Nea had probably cussed Dwight out at least ten times since the start of their chaotic argument. His chances of convincing her of what was really going on crashed and burned pretty quickly, since she was a hard nut to crack. She wasn't buying any of the horror stories that he was spewing, despite the surmounting evidence that proved they'd been through hell and back. Not to mention she literally was almost sliced and diced by an unknown monster in the shadows out past the campfire.

Nothing was enough for her. So she told him to fuck off ten ways till Sunday and then sat her ass down in the furtherst spot away from the trio, biting her nails till they bled and catering to her sore knuckles from the punch she gifted Meg earlier. This girl was frustratingly stubborn and either was too dumb to understand the severity of their predicament or simply was the 'see it to believe it' type.

Prying himself away from the argument had Dwight lumbering toward Meg, looking like he was really frustrated over being branded a liar and a whackjob, but she didn't understand why. Nea would soon be learning that none of it was an exaggerated lie. Just a morbid horrorshow that they were forced to participate in. All they had to do was wait for the fog to roll in- Which was taking its sweet time, pulling a sense of gratefulness from Meg's brittle soul.

With the time to kill, she beckoned for Dwight to sit beside her. He plopped down and scooted in close so that their arms were pressed together. Meg took the opportunity to lean on him, which greeted her tired muscles with a sense of coziness. While their wounds healed and missing limbs could reappear, nothing ever aided their tense bodies because the stress was not a short lived thing. It always plagued them every waking moment.

There were a couple things she wanted to discuss with him, one being the ominous skull in the fire.

She pointed toward it, saying, "Look. There's a skull in there. Can you see it?"

Dwight leaned forward and put his head where her finger was, adjusting his glasses so he could see clearly. He nodded after a second of evaluating.

"Yeah," He hummed, "Has that always been there?"

Meg shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well, it's not beyond the possibility." He didn't seem bothered by it. Sure as hell wasn't the weirdest thing they'd seen. What harm could it be?

They momentarily lapsed into a beat of silence, till Dwight looked at her.

"Are you okay? Your jaw is bruised?" He asked. Meg chuckled and reached for it, wincing when she brushed her fingers too hard against the tender skin.

"Uh yeah, didn't you see she punched me out there," She attempted a grin, but it was hard to smile with all of the torment weighing it down. It wasn't the first time Meg was ever punched, but that one was definitely the hardest hit she'd ever taken. It was mostly due to the fact that she wasn't expecting it, being in the pitch dark and all. At least Nea got payback with the fall she ate right after-

"Wait," Meg said, completely shifting tones. "There's something out there. I forgot because all of this shit happened." She stood up and dragged Dwight with her, taking him to the very edge of the campfire's light. They both stared off into the blackness ahead, the moon hardly doing anything to help them see the dense wilderness.

"There's something out there, she tripped over it. It sounded like a metal plate or something on the ground," She explained.

"There was a handle too."

Dwight and Meg turned their heads, seeing Nea staring at them from across the campfire. She looked somewhere between curious and unfazed, still picking at her nails absentmindedly.

"What do you mean? Like a door?" Asked Dwight. Nea nodded slowly.

"Yeah, a cellar maybe."

What secrets did the darkness hold? Is that why it was so dangerous out there? Was there something being… guarded? Meg's mind swirled with questions and possibilities.

"We should check it out," She suggested. Dwight couldn't be any less interested.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Of course it's technically not a good idea, but there's something out there and we are missing it. What if it helps us get out of here?"

She had a point. Everything around them was a danger to their lives, they weren't new to it. So if they had to risk it to see what this door in the darkness was, she didn't think it was beyond their capabilities.

Dwight sighed, "It killed the cat y'know."

"It's not about curiosity, it's about getting the fuck out of here." Meg's voice was low and serious. She crossed her arms and looked at him. The look in his eyes was pitiful.

"I don't want to lose anyone else. What if we die for nothing?" There was the slightest crack in his voice.

"I wasn't expecting you guys to go out with me. I can do it alone. I'll be okay."

His hand gently grasped her shoulder, turning her so they were face to face. "I especially don't want to lose you."

Meg stared at him, the tiniest bit flattered by the desire he had to maintain her safety.

He continued. "You keep us afloat. What you did last trial, distracting that thing so the gens could get done, we need more of that. We can't lose you."

Then he pulled her closer, whispering all but inaudibly. "Claudette is slipping. And I don't think Nea is going to be sticking her neck out for us when we get in there. Between you and me, it's up to us to get everyone out in one piece."

"Hey! What's with the fuckin' whispering?"

They were interrupted by Nea, who was crunching through the dried grass toward them. Meg and Dwight both pulled away from their intimate conversation, standing side by side facing Nea as she approached.

"We're talking about the door. Did you feel anything else when you landed on it?" Said Meg, smoothly shifting the topic to include Nea. The newcomer shook her head.

Nea looked like she was about to say something smart-ass when her smug expression faltered, having seen something out of the corner of her eye. They all looked around with her, realizing the fog had arrived to whisk them off to another trial.

They had no purple cloth for the fire, so they'd be starting the trial separately. It's never ideal, but especially so when they had someone new joining them.

"Nea, when we get there you gotta look for us. Okay?" Meg commanded her, but the girl's eyes told her she still didn't trust any of it. Right as she was going to respond, the fog enveloped them completely, eliminating any further discussion.

Meg closed her eyes and tried to embrace the feeling of the void-like fog, to try and discover what lies between the campfire and the trial. There had to be a fraction of a second where they were in nothingness, somewhere between realities. It was supernatural, in a way. When she forced her mind to comprehend that fact and to open herself up to the sensation of the dark dimension, something impeded on her thoughts.

It was a voice, a soft whisper that sounded like silk slipping through her subconscious. 'Who are you?'

Then it was followed by a compilation of faded images that Meg just barely was able to see through the haziness of her thoughts.

There was a pretty looking bedroom, fairy lights wrapped around the headboard, a wide panel of moonlight seeping onto the bed. Warmth beneath plush covers. But also the sensation of goosebumps. The soft, sleepy protests of a nightmare's victim… Then the flashing image of a pair of scared, perfectly sapphire colored eyes overtook Meg's mind.

When she opened her own, she discovered that the fog was long gone, however those orbs were burned into her brain. When she looked around she was distracted, still mulling over what just happened to her. It was like a psychic event, unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. There was such a strange sense of intimacy, like she was watching someone in real time, experiencing their sensations that only their body could feel. Whoever this person was… they spoke to her.

'Who are you?'

She concentrated on remembering each syllable, every distinguishable sound that came with the short question. Meg didn't know that voice. She'd never heard it in her life. So what was that? What just happened?

Was she contacted by someone from the outside?

She started to gather her bearings. It was clearly an important experience, but she wanted to live to tell the others about it. That meant she needed to get her ass moving.

This trial was a bleak one. The world was gray and brittle. Around her were the familiar walls, which were built of ashy bricks with colorless wood planks barely clinging on the sides. As she meandered through the web of walls, Meg noticed the slim outline of a grimey greenhouse ahead of her. But it was what sat behind it that caught her attention immediately.

An old building that towered mightily in its state of ruin, with a domed roof that was nearly torn apart completely, aside from the skeletal beams that held its majestic, curved shape. The windows looked grand, as did the archway entrance leading to the front door. Meg's feet couldn't move for a moment as she took in the sight of this looming structure. It was so deeply ravaged by destruction that it seemed like a ghost of what could have been a marvelous spectacle. Despite this, it still maintained an air of grim prestige.

There were multiple holes and ramps created by debris along the side of the building that could've served as ways in, but Meg opted for the gaping front entry that was missing its doors. She carefully came toward it, slipping on to the front patio and tip-toed inside.

A cool, checkered tile floor chilled her feet through her flimsy sneakers. The interior was just as defiled as the outside. There was a cracked and shoddy reception desk right at the entrance, with a couple of suitcases being stacked on the ends of it.

Meg attempted to observe everything under the mindset that this was a memory, just like the farm. Perhaps there were secrets lurking about this place too. Her head swiveled in every direction. The first problem to tackle was identifying what sort of building this was. Clearly it wasn't a farmhouse.

Beyond the sight of the suitcases appeared to be gurneys, wheelchairs, metal carts that held discarded medical supplies and pill bottles. A hospital, maybe? Although the architecture didn't quite agree with Meg's idea of a hospital. It was a big building, yes, but not quite as big as the hospitals she was familiar with. Though one thing was clear, this was no 21st Century structure. It was old and haggard, showing its age through the vintage items that littered the halls and the delicate details all around the exterior. She supposed that could explain the abnormally small size for a building designated for medical treatment. Things were just more petite back in the day.

She took a right, seeing a staircase along a debris ridden wall that suffered multiple gaping holes, allowing the bright moonlight to spill in at large volumes. Opposite the stairs was a room, which she tentatively entered.

Meg jumped out of her skin when she saw Nea standing in the center of it.

"Nea! What are you doing?" Meg hissed softly, mostly agitated that the girl had frightened her. Nea didn't react at first, until she slowly turned and looked at Meg. Her eyes dripped with terror. She must've finally realized that this wasn't some elaborate joke. This was real, and it was scary.

"The fog… I don't get it," She mumbled with a manic stutter. "How did we just appear here?"

Meg held a finger over her mouth, speaking hardly above a whisper. "The same way you ended up at the campfire, now keep your voice down."

The redhead spotted a line of filing cabinets against the wall. She figured it could be worth checking out, so she headed over.

"This is the asylum," Nea blurted out.

She paused in front of the cabinets. "What do you mean?"

"This is the asylum I was dared to tag. It's older looking now, more run down… but my tag isn't here…"

Asylum. Makes sense, Meg thought.

A distant, familiar sound had both their heads turning before they could discuss the revelation further. It was the screeching, the same one from the wilderness at the campfire. It was so far from them that it sounded like a scream carried through the softness of a breeze, but echoed like a bellowing cry. A chill shuddered down both of their spines, making Nea subconsciously take a couple steps toward Meg for comfort.

Another screech followed the first, then an eerie silence befell the asylum. When Meg caught a glimpse of Nea's face, she could tell that she was finally coming to terms with the truth. This wasn't a lie, it was a gruesome game of pain and suffering they were forced to partake in. It wasn't going to hold her hand and wait until she was ready. The trials were unforgiving. They consumed whatever poor soul they could summon. Unfortunately, Nea was just another tally for the nightmare.

"It's okay." Meg gently palmed Nea's shoulder, shaking her a little to get the girl to look her way. "Just stay low. Help me look through these."

Both of their hands went for the filing cabinet drawers, each being tedious in how they opened them. The metal to metal shrillness would surely draw any killers their way, so they slid the drawers out painstakingly slow. Once enough of the files were accessible, they began flicking through them.

"And what exactly are we looking for?" Nea asked. She was focused now, ready at Meg's command in order to survive.

"Not too sure, if anything seems interesting then let me know. There's just… details in these places. I'm not sure if they mean anything, but I wanna know as much as I can."

"What about the generators Dwight was talking about? Shouldn't we be doing those?"

Nea had a good point, and Meg was already thinking about them, as they all instinctively did. But given that all of this information was right at their fingertips, she figured it was worth quickly checking out before getting down to business. She just hoped their snooping didn't come at the cost of Claudette or Dwight in some twisted way. Every moment mattered, but it wasn't like they were doing something completely useless. The search was being conducted for the sake of knowledge. What if there was something important lurking amongst these files?

So far it didn't seem promising. Each tab on the file featured handwritten labels of swirling cursive nicknames, if you will. Catatonic Boy. Melancholic Twins. Anxious Girl. Bad Man. Sweaty Codger.

Knowing that this was an asylum, it was somewhat offensive to Meg that these mentally unwell people couldn't even have their real names assigned to the labels, instead being reduced to two words that described a part of them. Her heart twisted for these patients. She opened the Anxious Girl's file, giving it a quick peek.

Jenner, Mary

Date of Birth: June 13, 1922

Admission Date: December 24, 1930

12/26/30: Jenner displays serious signs of neurosis, suffering from stress attacks often with no regard to any specific activity being the catalyst.

4/14/31: A bi-weekly schedule of Electroconvulsive therapy has seen little improvement.

2/24/33: Insulin therapy has been somewhat successful, however within a week the symptoms reappear.

9/15/35: The Insulin sleep experiment has unfortunately resulted in negative side-effects.

11/4/37: Lobotomy has been very successful with previous patients, perhaps Jenner will find relief with the surgery. Scheduled for 3/28/38 if frequent Electroconvulsive therapy fails.

Meg closed the file, feeling her stomach lurch at the description of therapies, knowing full well what sort of tortures these people went through during medicine's dark period. To lobotomize a girl with mere anxiety is fucking crazy. If this doctor could see what sort of issues people had in the present day yet function entirely fine, he'd have a heart attack.

And how does an eight year old child get sent to an insane asylum on Christmas Eve? Did her parents think she was the anti-christ? She couldn't bear to think about the darkness of such a sad life, so she returned the file back where it belonged.

"What was that?" Nea asked, referencing the file.. She shook her head, still trying to shake the Anxious Girl from her mind.

"Nothing but depressing. I don't think there's anything here, let's check the rest of the place out."

They left the drawers out and vacated the room, entering the hallway once more. They snuck by the stairs and continued, rounding an empty room that had some red lockers inside with nothing else of value.

Littering the hallway was abandoned medical equipment, summoning an eerie feeling. Now that she had a closer look, she could see the gurney's had restraints on them, same with the wheelchairs- All she could imagine were the poor souls who'd been confined to a life of mind numbingly painful treatments. This was the first trial where Meg felt like she might actually be in a horror movie, the setting being an all too familiar one that had seen characters tormented by the ghosts of insane and tortured patients. It was a plotline far overused, at least within all the horror flicks Meg had seen growing up. Hopefully they had better luck than those characters normally did.

There were a couple exits they saw and passed by, the next room of interest being what looked like a patient's quarters. There was a padded bed, a divider and a bedside table that had a standing scale beside it. A wheelchair sat next to the bed. Meg kept her eye on it, hoping to God it wouldn't mysteriously move on its own.

The energy in this room was different. Meg could feel the temperature dip, causing her to wrap her arms around herself as she looked around. She felt… emotional. Like the walls themselves were leaking tears of pain and contempt.

She was about to call it quits, having seen nothing of interest and wishing to rid herself of the bizarre feeling, but her eye caught something. There was the tiniest amount of blood residue on the bedside table, almost looking like whoever had interacted with the drawers would've left behind a bloody fingerprint.

Meg carefully opened the top drawer. It was filled with a bunch of different small items. There was a matchbox, a comb, a horse carving, a piece of plaid fabric- all sorts of things that were entirely random, like this was just someone's junk drawer. But some of the trinkets were covered in blood, lending to the dark tone of the discovery. In the center was a name tag amongst many others, but this one stood out for being covered in blood. It was so smothered that you couldn't even see the name written there.

Something urged Meg to pick it up. When she did, she used her nail to file away the dried blood, revealing whose badge it was.

Sally Smithson, it read.

"I hear something," Nea whispered suddenly, snapping Meg out of her investigation. She put the badge back where it was and quickly closed the drawer. Then she listened, holding her breath so she could really hear for whatever it was. They stood there for a while, completely still. Just when Meg was going to call bullshit, it happened.

It was a wheezy inhale. When Meg thought too hard about it, it made her lungs hurt. It was a painful sound, like whoever it was could barely get any oxygen into their system. Her first instinct was to run out and check to make sure it wasn't Dwight or Claudette possibly injured, though her feet were nailed to the ground by fear. They continued to listen with anticipation.

Another labored breath. Way closer than before. Meg looked at Nea with wide eyes. They needed to hide. Thankfully there were two lockers in the room ready to serve their purpose. Meg hopped in first, Nea second.

It didn't take long for the source of the noise to make itself seen.

Her movements were seamless; a floating figure that looked strangely serene as she roamed through the hall with a death entwined grace. While the monster's face was covered completely in a wrapping of dirty, gray fabric, it was apparent to Meg that it was feminine in nature. The shoulders were narrow beneath the puffy cloth of the sleeves. The neck was so slim that Meg wasn't even sure there was muscle or skin beneath the layering of wraps. You could see the soft angles that the facial fabric clung and curved over, indicating that there could be something haunting yet breathtaking beneath it. In some ways this monster may be beautiful, like the way the ghosts of women are typically portrayed. A bittersweet undertone, something tragic that left them wandering for unrequited love, or forevering hiding from a damning past.

Something had changed in this trial. At least ever since Meg really delved into the darkness of the fog. She felt as though a door in her mind had opened up, allowing her to be far more in tune with her surroundings. That included her connection with the monster. Deep in her heart, there was the urge to weep. She felt saddened at the sight of this bewitching figure, so dangerous yet alluring in ways she couldn't comprehend. Meg wanted to know more about her. To understand her.

She stood on her tiptoes, just to catch a glimpse of the lower half of this killer through the slats of the locker. It was tough to see, though Meg was able to make out the giant bonesaw that the ghostly figure wielded. It swayed loosely with her seamless movements. Further down, Meg saw that there were a few inches between the monster's dangling feet and the floor, confirming that this thing was indeed floating.

Back up, in her final moment before she was gone from view, Meg identified the dress that it wore. While torn up and dirty looking, she could tell that it was a uniform of sorts- It just had that plain look that didn't appear casual or homey. What could this mean? She wracked her brain, thinking and thinking until she realized maybe this thing, this woman… was a nurse. The ragged attire looked like those proper dresses they used to sport- In a time when appearance was everything even within a harrowing occupation. It would only make sense as well, given that they were in an asylum.

Could this be Sally Smithson? Or any of the other name tags she found discarded in that drawer? Meg couldn't be sure, but she was grasping onto whatever she could, she wanted answers.

The Nurse was gone as soon as she appeared. Her stifled breathing faded slowly, until it was no longer disturbing the stale asylum air.

They exited their lockers with great caution. Meg remembered being baited by the Trapper in her first trial, when he had attempted to push her into one of his traps as she was fleeing a locker. But she was certain the Nurse didn't know they were there. The coast appeared clear as far as they knew.

"That was the killer. Do your best to hide from it like we just did," Meg recommended. "We need to find a generator."

"Okay," Nea nodded.

Before leaving the asylum, Meg felt inclined to ease her curiosity over what the upstairs held. They both edged up the crumbling staircase with such patience and discipline, over not wanting to create any noise, it looked performative.

Another round hallway greeted them. Same old dirt, rubble and trash took residency against the walls. So they went and scoped out a room in the center, discovering a larger space that seemed to be an observation room. You know, one of those rooms where doctors would sit in the middle and test their experiments on unwilling patients in front of a crowd of medically enthused onlookers? When Meg saw the surgery table in the center of the room, she felt ill just thinking about what sorts of atrocities were committed by doctors in that very spot.

The discomfort was overridden by feelings of temporary happiness, as there was a generator situated on the wall facing the observation stands. Nea ran right over to it, but something else caught Meg's eye. Near the doorway was a chest.

She quickly went and opened it up, hoping for something good. She dug around a little and, as per usual, there was a lot of junk that couldn't have offered them much help. That's when Meg nicked herself on a scalpel that was just sitting amongst all the garbage. The girl winced and pulled her hand out, seeing that there was an inch long cut across her wrist. She reached back inside with a little bit more agility and carefully fished the culprit from the chest, then held it up to view. A trickle of blood oozed down the side of its blade.

Everything around Meg went dark. She peered down at her wrist again. The blood seeped out of the miniscule cut, leaking down the side of her already red stained skin. It wouldn't take much for this to be over.

One deep slice up the arm could probably be enough to yank Meg from this misery. This shadowy, hellish prison of despair. What did it take to be free of the shackles? Could this be the answer? Was death the way out?

Was she willing to take her own life to crawl back to the light? It seemed… worth it. She wanted to be free.

In such a deep, dark moment, Meg suddenly lost herself to the jagged hands of maddness. She switched the scalpel to her right hand and lowered her other arm so it rested by her knee. She took a deep, deep breath. Then she began lowering the blade.

She thought about Dwight.

Lower…

He'll be fine. He's smart. He guides them well.

Lower…

Claudette. She is going to get through this. Her heart is big but it is strong, she can survive.

Lower…

Nea's gotta see the cold truth sooner or later. Death is a part of the game.

Low enough that the blade now dipped into the soft flesh of her wrist.

She couldn't quite understand how it all happened, but suddenly a hand swooped down and grabbed her wrist, lifting the scalpel away from her skin. It wasn't just any hand, though… The hand… It was her mother's. She knew it as soon as she saw the peeling pink nail polish and the scar along her middle knuckle, the one she got from Meg and her playing in the garden and she cut herself on one of the spades. On her index finger was the ring Meg had gifted her mother for her 45th birthday. Little droplets of emerald along a golden band to symbolize her love for nature. It was the last thing that Meg had given her since being ripped from the world and placed into this nightmare.

Meg couldn't contain the tears. She stood with the hand that pulled on her, allowing it to spin her around so she could finally see her mother again. But when she stood up and faced her-

SLAP!

A force so hard across her face had Meg flying backward into the wall, practically toppling over the chest that was behind her. The girl blinked a few times and saw that it was just Nea, the expression she wore being one of disappointment and anger.

"What the fuck are you doing!?" Nea screamed. Meg shot a heavy exhale from her lungs, looking around in confusion. It was her mom's hand, it was. But where did she go? Was she imagining it?

"Hello?" Nea shouted again. She walked up and yanked the scalpel from Meg's hand and tossed it to the edge of the room, a tiny clink and clatter ending her pitiful attempt at leaving this place.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't handle it anymore. Meg slowly sank down until she was fully on the ground with her back against the wall. With her hands smothering her face, the girl began to sob profusely, crying to Nea about every bit of pain she'd be internalizing.

"I can't keep watching people die. I can't. I don't want to do this anymore," She wailed as her insides churned with regret and disdain.

Nea slipped down beside Meg as she continued. "I don't want to live just to see so much pain, so much death."

Then a pair of arms snaked around her, embracing Meg loosely. She leaned into Nea. "I miss my mom. I want to go home. I want my mom and my house and my life back."

All Nea could do was hold her and hope she pulled it together soon. One thing was for sure, Nea was beginning to understand just how fucked up of a shitshow she found herself in. Before she could have any hope in getting out, it was already overshadowed by helplessness as she watched Meg lose her mind.

All that Nea knew was that if she survived this whole ordeal, it'd be the last damn time she ever accepted a dare again…