I bulbed up my left hand to give light to our frantic escape from the fifth floor. I didn't care about the cold of the concrete steps pounding against my bare feet, or the ever increasing cold that clung all over me. I just needed to create as much distance between me and the Adam-George-Amalgamation-Monster as possible, as well as the cats, the Pied Piper officers, and the lethal gas which was in the midst of being released above on the third floor.

I could feel Sophie and Walter close to me, both moving with the same urgency. There was something about the way we were fleeing that reminded me of knock-down-ginger, the childhood game of running up to a stranger's front door, ringing the doorbell, and making a break for it.

There had been a certain house about two roads away from my childhood home. For some reason that house had become my preferred target of choice. The large door had a huge black knocker on it, like a horseshoe, which gave a satisfying smack when slammed against the door.

Back then I had very much liked the idea of being chased, like something from a movie. To feel the giddy excitement of being close to danger, even if it was just an angry homeowner not taking too kindly to having their afternoon disturbed. I never found out who lived in that house.

Moving down further into the depths with Sophie and Walter made me aware of how little I knew either of them. I felt no sense of comaraderie and, in a way, no responsibility to look after them. All I felt whilst I did my best to keep up with their frantic descent down the stairs was a sense that, for better or worse moving forward in this nightmare, I was going to need to be prepared to survive it on my own.

Would you leave them to die if you had to? I thought to myself.

I don't know, I thought.

This scared me more than all of the danger that lay above us. The reason why might have been because I felt I was severely lacking in my response to the things which had, and were happening to the three of us.

I didn't feel out of my mind with fear. Instead I felt strangely calm.

I didn't feel particularly sad about the horrors of everything I had witnessed either. The multitudes of dead mice torn apart by the cats was fresh in my mind, but was detached somehow.

Sure, it happened, it was awful, but I felt very little about it. In the same way I could still see in my mind's eye the Adam-George-Amalgamation cleaving Dr. Abdullah apart, tearing chunks out of him as if he were made of mincemeat.

I felt nothing.

In the wake of feeling nothing, what remained was an almost euphoric curiosity. It was as if I normally experienced the world as some kind of emotion-based tentacle monster, connecting my emotions to whatever I laid my eyes upon. This was a huge reason why it was so difficult for me to talk with people; since at a simple glance I could feel so much of what they were feeling, could empathize with who they were and the things they were insecure about.

I had known there was something deeply wrong with George the moment I laid eyes on him. The trauma he was trying to hide with a friendly mask. For some reason, despite this, rather than do what perhaps would have been the sensible thing, I was drawn to George like a moth to a flame.

In much the same way my first instinct when I first saw Tiffany was that she was untrustworthy, and someone I would be smart to avoid. I had seen how good she was at hiding her intentions way back when she had faked almost choking on some sandwich way back when we were on the coach which had taken us to Lintern Village. Again, rather than distance myself from someone who I knew by instinct I couldn't trust, I had allowed myself to be drawn closer to her, and had actually made consistent efforts to get to know her better.

And yet it came as no surprise when she decided to go along with Robert Hoffman's PUNCH program. Same for Blain, same for Mikayla.

What a waste of time, I thought.

All that leaning on them for support only to wind up alone at the end of the day.

Why was I thinking about all this now? The answer was obvious. I needed to distract myself from the horror of the present moment. There wasn't much else to do except make sure I didn't lose the others or trip on our way down the cold hard steps.

You tried to save them.

This thought came to the fore of my mind with penetrating clarity.

You tried to save them, but they didn't want to be saved by you.

I know, I thought, I was trying to help them.

No, said the voice in my head, you were trying to help yourself.

Help myself?

You're trying to escape.

Escape what?

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

The other part of myself that felt it was a good time to speak up went silent.

Escape what? I thought, What have I been trying to escape?

Before I could lose myself in any more navel-gazing thought we came at last to the sixth and final floor. Several paces ahead of us lay a doorless doorway with an arched, tunnel-like shape to it. The golden light from my bulbed up left hand brought out the dark bronze tinge to the stone structure.

"Is this it?" I said.

Sophie took several steps forward. She moved to the right-side wall and ran her hand across it, then followed the wall around as much as she could.

"It's the only way," she said.

"Where does it go?" said Walter. There was a strained desperation in his voice.

"I was told there was an underground complex," said Sophie, whispering.

"Who told you that?" said Walter.

"An officer," said Sophie, "I was trying to talk an officer into getting me out of here, but he was just wasting my time. But he told me some things before he was reassigned."

Sophie stopped to catch her breath, then said, "He said that the facility we're in was just a starting point before construction began on a complex deep underground."

There came a sudden shriek echoing down from the darkness above. Silence crashed into the space left by the sound a moment later, ringing loudly in my ears.

"Look," I said, interjecting, "Can you tell us this while we keep moving?"

The other two didn't object. I raised my hand, wincing from the pain in my right shoulder. The light from my bulbed hand illuminated the start of the narrow tunnel-like passage ahead of us.

Seeing as I was the one lighting the way I took it upon myself to be the first to enter the passage, the other two followed close behind. Immediately upon entering the passage it started to curve to the left, but also started a very gradual slope downward. The trapped air was tinged with a layer of moisture which clung to the passage walls, making me feel as if we were embarking deeper down into some kind of crypt.

"So yeah, go on," said Walter, whispering close to Sophie once the entrance to the passage was no longer possible to see over our shoulders.

"Well," said Sophie, "The officer made it sound as if the underground complex was intended to be some kind of bunker. A place where the elites could stay and get up to things they wouldn't feel safe doing on the surface."

"So there might be people down there?" said Walter, clearly not liking the sound of that.

"I don't think so," said Sophie, "It sounded more like the project was abandoned."

"Why?" I asked.

"I don't know," said Sophie, "That's everything I know."

"So have you two been planning this escape for a while now?" said Walter.

"Sort of," I said, "Sophie's the one to thank for knowing how to get off the third floor."

There was a faint clapping sound in the dark. I looked over my shoulder to see Walter shaking Sophie's hand.

"Thank you," he said, "Thank you very much. I'd be a goner if it weren't for you."

Sophie smiled sheepishly.

"No problem," she said, "I just wish more of us could have made it out."

Walter took back his hand, nodding slowly.

I came to a stop. I lost my focus, leading to the light and heat from my bulbed hand fading away.

"What's wrong?" said Sophie.

I felt her hand at my back.

"It's my chest," I said, "The wound opened up."

Light returned to the passage, but this time it was Walter who had bulbed up his right hand. A part of me still felt a little annoyed that this particular use of the power wasn't unique to me. I had taken a small bit of pride in it. Not that it mattered much.

"Try and heal yourself," said Walter, "If the crazy bastards upstairs cannae turn into giant cats, then you healin' yer'self ain't much in comparison."

"I know," I said, my words shaky, "But we have to be careful with our powers. We're all stressed out of our minds. If we lose control we could kill each other."

"Aye," said Walter, "But this wannae be like that. We need you, Burgess. C'mon, heal yer'self up and we'll keep on gettin' out of this place."

"I'll try," I said.

I made an effort to focus on the wound near my right shoulder. I could see in my mind's eye what the open wound was like. Just to make sure I was imagining it right I brushed the wound with my fingertips. It stung something fierce, causing me to rasp in pain.

"What's wrong?" said Sophie in a panic.

"I'm alright," I said, "Just getting a feel for it first."

I closed my eyes and concentrated, imagining the wound healing. Beyond simply wishing for it to happen I tried to focus on finding the unlocking sensation. I quickly found what I was looking for, finding the sensation in my mind and forcing it to give. It felt like something was crawling around and inside my wound as it started to close up.

It hurt a lot, as if invisible hands were pinching the wound shut. My body trembled and my breathing became even more shaky as I tried to continually focus on keeping the healing process going.

Another echoed cry came from behind us, like some angry spirit calling to us from beyond the grave.

Walter started to bob on the spot.

"C'mon, c'mon, hurry it up," he said.

"He's trying," said Sophie.

In just under a minute I was sure the wound had closed itself up. I removed my inner mind from pushing the unlocking sensation any further.

"Did it work?" said Sophie.

I looked at her and then slid my left hand down the front of my overalls. I felt the sticky blood across my chest like a layer of warm syrup. I couldn't find the spot where the wound had been.

"It's gone," I said, in awe.

"It worked!" said Sophie, her face beaming with joy in the golden light.

I still had the wound at my stomach, but it wasn't nearly as deep as the one that had been near my right shoulder.

I stood up, aware of the absence of pain where the wound had been. My mind felt clear all of a sudden, shocked by the miraculous healing I had achieved.

"I don't believe it," I said.

"Believe it," said Walter, "This is'nae where I wannae make my final stand, d'you hear?"

I grinned. The three of us started off down the passage, heading ever further down.

"What's with this whole 'final stand' thing?" I said, with mirth in my words.

"You know," said Walter, "Like a last stand."

"I know what it means," I said, "I mean why'd you keep saying it?"

"Oh," said Walter.

He just laughed a little.