when he brushed his lips over my own.

"MaC?" Minho. He pulled back abruptly, moving to the side as Minho's hand knocked into my shoulder. "C'mon."

And with one last glance to the darkness behind me where I knew Newt stood amongst the others, I followed Minho to the front. And we ran. Fast and hard.

And we didn't stop.

Not even when the metal ball of death got another person. That probably sounded horrible. But it was true. It was probably a terrible thing to do. But no one stopped.

There was only the sound of metal on metal, a few hard clicks, and then… well, the screams drowned out the rest. And then they came to a gurgling halt, just as before. The ball crashed onto the ground, and it rolled. I heard it clank against the wall. And then the other wall, and then it rolled some more.

But we kept running. And we didn't slow down.