Chapter 11 — The Madness Principle

“Does it have to do with your theory?” Finn asked, his voice hoarse but tinged with a spark of curiosity.

“It does,” William replied, standing up as he leaned onto the cold metal desk. His hands shook ever so slightly, betraying the fear and exhilaration building up beneath his calm exterior as he inched closer to the truth of the matter. “But let’s start at the beginning. What do you know about the madness principle?”

Finn shifted uncomfortably, wincing as he tried—and failed—to move his arms again. He settled for tilting his head slightly toward William instead. “It’s just a rule, isn’t it? One of those laws of monster behavior everyone talks about. All monsters go insane when they enter our world from theirs. Everyone knows that.”

William nodded slowly, his gaze distant as if he were piecing together fragments of an intricate puzzle in his mind. “Right. And this is proven—or so we’ve been told. But do you know the origin of the theory?”

“No,” Finn admitted after a pause, his brow furrowing.

William pulled out a chair and sat, clasping his hands together. “Twelve years ago, a group of farmers from the lowlands outside Albane trapped a two-fanged hound in their barn. They used pitchforks to guide it in.”

“Sure,” Finn said.

“The hound had been weakened already—it was near death. The farmers decided to let it die slowly in the barn rather than risk putting it down themselves, since it was still vigorously snapping at them. But something strange happened. No matter how hurt the hound was, no matter how close to death, it would try to bite them. It had a good sense of hearing, so when the farmers fed the pigs in the morning and walked closely to the barn, the hound would get up, snarl, and head to the corner of the wall closest to the farmer.”

“Okay…”

“One of the farmers noticed that whenever he walked by the wall, the hound would follow him inside the barn, pacing along the inner perimeter. The farmer tried throwing in a stone, then a small piece of raw meat, but the hound ignored both. It only followed him.”

“Huh,” Finn muttered, frowning. “That’s… weird.”

“And then the hound died.”

There was a long silence. Finn stared at William, waiting for more, but nothing came immediately. Finally, he broke the quiet. “What does that have to do with the madness principle?”

“It has everything to do with it,” William said, his voice low and deliberate.

“I don’t get it.”

“Two months after that incident, a group of researchers led by Ferdinand Casper—”

“Wait, the same Casper who coined the term ‘madness principle’?” Finn interrupted, suddenly sitting up straighter despite his paralysis.

“Yes,” William confirmed. “Casper and his team went down to the Albane lowlands and interviewed those farmers, who had inadvertently conducted what was essentially an unprecedented experiment. Up until that point, most people believed monsters to be overgrown animals that acted on known vectors of behavior: hunger, thirst, territoriality. But Casper proposed something different. He argued that once monsters crossed into our world, they became consumed by an all-encompassing aggression—a madness—that completely overrode their other senses and needs. Their sole purpose became hunting humans, regardless of their condition or survival prospects.”

Finn nodded slowly, absorbing the information. “So, basically, monsters lose their minds when they come here, like zombies.”

“Exactly,” William said. “But there’s more to it. Was this always the case? Did monsters behave this way naturally, even in their own world? Back then, survival took precedence over academic research. Few cared about such irrelevant questions when breaks were happening multiple times a day and casualties were piling up in the thousands.”

“But Casper was undeterred. Building on the insights gained from the Albane farmers, he began capturing smaller monsters himself—a dangerous task—and replicating their experiments. His findings confirmed what the farmers had observed.”

“In contrast, plenty of reports had come in that monsters beyond the gate acted normally. They ate, slept, communicated, and nested. Yes, they were aggressive, far more so than any terrestrial creature, but they retained their faculties. So, the question remained: when did they change?”

“To answer that question, Casper expanded his goal to capturing live specimens directly from the other side. The operation took months of planning and faced countless setbacks, but eventually, he succeeded. And what he discovered changed everything.”

William paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. When he spoke again, his voice carried a grim certainty. “The moment a captured monster crossed the threshold between worlds—the instant it stepped into ours—it lost everything. Intelligence, communication, restraint—all gone. A two-fanged hound that could coordinate with its pack in the other world became a drooling, snarling wreck in ours, driven solely by an unrelenting desire to hunt humans. That’s the madness principle.”

Finn stared at him, wide-eyed. “Okay, but why are you telling me this now?”

William crossed his arms, his expression grave. “Because my theory is that something is causing the madness principle to fail. We both saw proof of it today. That skulk that chased us exhibited signs of intelligence. It didn’t act like a mindless predator. It moved cautiously, and if I’m not mistaken, with intent.”

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Finn’s face drained of color. “Do you really think that was a skulk?” he whispered, his voice trembling.

“It fits the description, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe… but your theory doesn’t make sense,” Finn argued weakly. “How can the madness principle be wrong? Surely we must have heard about it by now if such a big change occurred?”

Finn paused for a moment, before resuming. “Maybe this monster is just acting weirdly for another reason? I mean, think about it, it’s just one monster, how can one weird episode disprove such a proven rule?”

“That’s what I thought as well, Finn.” William let out a slow breath, his expression grim. “But it’s not just one monster.”

Finn looked stunned. “What do you mean?”

William leaned forward, his voice low but steady. "Last night, when I was delivering as you know I usually do, I ran into something. At the time, I thought it might just be my imagination. In retrospect I am pretty certain that it was a monster."

"Really? But… I don’t remember there being an alert."

"That's the thing!" William said, his voice rising. "There was no alert! It was dark, but I saw it and I heard it clearly. The thing could climb, Finn, and there was no alert!"

Finn's eyes bulged in fear. "How did you get away?"

"I ran,” William said simply. “It chased me for god knows how long, until I got to the streets. And then…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It stopped. Just like that. Disappeared. I never saw it again.”

“Did you report it?” Finn asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Went straight to the police station,” William confirmed. “But they didn’t believe me. They thought I was making it up.”

"You're not messing with me?"

William shook his head. "I'm dead serious."

"Then that means..." Finn was in thought. "It stopped chasing you."

He nodded. "Yeah."

"That means it has strategy."

William nodded again.

Finn’s breath hitched. “Which means… it can think.”

"If my theory is correct, then yes, it can not only get through gates without raising an alarm, but it can also think. In direct contradiction to the madness principle, and in direct contradiction to our current understanding of breaks."

"Shit, man. We're in deep shit." Finn looked nervously at the window, which had been covered entirely with steel fortifications. His movements appeared more sluggish than before. “What do we do?”

“For now?” William replied. “We try to survive. How are you feeling?”

“A bit sleepy,” Finn answered. “My mind feels fuzzy.”

William frowned. The side effects from the mist seemed to be getting worse. Finn needed medical attention soon.

“Talk to me,” Finn said. “That might keep me awake. Something exciting.”

William nodded. “There is something I wanted to share with you anyway. Now that we’ve established that the madness principle has failed, possibly for the first time ever, we have to consider the skulk’s behavior in a different manner.”

“Let’s consider the facts. It’s in the university with us now, and the university is under impenetrable lockdown. So there’s two scenarios that may have happened. One, the skulk was already present in the university before the break occurred. It’s possible, but I don’t think that’s what happened.”

“So, your second point is implying that the skulk got in here after the lockdown?” Finn laughed weakly. “That’s next to impossible. My dad worked with Gammon Corporation for so many years now. He knows their designs and the materials that go in them are top notch.”

“Yes, they are. But Gammon Corporation mostly does contract work, don’t they?”

Finn blinked blankly. “I’m surprised you know that, but yeah, mostly contract work. Why does that matter?”

Now it was William’s turn to let out a dry laugh. “Because our dear dean must have contracted Gammon Corporation to work on defensive fortifications, but to save himself from blowing his whole budget he must have skimped on a few areas here or there in the original contract, and asked Gammon not to fully replace the old systems.”

“Now that you mention it….” Finn said, his eyes focused in an effort to prevent himself from falling unconscious.

William stood up and grabbed a pen from one of the desks, then tore open a package of printing paper, taking a sheet. He laid the sheet of paper onto the ground and began to draw a crude diagram of the school.

“Ebenezer was taken in stability storage, here.” William circled stability storage emphatically. “I think he was killed by the mist. Maybe inhaled too much.”

Finn groaned. “That’s not good.”

“You didn’t inhale as much. Maybe you’ll be fine.”

Finn snorted. “I hope so.” He pointed towards the east wing bathroom on the diagram, which was just a crudely drawn rectangle. “That’s where Abby was taken then.”

“Yeah.” William circled it. “And here’s the janitor’s closet where Ebenezer was found.”

He then began to draw a line connecting all three locations.

Finn groaned again, this time for a different reason. He seemed to have finally comprehended what William was getting at. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t tell me it’s in the vents.”

“It fits all the criteria. The HVAC system sounds pretty old. That was probably not replaced by Gammon Corporation since it’d be a very expensive fix–”

“Are there any vents running through this room?” Finn said, interrupting William.

“That’s the thing,” he replied. “I don’t know. It’s on the other side of the hallway, but without a detailed blueprint of the university there’s no way to know for sure. We’ll just have to hope for the best.”

At that, the alertness began to fade from Finn’s eyes, the neurotoxins finally taking their toll on him. His head lulled over, and soon he began snoring.

William exhaled, relieved that he seemed to just be sleeping rather than dead. It was probably best that they stay here for the night. He’d already scanned the room and didn’t see any vents. With any luck, they’d be safe here until morning.

He sat a little further to the side, bringing over a stack of printing paper to act as a pillow, then laid down awkwardly onto the cold, hard ground. It wasn’t comfortable, but it'd have to do.

As he laid there staring at the ceiling, one of the ceiling tiles in the corner of the room shifted slightly. Then it shifted again in a way morbidly reminiscent of egg hatching, revealing a sliver of darkness beyond.

It had found them.