Chapter Text
The big fucker is stalking us. Found a patient file for a CHRIS WALKER, ex-military police, several tours in Afghanistan. A lot of blood in this place is on his hands. But not all of it.
The stairs groaned beneath their weight as they crept down into the dark.
Miles kept the camcorder trained on the base of the stairwell, his thumb hovering near the night vision switch. The dim beam of her flashlight had finally sputtered and died somewhere around the third landing, and now the only thing separating the from total blindness was the dying battery of his camera.
She was right behind him, breathing soft and shallow, her footsteps deliberate. When the door at the top finally creaked closed, a heavy silence settled oer the stairwell like a tomb.
The air grew cold. Damp. Foul with mildew and rust.
And then—
Splash.
His foot met frigid water at the final step.
“How bad is it?” She whispered behind him, voice barely audible.
He tilted the camera down and flicked on the night vision. Monochrome green flooded the screen, a grainy field of vision.
Water. Everywhere.
It sloshed up to his waist, black and thick with debris. The floor must have caved somewhere or flooded when hell broke loose—either way, they had no choice.
He turned his head. “You sure it’s down here?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Dead center. Slightly raised platform. We used to haul fuel tanks through here during outages.”
Miles nodded once and offered his hand to her. She took it without question, her fingers cold as they slid into his.
“Just don’t lose me,” she said.
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
They moved together.
The camera swept side to side as they waded through the black water. Broken shelves floated past them. Books. A boot. A hand—severed and bloated—bumped against his leg, but he didn’t react. Couldn’t afford to. Her grip tightened slightly.
They didn’t speak. The only sounds were the sloshing of water and the quiet whine of the camera’s night vision.
Then he saw it. A platform, maybe two feet above the water, metal grating corroded by time and rot. The generator loomed above it like a metal monolith—hulking and dormant, wrapped in wires and decay.
And right next to it. . .
“Fuck.”
There was a variant.
Naked save for the remnants of tattered robes. He stood ankle-deep in the water beside the generator, back to them, a lead pipe in one fist and his head slowly rolling side to side like he was scanning the room.
Miles swallowed hard.
She leaned in. “He wasn’t here last time.”
Miles lifted the camera again, zooming in on the variant. “Doesn’t matter. I can’t get to it with him there.”
A beat.
Then her voice, low and unwavering: “I’ll distract him.”
“What?”
“I’ll lead him out. You go in, get it running. As soon as the lights come on, I’ll circle back.”
He turned to her, still holding her hand, whispering sharply. “If he catches you—”
“He won’t.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You forget that I’ve been stuck here since everything fell apart. I know how to outmaneuver them.”
Miles stared at her. She stared right back.
Then, slowly, he let go of her hand.
“Be careful.”
She gave a small nod, already moving. He felt unease settle over him like a blanket as soon as she left his side.
“Don’t wait,” she whispered. “As soon as I pull him, run.”
Miles watched as she slinked off into the shadows, her form quickly swallowed by the dark. A moment passed. Then another. He could barely breathe.
And then—
A splash. A taunt.
“Hey! Over here!”
The variant turned with a grunt, pipe raised. More splashing followed, then running, then silence.
Miles surged forward, wading through the water. His shoes dragged through the floor, the generator growing closer with every step. His breathing came out hard. He half-climbed, half-stumbled onto the platform and got to work.
His fingers moved on instinct—switches, dials, connections. Nothing happened at first, then a whir. The generator sputtered, then roared to life.
Lights.
Harsh fluorescents flickered overhead, flooding the room in pale, sterile illumination.
Water glinted beneath him. Blood on the walls. A broken cross nailed sideways to a support beam.
Miles sucked in a breath. They had power. But they weren’t safe yet.
And she was still out there.
You don’t look back.
The moment the pipe-wielding psycho let out a guttural roar and started splashing after you, you ran like hell.
The water slowed you down, turning every step into a desperate drag through molasses. You darted around submerged desks and broken shelving, catching glimpses of his pale shape in your periphery—always just a few paces behind.
You could hear him breathing. That ragged, wheezing snarl they all seemed to share. It never faltered, never slowed. He was enjoying this.
“C’mon, c’mon—” you hiss, whipping around a corner, heart thundering.
There—an old maintenance hatch, just barely cracked open.
You threw yourself at it, your shoulder slamming the rusted door the rest of the way. It groaned loud enough to wake the dead, but you couldn’t afford to dwell on it.
You scramble through it into a crawlspace, ducking just as something heavy—a pipe—crashed against the wall behind you, narrowly missing your head by inches.
“Shit!”
The variant howled. You could hear him sloshing around on the other side of the hatch, trying to wedge himself through.
But it was too narrow. Still, you don’t stop to celebrate.
You crawl, knees scraping raw against the wet concrete, breath coming fast and shallow. Your fingers tremble as you flicked your dead flashlight off and clip it to your belt. The only thing guiding you now was memory and desperation.
You weren’t sure how long you’d crawled. Time bled into incoherence in the dark.
Finally—drop-off.
The floor vanished beneath you. You think you gasp, or scream, you’re not sure.
Your hands scramble for something to grab, anything to—
Crash.
You land hard. Your elbow cracked against something metal, sending lightning through your arm. Your ribs flare white-hot with pain, the air rushing out of your lungs.
You lay there for a second, dazed, water trickling over your face as the pain slowly started to pulse in again.
The variant’s snarls had faded. He must have given up—or gotten lost. Either way, she wasn’t where she was supposed to be.
“. . .fuck.”
Your hands fumbled for the walkie clipped to your hip. You click the side, praying it hadn’t drowned in the fall.
“Hey,” you whisper into the receiver, voice hoarse. “Hey—camcorder, you there?”
Static. Then—
“Yeah. I’m here.”
His voice.
Relief crashes over you. You close your eyes for half a second. He sounded breathless—probably just got the power going.
“I’m okay. I’m. . .I fell,” you admit. “I tried to double back but the damn floor caved. I’m in a lower access crawl. South sublevel maybe?”
“Can you get back up?”
“I think so. Gonna have to reroute. Might take a minute. Basement’s a mess down here.”
A beat. You could picture him checking over his shoulder.
“Where should I meet you?”
“West security office,” you answer immediately. “You remember where it is?”
“I remember. I’ll head that way now.”
“Good.” Your voice cracks, soft. “Just. . .don’t take any detours, alright?”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
You pause. Swallow. Then you click the walkie again, quieter this time. “And hey. . .thanks. For trusting me.”
“. . .likewise.”
Your walkie goes silent. You shove it back onto your belt, brace yourself against the wall, and start limping toward the dim glow of emergency lights flickering in the distance.
The familiar hum of machines coming back to life was almost comforting.
The monitors flickered—some still snowed out, others now glowing with grainy footage. Miles adjusted the walkie on his hip as he settled back in front of the console. The power from the generator was finally rerouted. It hummed deep below where the girl had just barely managed to escape. They were both alive. Against all odds.
Time to finish this.
He rolled his bruised shoulder, fingers flying across the keyboard. The override sequence had reset after the last interruption. He had to start from scratch.
SYSTEM OVERRIDE
UNLOCKING MAIN DOORS — PROGRESS:
4%
Static murmured through the walkie, but no voices. She must’ve been rerouting. He focused back on the screen.
19%
23%
The servers clicked and buzzed around him, cooling fans whirring. Somewhere deep in the building, a door mechanism groaned as if responding to the sequence.
37%
45%
“C’mon,” he muttered under his breath. “Almost there. . .”
His head jerked slightly at the faintest sound behind him—too soft to register fully, just a whisper of movement in the periphery. He turned his head to look.
Nothing.
61%
74%
And then—
“I’m sorry, my son.”
Miles jolted. But before he could spin fully around, a needle drove deep into his neck.
His body stiffened. Pain flared. He choked out a ragged sound, muscles spasming as whatever was in the syringe burned through his veins like fire and frost.
His vision wavered. He stumbled sideways, catching himself on the edge of the desk as the screens blurred in front of him.
83%
87%
“You must understand,” Father Martin’s voice murmured from behind him, gentle. Sorrowful. “I’m not your enemy. I only wish to save you.”
Miles tried to turn, but his limbs weren’t listening. His breath came fast and shallow, chest tightening.
“You were chosen,” Father Martin went on, crouching beside him now. “But the devil—she—clouds your judgment. Leads you astray. You can’t see the miracle yet.
He reached forward, pressed a button on the console.
One of the monitors switched feeds. The timestamp was from earlier that night.
The screen came to life with a blur of movement—four guards, all armed, storming a room with rifles raised. Grayscale caught it all in stark contrast.
A black shape, barely human, tore through them with inhuman speed. Limbs twisted. Blood splattered. Bones crunched. Screams were drowned in static.
It lasted seconds.
When it was over, the room looked like a slaughterhouse.
Father Martin’s eyes glowed with fervor. “This is God’s will. This is purity. You were spared for a reason, son. You must witness His glory.”
The override had stopped at 95%.
The screen went dark.
Miles tried to reach for the walkie, fingers twitching—but it slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor.
Martin’s hand pressed to his forehead in mock benediction.
“Sleep now. When you wake, you’ll see the path.”
The last thing Miles saw before blacking out was the image of the shadow, still lingering in the ghostly afterglow of the monitor.
Then his consciousness fled him again. Nothing.