Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Woah!"

Mike ducks the chainsaw as it swings towards him, just barely skimming the ends of his hair. Zoey laughs, dodging their attacker easily as they make a break for the exit, the masked man revving his silly plastic chainsaw as he chases them down the hall.

They stumble out into the crisp October air, laughing and clinging to each other like it's the most natural thing in the world as they head back to the centre of the carnival. It's not often their small town has an event this big, but this year they've really brought Halloween to life- a full festival with rides, ghost walks, food stands and- apparently Zoey's favourite- haunted houses.

"That one almost felt real," she enthuses, intertwining her fingers with Mikes own "The part with the guy on the autopsy table was so gross- whoever set that up paid some serious attention to detail."

Mike chuckles nervously, wills his face to stop burning at the simple contact "Yeah. I'll be honest, the chainsaw guy really had me going for a second. Nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Oh, come on, you knew it was coming. They always have those at the end to chase you out."

"What can I say? He snuck up on me."

It's not what he'd call an ideal first date. Mike isn't the biggest horror fan, more of an action-thriller kind of guy, but when Zoey asked if he'd like to go to the Halloween carnival with her and only her he nearly tripped over his feet saying yes. He'd go on a date frolicking through a minefield if Zoey asked him to.

Despite the fact this an evening focused on just the two of them, they're obviously not the only people at the biggest event in town. Hell nor high tide could stop their ragtag friend group from interrupting what's supposed to be Mikes big break in the romance department, and he tries to avert his gaze when he spots a few of them waving the couple over. Zoey doesn't pick up on his avoidance, waving back immediately. She grips his hand tighter, and it's enough of a thrill that he doesn't say a word about being dragged along for the ride.

"Mike! Zoey!" Cameron greets them, bundled in several layers of coats yet still shivering "Have you been on the ghost walk yet? I have to say, I didn't know we had so many massacres take place just on the edge of town. You would not believe how many people have died in those woods."

"How many?" Zoey asks, intrigued.

"Fourty eight!"

"Wow."

"Yeah, wow is right." Mike agrees, one eyebrow raised "That's a crazy amount of people to die out there- those woods only span about a mile."

"So does your mom's ass, and way more people have died in there." Scott cuts in, much to nobody's appreciation.

"God, shut up," Jo smacks him on the shoulder "That was the worst your momma joke I ever heard."

He snickers anyway. Mike just gives him a very tired look "Yeah, that was weak. Just like your mom when she had to pick between meth and raising you."

Scotts mouth falls open and Jo absolutely howls with laughter "Oh, oh man," she cackles "It's funny cause it's true."

"Mike." Zoey chastises in a low voice, unimpressed and very clearly put off.

She removes her hand from his and, oh, this is exactly why he didn't want to join the rest of their friends on their first ever official date "Sorry." he cringes, feeling awkward.

"Sorry," Scott imitates in a mocking tone "Yeah, you fucking will be."

"I wasn't apologising to you." Mike asserts, scowling down at him.

"Like I care- where do you get off shit-talking my family, huh?"

"You started it! You literally always start it!"

"Men." Brick steps in between them, putting a temporary end to what's generally regarded as an inevitable fight when they all happen to be in the same place "This is unnecessary. It's a lovely evening, we're out at the festival, let's not ruin it, eh?" he turns to Mike, quickly changing the subject "You two just came from the haunted house, right?"

Zoey perks up, jumping back into the conversation "Yeah! It was awesome. Have you been yet?"

"Brickhouse pissed himself on our run through." Jo informs them, grinning ear to ear.

The cadet gapes at her, turning red "I did not!"

"Then why'd you go change after?"

"I mean, it was actually pretty scary." Mike chimes in, trying to take some heat off of Brick "I swear my heart went for a second when the chainsaw guy popped up."

"Aww," Scott tilts his head "Did you get scared on your baby ride for babies?"

"Oh my god, do you ever stop?" Anne Maria cuts in, only just now looking up from filing her nails "Or at least find somebody else to pick on? All you're doin' is makin' an ass of yourself."

"What else am I supposed to do with myself?" Scott counters, not appreciating being called out "This place sucks- I gotta at least make my own entertainment."

"Starting shit for no reason is your idea of entertainment?" Mike glares at him, unimpressed "That's stupid. Like, if this place sucks so bad then why did you even come? I don't get it."

"To stand around and start shit." Scott rolls his eyes as if it's the most obvious explanation in the world "What's to get?"

"He's got a point, you know," Jo interjects before Mike can argue further "This whole festival blows. We're all almost eighteen, right? We should be doing something actually scary- like, grownup scary. This is all kiddy stuff."

"And what, pray tell, would you call grownup scary?" Brick inquires, immediately nervous.

She thinks about it for a moment, and then turns to Cameron, grin devilish "Hey bubbles, you're a history buff, right? Where around here has the nastiest, most gruesome, murder-filled history you can think of?"

Cameron ponders the question, unsure exactly where this is going "Well, I-"

"Oh, definitely the Collingwood Psychiatric Hospital, yah," Staci answers for him, brimming with information and all too willing to share it "It was shut down in the late nineteen fifties. My great great aunt Phyllis was actually one of the last people to live out their remaining days there. So sad- my great grandma Doris said she was really sweet when she wasn't talking about ghosts. I wish we could have met, she had all kinds of fascinating opinions on the paranormal, but those kinds of views weren't so accepted back in the day, probably why she got institutionalised-"

"Hey, shut ya yappin', I know where you're talkin' about." Anne Maria interjects "It's that big creepy lookin' place up on the hill, right? On the other side of the haunted woods or whatever."

"Yes, that would be the place." Cameron confirms, pushing his glasses back up his nose "It's been abandoned for a very long time, most likely the only people who have been there in the last forty years are vandals and squatters. It's unclear why the local government haven't repurposed it yet, they've never given a statement."

"Oh, perfect." Jo rubs her hands together like a cartoon villain "That settles it then- we'll go there."

"An abandoned insane asylum? That doesn't sound like a good time to me." Brick disagrees "Probably also dangerous, seeing as how nobody's been maintaining it for decades. There could be all kinds of debris, rotting floorboards, not to mention potential drug paraphernalia lying around-"

Jo cuts him off with a snort "Of course you'd say that. You're just making up reasons not to go cause you're scared."

"No, I'm pointing out that someone could get seriously hurt." Brick argues, hands on his hips "It's not just my safety I'm worried about."

"I totally get where you're coming from, Brick," Zoey appeases him with a gentle hand on his shoulder "But that actually sounds kind of fun- it'd be like a real life haunted house, y'know?"

"Right." Scott cuts in "Except instead of some actor with a chainsaw you're running away from crazy old homeless guys and drug addicts."

Brick gestures towards him, relieved "See? Even Scott thinks it's a bad idea."

"Oh, no, we should totally go." he clarifes, and reaches into his back pocket only to pull out a flick knife, flipping the blade that reflects rainbow in the multicoloured festival lights "I was made for this kinda shit."

"Dude, put that away." Mike tells him, backing up.

"I swear you're, like, literally the most uncool person I ever met." Anne Maria says, taking hold of his arm and forcibly lowering the knife "You can't have that out in public."

"Yeah, save it for the asylum." Jo agrees with a smirk.

"Which we're not going to." Brick scowls.

"Guys, listen," Zoey grabs their attention "Nobody has to go if they don't want to, but I really don't think it's as scary as we're making it out to be. I mean, it's just an abandoned building, and we can't be the only group of teenagers who thought it'd be cool to go urban exploring on Halloween. We're way more likely to run into people like us than anyone, like, actually dangerous. So we won't be needing that." She nods disapprovingly towards Scotts flick knife, and he begrudgingly puts it away.

"Alright, I do see your point..." Brick admits, though still distinctly uncomfortable.

"Yes!" Jo throws an arm around his shoulders "Brickhouse is in."

He wants to argue some more but can't find it in him, blushing furiously at the casual contact, and that settles it. If Jo and Brick can agree on anything at all, then that passes as law. They're going.

///

"This is a terrible idea."

Most people ignore Dawn, a slight figure lost somewhere in the middle of the group, and especially now when she's decided to go against the grain and put a damper on everyone's excitement "It's All Hallows Eve- the veil is thin. There could not be a worse possible time to be traversing a place so rife with death."

The gang walks through the forest, largely unbothered by her somber warning. Lightning even revels in it.

"The Lightning ain't afraid of no ghosts!" He declares, exuding confidence "Or death, or traversing, or veils. Bring it on!"

"Your hubris never fails to astound me." Dawn comments lightly, and he flashes her a grin, thoroughly taking it as the compliment it isn't.

B follows closely behind her, packing an absurd amount of equipment for their venture that takes up a large backpack and bags under both arms, along with a tripod that swings precariously on its tether in the cool autumn wind. Dakota accompainies him, listing off various items as she spots them.

"Camera- check. Lights- check. Are you filming some sort of, like, ghost hunting movie?" She asks, and as he nods she clasps her hands together in excitement "Oh-em-gee, that's so cool! Can I star?"

He shrugs noncommittally, more focused on getting through the walk with his insanely heavy bags, but she squeals with delight anyway "Oh wow, this is going to be so much fun- I'm gonna be a movie star!"

"I think you'd make an amazing movie star." Sam says in his tragically lovestruck way "This could be, like, our very own horror movie. The setup is so perfect-" He enthuses, arranging his hands to pretend he's holding a camera as he pans it around the group, immitating a voiceover "It's Halloween. Thirteen friends embark on an adventure to explore the abandoned asylum. Little do they know, ghosts are real, and now they're in for the scare of their hot, young lives." He turns his make-believe camera to focus on Dakota, and awkwardly adds "And you're the final girl. Obviously."

"Aww," she coos, smile barely hiding her confusion "I don't know what that means."

Sam chuckles, gives up on his cameraman act to nervously rub at the back of his neck "Oh, I mean you're the girl who makes it to the end and actually, like, lives. That's the movie I'd wanna make." he pauses to think about it a little "But if we're going for realism... you're actually the hottest girl so you probably would die, maybe somewhere around, like, seventh or eighth or something."

"Oh." she replies, polite enough but still uncomfortable. Sam recognises his slip up immediately.

"No, no, I didn't mean- I would totally die before you, though. Guys like me never make it to the end in horror movies." He struggles to smooth it over "You'd have a way better chance than I ever would."

Dakota laughs, airy and fake like she still doesn't get what he's talking about "Gee, thanks Sam."

"Can we maybe stop talking about- about horror movies and ghosts and who is and isn't going to die?" Brick interjects, sweat beading on his brow.

"Aww, you scared already?" Jo elbows him in the ribs "This isn't actually a horror movie, doofus, it's real life. You know, the place where ghosts aren't real?"

"They are." Dawn says stiffly.

Jo doesn't bother responding to that, and instead turns to Lightning and raises her eyebrows, smirking conspiratorially like such an idea is ridiculous. Lightning doesn't agree.

"Oh, ghosts are sha-real, alright." He pulls a pose, flexing his muscles "And Lightning's gonna give a full beat down to the first one he sees!"

Perturbed, Jo goes back to facing the front, shaking her head in disbelief as she mouthes a silent "Wow."

Further towards the back Mike is sticking close to Zoey, not particularly happy about the direction their evening has taken. It's not like he wants to ruin their first date- she seems so excited about this adventure- but he has some serious reservations "Do you really think this is a good idea?" he asks her quietly "I mean, it's not like I'm against urban exploration, it's more just- a mental institution? Really? I don't know if I wanna see an old-fashioned one, the modern day version's bad enough."

She blinks, and then raises a hand to her mouth in shock, as if it only just occurred to her "Oh, Mike, I'm sorry, I didn't even think about-"

"That's right, I forgot," Scott cuts in, catching everyone's attention, thrilled that his eavesdropping paid off "Mike's done a stint in the looney bin. Who needs to go looking for crazies when we've got our very own right here?"

And then he's laughing, as if that's funny. As if it's a joke. Nobody else joins in, but Mike finds himself horribly embarrassed either way- it's not exactly a secret, everyone's aware of where he was for the few months he didn't show up to school, but it's not something that ever gets brought up. He doesn't even know how to react, just shrinks in on himself and wishes he could dissapear on the spot.

"Hey, that's- that is not okay. You need to back off." Zoey defends, taking Mike's hand once more and squeezing it reassuringly.

"Yeah, you're really pushing it." Jo rounds on him "We don't go there. You know we don't go there. What the hell's gotten into you today?"

Scott sobers up, not used to anyone taking his jabs so seriously "Nothing." he snaps "I- Whatever. You guys are way too sensitive about this shit."

He kicks a loose rock, shoving his hands in his pockets agressively, as if being confronted is somehow unfair to him. Mike glares at him, straightens back up and calls out to the front "Hey, Sam."

"Yeah?"

"In this horror movie of yours- when does the biggest jerk in the group die?"

Now that actually does get a few laughs, much to Scotts chagrin. Sam doesn't seem to cotton on to the point of the question, debates it for a moment "Hard to say." He answers, completely earnest "Those kinds of characters tend to be real wildcards in horror scenarios."

Mike pulls a face, nonplussed "...Was kinda hoping you'd just say first, to be honest."

There's no more discussion on the subject as their destination comes into view. Lightning's the first to spot it through the trees, starts sprinting towards the abandoned building with an enthusiastic "Sha-Yeah!" and there's little more to do but follow.

It's bigger up close than anyone really expected it to be- six stories, two wings spanning either side of the main building, sprawling and wildly overgrown gardens surrounding it in all directions. There's no gate, no security, just hundreds of small, barred windows lining the place, prison-like and desolate. It's very imposing, and as they all gather outside of the main entrance it's clear that the reality of what they'd planned doesn't match up to the fun fantasy of urban exploration- not a single one of them is thrilled with the prospect of going inside.

"This is wrong." Dawn's the first to speak up, only saying what everybody else is thinking "The energy here is as revolting as I expected- we should turn around."

Unfortunately it only spurs them on. Jo snorts, and in a pointed display of defiance walks straight up to the main doors "Nah. It's just an old, run down prison. Don't you wanna see what's in there?"

There's a collective bated breath as she tries the handle, a long bar across heavy steel double doors. She tries, and then tries again before stepping back "Damn. Wasn't expecting it to be locked for some reason."

"Let the Lightning have a go!" 

He gears up, takes a running start and slams shoulder-first right into the doors, a loud clang echoing around the abandoned premises that makes everybody cringe.

"Oh, god, stop." Scott pushes him out of the way "That's obviously not gonna work. Can somebody shine a light? I'll pick the lock."

Sam aims his flashlight at the centre of the doors, illuminating an old fashioned keyhole half falling apart with rust "This should be easy." Scott claims, and then jams the blade of his flick knife in the hole, jiggling it aimlessly.

"Are- are you stupid?" Mike doesn't even realise he's said anything until it's already out there "That's not how you pick a lock."

"Mike." Zoey warns, but nobody's listening.

Scott turns to him with a scowl "Uh, yeah it is. This always works in movies."

"Well this isn't a movie, is it?" He walks over, takes him by the wrist and forcibly removes the knife from the keyhole "And also, you're wrong. They always use, like, a hair pin or something."

"Mike's right, I'm afraid." Cameron speaks up "Also, I can pick a lock in theory, if anyone can provide said hair pin?"

"Here ya go, Cam." Anne Maria pulls one out of her updo and drops it into his waiting hand.

"Alright, fine. You have at it with your hair pin." Scott sneers, snatching his arm out of Mikes grip, and in his frustration at being so consistently humiliated raises his weapon up towards the others face "I'll stick with my knife."

"Stop pointing that at me!"

Mike backs up a step and in doing so trips on some uneven ground, sending him falling into the heavy steel doors. Where he looks to grab onto the handle for support there suddenly isn't anything there- the door falls open the second he touches it, and he ends up sprawled across the line of entry with his torso halfway inside the darkness of the building.

There's a few gasps, a couple of people call out his name in concern. Once the surprise of the fall has worn off Mike realises exactly what's happened, exactly where he's laying and bolts upright, scrambling to his feet and getting a safe distance away from the pitch black shroud of the doorway "Oh- oh, what the fuck?"

"What the fuck is right." Jo affirms, eyebrows furrowed "That door was locked up tight- I triple checked. You just leant on it."

Scott huffs indignantly, scowling at the doorway "Checks out. I mean, it's his house, right?"

Another pointless jab at his mental condition. Mike does his best to ignore it "Maybe- maybe the knife thing worked, and I just happened to push it open. I dunno."

It's a theory. One that nobody is certain of, and there's a silence that falls over the group as an odd breeze blows out from inside the building, the pitch black entryway giving no indication as to what lays just beyond. 

"This shit is freaky. I don't like it." Anne Maria says, Brick nodding vigorously from just behind her, too scared to say the same himself.

"That's the point." Jo counters, but there's no longer any confidence behind it, and she turns to the rest of the group "Well, who's going first?"

Nobody says a word. She looks to Lightning who quickly averts his eyes, all his bravado suddenly gone missing. After a moment they all turn to the sound of B dropping his heavy equipment on the concrete driveway. He rifles through a bag and pulls out a couple of battery powered camping lanterns, switching one on and heading towards the front of the group.

"Feeling brave, are we?" Jo says, not sounding all too brave herself, and he just rolls his eyes.

B approaches the doorway, frowning as the harsh electric glare of the lantern doesn't do a thing to permeate the darkness just beyond. Regardless, he powers through, and the moment he steps past the threshold-

The room illuminates instantly. It's large and cavernous, a foyer made up of filthy, ancient white tile floors and high, equally dirty-white walls. This room alone must take up two stories, a grand staircase on the far side leading up to a mezzanine that branches off into halls in either direction. This is echoed by the open hallways on the ground floor, one leading off to either wing of the building. In the centre is what would have once been the front desk, nothing atop it now but dust. The dust coats everything- a thick layer that stirs violently with the new airflow, choking the air with decades worth of debris. The whole place looks like it hasn't been touched in years, eerie and unkempt and silent.

B huffs a sigh of relief. It's exactly as he thought it would be- just a room. Once the coast has been proven clear, Jo struts in as if she'd never been scared at all, taking it all in with hands on her hips "Huh. Don't know what all the fuss was about. It's just an old hospital."

She flashes B a grin and he gives her a tired look in return, shaking his head "Alright silent treatment, I hear you. Credit where credit is due- everyone thinks you're really cool for taking the plunge. Nothing new there."

He nods approvingly at the recognition, setting his lantern down in the centre of the foyer and waving the rest of them in. Jo takes the cue to yell "Coast is clear!" 

They all file in, some brazen, some tentative, and others on the brink of wetting their pants. Mike and Zoey hang back to quite sensibly double check that they'll be able to open the door again if it happened to shut by accident, and prove that it does in fact open easily when the bar is pressed from the inside. A few people help carry in B's camera equipment.

"Huh," Cameron says, looking around curiously "I figured there'd be more graffiti. It doesn't look like anyone's come here even just to vandalise it."

"I know, right?" Zoey agrees, peering up into the dark of the mezzanine "It's weird. I thought this was the kind of place tons of people would go exploring in."

"Maybe they do just that." Mike shrugs "Exploring. Guess it's kind of nice nobodies covered the place in tags and stuff."

"Yeah, this- this isn't so bad." Brick tries to reassure himself, arms folded tightly in discomfort.

"It's whatever." Anne Maria adds, nonplussed "Like, wow, we hauled our asses all the way here to see an old building. I still don't really get why, or what we're supposed to do."

"Hey, you're right, I guess there isn't anything to do," The cadet jumps on that like a lifeline "Maybe we should head back and-"

"Oh my god, I knew it." Jo rolls her eyes "You can't even take five minutes in this place, you big baby."

"No, no, I can," He disagrees, red-faced "It's just, like Anna Maria said-"

"I bet you couldn't last an hour." She goads, grinning something nasty "Let alone the whole night."

"Well neither could you."

"Oh please. You wanna make this into a competition?"

"Oh boy, here we go." Sam mutters, not that either of them pay him any attention.

"Yeah." Brick straightens up, putting on a brave face "Why not? Let's see who can last longer."

"Great." She smirks "Then the game's on- we either stay until sunrise, or until the first person makes a break for the exit."

"And the first to try and leave is the loser, got it." Brick confirms "What are the stakes?"

Jo thinks about it, tapping her chin "The stakes," She grins "Are that the loser has to let everyone know they really are a big baby. Whoever opens that door first has to come to school on Monday wearing a diaper. Over their pants."

"Oh god," Anne Maria groans "That's so stupid. You two better not be ropin' the rest of us into this mess."

"No, we all have to play," Brick tells her "It's only fair."

"What's fair about that?" She counters "You just want as many people as possible in on this bullshit so there's less chance you lose. Like, we all know if it's just between you and Jo she's gonna outlast you by a mile."

"Oh, I dunno, Annie," Jo folds her arms "You're starting to sound like a pretty big baby to me."

"...You think I couldn't stick it out?" Anne Maria glares at her.

Jo grins, knows full well she's got her on board "Oh, I know you couldn't-"

"Fine." She spits, stomping her foot "We're all playing. First one out that door is a big baby loser or whatever."

"Wait, till sunrise?" Zoey grimaces "That sounds a little much."

"I wish I'd brought snacks." Cameron laments.

"I'm assuming that nobody else gets a say in this." Dawn states apathetically as she sits down on the dusty floor.

"Nope." Jo confirms, all too pleased with herself, and then checks her watch "It's just a little past eleven right now, sunrise is due for seven. Staci, shut that door 'till dawn!"

She points to where Staci's nearest the exit, and she pulls the door closed with some great effort, the heavy thud of the metal sealing them inside. Jo turns back to the rest of the group with a devilish grin.

"And so it begins."

Chapter Text

"Wow, I can't believe I've never been urban exploring before- this is amazing!"

Cameron inspects the chair in front of them with a reverent sort of awe, even dares to feel over the ancient leather straps with his bare hands. Mike can't help but picture whatever poor soul was last held down by those. He swallows tightly.

"You picked a good time to start, I think." Zoey says "I've been a few times and I've never seen anything like this before. Places abandoned this long have usually been raided down to bare bones- the fact any of the original equipment is here at all is-" she pulls a face, searching for the word "-kind of disturbing, actually."

Cameron doesn't seem to share the sentiment, lost in his own little world "Then I guess we hit the jackpot. Look at this thing," he picks up what looks like a pair of over ear headphones, except where the speakers would be is flat, solid metal "They don't make these anymore, for obvious reasons, and the ones that have survived the test of time are hard to come by. See, back in the day they'd put wet sponges on either of these metal plates here, and then it would be placed over the patients temples. And then, you see this device over here," he points out a machine connected to the whole ensemble, a simple box with only a few dials on the front "That would be switched on, set to the appropriate level-"

"And whoever it was gets shocked in the brain. Yeah, I get it." Mike cuts him off, looking away and feeling sick.

Cameron blinks at him as he sets down his new toy, expression sheepish "I'm sorry, I know it's fairly macabre- It's just so interesting. I've never seen an electrotherapy setup in real life before."

"...I think most people probably haven't." Zoey says softly. She takes Mike by the elbow and starts to guide him out of the room "Come on, we should go see what the others have found."

They exit the electrotherapy room. Once the premise of the game had been established and everyone had settled in, it was only natural to go exploring the place. They're still on the ground floor, as Cameron had cited that that's where any old fashioned equipment was most likely to be, and so far it's been an unsettling trek through dark halls, shining flashlights around and trying not to scare themselves too badly.

"Are you alright?"

The two of them stand together in the hall waiting for their friend, seeing as it's evident Cameron isn't quite finished with his findings. Mike isn't sure exactly how he feels, but it's far from positive.

"Oh, I dunno," he says noncommittally, not quite making eye contact "It's just- not really my ideal first date, y'know?"

Zoey huffs a laugh, looking guilty "I know, I'm sorry, I just got kind of caught up in the excitement. I get that it's not your thing."

That's the understatement of the century "Well, I'm not big on haunted houses either, but I still went. For you."

She smiles at him, shy and just slightly nervous "We'll do something you like next time, promise. I was actually thinking, um... there's a cage fighting match on next weekend over in the city. It's only a couple hours drive, I could probably score us tickets if you wanted to go?"

Mike blinks at her in surprise, whatever reservations he had about their date flying straight out the window "Oh my god- why are you so cool?" 

He realises that they're alone for the first time since catching sight of their friends at the festival, and maybe it's not the most romantic setting, or anything like he imagined their first kiss to go, but an opportunity is an opportunity. He leans down just a little and when she doesn't shy away he knows he read the vibe right. He's about an inch away from kissing her when-

c    o m   e           d  o w      n

It's almost like a whisper. He snaps his head up, shining his flashlight frantically up and down the hall "Did you hear that?" He asks, stiff and monotone and throroughly freaked out.

Zoey mostly just looks put out by the ruined moment "Hear what?"

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Cameron rejoins them then, flicking through the camera reel on his phone "I just had to take some pictures of what we found- this is most definitely a once in a lifetime type experience." He stops, looks between them, and picks up on the fact that the mood has changed "Is... everything okay?"

Mike can't see a thing out of place. He decides it's just his head, and the atmosphere, and the fact that it's already past midnight and he's beginning to get tired "Yeah, all fine," he says, and wills himself to believe it. He doesn't need to start having auditory hallucinations now "We should go find everyone else, though."

///

Dawn sits atop an old gurney, gently kicking her feet as she watches B fiddle with various peices of equipment "It's nice that you can find an outlet for creativity, even in the midst of such an unwholesome adventure." She tells him, and he looks up from his camera to flash her a grin "While I can safely say this is one of the more... haunted spots, as you put it, I'm glad to inform you that I believe your footage will turn out rather mundane. The energy here is dark, but quiet."

B doesn't look particularly disappointed. He shrugs as he finishes setting up his tripod, one of a few that they've been dotting around the place in hopes of capturing real evidence of the paranormal.

"I take it this is the last one?" She asks, and he nods "Good. I'd prefer to get back to the group. It's in our best interest that I at least try to prevent anyone from provoking any spirits- it's never wise to wake the dead."

///

"Ooh, that's some freaky shit."

Anne Maria points her flashlight around the abandoned bathroom. Urinals line one small section of the wall, the rest of the room taken up by stalls whos doors hang open at random angles "Seriously, I freakin' hate this. Who agreed to this dumbass all-nighter at the asylum?"

"You did." Sam answers rather unhelpfully. She turns to glare at him, blasting him full in the face with her flashlight "Hey, cut that out- I didn't mean anything-"

"Hey, look." Staci points, and the sheer fact that she has nothing more to say than that catches their attention.

Everyone turns their gazes upwards. There, on the ceiling, scrawled in some unknown substance-

n i  c e    t  o    m e e  t    y  o  u    d  a r  l i  n  g    : )

The smiley face drawn next to it is especially disconcerting "Do you think that was left here for me?" Staci asks nobody in particular, and when she receives multiple raised eyebrows clarifies "It's just that my great great aunt Phyllis was a resident here back in the day, and-"

"No, no, cut the crap." Anne Maria inturrupts her "Even if that's actually true, your dead aunt didn't know we'd be breakin' in here, like, two hundred years later."

"Sixty years." Staci corrects compulsively "And it's definitely worth note that we haven't seen any other graffiti on the premises, and that this happened to be in a room that I walked into, and-"

"We all walked in here." Anne Maria rolls her eyes as she gestures to the rest of their little group "Like, what are you even tryna say right now? You seriously think your aunt's ghost is leavin' you cutesy little messages? Be for freakin' real."

"Well," Sam cuts in, uncomfortable with the unnecessary arguing "At least that would mean if there really is a ghost around here, it'd be friendly."

It's not all that reassuring. Dakota peeks anxiously round his shoulder down the line of half open stalls "But there aren't really any ghosts... right?"

The air must have shifted at that exact moment, because the door of the furthest stall sways ever so slightly, putting all four of them on edge. Dakota whimpers, hiding herself further behind Sams back as he goes pale, lying through his teeth as he comforts her "No. No, of course not. It's probably, like, a rat or something."

"A rat?"

Anne Maria glares at the moving door, backing away slowly with her flashlight trained directly on it "Ugh, that's actually kinda worse. Let's get outta here before we all catch rat cooties."

///

Eventually everyone gathers once more, the full group reunited from their independent explorations and intent on heading back to the main foyer for a little downtime, Jo claiming that she brought party games, whatever that means. It's gone past two in the morning and nobody's lost their wits quite yet, the prospect of sticking it out till daybreak looking easier and easier by the second. Cameron, however, seems hellbent on unintentionally ruining everyones good mood.

"The Collingwood Psychiatric Hospital was open from 1920 to 1957. Apparently in the early days it was a respectable enough place- still crude, and uninformed, and likely torturous for its residents, but that was just the nature of mental health care at the time. They didn't know any better. It was sometime in the forties that ownership changed hands, and then everything went downhill- lawsuits over relatives and loved ones dying suddenly without their families being informed as to why, or that they'd even died at all until visitors came asking after them, as well as reports of experimental treatments that were cited as 'cruel' and 'unusual' from staff members who quit around that time. There were rumours of medical malpractice, tests on the human body likened to those documented in world war two concentration camps, but the really nasty part is that it was all technically legal whether the patients consented or not. You see, back then if you were unwell enough to be institutionalised you were essentially stripped of your human rights, which is made all the worse by the fact that at the time you could be sent to a place like this simply for a bout of depression, or 'female hysteria', or even just being gay-"

"How about dissasociative identity disorder?" Mike cuts him off, deeply uncomfortable with the topic of this impromptu lecture. He wasn't going to say anything, not until it started hitting a little too close to home "Would that have been a good reason to be put in here?"

Cameron clams up, understanding that he's stepped into sensitive territory "Um. I'm not qualified to make that assessment. Please understand, I don't condone anything I'm saying, it's just factual history. Nobody should have their human rights taken away, whatever the circumstances."

"...They still are, you know." Mike says quietly, but it feels loud in the hush that's fallen over the group "Once you're in there- you don't really get a say in what happens to you."

Silence. Nobody wants to touch that insight with a ten foot pole. They carry on down the hall, and as they near the next corner Jo tries to lighten the mood "Wow, major bummer. Guess times haven't changed that much, huh?" 

It doesn't work, because it's not funny, and she knows that. Awkward, she tries changing the topic "C'mon, it's just down here, and then another left, and then we're back at the-"

She's inturrupted by Anne Maria's loud, unintentional gasp as they turn the corner, and everyone freezes in their tracks.

A long, dark hallway, doors to various rooms open at odd angles that were definitely not left that way when they'd initially come through here. Front and centre of it all is a wheelchair, rolling slowly towards them and far too close for comfort.

Jo backs up, the arm not holding the flashlight thrown out to the side in a protective stance, blocking anyone from going further. Not that they'd want to. The chair comes to a gradual stop, and only when everything is once again still and silent does anyone dare to so much as breathe.

"Dude." Sam whispers, shaking where he stands "This is just like a horror movie."

"Don't say that." Zoey whispers back "It could have- it could have been the breeze."

"What breeze?" Staci counters "All the doors and windows are, like, locked and barred."

It's not what anybody wants to hear "Well," Jo swallows thickly "There's only one way back as far as we know, and that means we're going down there whether we like it or not." She lowers her arm, but doesn't take her eyes off the dark hallway as she adresses the group "Anyone feeling brave?"

"Let the Lightning have at it." He says, determined as he struts to the front "Any ghosts come at him, then they're about to die sha-twice."

Despite the circumstances, Jo manages to crack a smile "Love the energy."

He nods once, furrowing his brows, and there's a collective held breath as he walks brazenly into the unknown "You hear me, ghosts?" He calls out as he approaches the wheelchair, glares at it like it's personally offended him "You can sha-fuck off!"

It's punctuated with a harsh kick, sending the chair spinning back the way it came, the rusty wheels squealing at cringe-worthy volume. It hits the nearest open door with a crash, closing it over in turn, and then-

Out of the darkness, someone, or something, rises up from the floor at the far end of the hall. Lightning pales, resolve shattered in a matter of seconds with a weak "Oh, hell no." 

And just as suddenly as it appeared, it begins sprinting at an alarming speed, directly towards them.

Dakota's the first to scream. It sets off a chain reaction, all shouting and running back the way they came in a blind panic. Lightning's off like a bullet, racing ahead and away from whatever sort of entity he's managed to piss off. Jo takes up the rear, just as eager to escape as the rest of them. Until she hears it.

Laughter. A real machevillian sort of cackle, loud and obnoxious and- 

"I know that laugh." She turns around, shines her flashlight right where they'd been standing before hell broke loose, and there he is- bent over double, wheezing and clutching his sides. Jo slumps, relieved, and calls out to those still running "False alarm, people! It's just dirtboy."

Scott laughs all the harder, has to lean against the wall to keep himself upright. There's a few groans, some muttering about how seriously not funny that is, but he doesn't care.

"Oh, oh I totally got you guys." He chokes out through giggles, and points at Jo "Even you. Did I win this stupid game or what?"

She scoffs, stalks over and smacks him with her flashlight "That's not the game, idiot. It's who lasts till sunrise, not who pulls the best prank." She stops, and then begrudgingly admits "That was pretty good, though."

"Ugh, god, be still my heart." Sam makes his way back over, pale faced with one hand on his chest "How long were you there, man? Just hiding in the dark, waiting for us... that's so creepy."

"Eh, about a half hour." Scott straightens up, all too pleased with himself.

"What, no phone, no flashlight, no nothin'?" Anne Maria raises a brow, and when he just shrugs in response she tuts at him "The only thing creepy about any of this is how commited you are to bein' an asshole."

"Okay, Scott, great prank. Very funny." Brick says, sounding like he means exactly the opposite "Can we just go back to the main entrance now? Where we have, you know, our bags and lights and stuff?"

Jo finds it suspicious, narrows her eyes as she aims her flashlight downwards, putting a spotlight on the front of his pants which have been evidently soaked through. He sees what she's doing immediately and covers himself with both hands, humiliated as Scott starts laughing once more.

"Yeah, yeah, Captain Leaky, let's go get you a new pair of cargo shorts- hope you packed your whole wardrobe."

///

"I can't believe none of you even noticed I went missing." Scott gripes, sat on the floor and scraping some dirt out from between the old tiles with his pocket knife "I was gone for ages. I could've been, like, hurt or something. You guys suck."

"It only goes to show, nobody likes you." Jo says casually, not even looking up from where she rifles through her bag.

"I just thought you'd finally learned how to shut up." Mike adds, and when Zoey nudges him disapprovingly he turns to her with a completely innocent "What?"

"Yeah, well," Scott picks out a clump of dirt and throws it at him "I didn't, and I never will, and I don't like any of you losers either."

"I think this is possibly the most uncharming cry for attention I've ever witnessed." Dawn muses, turning the page of a large book in her lap.

"Oh, fuck you." The redhead snarls in her direction, gets to his feet and begins storming up the central stairs that lead to the mezzanine, muttering to himself "Cry for attention. Yeah, right. Fucking-"

"I don't know where you think you're going, but you might wanna sit back down." Jo calls after him "The fun's about to start."

That catches everyones interest. It's been a relatively peaceful break from exploring, just sitting around the main foyer and basking in the safe electric glow of B's camping lights. Things have honestly gotten a little boring, the creepiness of the atmosphere that had initially been the main appeal of this venture ruined by a stupid prank.

"What the hell is this? You brought a board game?" Anne Maria leans over her shoulder, squinting down at the board in her hands "That's so lame, Joey."

"Are you seriously telling me you've never seen a Ouija board before?" Jo snarks back at her. Dawn snaps her head up.

"Oh no. No." She says, an uncharacteristic level of heat behind it "Absolutely not. Nobody is playing with that."

Jo just snorts at her "Awh, come on. I thought this would be right up your street." 

She sets it down on the floor in front of her, right in the centre of the foyer. It looks brand new in the way that it's purposely designed to seem old, a cheap plastic board decorated with the pattern of decaying parchment, letters and numbers drawn in an appropriately spooky font and surrounded with drawings of pentagrams and miscellaneous occult symbols. It's finished off with the planchette that Jo chucks haphazardly on top.

"Even if I were interested in contacting the dead," Dawn approaches the board, looking down on it with the utmost distain "This would not be the appropriate way to do so."

"Isn't it?" Zoey asks, genuinely curious "I thought that was sort of... what they were for."

Dawn turns to her, clasping her hands together "In a sense, yes. A traditional spirit board is a perfectly valid way to commune with the dead. A Ouija board, however, is a mockery of the entire concept, a brand that profited off of making a game out of an ancient practice. That," She points down to the offending object "Is an excellent way to insult any spirits that linger on the premises. And I can guarantee you, there are many."

"Fascinating." Cameron adjusts his glasses, inspecting the board with newfound interest "I never knew there was so much controversy surrounding these things."

"Okay, we all heard Dawn. No Ouija board." Brick announces with an air of finality.

"Oh, come on." Jo rolls her eyes "It's just a stupid game that teenagers play to scare the shit out of themselves. Ghosts aren't real, and if they were I'm sure they wouldn't care about whatever we're doing."

"If you don't believe in ghosts then why did you go and buy the thing?" Brick counters, frustrated.

She grins at him "Exactly why I said- to scare the shit out of everybody. Box says four to a game. Who's playing?"

Brick groans, backing off "I want nothing to do with this. Let me know when we can all go home."

"I'll play." Cameron says, much to everyone's surprise. When he registers all the confused looks he's getting he clarifes "Look, I'm a man of science- I can't say I beleive in the paranormal, but there's studies on why the planchette seems to move when nobodies pushing it, and why Ouija boards tend to reveal personal information specific to only one person playing. I've read up on the theory that mutual belief and the power of the human mind can greatly influence physical objects, and I'd hate to pass up the opportunity to see why people genuinely beleive that these things work."

It's a good reason to give it a go, if there ever was one "Awh, man, you make it sound so cool." Sam groans, resigned "Alright, I'm in."

"What was cool about that?" Anne Maria mutters under her breath.

"Alright, we only need one more player." Jo looks around the rest of the group "Any takers, or are you all gonna be more chicken than the two biggest dorks here?" 

It works instantly "Lightning ain't no chicken." The man himself declares "If Cameron's playing then so is he." And sits himself determinedly on the other side of the board.

"Awesome." Jo smirks, moving the planchette to its rightful position at the centre as the other two come over to sit cross-legged on the floor "Let's get this party started, huh?"

"Wait." Dawn instructs, holding out a hand like if she only tried hard enough she might be able to stop them with some kind of psychic force "If you're really going to do this then please tell me you at least know the basic rules."

"The box just said four to a game."

"Yes, because you have a cheap, fake spirit board designed to be a scary party trick." Dawn deadpans, and then sighs "Clearly you have no idea what you're doing, so let's go over the basics-

"First off, you're supposed to have candles behind each player to form a protective circle. I don't believe anyone thought to bring candles, so you're already putting yourselves at risk. Secondly, it's crucial to remain respectful when speaking to the dead. You're drawing spirits into our plane of existence and disturbing their peace, so it's wise not to agitate them further. The third and most important rule, is that you do not under any circumstances mention death." She gives Jo a very pointed look "That includes asking about any living persons time of death, ways they die, and any questions about the death of the entity you speak to. Is that understood?"

"Jesus." Jo rolls her eyes "Could you make this any less fun?"

"I don't know," Cameron interjects "I think all these arbitrary rules really add to the gravitas of the game. I feel sort of... spooky."

"So you are scared?" Lightning leers, nudging him with one elbow.

Cameron flinches away from the contact "For entirely illogical reasons, yes. Shall we play?"

And that's the end of the discussion. Dawn sighs wearily, resigning herself to a dusty corner to watch it all unfold. Jo grins at her easy win, declaring "Okay, everyone get a finger on the stupid triangle thing."

All four set a finger atop the planchette, Lightning immediately accosting the board with a loud and curious "Hello? Ghosts? Anybody there?"

Predictably, nothing happens. Jo huffs a laugh "That's not how you do it, genius."

"Hey, you never played this, either." He argues, offended "Go on then, show the Lightning how it's done."

"I think I will." She sneers, and then clears her throat, taking on a dramatic tone as she speaks directly to the board "Oh, great spirits- if anyone is here with us tonight, in this room, please let your presence be known."

All eyes are on the board as the planchette slowly shifts over to HELLO.

Nobody knows quite what to say. Sam glances nervously around the foyer "So... what do we ask it?"

"No clue." Jo shrugs, just slightly put out by how quickly they got an answer "I honestly didn't think that'd work."

"Well you're supposed to ask it questions about the future, right?" Zoey says, hovering curiously over where they're playing "Like, stuff you want to know whether it'll really happen or not."

"Hey, that's a great idea," Jo perks back up, smirking something wicked "I'll do one just for you. Dear spirits- are Mike and Zoey ever gonna get married?"

Zoey immediately goes bright red, Mike in much the same state as he stutters "Don't- come on, don't do that-"

But it's too late. The planchette moves once more, circling uncertainly around the board before finally landing on NO.

There's an awkward silence filled only by Jo's muffled laughter, cackling into the sleeve of her hoodie "Oh." Zoey pointedly looks anywhere but at Mike "Well, that's that, I guess."

"Oh my god this is so dumb." Anne Maria covers her face with both hands "And mean. Seriously, which one 'a you jerks is movin' it? Callin on you, Jo."

"No, that's genuinely what the spirits think, I swear." Jo insists.

"I don't think any of us were moving it." Cameron frowns inquisitively down at the board "There's a certain... loose tension to its movement, if that makes any sense, and certainly no pressure from any one angle. I'd be able to feel it otherwise."

"Okay, enough with the bullshit. Lightning's got a real question," he waves his free hand to shut everybody up, dead serious as he demands "Spirits- does the Lightning become a world famous football star?"

Jo can't help but roll her eyes at how typical that is but pays rapt attention as the planchette moves once more, quicker than before, firmly across the board over to YES.

"Knew it!" Lighning pumps a victorious fist into the air "Lightning wins the superbowl, Lightning wins the Ouija board, Lightning wins-"

"Yeah, yeah, Lightning wins at everthing forever. We get the picture." Jo snaps, enjoying this game significantly less when she doesn't get to revel in anyones disappointment.

"We're all very happy for your future success, Lightning." Cameron says mildly, and then moves the topic along "These yes or no style questions are all well and good, but I'd like to see it spell something. Does anyone have a question that might warrant a more specific answer?"

Jo's honestly getting bored of this now. It was supposed to be scary, but everyone wants to ruin her fun by doing nerdy things like imposing rules and asking questions for science. She's about to offer up her place at the board and go come up with her own prank to make things interesting again when she's struck by sudden inspiration "How about a name?"

"Yes, that would work." Cameron agrees "The floor is yours."

Oh, the floor is hers, alright. She's going to wipe it with all their stupid, shocked faces when she comes out with this one "Got another question for you, oh wise spirits. It's a good one, too." She says smugly "Which one of us, lucky thirteen-"

"Jo." Dawn senses what she's going to do immediately, a prickle running down her spine "Don't."

"-Will be the first to die?"

The planchette doesn't move. There's a good three seconds of silence where the energy in the room shifts, a tension falling over them like a cold, heavy blanket, and then everyone snaps their head towards the camping lantern as it hisses like an agitated snake.

It crackles, electricity sparking in every which direction, and then slowly, surely... it fizzles out.

Panic. There's no other word to describe it. The foyer falls into pitch darkness, the imposing sort of black where you couldn't see your own hand in front of your face, made all the worse by the noise. It's unclear who screams, who shouts, who runs- it doesn't matter. All that matters is that in that moment absolutely nobody thinks this is funny anymore, not a thought in anyone's head but get the hell out.

Luckily, it doesn't last too long. The light comes back on like a beacon to reveal B clutching his backup lantern, a lifeline that illuminates the room once more. The relief is underwhelming, the air permeated with the smell of sweat and fear, just a group of unwittingly terrified teenagers frozen in place wherever they had been headed in desperate, misguided belief of where the exit was.

The quiet in the aftermath is uncomfortable, only the sound of gentle sobbing for background noise as uncertain glances are exchanged all round, like nobody quite wants to beleive the timing of it all. Like they're looking for confirmation that it wasn't real.

"Trick lantern, huh?" It's broken by Scott, voice shaky in the way that he's trying to convince himself it was just another prank "Good one, Bev- that's some shit I would do."

B pulls a face, off-looking in the harsh glare of the light as he shakes his head, indicating that assumption as entirely false. Oh well, it was a nice thought while it lasted.

"...I knew the power of belief could have an influence on the physical world, but not to this extent. This is unprecedented." Cameron says, ever logical as he swallows down his fear. He hops down from where he'd managed to climb onto Mikes back, who in turn releases his tight grip around Zoey as they all calm down by a tiny increment, taking her hand for comfort instead. Cameron approaches the broken lantern, not a thing appearing to be wrong with it other than the lack of light, unmoved and perfectly in tact "The electricity flare was especially unusual- these are battery operated, right?"

B nods, and Cameron frowns "Then that seems... borderline impossible, honestly."

"Well, at least we can go home now. I get the feelin' that was enough for everybody." Anne Maria states, putting on a brave face as she shoves a tearful Dakota off of her.

"Yeah, screw the lantern, we can figure that one out outside." Jo agrees, cautiously lifting herself up from where she'd backed up into the front desk getting away from the board.

"W-what, you sha-scared?" Lightning stutters, his attempt at mockery falling totally flat with how badly he's shaking.

Jo rolls her eyes at him "Sha-shutup. Annie's right, games over. It's pretty obvious who lost."

She points towards the main doors where Brick kneels in front of them- eyes screwed shut, sobbing quietly and repeatedly pushing the handle down like he's too scared out of his mind to quite figure them out.

"Wow, that's..." Zoey raises an eyebrow, dropping Mikes hand to go and help up their inconsolable friend "A little bit of an overreaction, don't you think? Come on, Brick, it wasn't so bad- the lights are on, everything's fine now."

She takes him from under the arms and gently lifts him onto his feet as he chokes back another sob. Jo scoffs, unimpressed "Jesus, I've never seen you this pathetic. You'd think if you were that desperate to get out of here you'd at least manage to actually, y'know, get out."

"I..." Brick sniffs, only just now opening red-rimmed eyes "I couldn't. I can't."

Zoey tuts sympathetically, reaches for the handle "Hey, it's okay. Let's just get you outside and- oh." she stops, expression turning into concern as she pushes uselessly at the door "It won't-" she turns back to the rest of them, trying not to look too worried "It won't open?"

"Oh my god, that's not funny. Is everyone a freakin' prankster today?" Anne Maria pushes past her, takes her turn pulling and pushing aggressively at the door only to give up immediately when she notices the puddle she's stepped in "Aw, what the- Brick, that's nasty. These shoes are brand new!"

"Hey, that's your own fault, should have seen it coming." Jo approaches, giving the board a wide berth as she does so "Can't believe you guys are so weak. Like, I know they're heavy doors or whatever but this is just-"

She stops when she tries the handle, pushes at it again and again and again as she grunts with the effort, and then steps back, mouth set in a firm line. She sucks in a breath, and duly announces to the group- 

"Okay, nevermind. It's locked."

Chapter Text

"Magic touch Mike, you wanna give this a shot?"

Maybe Jo's line of thought might seem a little silly, but it's worth a go. He opened the damn door in the first place. Once he's throroughly expended his efforts trying to do what everyone else has failed at so far he steps back too, scratching his head in confusion "I don't get it- we already made sure that we could open it from the inside. We double checked, right?"

He turns to Zoey who nods, equally confused "Maybe a maintenance worker came by and noticed it was open?"

"Unfortunately," Cameron interjects "This place hasn't had anyone maintaning it in decades. And even if it did, don't you think they'd notice there was a light on in here? They wouldn't just lock trespassers inside."

Jo tuts, frowning at the doors "Yeah, if it was staff they'd have come in and made us leave. Something smells fishy here- or dirty." she turns around and fixes her glare on Scott "Giving you one chance, freckles. If this is another stupid prank, and you don't unlock these fucking doors-"

"Don't try to pin this on me," he sneers, standing from his perch on the stairs "Why would I even do that?"

"Cause this just has you written all over it." she counters, folding her arms tightly over her chest "Freak everybody out, let someone call their parents for help and get in trouble for no good reason, and then you'll be cackling away like it's the funniest thing in the world."

"Oh, don't come at me with that bullshit. You've been trying to scare everyone with your stupid board game, how do we know you didn't lock the door, huh?"

"Cause I've been with other people this entire time. You probably did it before your dumb wheelchair thing."

"I just wanna point out," Sam cuts in, getting between them "Whoever locked it had to do that from the outside, and as far as we know there's no other way in. And, like, we're all here."

"That, and the fact that doing so would likely require a key, which we never had in the first place." Cameron agrees.

Scott folds his arms, satisfied that the heat's been taken off of him and raises a questioning brow at Jo, who just sighs "Okay. Alright," she says, thinking it through "So we tested the door before we shut it, this place doesn't have a groundskeeper or anything, and none of us could have locked it as a joke, so there's only one logical explanation." She turns to adress the group as a whole "Somebody else knows we're here, and they're playing a prank on us."

An uncomfortable silence falls over the group. The unspoken concern of who would be up here at this hour, with such questionable motivations, weighs heavy on everybody's minds like a thick blanket of dread.

"I'm calling Daddy." Dakota says suddenly, phone at the ready "He won't be too mad, he'll send somebody up here to help us- Daddy will make this all just... go away."

"Awesome- Dakota to the rescue." Sam encourages her with a weak chuckle.

"Okay, great." Jo agrees "Barbie can call her disgustingly rich dad, and we can wait it out in here until somebody shows up. We'll be fine."

There's a collective sigh of relief, tension somewhat eased with a solution in sight, but Scott has to go and ruin it "You sure about that?"

Jo glares at him "Yeah, why?"

"What do you mean why? Did you suddenly turn stupid?" He snarks, stalking down into the centre of the foyer "Just think about it- why would some random person hanging around up here in the middle of the night be playing a prank on us? People live in these places, you know. Junkies, crazies, psychos- what it looks like to me is that whoevers living here isn't happy a bunch of teenagers broke in. It was probably locked when we got here cause they have the key, and now they've trapped us in here with them, and it's only a matter of time until some nutjob comes running out of the dark, swinging an axe around-"

"Stop, stop, oh my god, stop." Anne Maria cuts him off, hands over her ears like she's trying to block the words out "Why would you even go there? This ain't a freakin' horror movie."

"Murderers don't just exist in horror movies." He counters "This is a real, dangerous situation, that nobody's taking seriously-"

"Everybody's taking it seriously, okay?" Jo snarls at him, stepping into his space "Just cause you wanna jump to the most insane possible conclusion-"

"It's not insane. It's not even unrealistic! I don't get why you're trying to pretend everything's fine when it's obviously fucking not."

"Probably because speculating about some psycho killer trapping us in an abandoned building isn't helping." Zoey hisses from where she's sat on the floor, an arm around Brick who has his face hidden behind both hands. She stands to approach them and Dawn takes her place in keeping the fallen soldier company "All this is doing is freaking everybody out. It doesn't even change anything- we're still going to have to wait here until Dakota's dad sends up a locksmith to help us."

Mike nods, swallowing down his anxiety over the situation "Yeah, but it's going to be okay, isn't it?" He says, trying to convince himself of that fact more than anyone else "We'll all get home eventually. And, I mean, an axe murderer? In an abandoned mental hospital? On Halloween? That's just kind of... stupid."

It gets a few nervous laughs, having it spelled out like that making the whole idea seem absurd.

"It does sound unlikely." Zoey agrees, an apprehensive attempt at a smile on her face.

He puts an arm round her shoulders "Totally- we're all just freaked out from the thing with the lights. Nothing actually bad has happened, and nothing's going to."

It's a kind reassurance, easy to hear and easy to accept. Zoey leans up and places a kiss at the corner of his mouth, making him blush furiously "But what if we're wrong?" She pushes, only half a joke. It does nothing to ease the tension as she asks "What if there really is an axe murderer prowling around?"

Mike tries not to let his nerves show as he seriously contemplates this worst case scenario "Then we're already doing exactly what we should be- staying here, where we have lanterns and torches and, most importantly, each other. Nobody in their right mind would take on thirteen people by themselves, even if they had a weapon."

Scott watches this exchange with disgust written plain on his face, frustration at being dismissed simmering over until he can't take it anymore "Oh, guess we're all listening to Mike now. Opens a door, kisses a girl and suddenly thinks he's some kind of bigshot."

There's a few dumbfounded glances exchanged. Mike himself recoils, put out by being attacked so randomly "What? I was just saying, in theory, our best option for safety is-"

"You can take your theories and shove them up your ass!" He snarls "If you all wanna hang around like sitting ducks then fine, but I know what's going on. I'm clearly the only person with a brain in their head, so I guess I'll be the only person to take some fucking action, too."

He turns sharply on his heel, walking away with an unhinged sort of determination. It's bizarre behaviour, even for him, and Jo's the first to call him out on it "What do you mean take some action? Where the fuck do you think you're going? Don't tell me you're seriously gonna go stalking off into the dark, alone, to go hunt down some imaginary serial killer."

"That's exactly what I'm gonna do." He spits, not looking back as he reaches the stairs "Anyone gonna stop me?"

A silence falls over the foyer so intense that you could hear a pin drop. The question is left hanging, not a single person willing to touch this self-invented drama. Scott glares back at the lot of them, face twisted up in some indecipherable emotion, and then dissapears up into the darkness of the mezzanine without another word.

"Oh my god." Anne Maria mutters in the awkward hush that follows "He's gonna freakin' die."

"Don't say that." Zoey tuts, uncomfortable "I already feel kind of bad."

"Yeah, don't go there Annie." Jo chastises her "Nobody's gonna die, cause there's no stupid axe murderer running around, just dirtboy with a cheap switchblade. I can't beleive him- all this has done is make it super annoying for when someone actually does come let us out, cause now we're gonna have to go find him after. He's like, the only person I know who doesn't have a phone."

"Guys," Dakota grabs their attention, tearful and clutching her own glittery phone like a lifeline "I can't- I can't get through. I tried and tried and tried but- but there's no reception."

There couldn't be worse news than that. Regardless, Jo keeps a brave face on "Alright, don't worry- anyone else got parents who won't kill them for trespassing?"

There's some mumbling, a few people reluctantly taking their phones out. It's worth a try, but after a while and many, many failed attempts at getting ahold of absolutely anybody, including the authorities, it's evident that everyone's in the same boat. No cell reception, no internet, no way to contact the world outside those doors.

"Shit." Jo sits down on the floor in defeat, cradling her face in her hands "This is so fucked."

"So, like, what do we do now?" Staci asks her, mouth downturned in worry.

Jo snaps her head up "Why are you asking me like I'd fucking know? Why am I the one coming up with all the solutions?"

"Cause this was your idea." Brick says sullenly, meeting her glare head on with his own steely expression.

Jo doesn't know how to argue with that, because it's true, replying with only a scoff as she turns to avoid his gaze. Zoey takes the lead instead "I think there's only one thing we really can do now, and that's find another way out."

She glances down one of the long, dark halls on either side of the ground floor, still and silent and eerie. It's not the most appealing idea, but it's the best they've got.

///

"Oh god."

The beam of Bricks flashlight shakes where he highlights an old hospital bed, sheets rumpled and half falling apart due to their age. Jo rolls her eyes.

"Come on, Brickhouse, it's just a bed in a dark room. It's not even interesting." she tells him, taking up the rear of their little team.

They'd split up into groups of four once the plan had been established, agreeing to meet back in the foyer an hour from now in hopes that one of the teams will have found a way out by then. Jo and Brick travel the east wing, following behind Anne Maria and Lightning who boldly takes the lead, opening every door he sees without regard for whether it's an exit or not.

"Sha-Bam." He kicks in yet another door, exposing what appears to be a bathroom "Awh, again? Why is it always bathrooms?"

"I dunno, maybe cause we're in the middle of the building or something." Anne Maria gripes, at least taking their search slightly more seriously than Lightning is "We should probably go, like, somewhere near the back, or-"

She stops as she sees it, groaning dramatically with relief "Joey- Joey! I found it! We're out!"

There, at the end of the hall and glowing a dull green is an emergency exit sign. Brick makes a noise reminiscent of a happy sob. Jo just sighs up towards the ceiling "Oh thank god. Nice one, Annie. C'mon, let's make sure it opens and then we'll go wait for the others."

"The Lightning is on it!" 

He sprints forward, taking hold of the bar and pushing down, and it swings open easily. It would have been such a relief if it weren't for the fact that-

"What the, and I mean this, sha-fuck?"

Another hallway. Indesinguishable from the one they're currently in. The four stand there for a moment in shock, trying to process what they're seeing.

"Well that's just the stupidest design for anything I ever saw." Anne Maria frowns, folding her arms in a frustrated huff "Who the hell puts an emergency exit sign where the ain't one?"

"Um, I don't wanna sound like I'm overthinking this or anything," Brick starts, a bead of nervous sweat running down his forehead "But wasn't this place built in the nineteen-tens? And then shut down in the fifties? Did they even have emergency exit signs like that back then?"

Jos face goes slack, looking up at the glowing, distinctly modern sign above them, trying to ignore the creeping sense of dread "Couldn't tell you," she says quietly "Who knows what this place has- I didn't even think they'd still be running electricity up here."

They all stare at it, the only sound amidst the silence being the soft electrical hum of the sign above. Brick backs up a step "I don't like this. We're not going down there."

"For once, I totally agree." Jo nods, reaching over to gently shut the door, putting the mysterious hallway out of sight and out of mind "Alright, which way next?"

"Oh!" Lightning jumps on the spot, suddenly excited "We should go to the roof!" 

Jo gives him an approving once over "Hey, that's not a bad idea- why didn't I think of that?"

"We might actually get cell reception up there." Anne Maria agrees.

"And if not, there's a good chance there'll be a fire escape." Brick adds, looking hopeful "Whoever designed this place should have had enough sense to build stairs down the side of it, even if they're a hundred years old and falling apart-"

"We'll worry about that when we get there." Jo cuts him off, not wanting to think about any additional dangers right now "C'mon then, let's find a way up."

///

"This is giving me, like, a total Silent Hill vibe." Sam whispers as they creep through the hospital "I'm half expecting the walls to start peeling and some creature to jump out at us from behind-"

"Sam." Dawn cuts him off, pointing at Dakota who hasn't fully stopped crying since the light went out.

He shrinks in on himself, sheepish "Oh. Sorry, I'm probably not helping."

"It's fine," she sniffles, wiping a smudge of mascara from below her eye, but only succeeds in smearing it further down her face "I just- nothing like this has ever happened to me before."

"I don't think this exact scenario is particularly common." Dawn says in a vague attempt to reassure her, but only receives a blank look for her efforts, so she clarifies "Me neither."

"Oh. Okay." Dakota wraps her arms around herself "Do you think anyone's found a way out yet? I need my beauty sleep."

Dawn's about to reply when B makes a sudden gesture. She turns to him with a sharp "What is it?" 

B points them towards what looks like it was once a lounge of some kind. There are mouldy old couches that line the walls, high barred windows, tables and chairs scattered about and upturned in some places. At the far end is a reinforced glass wall with another, smaller room behind it, likely where staff sat idly by and watched to make sure inmates behaved themselves in their free time.

They've been through here. Dawn relaxes- it's exactly as it was when they had left, not a thing out of place, one of B's cameras sat safely on its tripod in the centre of the room. She understands that this is what he's expressing interest in "You want to check your footage?"

He nods, making his way towards the camera. Dakota glances around, obviously unhappy with absolutely anywhere they go at this point, and Sam offers her his elbow which she takes gladly, escorting her inside. 

Dawn stares down at the same upturned chair she'd stared at hours earlier. B had asked her to help him find the most haunted locations in the hospital, and she'd picked this area out quite easily- there's a strong energy here. Not quite good, not quite bad, but strong. She can tell without having to think about it that this chair wasn't left upside down when the facility had closed, that something had pushed it over recently. She makes a decision and picks it up, setting it upright, and then the one next to it too. As she sits down B joins her with his dismounted camera, giving her a nod and begins to play through the film he's captured in the last few hours.

What the point of this is she isn't exactly sure. Maybe it's just a momentary distraction from their unfortunate circumstances, maybe he thinks it might give them a clue as to what's going on. Either way she watches the footage with him, strange and green the way that night-mode video tends to be, sped up so that every minute that's passed lasts a second on screen. For a long while the room on the screen is just the same as it is now, still and dark, nothing scary about it outside of the sheer virtue that it exists. And then they see it.

B actually jumps, pauses the video and rolls back a few minutes, taking it down to regular speed. Dawn watches with rapt interest as the shadow moves across the room on-screen, notes the time stamp of just a little past 3am. That's when they'd have had the board out, she thinks. Another joins it, and both shadows go still, standing in the room and facing each other as if they might be having a conversation.

"Fascinating." she whispers. It's not like she ever once doubted the existence of ghosts, but sitting in here and seeing this with her own eyes- it's surreal "You know what this means, don't you?"

B turns to her, raising his eyebrows in silent question. She answers accordingly "You may have actually captured the first genuine proof of the paranormal. Anything outside of our own evidence could have been doctored, but this- we know this is real."

"Oh. Wow." Sam joins them then, having heard their brief one-sided discussion, staring wide-eyed down at the little camera screen "Is that- is that really-"

Dakota grips him all the tighter, making a small distressed noise. She glances around like the phantom figures on tape could appear in front of them at any moment and, really, they could. Dawn reminds herself that this isn't the priority right now- they're in danger. The excitement of capturing something like this will have to wait until they've found an exit.

"B, I think we should-"

He cuts her off with a dramatic gesture, clamping a hand over his own mouth as if covering up a silent shout. Sam jumps back in tandem, and when Dawn looks-

A face. Clear as day, right up close to the lense of the camera, fully aware of its presence and looking directly into it with what could only be described as a sense of wonder in its eyes. It's so viscerally human- a man in maybe his thirties, the only thing to indicate that this isn't an image of a living, breathing person being the total lack of a lower jaw. The bottom half of his face is missing, mangled and bloodied, ending at a top row of chipped, openly exposed teeth that taper off directly into his neck. The skin comes apart in ribbons, the gaping hole of his throat on permanent display. Nobody could realistically survive such a severe state of mutilation, Dawn thinks, and the fact that this is real, actual footage-

Dakota screams- a shrill, ear piercing thing that sets everyone else's teeth on edge, ripping them out of the moment and sending anxieties skyrocketing.

"Hey, hey, it's okay-" Sam tries to calm her down as B makes a rapid slashing gesture at his throat, pleading for her to cut it out.

She doesn't stop. It's awful- all the worries of who and what could be lurking around the corner, what could be in this very room, and she's drawing so much attention. Their friends out exploring other parts of the hospital can probably hear it, must think that a murder is taking place somewhere on the premises. It's about as unhelpful as anything could possibly get.

"Dakota." Dawn hisses "Please, stop. You're being a liability."

The screaming finally subsides into something resembling more of a sob as she gains just that little bit of self awareness, instead takes hold of Sam and squeezes him tightly for reassurance. He doesn't seem like he's faring much better, pale faced and eyes darting around the room, clearly not quite in his right mind either. B shuts off the camera, folding the little screen into the side with a huff as he tucks it away into one of the many mysterious pockets of his overcoat, supposedly to look at again later with less spectators.

Dawn recollects herself, just slightly shaken, more from the uncontrollable noise than any lurking dangers. She gets to her feet, decidedly taking charge in a way she's not used to "We should continue on our mission," she states, tone flat "Hopefully we'll run into some of the others on our way. I beleive it's crucial to let them know what we've found- it should ease any fears of potential murderers, at the very least."

///

"That thing ain't freakin' locked." Anne Maria says stiffly, keeping a white-knuckled grip on the stair rail "Please, Joey, tell me it ain't locked."

Jo doesn't tell her anything, just rests her forehead against the cool steel of the door and sighs. If she tries hard enough she can almost pretend that she smells the fresh night air through the cracks.

So they found the exit up onto the roof. It changes nothing, because they can't get out that way, either. She turns to face her team, halfway to defeat "Sorry. It won't- look, I'm sorry, okay?"

Anne Maria says nothing, just scrunches up her face in a way that looks like she's trying not to cry out of frustration. Brick sucks in a deep breath. He's been doing a good job of steeling himself to their current situation, braver with every floor they've climbed all the way up to the sixth where they stand now "I have an idea, but nobody's going to like it."

Jo looks at him, exhaustion clear on her face "Nobody likes anything we're doing. Whatever you've got it's worth a try."

He nods, running a hand over his buzzcut "Through the hall on the way here, I noticed the windows on this level don't have bars. If we could maybe find some length of rope somewhere, then one of us could scale down the side and go get help."

It's honestly revolutionary. Jo perks up at the idea "And worst comes to worst we can all take turns climbing down. Brick, you might have just saved our skins."

He flashes her a tentative grin. It's a high compliment, coming from her "Alright, let's do it."

Their search for an awfully convenient length of rope is given up on quickly. It would have been a miracle to find such a thing, so instead they opt for crafting their own rope out of old, unchanged bedsheets from the fifties, splitting up into teams of two to ransack patients abandoned rooms. 

Brick and Lightning enter the last one on their side of the hall, the latter doing his usual stellar job of kicking down doors with a whimsy usually reserved for better times "Sha-bam."

"Don't take this the wrong way," the cadet cringes, peering in from behind his shoulder "But you really don't have to vocalise every action you take. Sometimes I swear it's like you're living in a comic book."

It doesn't deter him in the slightest "The Lightning does things his own way." he asserts, and struts into the room without a care, only pausing when he sees something distinctly out of place, making a surprised noise "Guess people have been doing graffiti up here. Cameron should've seen this- he likes this history shit, right?"

Brick doesn't think it counts as history, or even graffiti for that matter, but he finds himself unable to argue, knees locked with the sudden surge of gut-wrenching dread that washes over him.

I CAN'T LIVE WITH THE GUILT

It's scrawled across the far wall in huge letters, haunting in the glow of his flashlight. It evokes something deeply uneasy in him, feels akin to a warning for reasons he can't quite place. He reads the words over and over again until they frazzle his mind and he has to look away, muttering a short "Just grab the sheet. Please. It's the last one."

"Yeah, yeah, let Lightning do all the work," The athlete gripes, stripping the bed and rejoining him in the hall "You better be giving him credit. He's the one that's gonna be jumping out that window soon."

Brick looks up at that, puzzled "Nobody said you had to do the climbing. I actually thought I'd take one for the team-"

"For the team, or for the glory?" Lightning counters, thrusting the sheet into his already laden arms and placing his hands on his hips "You already came up with the plan, Lightning is gonna be the one to pull it off."

There's no point in arguing. It's not like Brick particularly wants to scale down from a sixth story window, and pushing for as much is just going to agitiate his overly proud friend "Sure. Whatever you wanna do."

Lightning huffs, nodding as he starts the walk back through the hall, Brick following close behind. They run into Jo and Anne Maria just a little further down.

"Alright, let's make this happen." Jo says as they sit in a circle, spreading out bedsheets in all directions "I don't know how durable these things are, or how much weight they're gonna hold- this seems dangerous at best."

"Quit it with the downer talk, will you? The Lightning's gonna make it just fine." 

"We'll twist them before tying for extra tensile strength, and I can show you how to make a secure knot?" Brick suggests, cadet training coming in duly handy in a survival scenario.

They get to work. Soon enough, they have a ridiculously long coil of bedsheet rope, arguably spanning longer than they'd need even at a sixth story height. Better safe than sorry. Jo approaches the windows, picking one in the middle of the hall that in theory should face out into the wildly overgrown gardens of the complex, but all that can be seen outside is the pitch black of pre-sunrise. She squints out into the darkness, an eerie feeling coming over her as she notices that she can't locate the moon from here despite it having been a clear night when they had entered.

"Must be on the other side." She mutters to herself, testing the give of the old fashioned window pane, and sighs as she finds that locked, too "Okay, this is just getting ridiculous. Annie, you still got that hair pin? I think if I just jimmied it-"

She stops, freezing in horror as they all hear it. A scream, shrill and terrified, distinct despite how far away it sounds. Wary glances are exchanged all round- has someone gotten hurt? Is there really a murderer prowling around the place?

"No time for jimmying- Lightning's got it." He declares, throwing a brazen fist through the glass without a second thought "Sha-Ow!"

It comes away bloodied and full of glass shards, the athlete cradling his fist in shock as if this outcome had never occurred to him. Jo throws her hands up in exasperation "Nice one, genius! That's gonna make it real easy to climb down!"

Lightning at least has the grace to look sheepish about his mistake, but ruins it instantly when he doubles down "It's fine- Lightning meant to do that."

Jo pinches the bridge of her nose "Whatever, at least the window's some kind of open. Let's just throw the rope down there and get going, huh? Be careful not to cut any more of you on all that broken glass."

He nods as Brick lowers the rope out the window, avoiding looking down due to the sheer height of it as he wonders aloud "Why is only the top floor bar-free? The rest of this place is like a prison."

Anne Maria takes a peek out the window into the unending darkness and shudders "Probably cause even the crazies weren't crazy enough to try escapin' outta here at this height." And then she realises what she said, turning to Lightning with a wince "But you totally could. No doubts."

He takes it all in stride, unbothered by the obvious danger of his mission as he climbs carefully into the large frame of the window, one leg on the outside and hovering over jagged glass "Don't you worry- Lightning's gonna go down, make a clean sprint back through those woods, and go get the-" he pauses, looking confused "Wait, who is he getting?"

"Fire department." Jo deadpans "And don't bother running back to town, just find a spot with some signal and call somebody, okay? Can you do that? Is that easy enough to remember?"

"Got it." He affirms, squatting precariously on the outer ledge of the window and grabs onto their makeshift rope, testing the give as Brick holds it firmly in place from inside "Trust in the Lightning- he's gonna save the day."

They can only hope that's true. Jo rolls her eyes, taking the rope in her hands to keep this as safe as it possibly could be "Best of luck, Lightning. And I honestly mean that."

A quick salute, and then he's gone, abseiling over the side of the building while Jo and Brick hold his lifeline steady. It's possibly the most dangerous thing any of them have ever done, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Brick keeps his stance stiff, eyes closed and making quiet affirmations to himself "This is fine. This was a good idea. He's going to get down perfectly intact, call the authorities, and then we'll all-"

He's cut off by a smack in the shoulder. He turns to find Anne Maria frozen like a statue, staring wide-eyed down the hall with an expression of abject terror on her face. When he looks to see what their newest problem could be he does much the same, a small, distressed noise escaping him as he unconsciously lets go of the rope.

Jo grunts as all of Lightning's weight is suddenly left in her hands "Hey, what the hell are you-" But she stops when she sees it too.

A figure, large and burly and menacing, just about visible in the dark. Jo ignores the sweat building at her brow and tries to rationalise it in her head- one of their friends, probably Scott, playing a seriously poorly timed prank. She's going to absolutely eviscerate him for this one.

"Shine a light." She orders stiffly, straining to keep the rope steady by herself.

Anne Maria complies with shaking hands, the flashlight spluttering to life as she illuminates the figure, and as she does all three of them gasp.

A woman. Jo wasn't expecting it to be a woman- too tall to be Dawn, too bulky to be Zoey- it's not one of them. Even in the glare of the flashlight she can't make out any features on their face.

In fact, she can't make out any features at all. There's a basic shape, human and female, but anything beyond that just blends into this grey, fuzzy sort of mess that doesn't connect with any rational part of her mind. It's like looking at static, like looking into the void, like a person made up entirely of her own repressed fear-

Jo is trying to find something, anything to say when she's nearly shocked out of her skin by Bricks sudden cry, the cadet hightailing it in the other direction out of sheer panic. Anne Maria follows shortly after, the only light source dissapearing right along with her.

And then she's alone.

Or, not alone. Alone would actually be preferable, because now it's just Jo, holding in her hands both Lightning's full weight and responsibility for his life, faced down with a perpetrator in the dark.

And then they're coming towards her, slowly, not a trace of fear to their gait, as if they're giving her time to make a decision- stand her ground and take her chances fighting, or drop her friend and run like the others.

Jo would estimate that Lightning's had about thirty seconds to make his decent, but she also hasn't been counting. It all happened so fast. She weighs up her options, struggling to keep the rope taught with the way her body unwillingly tremors, and as the figure closes in and pulls something out from behind their back- a weapon? The shape is a bit like some kind of knife- the choice is made for her.

Wherever he is in his climb, Lightning has a better chance of surviving the fall than Jo does stuck here, holding him up with no free hands to defend herself from her attacker.

It's an awful moment, letting go of that rope. It turns her stomach in a way nothing ever has before, but as the blade of a cleaver slices through the air inches from her face, exactly where she had been standing only a second ago, she knows she's made the right decision. Even if she'd tried to hold him steady he'd have fallen, because she'd be dead, and she has to rationalise that only one potential death is better than two.

She kicks out, makes contact with the hand holding the cleaver and sends it clattering across the tile floor. And then she's sprinting, following the path of her friends- cowards- trying and failing to hold back tears as the image of Lightning, limp and cold and dead on the hospital grounds flashes through her mind.

Chapter Text

"Another dead end?" Cameron adjusts his glasses, squinting towards where his flashlight illuminates the far wall "How strange- whoever built this place had an awfully illogical sense of design. We should try heading north next."

Their little group turns around, heading back towards the centre of the west wing. Dead in the middle sits a stairwell, wide and rectangular that could take them all the way up to the top of the building if they were so inclined to leave the ground floor. It makes a good starting point to try searching in various directions, an easy way to prevent from getting lost in the endless and seemingly identical hallways. The large area at the base of the stairwell splits off into four branches, two of which they've already exhausted. As they approach this well-trodden ground once more, Cameron's flashlight happens to fall on something that nobody had noticed before.

"A basement?" Zoey reads the sign on the door, takes the initiative to turn the handle, just in case, only to find it locked like so many others "Nevermind, that's a no-go."

"I don't think anybody's complaining." Mike says, just a hint of humor in his voice "If there's gonna be anything creepier than an abandoned mental hospital, it's got to be the basement of an abandoned mental hospital."

"Thankfully, even if the door were to open we wouldn't have any reason to go down there." Cameron notes "I doubt there'd be any kind of exit underground."

"Actually," Staci pipes up, having tagged along with the group least likely to berate her for sharing all of her useful information "Back in the early nineteen-hundreds a large institution like this would have been used for all kinds of purposes, not just housing the mentally ill. It would've been hard to maintain funding for such an uncared for demographic," she explains airily, as if this isn't a depressing topic at all "And usually all the more unpleasant aspects of society would have been kept in one easy to access place just outside of town. So I bet the 'basement' would have functioned as this towns mortuary at one point, seeing as there isn't one on the ground floor, so an exit down that way actually is quite likely- they would have needed an avenue to cart the bodies in and out. Perhaps if there are no other options once we've finished with this floor-"

"Shh."

Staci frowns, turning to Mike who'd gone statue still the moment he shushed her "No need to be rude. I was just saying-"

"No, no," he inturrupts her again in a whisper, waving a hand indicating to keep it down "That was a good insight, Staci. I just- can you hear that?"

They pause, straining their ears in the silence, and it quickly becomes evident what he's talking about.

Footsteps. Up above them, rapid and aimless as if someone were running up and down the stairs repeatedly, no clear goal other than maybe an unusual form of exercise. Or maybe they're trying to be heard. They wait for it to stop, but after a good minute or so passes it's clear that whoever is on the stairs isn't tiring out anytime soon.

"Should we go check it out?" Zoey asks, barely audible.

Cameron shakes his head, a firm no "Whoever that could be is exhibiting some absolutely bizarre behaviour," he says, anxiously fiddling with the toggles of his hoodie "M-Maybe we have been locked in here with someone... less than stable."

Zoey swallows, expression grim "Well, if that's the case, they've heard us, and they know we're down here. I think they want our attention."

It's a terrifiying thought. Mike straightens up, trying to mask his fear and come across at least a little more confident that he feels "Do you think they know it'd be four against one? It's probably better to go confront them, right? Cause if we ignore it, and they come down here while were looking for an exit it'd only make it easier to pick us off-"

"Oh, no, no, stop." Staci covers her ears.

"Don't say that, Mike." Zoey pleads, glancing anxiously towards the stairs "We don't know that they're looking to hurt us. You're starting to sound like Scott."

He recoils at the accusation "No, no- I'm not being a psycho, I'm just being realistic. Like, even if they don't wanna hurt us they're obviously some serious kind of crazy, right?" He turns to Cameron, who nods vigorously in agreement, and that's more than enough affirmation for Mike. He shrugs "What else are we supposed to do?"

Zoey pulls a face, resigning herself to the only logical course of action "I guess we're going to have to find out what they want. You were right about it being one against four- I just wish we had a weapon or something, as backup."

Mike nods, holding up his flashlight "This'll have to do. Don't worry, I'm not gonna let some creep get the drop on us. Everything's going to be fine." It's not the truth, but it's not a lie either- it's just a projection of what he wants to happen, because god damn it if he's going to end up in a fight tonight then he at least wants to impress the girl in the process. That's the one good thing that could possibly come of this.

He tentatively makes his way to the bottom of the staircase, pausing when Zoey places a gentle hand on his shoulder. It makes him jump, turning to her with a short "What?"

"Are you sure about going first?" She asks lightly, attempting to smile "That's awful chivalrous of you, but you don't have to do that for my sake. I don't think this really counts as a date anymore."

She's right- any romance that had been in the air this evening is long gone. He hopes they can pick it up again at another time, but mostly just they can all get out of this unharmed "Zoey, I'd do this for you even if you didn't know I existed." He tells her, and immediately cringes at how pathetic that sounds, attempting to ammend his very unsmooth line with a cocky "What, don't think I can handle it?"

"Mike," She says plainly, this time actively trying not to smile, the corners of her mouth twitching with the threat of laughter "You're shaking."

And she's right again. He hadn't even noticed the tremor in his hand, the way the beam of his flashlight jolts about the place, probably drawing more attention to their location than strictly necessary. Whatever, the interloper already knows they're here. He takes a deep breath and forces his hand to go still "I've got it, Zoey. If anything happened to you, and I was just standing by, I don't know what I'd-"

She kisses him then. Properly, full on the mouth. After a moment she breaks away with a reassuring "I'll be right behind you."

"We're also here." Cameron adds, Staci hovering over his shoulder "As unhelpful as that may be."

Mike doesn't have to force a smile this time, feeling light from head to toe over one simple, loving gesture. Nothing could bring him down now "Oh, don't say that, Cam, you two are plenty helpful. C'mon, let's go confront a weirdo."

It's good to have friends. It makes life worthwhile. It makes it so much easier to swallow down his fear knowing that he's doing this for them, and makes it all the more important that Mike is ready for anything, be it an uncomfortable conversation with some squatter in an abandoned mental hospital or a potential violent encounter. Either way he's determined to protect the people behind him, the rapid footsteps overhead no longer a source of fear but a destination. Four against one. This is going to be fine.

He tries to keep that same mindset as he passes the third floor, the noise directly above them. The stranger is no longer an abstract but a definite presence, real and certain and waiting for them just between floors four and five, still running up and down the stairs in an erratic manner. The fact they haven't tired yet is disturbing all by itself, but then he hears it-

c     o m    e             d   o  w      n

Mike freezes up, barely registers Zoey bumping into him from behind as he pauses on the staircase, petrified to the bone. Worse, the footsteps have stopped, like whoever it is is just round that bend, aware of their position and waiting to strike. Mike calls out a strained "Hello?"

No reply. He takes a cautious half-step further "We know you're there. We could hear you- but you know that, right?"

"Mike." Zoey hisses, sounding even more distressed than he feels "Don't- something's wrong."

He hears her, but continues anyway, switching his flashlight over into his left hand and balling his right up into a fist. He gets the feeling that whatevers about to happen, it's going to be ugly. Gritting his teeth, he takes the plunge and swiftly rounds the corner onto the fouth storey landing- better to get the drop on this guy than the other way round- and the shaking beam of his flashlight illuminates-

The glint of a blade, a pale face-

"Jesus Christ." They both jump back at the same time, Mike releasing an unsteady breath he hadn't realised he was holding "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Scott repeats, squinting where the light shines directly into his eyes, and he reaches over to manually lower the beam, agressively pushing Mike's arm down "Cut that out- you've got some fucking nerve asking me that, you know. Do you have any idea how stupid you'd have to be to come up here, just walking headfirst into a fight with someone who's clearly asking for one? What were you thinking?"

Mike is still too full of leftover adrenaline to formulate a proper response, supplying only a confused "What?"

"Oh, so you weren't thinking. Checks out." Scott sneers, glancing around the stairwell with knife at the ready, like he believes someone might still jump out at them "Haven't you heard about all the crazy shit homeless squatters do to keep trespassers out? If they were trying to lure you up the stairs it could have been a trap- nail board on the top step, peirce your foot clean through. Not much of a fight to be had if you're injured. Or- or a trip wire attached to something in the ceiling, and then an axe comes swinging down. It's all over once your head's cut open and your brains are spilling out-"

"Woah, woah, stop." Mike waves a hand to silence him "Where do you even come up with this shit? That's psychotic. Who thinks of that?"

"I do!" The redhead throws his hands up, exasperated "And nobody else, apparently. God, you people have zero self preservation instincts."

"Well there weren't any traps, were there?" Zoey joins them on the landing, frowning and suspicious "There doesn't seem to be any murderers hanging around either. Just you."

It's not quite an accusation, but the implication is obvious. Scott has the audacity to look affronted, opening his mouth to argue, but Mike beats him to it.

"Oh my god." He says, running a hand over his face "All that buildup, and it was just another stupid prank. You scared the shit out of me, you know that? Running up and down the stairs like a total psycho, just trying to freak everybody out and sell us on this whole murderer schtick- like, what is wrong with you?"

"That wasn't me." He defends "I wasn't even in the right place- I thought he'd be on that one." He points to the staircase that Mike and Zoey had just ascended "And besides, don't you think I'd be a hell of a lot sweatier if I'd been running around like a freak for the last ten minutes?"

"Scott," Mike pulls the most direly unimpressed face "You're sweaty as shit."

"If I can just cut in to counter both of your arguments," Staci interjects, adressing Mike first "I would have to note that he's the normal amount of sweaty. For him. However," she then turns to Scott "If you actually thought there was someone here setting up traps to lure people in, then you really shouldn't have been coming down the stairs. There's a fault in your logic for berating us over walking into danger when you're trying to make out that you were doing the exact same thing."

The redhead rolls his eyes, frustrated "It's not the same thing- that was obviously a trap for you. Like, you jerks are just wandering around out in the open with flashlights and shit. I could hear you," he points an accusatory finger towards Staci "Yapping your god damn ass off all the way from the fifth floor. The guy knew where you were, but he had no idea I was even here, and when you oh so covertly made your little plan to come up here and confront him- Jesus." He runs a hand through his hair, looking genuinely distressed for whatever reason "I was gonna sneak up on him before any of you morons got yourselves killed."

It's not the most farfetched idea in the world, but one thing doesn't quite sit right, and Cameron calls him out on it, hiding behind everyone else to avoid direct confrontation "If that's true, then where's the squatter?"

Scotts face goes blank. He looks back up the staircase he'd come from, peeks through the tiny window in the door that leads from the landing onto the main hall of the fourth floor "I- I don't know. We should have seen him, right? Even if he ran off through there we would have-"

"Yeah, okay, that's enough." Mike folds his arms, furious as everything clicks into place in his mind "Nice story, asshole. Real creative. It's been you the whole time, hasn't it? Following me around, whispering creepy shit, trying to freak me out-"

"What?" Scott pulls a face, completely lost "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Mike," Zoey inturrupts, expression concerned "What's this about whispering? Nobody else has heard any whispering."

"Right, what a surprise," Scott sneers, stepping into Mike's space as he pokes an agressive finger into his chest "Crazy Mike is hearing things."

"Don't touch me!" Mike shoves him maybe a little harder than he meant to, sending him stumbling back across the landing "How can you still have the nerve to call me crazy? You're the one hiding in the dark trying to scare everybody like some kind of psycho. Like, what, am I supposed to believe the jackass that's been bullying me since grade school is suddenly trying to save my life? No! That's fucking stupid! And you just keep getting worse- I never thought you'd go so low to be creeping around in an abandoned building and stalking me-"

"I'm not stalking you!" Scott shoves him in turn, and the knife gets that little bit too close to his face, and Mike panics, lashing out in self defense-

He doesn't even realise he's done it until after it happens, not until Scott's sprawled out on the floor, looking up at him with a split lip and shocked, wide eyes. As Mike looks down at him with his now sore fist cradled against his chest, he figures he must be making the same expression.

Sure, they have a contentious relationship at best, but it's never really escalated to the point of throwing hands like that. It was just the unintentional threat, and the poor timing, and how unbelievably weird all of this is.

"I- God, sorry." Mike says, immediately feeling guilty "For real, Scott, I'm sorry, okay? Just- tensions are high, and we're all freaked out-"

"Sorry?" Scott repeats, coming back to life with a new and unprecedented level of anger "I'll show you sorry," And then the knife becomes a real threat as he lunges upwards to gouge at Mikes torso "I'll fucking gut you!"

Mike jumps back in surprise, easily avoiding the blade, but in doing so-

His knees hit the stair rail. He tries desperately to keep balance, but it's too late. The momentum carries him over, and for a second his heart stops as he tips backwards into the void, four stories worth of air between him and the hard tiled floor below. Somewhere in the fall, amidst the cacophony of panicked yelling from all parties, he thinks he hears Zoey shout-

"Mike!" 

///

Jo comes to a gradual stop, panting and duly exhausted as she rests a hand against the wall to keep her steady. She isn't a hundred percent sure where exactly she's ended up, but none of these halls look any different to each other anyway, and for how far it feels like she ran she may have well done several laps of the entire building.

It doesn't matter. However far she goes there's no running away from her own thoughts- a cleaver in the dark, a rope rapidly dissapearing out the window, a body on the ground, her friend-

She wipes the involuntary tears from her eyes out of paranoia that someone else might catch her crying, even when entirely alone. What use is she if she can't even see what's in front of her to defend herself? Jo straightens up abruptly and stalks back to the corner she'd just turned.

There's nobody following her. Even when she shines her flashlight it's just another empty hallway. Good, she thinks. If that freak in the nurse costume dared come face to face with her now there'd certainly be no more running.

She takes a deep breath, in and out, and comes to terms with the fact that she's alone in a strange and dangerous place, her friends having abandoned her at a critical moment. She's never going to forgive them. If only they hadn't been such cowards-

It's uncanny, the fact that she hears it at all. The fact that she's in the right place to pick up on the gentle sobbing coming from just a couple doors down, somehow having come to the same stop as the people she wants to see the least. It's with a raw, painful sort of anger that she approaches, no hesitation whatsoever as she slams the door open.

"What the fuck was that?"

Brick and Anne Maria both jump like they've been electrocuted, twin expressions of fear that ease only an increment when they see exactly who's discovered their hiding spot. Evidently they've both been crying too, huddled up together on the floor of what looks like some kind of nurses office. It's more furnished than the patients rooms, a desk taking up one side next to a few large filing cabinets, a gurney on the other along with a tray of distinctly creepy, old fashioned medical equipment. The two of them sit in the centre under a window, curtains mostly drawn to cover the opressive bars lining the outside.

"Seriously, the first sign of danger and you both just run away? Do you even realise the situation you put me in? You left me for dead. You left Lightning for-"

She can't continue, too highly strung to say it out loud. Anne Maria at least has it in her to apologise "Joey, I'm sorry. I just- what was I supposed to do?"

It just seems so obvious in her mind "You were supposed to stand your ground. We could've taken that freak if it was one against three, but you just had to follow pisspants over here. And you,"

She rounds on Brick, who only shrinks in on himself further, looking up at her with wide eyes "I-"

"You could have at least held the rope and let me deal with it." She barks at him, fuming "Hell, you could have put all that military training to good use and actually fought when you needed to, but no. You ran out of there like a coward, and left us with no option but to do the same!"

"Is-" He glances down, hugging his knees "Is Lightning oka-"

"Probably not!" She yells, throwing her hands up "I wouldn't know! I had to run for my life when that bitch came and lunged at me with a fucking meat cleaver!"

Bricks face falls even further, and then he bursts into tears once more "Oh god, I'm- I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I just- there was an actual ghost, and I panicked, and now Lightning's dead because of me."

Jo has the sudden overwhelming desire to beat him to a pulp "A ghost? Are you for fucking real right now?"

Anne Maria scowls at her, putting an arm around Brick "Can you lay off him, just a little?" She hisses quietly, as if trying to protect him from the conversation "He ain't wrong, neither. We all saw the face- that didn't look like no freakin' human, Jo."

"Oh, you two are so full of shit." She snarls, agressively pacing the floor of the small nurses office "Making up insane excuses to justify leaving me to die. Of course that was a human. What else would it be? Facts are some crazy bitch is in here trying to kill us, and you wanna talk about fucking ghosts-"

"Oh my god. Ghost or not, what's the freakin' difference?" Anne Maria argues, exasperated "Like yeah, I get you're butthurt, I would be too, but this insane thing what you're askin' for- where we stay and fight some psycho- coulda left us all dead. For all we know Lightning's just fine, callin' somebody up here right now to get us outta here. You shoulda just run like the rest of us! I didn't say nothin' at the time cause I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to do anythin' else!"

Jo can't believe what she's hearing. She wants to scream, wants to tackle Anne Maria to the filthy floor and pull every single strand of her dumb pouffy hair out by the roots, but she stays put, shaking with barely contained anger "How dare you-"

A knock at the door. Jo snaps her head round, the only thing now on her mind that she evidently has been followed, and that the bitch with the cleaver is waiting for them just on the other side. 

"Well," she whispers furiously, more than ready for a fight "Guess we're gonna find out how much of a chance we really had."

She ignores their panicked gazes, instead turns her attention to the oddly convenient tray of medical equipment on the gurney beside her. She picks out a large scalpel, the best available option, and creeps up to the door. She takes a tight grip on the handle, ear pressed against the old wood and listens out for any further sign of a presence, living or otherwise.

"Hello?" A small voice, just a whisper, but it makes her jump anyway "Anne Maria? Jo? Are you in there?"

She throws the door open with a groan "Jesus christ, you scared the hell out of me." Only Dawn. It's a relief, but at the same time she's now left with all this adrenaline and nothing to use it for. Jo lowers her scalpel as the rest of them come into view, B and Dakota and Sam, and steps aside to let them into their hiding place. Trying to stay rational despite her barely contained fury, Jo asks the obvious question "What's the word? You found a way out yet?"

"I'm afraid we haven't. We were due back at the main entrance fifteen minutes ago but nobody else had arrived, so we thought we'd come looking for you." Dawn explains, shifting her knowing gaze over to Brick "What's the matter with him?"

Jo sneaks a glance at the cadet- curled up on the floor, hands over his face. For a moment she's poised with acid on her tongue, ready to scold him for his cowardice all over again in front of the newcomers, but stops herself at the last second. Humiliating Brick is something that's supposed to be fun. It feels wrong to do so while he's crying, no matter how much he may deserve it "We've had an incident. But never mind that- did you hear that screaming? You're all still in one peice, so it must have been Zoey or Staci, maybe Cam-"

"No, no that was me." Dakota speaks up, embarrassed "We had an incident, too."

"What? What happened?"

"B's cameras have picked up hard evidence of the paranormal." Dawn informs them, excited by this prospect, but her enthusiasm wanes quickly as she adds "What you heard was Dakotas reaction to a picture of a ghost."

"You gotta be kiddin' me." Anne Maria frowns up at them "A picture of a ghost? We just saw a real one, up close and personal, and even Brick ain't screamin' like that."

"Woah, for real?" Sams eyebrows hit his hairline "That's so cool. I can't even imagine-" 

"No no, no," Jo inturrupts that bullshit before it even starts "We did not see a ghost. What we saw was the nutjob that locked us in here, and I didn't even get a chance to ask her what the fuck her problem is, because I was too busy trying to stop myself getting maimed." She rounds on Dawn "And don't play into their delusions, ghost whisperer. There's no hard evidence of the paranormal. Just cause you caught a shadow on camera doesn't mean-"

"It was significantly more than a shadow." Dawn cuts her off, unimpressed "B can show you if you'd like."

Jo snorts humourlessly "I'm not gonna waste time watching your stupid fake ghost video while we're in the middle of a real, dangerous situation. Actually, fuck this entire pointless fucking conversation- let's get back out into the halls and keep looking for a way out of here, and if we run into the living human woman trying to kill us, then good. I'm ready to take her on this time. Sound like a plan?"

She looks around for affirmation, but all she finds is uncomfortable, unhappy faces, nobody quite meeting her eye or wanting to engage with her while she's so worked up. It only pisses her off more, and she's about to start ripping into people again when Dawn breaks the awkward pause.

"I suppose it doesn't matter whether your encounter was with someone living or otherwise. You're right- we should continue our search. And in the meantime I'd like to hear more about this woman, if you don't mind."

And then she notices-

"Where is Lightning?"

A pause, and then everyone is nearly startled out of their skin by Bricks loud and sudden sob.

"It was my fault." he cries from the floor, the most miserable of confessions "He's dead and it's all my fault!"

"Brick, baby, come on." Anne Maria hugs him tighter. Jo can't even bring herself to look at him right now. In some ways she feels equally guilty- she was the last one there to hold that rope, after all.

"Oh." Dawn breathes, eyes wide "Oh, no. That's-"

"Our buddy is- he's dead?" Sam looks equally shocked.

Jo runs her tongue over her teeth "...Maybe. He fell out a window. He could be fine, or he could be-" She still can't quite work up the nerve to say it out loud, settling on "We have no way of knowing."

And Dakota's crying again, quietly this time as she sinks to the floor, giving up entirely "This is too real. Why is this real?"

Dawn's the first to recover from the terrible news, at least enough to be a voice of reason "This only makes it all the more pressing that we find a way out as quickly as possible. We need to go find him and make sure he's okay- for all we know he's laying in the hospital grounds, injured and in dire need of assistance."

Jo nods in agreement "Hopefully Zoey and company have had better luck finding an exit than the rest of us- maybe they already have, and they're out there with him, right now."

It's a comforting thought, as unlikely as it may be. Dawn steels herself, opens the door once more "We should get going, at least find the others before they have any incidents of their own."

"No, no, I can't." Dakota whines from her spot on the ground "I can't do this any more."

"What?"

"No more mental hospitals, no more ghosts, no more dying," she cries into her knees "This is too much- we're safe in here. Why would we leave?"

It's an absolutely astounding take. Jo scowls down at her "What, you wanna just sit there and do nothing? You're only gonna end up freaking out when you realise how much worse this place is when you're on your own."

"I'll stay with her." Brick suggests.

Jo can't beleive what she's hearing "Oh, not you, too."

"What else am I going to do?" He counters, still sniffling and utterly desolate "Let's face it, I'm a joke. If I go out there I'm just going to scream and run away and make everyone follow me- I don't want to be more of a liability than I already am."

She glares at him, and then slumps, defeated "Fine. The liabilities can sit pretty in the nurses office like the babies they are, and the rest of us will go fix this mess. Sound good?"

There's a general noise of agreement, the majority of them filing out to restart their search for the exit. Sam hovers awkwardly over Dakota's shoulder, stuck in this endless, nervous loop of internal debate on whether to try and hug her, whether to say anything meaningful before they part- there's something awfully hearfelt on the tip of his tongue, but an impatient call of 'Sam, come on!' from out in the hall squashes what little confidence he had in saying it out loud.

"Just- stay put, okay?" Is what he settles on, hoping his tight expression might convey something closer to what he actually wanted to tell her as he backs out the door "We know where you are. We'll find a way out, and then we'll come get you straight away- promise."

///

"Mike!"

And then Zoey's racing down the stairs two at a time, and Scott's left shellshocked, still staring at the spot where he'd vanished. It takes a second for him to get to his feet, but when he does it's with an urgency that sends him flying.

He's killed a man. No matter what he said in the heat of the moment it's not like he meant for it to happen- one second he was lashing out in anger, and then the next the impossible was taking place, this nightmarish event that seemed to happen in slow motion.

He overtakes Cameron and Staci, slides down the stair rail on the last stretch as his mind supplies a litany of images- broken neck, head cracked open, a pool of blood spreading rapidly across ancient tiles-

None of it comes true.

"Where is he?"

It comes out ragged. Scott makes a point to slow his breathing as he looks around the bottom of the stairwell, confused as it becomes evident that there's no broken body to be found. Just Zoey, equally lost and doing the exact same thing he is.

"I don't-" She shines her flashlight down every hall, swapping between them frantically as if the light might reveal something she'd missed the first time "I don't know. This doesn't make any sense."

It doesn't. He definitely fell, they all saw it. Scott frowns, and then looks up as if he thinks he might catch a glimpse of Mikes lanky frame clingling to one of the railings above, but of course he doesn't. If that were the case they'd have spotted him on the way down.

Cameron and Staci join them then, slightly out of breath from the rapid decent. They quickly make the same assessment.

"There wouldn't have been time to go anywhere- not anywhere out of visual range, anyway." Cameron fails to hide the tremor in his voice, only rising in pitch and volume as facts and logic do very little to subdue his shock over the situation "I'd estimate it took less than ten seconds after he started falling for Zoey to reach the ground floor, so he'd have had about eight to make a break for it, and that's including time to recover from impact."

"But why would he run away?" Zoey asks, tears falling quietly but freely down her face "There was no reason to- what if he hit his head, and now he's wandering around with a concussion? He'd have to be pretty messed up to not remember we were here. He'd know we'd come to help him."

None of their theorising sheds any light on how or why Mike has dissapeared. And then Staci says something that throws it all into even more of a spin.

"But..." She starts, uncertain "Did anyone, like, actually hear him hit the ground?"

They pause. The entire west wing falls into a heavy silence, no footsteps to indicate Mike could be stumbling and lost in any direction. Scott growls, coming to his own conclusion.

"What, so he did some weird acrobatic shit, landed lightly on his feet, and then sprinted away for no reason?" He shakes his head "I'll bet he's doing this just to fuck with me, try and make me feel bad for-"

"Can you shut up?" Zoey turns sharply on her heel, shining her flashlight directly in his face "Obviously that didn't happen- that's stupid. And you should feel bad, because this is literally your fault. Are you happy? Is this what you wanted? Or no, it can't be, cause right now he's just lost, and you wanted to gut him-"

"Not for real." Scott argues, and that's actually true "And don't try to pin this entirely on me- it was an accident. It's not like I pushed him over the stair rail."

"You pulled a knife on him!"

"He hit me!"

"Can we please, please keep our voices down and try to approach this situation reasonably?" Cameron interjects, wringing his hands together. For what its worth they both drop the argument "I don't understand how or why Mike dissapeared, but the fact that he has would indicate that he isn't in his right mind. I don't know what's going on- nothing about this makes any logical sense but we're going to have to figure it out, and that starts with tracking him down."

Zoey nods, worry morphing into something more like determination "We're going to find him. You," she hisses, turning to Scott with a scowl "can get the hell out of here before you hurt anyone else."

He balks, finding the idea ridiculous "What? No. I wanna go find-"

"Too bad. Your stupid murderer on the stairs prank started all this- I don't know what the hell you were even getting out of that, but look how it ended up!"

"It wasn't a prank!" He insists, hand over heart "I swear! There's some freak around here who knows the place better than we do, and clearly he's running us in circles. You seriously wanna have to face off with someone like that alone? Just two chicks and a-" he glances at Cameron "-well, even more useless than a chick, honestly."

The latent sexism doesn't help his case. Zoey folds her arms, disgusted "Murderer or no murderer, I can handle myself."

She still isn't sure if she believes him, or wether she thinks there's really anyone lurking around here out for blood. All she knows is that the pit of her gut is telling her to get as far away from Scott as possible but unfortunately, shockingly, Cameron comes to his defence.

"Zoey, I totally get where you're coming from, and I kind of agree, but," he pauses, glancing around anxiously "safety in numbers?"

It's hard to argue with that when he looks so freaked out, and they are already a man down. Zoey sighs in defeat "Fine, but don't think you're off the hook." She gives Scott one last pointed glare "This is your fault."

Chapter Text

"You sure it's a good idea to leave those two alone together?" Sam asks, wary as they make their way back to home base "I mean, we all know Dakota's kind of... sensitive."

Jo snorts, dismissive "What other choice do we have? Brickhouse was right- they're no good to anybody if they're both pissing their pants over their own shadows. Hopefully if something happens while we're gone then G.I Joke will finally snap into action. Probably more incentive to man up if there's a pretty girl to protect."

It comes off more bitter than she meant it to. Dawn glances at her knowingly "At least they're more likely to stay in place this way. We just have to remember where to find them again- ground floor, East wing nurses office."

Jo stops in her tracks, Sam nearly stumbling into her from behind "What are you talking about?" She demands "We're on the top floor."

Dawn frowns in turn "No, that's not-"

"What kind of game is this? What are you doing right now?" Jo finds herself agitated all over again "I'm not stupid- I watched Lightning climb out of a sixth storey window before we got attacked. I haven't taken any stairs since. We're on the top floor."

"We also didn't take any stairs." Dawn counters, trying to keep her voice calm "We came straight from the parlour room, and then we heard you arguing."

"Okay, this is bullshit on both ends, cause me and Brick did go down a floor." Anne Maria interjects "So it should be floor five."

"Um, guys?" Sam ends their arguing as his flashlight reveals a crucial piece of information "I think we're all wrong."

They turn to look, the doors leading onto the stairwell displaying a clear and obvious 3.

Jo's blood runs cold. It makes her think of that mysterious hallway- the one behind the emergency exit door- that really shouldn't have been there at all.

"Oh." Dawn breathes, everyone perfectly silent and still, all coming to the same conclusion "Oh, you never should have brought that Ouija board."

And that snaps her out of it. Jo whips around, affronted "Excuse me? What does that have to do with anything?"

Dawn keeps her eyes fixed on the doors as she says "Isn't it obvious? There's something powerful at play here, powerful enough to move the very ground beneath our feet, and I am inclined to believe that we have angered it."

That's got to be the biggest load of bull Jo's ever heard "Jesus Christ- stop with all the paranormal shit! I can't take this anymore!"

"Joey," Anne Maria warns, digging her inch-long nails into the sleeve of Jo's hoodie "You gotta admit, that ain't a normal thing to happen-"

"Absolutely nothing that's gone down has been a normal thing to happen! That doesn't mean it's got anything to do with ghosts or demons or some all powerful god fucking around with what floor we're on. Like, do you even realise how stupid that sounds? What would be the point? Everybody just shut up and keep walking, cause we've gotta find an exit, and sooner rather than later."

"No." Dawn says, so soft it's barely audible.

Jo is going to kill her "No? What do you mean no?"

"I mean I don't think that wandering around in the dark is going to get us any closer to finding an exit. Not a physical one, at least. I think that whatever we have awoken is unwilling to let us leave, and that our course of action at this point should be to find a way to appease the spirits."

Jo's about to go absolutely off her rocker, but thankfully Anne Maria echoes her thoughts in a much calmer manner "What, so now you're sayin' we shouldn't be lookin' for a way out? Yeah, you lost me. I'm not buyin' that."

"It's our best chance of survival." Dawn insists, and looks up to B for affirmation "Don't you think it's awfully telling that your footage began to show unrestful spirits at the exact time we were using the Ouija board? That the door we definitely checked was openable was suddenly locked after we misstepped, and that an entity appeared seemingly only to put a stop to Lightnings escape? It's trying to keep us here. I don't think we'll be allowed to leave without due reparations for disrupting the peace."

B considers this for a moment and then nods, jaw set in a grimace. As much as that's awful news he can't help but agree.

"Oh come on, big guy, I thought you were supposed to be smart." Jo scolds him, and he just scowls at her as if she's being unreasonable "Whatever. Annie, you're with me on looking for a way out, right? Y'know, the only thing we can do that actually makes any sense?"

"For sure," she confirms, turning to B and Dawn with a very unapologetic "Sorry you two, but I wanna actually get home sometime today. Joey's gonna beat the crap outta that demon lady for us anyway."

It's annoying that she's so insistent on all this demon nonsense too, but an ally is an ally "That's the spirit. Sam?"

The last undecided member of their group suddenly finds four pairs of expectant eyes on him "Uhh..." he flounders under the pressure of giving an answer, but ultimately decides "I guess I gotta go with Jo."

"Well look at that," Jo smirks "Three against two."

Maybe she's a little too satisfied over such a small victory, and maybe she's misdirecting some anger, but Dawn is really starting to piss her off. Jo only rolls her eyes as the girl herself pleads "But Sam, you saw the footage-"

"Look, I'm not saying a vengeful spirit didn't lock us in here, cause it totally did," he explains "like, sure, they can open and shut doors and stuff, but... so can we?" He shrugs "I think if we play it right we can still just walk out of here."

"Great, it's settled then." Jo declares, not wanting to keep waiting around "We'll go find an exit, and the paranormal experts over here can waste their time trying to talk to ghosts. Let's go."

She goes to shepherd her new team towards the stairwell, aiming to get back to the ground floor and resume the search, but Dawn just has to push her agenda.

"Wait," she pleads "can't we at least try my way? I don't want us more divided than we already are, and the method you're proposing has been tried and tested, and it hasn't worked so far-"

"Too bad." Jo spits. Dawn isn't an enemy, but in the midst of this continued pretense she's honestly starting to hate her a little bit "We'll check back in at the main entrance in another hour. Until then, get the fuck out of my face."

Dawn blinks owlishly at the level of agression thrown in her direction, and then concedes, albeit unhappily.

"Fine, have it your way." She backs off, and that should be the end of it, but as Jo and company make their exit down the stairwell she calls out "I sincerely hope to see you all again. Alive."

///

"Mike! Mike!"

"Please, yell louder." Scott snaps, already regretting travelling as part of a group "I'm sure that's not gonna draw any unwanted attention."

"He needs to be able to hear us." Zoey counters, equally heated "And if we attract some creep out to get us- well, that's what you're here for, isn't it? You can make yourself useful."

He rolls his eyes. This is stupid, he's just getting attacked endlessly over nothing "I don't get why you even came out here. What happened to waiting by the main doors, huh? None of this would have happened if you nerds stuck to Mike’s stupid safety plan and just stayed put."

"Oh, right," Cameron interjects "You missed that part- nobody's coming."

"What?"

"There's no cell reception up here." he clarifies "We can't get ahold of anybody. We were looking for another exit."

"...Shit."

"Yes, that is the general consensus."

"Maybe if you'd waited a minute instead of running off alone then you'd know that." Zoey adds waspishly "And then you could have spent this whole time actually helping instead of hunting down some imaginary-"

They turn a corner, and Zoey stops dead in her tracks.

"Turn your flashlight off." Scott hisses through his teeth, and she surprises herself by following the order without argument. Their immediate area goes dark, making their newfound source of concern glaringly obvious.

A light. Not the type from a flashlight, or one of B's lanterns, just the perfectly regular overhead kind that indicates a well lit room. It pours out of an open door right at the end of the hall, warm and inviting, the normalcy of the sight making it all the more off-putting.

"Do you think Mike could have left that on for us? To let us know he's here?" Zoey whispers.

"I doubt he'd have thought to." Staci answers from behind her "I was under the impression they hadn't been running electricity up here since the late nineteen-fifties."

"It's a trap." Scott supplies "We've been too loud. We're either looking at an ambush, or we just accidentally found squatter home base."

Zoey thinks that while he's awfully negative, and kind of the worst person she knows, he's also probably right. It all hits her at once- the idea of some random person actually living in this building- fully aware of their presence and out for blood- was too grim to properly entertain, but now that the proof is right in front of her... for the first time since this all started, Zoey realises that she's truly afraid.

She's afraid for Mike, wherever he may be, and she's afraid of whoever’s lurking in that room. Talk of ghosts is one thing, but real people are so much scarier, especially the kind who don't fear endless dark hallways, who are at a low enough point in their lives to be willing to call a place like this home. She takes a step back from where she'd been leading the group, turning to Scott with a subdued "After you."

He snaps his head round, eyes wide "What happened to 'I can handle myself', huh?"

It's horribly embarrassing, asking him for help. She wishes Mike were here instead- that's how it should have been "You're the one that's been hunting this guy. I thought you'd want to go first."

Scott makes a disgusted noise, not quite dismissal, not quite affirmation, but plows ahead regardless. It's a slow, tense walk towards the light, but eventually they're at the door. He peeks round the frame and quickly announces "Coast is clear."

Zoey sighs in relief. She tries to barge ahead to see what exactly waits inside, but is stopped by a heavy, annoying arm blocking her path "What are you-"

He jumps round the other side, knife jabbed into the space behind where the door had been cracked open. She hears Staci gasp, is half expecting to see a body fall forward-

But it's nothing. There's nobody on the other side of the door. Scott relaxes ever so slightly, mouth set in a firm line as he waves the rest of them inside.

"What was that?" Zoey demands, stepping into the room "I thought you were about to stab somebody."

"I thought so too," he confirms, voice low "Oldest trick in the book- give your victim a false sense of security, and when they think it's all good and clear, you jump out from behind the door. Got them trapped in with you that way."

A short silence, and then "You know," Cameron starts, distinctly uncomfortable "the more you talk about how a murderer might go about picking us off, the more it sounds like this is a regular focus for you. How often do you think about hurting people?"

Scott recoils, squinting down at him "Why the fuck are you asking me that?"

"Good question, Cam," Zoey tells him lightly "But that's not really what we're focusing on right now. We can play psychoanalysis once we get out of here."

Cameron's face flushes, turning away awkwardly "Sorry. Forget I said anything. Please, carry on."

Scott snorts dismissively, stalking forward into the light "You people are so full of shit. You're lucky to have someone like me around- I mean, your first instinct is to walk right into every trap set out for you, so let's see how that plays out, huh?" He gestures around the room with the sharp end of his knife "See? Look at this."

It appears to be a kitchen. Industrial in style, fridges and freezers lining one wall, counters and ovens along the other, likely designed to feed hundreds of people over the course of the day back when it was in use. But apparently it's still in use, because someone's clearly been cooking in here.

There are a few dirty bowls on one counter top, and across the isle on a nicely laid table sits a... well, it's a cake, and a fairly well made one at that. It's intricately decorated in crisp white and pink frosting, set out on a board with a blunt knife and a stack of plates beside it, fresh enough that the smell of home baking still permeates the air. Scott takes one look at this and declares "Squatter home base- called it."

Staci glances around the room with an odd sort of tension in her gut, this bizarre sense of familiarity that she can't quite place "But, like, why would anybody think to make that? It's all laid out so nicely." She wonders aloud, trying to come to any reasonable conclusion "Do you think there's more than one squatter? Are they, like, celebrating something? People don't tend to bake a whole cake unless they're expecting company."

"Not only that, but who on earth decides to bake a cake at," Cameron glances down at his watch, raising an eyebrow "four thirty in the morning?"

"Same kind of psycho that locks a bunch of teenagers in his own personal madhouse." Scott says with a shrug, as if the premise isn't really worth questioning. And then being the furthest into the kitchen he goes to inspect their strange discovery, dismissive attitude vanishing the second he gets close enough to get a good look "Um. Okay, I take it back- this is definitely a trap."

That statement goes down like a lead balloon. Zoey takes the dive before either of the other two, wanting to see exactly what it is that has Scott so unnerved, and when she reads the message atop the cake she can't help but agree with his assessment.

𝓦𝓮𝓵𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵𝔂!

It's written in this flowing cursive, bright pink icing, and she never thought that such an objectively cutesy thing could fill her with so much dread "That's... a really weird way to try and psych us out. We should leave."

"What?" Scott turns to her with a sneer "No, we should take the opportunity to catch this guy while we're here. He's probably hiding in the freezer or something, waiting for us to turn our backs-"

"Oh, oh my god please stop talking." Cameron begs, eyes on the freezer as he ducks to hide behind Zoey.

"Yeah, seriously. Do you even hear yourself right now?" Zoey agrees "We can all see the creepy cake- whoever decided to make that is super crazy. Like, that is not somebody we should be trying to get into a fight with."

"What, so a murderer is no big deal, but," Scott laughs right in her face "A murderer who bakes pretty little cakes? Oh no, can't think of anything scarier than that."

Zoey doesn't even know how to argue with him "I think you're deliberately missing the point here."

"Did you know," Staci interjects, a multitude of things clicking into place in her mind "My great great aunt Phyllis owned and operated a local bakery? Before she was institutionalised, that is. Of course, I've never actually met her, nor have I seen her work, but I just think it's a very strange coincidence that-"

"Did you know," Scott interrupts her "that you're only ever not annoying until I remember you're here? Do you think it's a ghost cake? Is that what you're implying?"

Staci recoils at the level of anger coming off of him over what she considers a perfectly valid observation "Sort of? I was only saying-"

"Say less." He snarls "Fucking ghost cake. Jesus Christ."

"Okay, can you stop being a total jerk for, like, one whole entire minute? Is that too much to ask?" Zoey cuts in, upset on her friend's behalf. And then as much as it pains her to do so she has to turn to Staci and gently point out "But I mean, come on Staci. It's obviously a real cake."

"I think that maybe we should forget about the cake. The cake doesn't matter. Real or not, the cake isn't going to hurt anybody," Cameron grabs everyone's attention, frustrated and already too freaked out to engage with this nonsense debate "But the person who made it is, so how about we go back to Zoey’s absolutely correct opening argument- let's leave before anyone- Oh!"

Cameron nearly jumps out of his skin, and so do the rest of them as the freezer door chooses that moment to swing open. It clangs against the counter beside it, far louder than any of their arguing, and there's a collective held breath as they wait for the now indisputable psycho that's been stalking them to make himself seen.

Nobody emerges. Even after a solid fifteen seconds of silent staring it's still just an open freezer door. The four glance between each other, stuck in this bizarre moment of what the fuck do we do?

Scott calls the shot for them, loudly announcing to whoever's inside "Might as well come out, we know you're in there."

Despite all his big talk before there's definitely a tremor to his voice. Zoey would roll her eyes if she weren't so busy watching the edge of the door, just waiting for something to happen. Her mind flicks through every horror movie she's ever seen- she imagines a shadow figure peeking out at them, then a hand with impossibly long fingers curling round the edge, and then the guy from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre whos name she's too frazzled to remember right now, but none of it comes true. There's no monsters, no murderers, not even a reply.

"This is definitely a trap, right?" She says, hand inching towards the blunt knife on the cake table "He's waiting for one of us to go in and look for him."

"Fucking obviously." Scott snaps, as if being purposely rude somehow takes the edge off their current predicament. He leans against the counter, perfectly sharp knife in hand, and gets comfortable "Guess we're playing a waiting game. I could stay here all night- we've got cake and everything."

"Or we could just walk away slowly, leave him alone, and keep looking for another way out of here with a very careful eye over our shoulders." Cameron says quite sensibly, already enacting his own plan as he backs up towards the kitchen door.

"No, no it's not-" Staci, for the first time in her life, struggles to find the words "There's nobody in there."

Zoey has never particularly minded her company, but with the stress of their situation she's quickly running out of patience "Staci, there's definitely somebody in there. Heavy freezer doors don't just open on their own."

"But can't you feel it? I can feel it." She insists, inching towards the freezer as if in a trance "It's- It's warm. It's better than what's waiting out in the halls. It's the best and easiest that this is going to get- I have no doubts about that."

Cameron and Zoey exchange a glance- It's easily the strangest thing she's ever said "Staci, what are you doing?" Cameron asks, looking very much like he's about to puke "Can you- get away from there!"

"I just think I'd be happier where I'm wanted."

She's too close to the freezer. Zoey thinks that all the craziness going on around them must have pushed her over the edge, because this is just completely unreasonable. Part of her wants to intervene, go and take her by the shoulders and march her as far away from danger as possible, but the other, much louder part of her won't allow her feet to move any closer. She's stuck in limbo, watching it all play out with her body frozen and her heart in her throat "Staci."

"Quit ruining the plan, idiot!" Scott all but shouts at her "One step closer and I swear to god-"

She's not listening. Staci doesn't so much as look back as she rounds the edge of the freezer door, face perfectly neutral as she peers inside, her light "Oh." of surprise giving absolutely nothing away.

And then she's gone. Zoey full on gags with all the tension building up in her body, uncertain what to make of the fact that they still don't hear a goddamn thing. Is there anyone in there? There should be evidence of a fight by now, or voices, even if it's just Staci's "Why is nothing happening? Are we- should we look?"

"Oh, you mean should I look." Scott snaps, and when she doesn't correct him he scoffs, turning paler than usual as he goes ahead anyway and takes a step towards the unknown "This is bullshit. She better be dead in there."

"Stop wishing death on people, please." Cameron hovers at the far end of the kitchen, as close as he can get to the exit without taking his eyes off his friends.

Scott ignores him, holding his blade outward and ready to strike as he peers cautiously into the freezer "Staci?" He frowns, following her footsteps right on in. A few seconds of tense silence, and then-

"Jesus- fuck!"

The tension breaks. Zoey realises very suddenly that she's stood by and let two people die right in front of her, and panics, full of adrenaline as she grabs the cake knife and rushes to their aid. She doesn't have a plan, is barely thinking clearly as she turns the corner, and maybe that's why she doesn't immediately understand what she's looking at.

There's blood on the walls. There's blood everywhere- sprayed in a grand arc across the ancient freezer, over grungy shelves of long-rotted vegetables, rusted hooks hanging empty from the ceiling, the stench of iron and decay assaulting her senses to the point it makes her eyes water. But none of that really matters. What matters is Staci, lying prone on the dirty ground, expression empty and a gash across her throat.

"What-" Zoey can't even get the question out, feels like she's gone into shock as Scott whips around, shaking like a leaf where he stands over their friend's dead body.

"Did you see that?" He demands, hoarse and desperate "I'm- I'm not going crazy. You saw that, right?"

Zoey sees plenty. She sees enough that when he steps towards her, rambling incomprehensibly, she knows to take a big step back "It was- she was just standing there, staring into space, and then suddenly her neck just... just tears open like a fucking paper bag, but- but there's nobody here."

"...No," Zoey agrees, ice in her veins. Nobody there, same as on the stairs "Just you."

Scott's face goes slack. He looks down at the knife in his hand, then back up at her, realising exactly what this must look like "I didn't- I wouldn't. I know it sounds crazy, because it is crazy, but you have to believe me-"

"Stay back," she warns, gripping her cake knife like a lifeline. She doesn't believe a single thing that comes out of his psychotic, lying mouth "Or- or I'm going to-"

Zoey wonders how much of this scenario was premeditated, what degree of unhinged he has to be to plan out something like this, but it's clear how far he's willing to go- she isn't going to fight him. No, that's a terrible idea, and even through her panic she can think of something better.

Before he can come after her too, Zoey runs out of the freezer and goes to lock him inside.

"Hey, no, no!" But she's not fast enough, because he's got a foot wedged in the gap between the door and the wall before it can fully close. He frantically bangs against the metal "There's something in here!"

Zoey presses her full weight against the door but she's already losing the battle. Cameron chooses then to ask "What's happening? What's in there?" And she thinks she's about to cry.

"A dead body and a psycho killer!" She shouts, loud and pointed, and then orders Cameron "Run. Go get somebody, or a weapon, or-"

With some great effort Scott slams the door open again, knocking Zoey back against the kitchen counter. He storms towards her, furious as he says "Knock it off you hysterical bitch, I didn't kill anyone. Look, no blood!" He shoves his knife under her nose "How the fuck would that work, huh? I didn't stab her- there's no blood!"

Zoey screams. It's unexpected and it makes Scott cringe hard enough that he retracts his hand holding the blade, and in her desperation she takes the opportunity to defend herself. She lashes out, the blunt cake knife cracking against the side of his face, a welt immediately forming where she struck him.

And that's where he snaps- why is everyone attacking him?

Scott growls like a wild animal, grabbing Zoey by the shoulders and throwing her to the floor with enough force to leave bruises, and as she hits the ground she realises she's sincerely fucked up here. For a moment she really, genuinely thinks she's about to die, and-

"Stop!" Cameron instructs with every ounce of assertiveness in his body, phone held out in one uncontrollably shaking hand "You're being recorded. I- I've got you on camera."

Scott freezes in place, completely horrified by the fact his lapse in judgement was being filmed. Despite what he definitely, actually saw he realises he's been backed into a corner where, whatever he says or does right now, nobody's going to believe him.

"Shit," he mutters, and makes a break for it, one hand attempting to hide his face as he sprints past Cameron and out into the darkness of the halls.

Cameron presses himself flat against the wall as he passes, trying to stop trembling lest he drop his phone, his only defense, but thankfully Scott doesn't think to attack him too. And then he's gone, and their group has whittled down to just Cameron, Zoey, and the dead body in the freezer.

"Zoey," his voice cracks over her name, and he clears his throat before continuing, "I know this is stressful, but I think it's crucial that you give me a run down of exactly what you saw."

She hasn't risen from her spot on the floor, too shell shocked by that close call to move just yet. Zoey looks up at him with big, wet eyes, and then dares to peek back into the freezer, and once the initial burst of adrenaline wears off, once it all really sets in, she can't help it- she bursts into tears.

///

"Do you think they found a way out yet?"

Brick isn't exactly feeling his chattiest right now, but that doesn't stop Dakota from attempting to strongarm him into conversation. For every short but polite answer he gives she just comes out with another banal question.

"I don't know," he says for the fiftieth time "I guess we'll see when somebody comes to get us."

"Okay." Dakota replies blandly. He thinks that maybe she's trying to fill the silence more than anything else, just something to distract from the depressing nature of their situation.

Brick, however, isn't looking for a distraction. He wants to feel this bad. He deserves it, infinitely more than Lightning deserved falling to his death. Scenarios play themselves in his mind over and over again- first, where Brick was the one to take the dive out the window, just as he had originally intended, and then a second where the only difference is that he stood his ground at the critical moment. He imagines how good he would feel right about now if he had possessed the inner strength to stay and fight. He imagines a fantastical version of himself a lot braver than he actually is, who saved his friends, who impressed Jo in the process, who doesn't reek of stale urine right now-

"Do you think Lightning's really dead?"

His stomach lurches at the question. It's the worst one yet. Brick has made a point to keep his unpleasant thoughts to himself up until now so as to not freak her out again, but she just doesn't know when to stop. He figures that her desperation for something to fill the silence would be snuffed out pretty quickly if he actually opened up, so that's what he does.

"Yeah." He says, coming to terms with that fact "Yeah, I do. I also think it's entirely my fault, and I'm going to have to explain how it happened to his parents. I think this is going to haunt me for the rest of my life. I think I'm too much of a coward to even handle the fact that it happened, and that I never should have agreed to come here, and I'm not sure whether I even deserve to get back out. It should have been me, Dakota. The window thing was my plan. Lightning was brave- I think we'd all be better off if he was still here kicking down doors and threatening to punch ghosts instead of... whatever it is I bring to the table. Or rather, don't bring to the table. I've never felt worse about anything, or myself, in my entire life."

There's a long silence. He thinks he got his point across. Frustratingly, getting it all off his chest doesn't make him feel any better.

"You wanna know what I do?" Dakota says after a while, barely a whisper "When I feel bad. You know what helps?"

He blinks, doesn't particularly want her advice right now, but also doesn't know how to tell her that politely "What?"

"I go to sleep."

It's not what he was expecting out of her- maybe some typical therapeutic practice of going over all the things you like about yourself, or perhaps the suggestion of a shopping trip, but the simplicity of her statement is actually a lot more depressing. Brick takes a good look at Dakota, dressed head to toe in pink, huddled up on the dirty floor of the nurses office, and realises that he actually doesn't know her at all.

"I'm not sure if I could manage sleeping in these circumstances, even if it did help." He tells her gently, not feeling great about having been so short with her before "Either way, I'd only wake up to the same reality."

"But it makes it all go away for a while, doesn't it?" She whispers, staring at the far wall "Even if nothing's really changed, things always look brighter in the morning. Who knows- maybe if we just slept it off then by the time we wake up they'd have come to get us. Like we just blinked, and suddenly it was daylight, and the nightmare was already over."

There's been less appealing ideas "Wouldn't that be dangerous? We don't know who's out there. Best to keep on our toes."

He gestures to the door, firmly shut and their last line of defence against any lurking threats. Dakota glances at it briefly, unbothered, and then turns to him, making full eye contact for the first time since they'd been left here together. He notes the bags under her eyes- purple, like twin bruises, a sadness to her expression despite the tentative smile on her lips.

"Don't you feel it?" She asks, hushed but playful, as if she were sharing a secret.

That question is too ominous for his liking "...What?"

"We're safe here." She affirms, looking about the room with a sense of wonder "It's like something's watching over us. Besides, if a murderer really did come in here, what would either of us do to stop them? It's better to let it all happen in your sleep. You wouldn't even know."

Brick isn't sure if her words are comforting or exactly the opposite. The idea of anything watching over them right now is alarming, but a small part of him wants to believe it could be Lightning. At this point he'd take any kind of affirmation to feel forgiven for his cowardice.

"...I still don't know if I could fall asleep in here. Not after everything we've seen."

"That's okay. I can help." She gives him a warm smile "My therapist gave me these meditation techniques to practice- lay down and we'll go through them together, kay?"

Chapter Text

"I don't know how you can be so calm about this," Zoey sits miserably atop the kitchen counter as she picks at her nails, letting flakes of deep red polish chip away and fall to the floor "It's kind of... disturbing, honestly."

The tears have dried on her face long enough that she's already made an attempt at cleaning up her smudged mascara. That doesn't mean she feels any better. Zoey finds herself panda-eyed and nauseous, and despite having already given him her side of the story, it's not out of her system. She can't stop thinking about it. All that time spent in the company of a real life killer, the fact that if she'd been bold enough to walk into the freezer first that would have been her- and he's still out there. He could have run into any of their other friends by now. There's no guarantee any of them are safe.

"I'm not calm." Cameron explains from where he's crouched over Staci's body, taking photos from multiple angles. He documents the blood splatter on the walls, the location of the freezer, and when he comes back out he snaps a few pictures of the cake, too "Right now I'm just prioritising keeping record of what's happening over my own emotions. I'll admit, looking at these things from an analytical standpoint does actually help calm me down, but that's not what this is about."

"Then what is it about?" Zoey asks. She's already answered every question he had, watched him write it all down in his phone like he was taking notes for a documentary. It felt a bit like being interviewed by the police.

"I want every piece of evidence I can get before we jump to conclusions."

That rubs her the wrong way "Jump to conclusions?" She repeats with a frown "I'm not jumping to conclusions. I know what happened, I saw it-"

"Except you didn't." Cameron points out, and she doesn't think he's trying to be rude on purpose but it's definitely the wrong thing to say "I've rewatched my video, Zoey, and he has one solid fact in his favour- there really wasn't any blood on that knife."

Zoey takes the lead back through the hall, fuming quietly and glancing over her shoulder every few seconds, not only due to paranoia that someone is out to get them, but also to make sure Cameron doesn't fall behind where he's so engrossed in the photos on his phone.

"Can you please at least look where you're going?" She snaps.

"Sorry, what?" He says, not listening, and then promptly walks directly into a stray wheelchair "Oof! Ow."

Zoey rolls her eyes. She isn't feeling all that empathetic at the moment, not in the direct aftermath of watching her friend die, not when Cameron isn't taking Staci's murder seriously. Sometimes it seems like he gets too caught up in his own agenda to consider other peoples feelings, and this is definitely one of those times. She forces herself to take some deep breaths through her nose, opens her mouth with the intention to tell him as much, but freezes when she hears voices.

She stops, putting an arm out to prevent Cameron from walking any further. There's a turning up ahead, and now that she's paying sharp attention she notices the faintest light eminating from just behind it. Zoey creeps towards the source, not wanting do make her presence known to any actual squatters, and when she tentatively peeks around the corner-

They've found the main entrance again. Zoey slumps with relief as she sees it's only Dawn and B, sitting in the cold, comforting glow of the camping lantern, and waves Cameron forward to join her.

"Hey!" She calls to them in a stage whisper, and despite everything that's happened she can't help the grin that forms on her face as Dawn spots her in turn.

"Zoey!" And then Dawn's on her feet, practically sprinting towards her friend to wrap her in the biggest bear hug her tiny frame can manage "I cannot express how happy I am to see you." 

"The feeling goes both ways." Zoey tells her as they part, and then she notices the bizarre new setup in the centre of the foyer "What... what have you two been up to?"

B waves at her from where he's surrounded by a pile of what looks like miscellaneous junk, crates and old monitors and wires sprawling across the floor. He's got a toolbox out and appears to be tinkering with a screwdriver inside a small metal device that Zoey couldn't name if she tried. It's actually quite nice to see, all relatively normal compared to everything else she's been involved with tonight.

"We'll get to that in a minute." Dawn dismisses her question, having a more pressing one of her own "You're down two members of the group you set out with, and I don't need to read your aura to tell you've been crying. What happened?"

And Zoey feels so comforted in that moment that she could start crying all over again, but they don't have time for that. Everyone needs to be filled in on the new lurking danger among them, and then they need to snap into gear and go find Mike before anybody else does "Oh, god," she sighs, and allows herself to be lead toward Dawn and B's little home base "So much."

///

Dakota pauses in her meditative breathing. It wasn't working anyway. It rarely does.

At least it worked for Brick, laying peacefully beside her on the gurney as if the weight of the world has fallen away from him. Even the tear streaks on his face are starting to dry. Good, she thinks. He's a nice guy, he doesn't deserve to deal with all that pain, and it's a positive feeling that she was able to help someone else through their crisis for once.

She's never been particularly well. Some people can see that, the word fragile thrown around all too often, but even worse words were sheltered, spoilt, clueless- the nasty comments never helped any, just confirmed that there's something wrong with her, got her even more wrapped up in herself and made it harder to relate to the people around her. Everyone else seems to have real friends that they talked to regularly, were actually part of this friend group through the virtue of their personality. Dakota's only here because Sam has that sweet misguided crush on her, insisting she be included in their group activities so that they could spend more time together.

It's nice, she thinks, that somebody likes her for who she is. Maybe he's not necessarily her type, or someone she'd ever have imagined being with, but if he ever worked up the nerve to actually say something, finally ask her out after all these years, she doesn't think she'd have it in her to say no. Sometimes she wishes he would. He's smart and objectively non-threatening. Daddy would like him.

Dakota glances up at what disturbed her not-quite-sleep. The figure stands tall in the centre of the room, watching her without malice, watching her without anything- she doesn't know why she isn't afraid of this grey, featureless face, this big, strange outline of a woman hovering over her, but she feels no need to be. This is okay. 

Nothing needs to be said. There's an inherent understanding, like a psychic connection as the figure raises a hand and holds it out towards her. She looks at the outstretched palm, and then back up into its face, and it's like looking into a pit of pure static, her brain unable to connect what she's seeing with any previously known quantity.

"Of course," she says, calmer than she's been all night "Any way I can help."

She takes the hand willingly, brings it up to the side of her head and then pauses, one last question on her mind.

"What does it feel like?"

It takes a moment, but then she hears it, a whisper in the back of her head-

like going to sleep

Dakota smiles. It's such a struggle, getting to sleep. She feels like she's been tired her whole life.

She lets the hand make contact with her temple, and then it all goes quietly, blissfully dark.

///

"Do you guys think Dakota's okay?" Sam asks, trailing behind the girls and keeping a watchful eye over their shoulders "I mean, Brick too, but he's a big guy. He can handle himself. It's just that she's kind of..."

He trails off, looking for the word, and Anne Maria finishes his thought for him "Fragile?" she suggests, rolling her eyes "They're probably fine. That girl screams like a banshee- we'd hear it if anything happened to 'em."

Sam sighs, unsure "Yeah, I guess you're right. I just- can I be honest right now? I just keep thinking, like, if anything did happen, I wish I'd at least taken my shot, you know? I've liked her for years, and I've never said anything. Like, even if I struck out, I'd at least want her to know."

Jo makes a disgusted noise, not looking back "She knows."

"What?"

"You heard me," she asserts "Everyone knows. It's the worst kept secret of all time. It's actually painful seeing you try to play it subtle with her every day- remember that time you told her she had beautiful nostrils?"

Sam cringes "Come on dude, don't bring that up."

"Oh I'm bringing it up alright. I'm telling you that your gigantic crush on Dakota is so obvious to everyone around you, including her, that nobody can figure out why the hell you haven't asked her out yet. She'd probably go for it, too. It's not like she's ever rejected your flirting, even as pathetic as it is."

"...You really think so?"

"Yes."

"Huh." He contemplates this new insight "Thanks, Jo. That's probably the nicest thing you've ever said to me, even if it was sort of backhanded." 

"Just stating the facts." Jo says breezily as she shines her flashlight into an open cell, just in case she might spot an interloper hiding within. Part of her is still terribly fixated on their last supposed paranormal encounter- it would be so satisfying, she thinks, to run into their attacker again now that she's mentally prepared. They wouldn't know what hit them.

"But, like, I also keep thinking, and bear with me here," Sam continues on an entirely different tangent "our buddy Lightning's dead."

Jo surprises herself by full-on flinching at the reminder. Anne Maria picks up on this instantly, turning back with a tight expression "Sam, don't go talkin' about-"

"No, no, I'm just saying. You'd think a guy like him would totally crush the horror movie gauntlet, right? But he didn't, and if he didn't stand a chance then what kind of chance do I have? If I've learned anything from horror movies it's that guys like me don't make it to the end. I'm not a leader like Jo, and I'm not a paranormal expert like Dawn- I'm just the guy who hangs around and, like, points out that we're on the wrong floor that one time. I'm a background character at worst, comic relief at best. Hell, even my deepest moment where I, like, contemplate my own mortality is just a sidenote while I'm third wheeling for you two. It's almost like I've been set up to die next."

It's quite the speech, as about as insightful as it is complete nonsense, in Jo's opinion "Well it's a good thing we're not in a horror movie then, isn't it?" She snarks, taking them round a turn in the hall she's pretty sure should lead to the back of the building. It's not easy to navigate when most of this place looks exactly the same "You sound like a total nutjob right now, you know that? Maybe you should have tagged along with the ghost hunting crew."

"Nah," he doesn't take any offense to her insults. It's only to be expected, really "Their plan is actually kind of stupid."

"Stupid is right. Appease the spirits," Anne Maria gripes, huffing a stray lock of hair out of her face. It's only a symptom of how stressed she is that she'd ever let it get this messy "Dumbest thing I ever heard. It's like, the ghosts are what's tryn'a kill us off, right? So why the heck would they wanna talk to us some more? I think Dawnie's gonna get a real rude wake up call the second she tries to play bridge between worlds."

"That's exactly what I was thinking," Sam agrees "It's like she's never even seen a horror movie before. Everyone knows you don't try to reason with the undead- they don't want anything from us, they're dead."

"Oh god," Jo stops exactly where she is, stomping her foot in frustration "Enough with the undead already! What's the matter with you two? We're literally being stalked by some creep with a butchers knife, and you're still walking around pretending we've been locked in here by ghosts."

"I, um..." Sam staunchly avoids eye contact "Maybe because we have?"

Jo rounds on him, poking a finger into his gut "Back off, hamhock, and quit flapping your jaw. It's getting seriously annoying."

"No, why don't you back off." Anne Maria grabs her arm, firmly removing it from his person "And try takin' a chill pill while you're at it."

"Yeah, like, come on Jo," Sam takes himself a little further out of her physical range, just in case "We literally have evidence that it's ghosts- I saw B's video, but you wouldn't even watch it-"

"I don't need to see some stupid video of some stupid fake thing that is obviously fucking fake. So just shut your mouth and keep walking before I show you what real, living people are capable of and-"

"Oh! Oh my god!" 

Anne Maria puts an unintentional end to the argument as she panics, clinging desperately to Jo's hoodie "Something just pulled my hair. I swear to god something just touched me."

Jo isn't buying it "For the love of- you're not gonna sell me on this bullshit by pretending-" she abruptly cuts herself off as she sees it.

A figure, features indecernable in the dark. It hovers just a little ways away from Anne Marias shoulder, and for a moment she wonders how the fuck she could have let another freak sneak up on them without noticing. It's shameful- she was ready for this, and the fact she'd let herself get distracted enough with petty arguments to not even realise somebody was there fills her with insurmountable rage.

"Hey!" she snarls, shoving Anne Maria aside and into Sam, who just barely manages to catch her without both of them falling to the ground "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The second she adresses the interloper they turn tail, sprinting off down the hall, but that's not a problem because Jo's got no doubt in her mind that she can outrun anybody in this place, friend or otherwise. This is the part, she thinks, where she catches whoever's lurking in here and proves to everybody once and for all that what they're dealing with is people, not fucking ghosts.

So she takes chase. Jo isn't afraid of whoever that is- right now they should be afraid of her. Present company would seem to disagree.

"Joey, don't!" Anne Maria calls out but she's not listening, has already turned the corner, eyes fixed firmly on her target because god knows if she loses her visual she'll lose them entirely- their stalker is freakishly light on their feet "Oh no, oh god, what do we do?"

"I don't think we have much of a choice." Sam takes her by the elbow and unwillingly begins to lead her after Jo "Guess we're running now. Great."

///

"...And that's when we found you." Zoey finishes her recount of events. Going back over it like that felt weird, like she was telling a story from a stranger's perspective. Maybe it's just hard to believe all that really happened in front of her.

"Fascinating." Dawn looks up from where Cameron was showing her his video of Scott and Zoeys altercation "So not only does Mike vanish mid-air without a trace, but Staci was viciously attacked by forces unseen-"

"What? No," Zoey balks, no clue how she could come to that conclusion "The forces were seen, Dawn. The forces are about five-eleven, ginger, the only person here carrying a weapon-"

"I understand how the circumstances would convince you that that is the case, but I think there are much bigger things at play here," she explains patiently, and for a moment Zoey feels like the last sane person in the room "And personally, as much as I agree that Scott has some... behavioural issues, I don't believe him capable of murder. Right?"

She defers to B who's still fiddling with some unknown device. He pauses in his tinkering to think about it, and then grimaces, making a so-so sort of gesture with his hand.

"Hmm." Dawn interlocks her fingers "Then I, at the very least, don't think he posesses the capacity nor desire to orchestrate such an elaborate plot."

"No, the whole premise lacks any real motivation," Cameron agrees, finally tucking his phone back into his pocket "Don't get me wrong, despite having the evidence of a clean knife I still haven't ruled out the possibility of opportunistic violence, but even if he were to have a second concealed weapon with which to commit the deed, I ask you this," he pauses for dramatic effect "Who made the cake?"

Zoey finds that her mouth is hanging open "Are you- are you doing a bit right now? Why do you sound so excited?"

Cameron clams up, realising his misstep "I wouldn't say excited. It's just- it's quite the mystery, don't you think?"

"No, I don't think." Zoey throws her hands up, exasperated "I can't listen to this anymore. Staci literally died, and you're treating it like an episode of CSI! Actually, forget this." She rises to her feet "I'm going back out to look for Mike, like we were supposed to be doing this whole time, because he could be in serious danger, and unlike some of us I actually care when the people around me get hurt!"

"Zoey, it's not that I- of course I care. I'm sorry, I don't mean to come off that way." Cameron scrambles to join her "If you're going then I'm coming with you."

"Please don't." Dawn says in a small voice, wringing her hands together "Everybody's splitting up, and getting lost, and if you go now then I don't know if you'll ever come back."

Zoey would be more inclined to listen if she didn't feel like everybody else's priorities are horribly skewed "We have to go look for him- there isn't anything else we can do."

It's then that B raises a hand, grabbing everybody's attention. He shows Dawn his now finished project, very pleased with himself at building something so complex so quickly. She turns to Zoey with a new sort of determination and says "Oh, but there is. I genuinely, truly beleive that what we have here will lead us to Mike sooner than wandering the halls, and hopefully will have us all out of this nightmare shortly after. Please, I ask you to have some faith in our methods."

"And what are those methods exactly?" Cameron inquires, adjusting his glasses as he eyes the device in B's hand "Oh! Is that supposed to be a ghost box?"

"In essence, yes." Dawn confirms "B has modified an old tape recorder to allow it to pick up all possible frequencies, even those outside of our human auditory range. In theory, this should allow us to converse directly with any spirits present."

"Brilliant, let's give it a try." Cameron enthuses, retaking his spot on the floor.

"But I thought you didn't believe in the paranormal?" Zoey pulls a face.

"That's what I was trying to get at, Zoey," he tells her gently "My mind is open, and with everything going on tonight I could definitely be convinced."

He holds out a hand to her, an invitation. She debates it for a second before Dawn adds "And if I happen to be wrong, and the spirits do not have the answers we are looking for, then I promise that afterwards we will all go searching for Mike. Together."

That seals the deal. She sighs, taking Camerons hand and lowering herself back into their circle "Okay. I still don't think ghosts can, like, actually hurt people- not the way Staci was hurt- but if you think they can tell us where Mike is..."

"Your cause is very high on the list of priorities." Dawn reassures, and then turns to B "Would you say that everything is ready? Shall we make our play?"

B flashes her a grin and a thumbs up, handing her the tape recorder before grabbing his second and only working camping lantern, intending to study it after the last time they spoke with the dead. That electrical flare was strange- it would be interesting if the same thing happened again.

"Excellent. So I just push this down and speak into the receiver? And then we play it back and... okay. This seems very straightforward." She clears her throat, and then suddenly they're in the midst of a paranormal experiment. Dawn holds down the little button and begins "Good evening. If there are any spirits present, please do make yourself known."

She waits for a moment before letting go of the button, and then rewinds the tape. There's a collective held breath as her own words play back over the speaker, everyone anticipating some otherworldly voice to follow it up, but there's nothing. Just a good ten seconds of slightly static silence.

"Hm." Not disheartened, she tries again "I would like to sincerely apologise on the behalf of all of us for disturbing your peace. It was unwise to come here, and even more so to harass you with entirely irrelevant questions. I would like to ask some important ones, if that would be okay. Please give us a sign that you're listening."

Once again when she replays it there's no response. B huffs in defeat, gesturing to give the recorder back so he can perhaps adjust it some more, but then they hear it.

A thud. It comes from somewhere in the darkness under the mezzanine, as if someone had banged against the wall. Zoey hugs her knees to her chest as she stares at the area it came from, but there's nothing to see. Dawn's eyes light up with new hope.

"Oh." She keeps the recorder firmly in her own grip, debating what to ask first, and then to appease Zoey, she tries: "First port of call- our friend Mike has gone missing. Would you be able to tell us where he is?"

Third time must be the charm, because when she plays it back this time round there's a voice other than her own.

t  o o   k        h  i   m

It's short and abrupt, the intonation strange, and for a moment all four of them are so caught off guard to get an actual, comprehensible response that nobody knows what to say. As the shock wears off Zoey's face falls "What does that mean? Who took him? How would anybody-"

"We're about to find out." Dawn cuts her off, practically vibrating with excitement. She presses the button down once more "Thank you for letting us know. If it isn't too much trouble, could you please tell us who has taken him, and where?"

B catches an odd movement out the corner of his eye, head snapping around to make sure that really was just his imagination, or a shadow, but the second he looks away the lantern in his hands starts to crackle.

Perturbed, he holds it out at arms length. They all watch it spark for a few seconds before it settles down, and he brings it back towards his person, still perfectly functional and eminating the same cool light it's supposed to. He purses his lips and shrugs, gesturing for Dawn to play back the tape. At least the lights didn't go out this time.

They were expecting a response. They already got a response, but this time after Dawn's disembodied voice finishes its question they're subjected to what could possibly be described as a scream.

Or a growl, or maybe just the loudest, most unpleasant radio static known to man. B flinches, slashing rapidly at his own throat to indicate that she should turn off that god awful noise, but Dawn adamantly lets it run its course, wincing in discomfort herself. Once it's over Zoey finds that she's shaking. She has no idea what it means for Mike, or for any of them, but it can't be good.

Even Cameron's lost his enthusiasm for their experiment "Okay, that's- I think we should stop now."

"We can't stop here." Dawn looks shocked at the suggestion "Was that not evidence enough for you? We're actually speaking with someone beyond the veil, and this poor soul sounds like they're in pain."

"No, no, that's more than enough evidence. I've been fully converted." Cameron holds up both hands, peering anxiously into the dark "But I also don't think we're speaking with anyone right now. That wasn't speech, and it didn't sound hurt- it sounded angry."

"Hurt can manifest itself in a variety of ways." Dawn dismisses his concerns and promptly clicks the button, speaking into the receiver once more "I take it that our friend is in danger. If you are unable to inform us of his location then that's okay-"

"What? No. No that is not okay." Zoey snaps back to life, barely able to believe she would say such a thing.

Dawn only raises a hand to silence her, continuing her one-sided conversation "You don't have to tell us anything that upsets you. All we are looking for is to make reparations for our mistakes and reinstate peace here in your home. The sooner we are able to leave, the quicker your peace will come-"

Cameron is struck by a sudden chill. It's a bizarre sensation, like a cold hand running down his spine, and it's enough to have him scrambling to his feet "Dawn, stop talking. There's something here."

She ignores him entirely "So I ask of you, please, may we be granted our exit? How do we leave?"

For a second she looks over to the main doors, as if it might be expected that they just pop back open on their own, but it doesn't happen. Not yet defeated she hits play on the recorder, and-

And it bursts into flames, right in her hand.

"Oh!" Dawn gasps, dropping it instantly and drawing her burnt appandage back towards her chest.

It doesn't stop there. The junk they'd collected begins to fall apart at random, some of it hurled towards them at speed, and then everyone's on their feet again, panicking at just how suddenly this turned from an experiment into a nightmare. B takes the lead, gesturing wildly for everybody to follow him up the stairs and away from any more projectiles, and thankfully they comply, but the moment his feet hit the staircase-

The lantern starts hissing again, rapidly getting louder and brighter, and then before he even gets the chance to throw it away from his person, it explodes.

A thousand fragments of metal and glass fly in every direction, spat out of this great ball of fire that glows white-hot as it engulfs him. It's wildly, disproportionately huge, not to mention completely impossible- the kind of detonation you'd expect from a landmine as opposed to a lantern.

Zoey falls to the ground, a chunk of glass impaling her shoulder and hurling her out of range of the blast. Cameron's already halfway across the foyer where he hides himself behind the front desk, but Dawn watches the explosion happen head on. She feels the heat from far too close, smells the singed ends of her hair as glass shards rain over her, leaving a litany of tiny stinging cuts across her face, the image of her friends spectacular demise burned permanently into her retinas.

"B!" And then she's at his side, frantically checking for a pulse.

There isn't one. It would honestly be worse if there was- B's body lays limp at the base of the stairs, smouldering and still partially on fire, eyes melted right out of their sockets to leave a pair of grotesque, empty holes as the centrepiece of his burn-mottled face.

Amidst all the chaos Zoey gets back up onto her feet, shaky and stumbling and completely in shock. She knows when to admit she was wrong- there's no doubt in her mind now that unseen forces very much can and will kill those that stumble upon them, whether deserved or not. B's body is infinitely more unsettling to look at than Stacis had been, so she tries to avert her eyes as she sprints over to Dawn.

"Come on, we have to go." she says, because they do. This isn't like in the kitchen- Everything around them is going haywire, objects being thrown around the room, and the longer they stay here the more likely this is to result in more than one death "Dawn, come on."

But Dawn's frozen in place, two fingers still pressed against B's charred wrist, just staring down at his face like she can't beleive this outcome could possibly be real. It becomes clear that she's not going to snap out of it, so Zoey makes the executive decision to pick her up and toss her over her uninjured shoulder, running to follow Cameron as he directs them to the east wing hallway.

///

Mike wakes up.

Or, at least he thinks he wakes up. He's certain he's gone and opened his eyes, but it doesn't seem to make a difference- the imposing blackness is all around, thick and heavy like a shroud.

And then it comes back to him. One moment he was in the midst of an argument, and the next he was falling to his death. Is he dead? The thought sends him into a panic- is this the afterlife? Endless darkness with nothing else to offer?

No. It can't be, because his other senses are still working. It smells musty here, wherever here is, a stale dampness permeating the air, and there's a dripping sound coming from somewhere not too far away. His first thought is that he's in a cave of some sort, but that would be ridiculous. Last he remembers he was in the stairwell. How did he get here?

It doesn't matter. Right now all that matters is the eerie nature of waking up alone in the dark, cold and uncertain of what the hell is going on. He feels like he's breathing too loud, like anything could be right next to him in the darkness and he wouldn't even know.

Suddenly on the verge of absolutely freaking the fuck out he sits up, haphazardly searching his person for- oh, god, he can't have lost it. Please, he hasn't-

His fingers close around the flashlight. He lets out a shaky sigh of relief, steeling himself before switching it on, hoping a little light will ease his fears, make his new, puzzling situation that bit less daunting.

It doesn't. 

The cave theory wasn't too far off. He appears to be in some sort of tunnel- concrete walls holding up a sprawling network of pipes that create an uneven ceiling, dirt floor lined with what looks like the tracks of very thin wheels. Water slowly drips from above to form a mud puddle just a little ways down, and when he angles his flashlight past that it becomes clear that the tunnel stretches on a lot further than the beam is capable of reaching. 

Okay, that's a no-go. Too creepy. He tries the opposite direction and nearly jumps for joy when he sees stairs only a few metres behind him, races up them immediately, trying the door, and-

It's locked. Of course it's locked. Mike theorises that based on where he fell, and the placement of these stairs, he's got to be just on the other side of the basement door they'd found earlier. But that raises a whole host of other questions- how did he get down here if it's locked? His friends wouldn't have left him here. Then he thinks of the likely fake murderer on the loose, but that doesn't make sense either. It's doubtful that some psycho killer would have snatched him up and locked him down here, much more likely they'd have just killed him and been done with it. With absolutely no logical explanation, he moves onto the impossible.

Did he... fall through the floor?

He's snapped out of his thoughts by a sound just on the other side of the heavy steel, a bit like footsteps but wrong somehow. It sets his teeth on edge for reasons unknown, but so does everthing else about this situation. Cautious but optimistic, he knocks lightly on the door, hoping that whoever may be passing by is friendly, maybe even capable of letting him back out.

Wrong. Mike jumps back from the door, nearly toppling down the stairs a second time as he's met with a vile and absolutely inhuman growl. As something clangs violently against the other side, scratching and clawing and trying to get in- trying to get him- he's actually thankful that it's locked.

He sprints back down the stairs, beam of his flashlight tremoring as he gets away from whatever could possibly make that sound, and then he's back in the tunnel but now it's even worse, because that thing is still trying to make its way down here with him.

Mike thinks he's had nightmares like this before. He freezes up as he's confronted once more with the endless tunnel, and tries to reassure himself with the fact that it could potentially lead to a way out. In any case, it's certainly the lesser of two evils at this point.

"Shit," he whispers, barely audible, but it still sounds too loud to his own ears. He makes his decision.

With one last glance back at the thankfully still empty staircase, Mike starts his shaky journey through the tunnel, flashlight jittering as badly as his nerves. A sudden bang behind him, however, kicks him into gear, images flashing through his head of some unknown monster decending the stairs quicker than he has time to react. 

His nervous walk turns into a full blown sprint, running through this damp hole in the ground that seems to just go on forever until he's too far away to hear the banging anymore, the only sound now the echo of his own ragged breathing and footsteps in the dirt.

Chapter Text

Dakota (Dakota?) hums gently as she sifts through her drawers. There's a lot of things amiss, but that's okay. She'll make do with what she has on hand.

The boy in the bed is still sleeping soundly. He's earned it- he clearly has a lot on his mind. After all, it's not every day you let a friend fall to their death.

A lot of patients come through here with guilt-like symptoms, mild forms of PTSD brought on by traumatic events. Maybe some would say it's unfortunate that a natural reaction to having one bad thing happen in your life could earn you a space in a room with a lock and guard, but nobody would be here unless they were sick. These poor people need help, and when the mind doesn't function as it should anymore, they deserve to receive only the best, most efficient treatment.

She smiles as she finds the tools she was looking for, buried beneath stacks of unkempt paperwork and lost to time. An orbitoclast- a long, nail-like instrument that she's perfectly familiar with, and the surgical hammer to match.

Dakota (Dakota DAKOTA) approaches the bed and takes a long look down at the boy. He's struggling terribly with his PTSD, can barely focus on anything other than his awful experience, but that's exactly what this procedure is for- to take away the ability to focus. It's better to keep thoughts to a minimum rather than spend the rest of your life plagued with negativity. Patients are almost always happier, simpler, more compliant once it's over.

She lays her tools gently down on the desk beside her, takes hold of his head with these narrow, foreign fingers, adjusting him into the optimal position. Once that's satisfactory she takes her orbitoclast, assumes the correct angle over his left eye, sharp end aimed upwards towards the frontal lobe. She stops for a moment to watch him breathe softly in his sleep- he's only a boy. Can't be older than seventeen. It's such a shame someone so young could hold so much pain.

"It's okay," she tells his unconscious form "This won't hurt. And once it's over, you'll never hurt again."

Despite how quiet her words are, they do the job of accidentally waking him. His eyes snap open, take in her form standing over him, register the tool hovering inches from his eye, and for a split second she can see his shock, his fear-

"Dakota!" And then there's a hand on her wrist, grip nervous yet strong as he sits himself upright "What in god's name are you doing?"

Damn it, she missed the moment. No worries, she'll put him back to sleep, one way or another "Ow!" She cries out, and the sound of this body's voice is jarring, far too high pitched "Let go, you're hurting me!"

He follows the order immediately. Such a nice young man "Sorry, sorry, I just-" he shuffles back against the wall, still eyeing the orbitoclast as if it were a weapon as opposed to the necessary medical instrument that it is "I think you were about to hurt me. Are you feeling alright? Maybe we should consider rejoining the others, or- or see if we can crack a window, get some fresh air."

"Or maybe you should lay back down."

He pauses at the instruction, wary as he looks her over "I'm... not going to do that?"

Okay, hard way it is. He doesn't get time to react- she brings the surgical hammer down swiftly, cracking him in the nose. He cries out, a hand flying up to his face, and while he's distracted she shoves him down, raises her orbitoclast and makes a rough estimate on the angle, because if there's one thing she's learned in her time here, it's that a botch job is better than no job at all. Best case scenario he's cured, worst case they open up another bed. It's a win-win situation.

Except she doesn't win this time. He recovers from the blow quicker than anticipated and grabs her wrist once more, jumping to his feet and says through a mouthful of blood "Oh, what is wrong with you?"

She tries and fails to twist out of his grip- curse this weak body- and settles for trying her first tactic again "Stop, stop, you're hurting me!"

"I'm not falling for that twice." He scowls down at her "I don't want to have to actually hurt you, so just drop the weapons and we can talk about-"

She cuts him off with a hammer to the temple. This was already too much talking, and if that doesn't put him out of comission then she's not sure what will. He stumbles back, dazed, and she gives up on any ambition of a successful procedure, now aiming primarily to incapacitate him- he's being a difficult patient, so it's well deserved. The orbitoclast swings in a wide arc through the air, and peirces him sideways in the abdomen.

"Jesus!" He gasps, snapping into gear. As she goes to swing again she sees his pupils dilate, his breathing become rapid, more a cornered animal than a boy. And then, completely unexpectedly, he shoves her weak little body as hard as he possibly can.

Dakota goes flying acoss the room, crashing into a large filing cabinet that falls on top of her, both of her medical tools dropped and lost in the chaos. While this is definitely an inconvenience, and the fall did in fact hurt, she remains unperturbed- it's a novel experience to feel pain at this point.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry. Dakota, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

His voice dies in his throat when she starts laughing. She can't help it- he's just so funny. How absurd it is to apologise to the person that just stabbed you. Maybe he thinks she's gone crazy, maybe he's cottoned on to the fact that his friend is no longer present. The guessing game nearly has her in stitches. 

"...I'm going to go get help. Stay here and try not to hurt yourself, okay?"

Option one wins, apparently. How optimistic. She cranes her neck to watch him scamper out the door with a handful of hastily grabbed bandages, clutching at his side and doing a terrible job of stopping the blood flow, and wonders how far he'll make it down the hall before something bigger and far less human gets to him. It's a shame, really. He's a nice boy. He'd have been better served with a quiet end.

///

Jo is a capable athlete. Hell, more than capable- she's quite the force to he reckoned with, so it's baffling to her that no matter how hard she pushes herself, she just can't seem to catch up to this freak.

And even worse, she's actually out of breath. Every muscle in her body is screaming at her to stop but she refuses to listen, hot on the strangers heels right up until her body betrays her, gradually slowing pace against her will, and then they're too far ahead, and then they turn a corner. She comes to a full stop when she reaches the corner herself, realising that she's lost them completely.

The hallway is empty, save for an old gurney and some random debris her flashlight passes over. It's frustrating, and completely unfair, and she's borderline seething as she rests her hands against her knees, panting and trying to think of a way to track them down again when, as luck would have it, she doesn't have to.

Someone peers round the bend at the far end of the hallway. They spot her flashlight and duck back into the shadows, and for a moment Jo thinks that, yes, she's won. Whoever that is may be a fierce competitor, but they've tired out at the exact same time she has, and now they're both done running there won't be any hiding on the cards tonight.

"Come on," she snarls into the dark, breath still ragged "Come out here and fight like a girl."

A pause, and then-

"Jo?"

And that voice- if she thought she was angry before, then that voice has just sent her into an unfathomable rage "What the fuck kind of game do you think you're playing?"

Scott walks out into the full beam of her flashlight, a hand held out over his eyes to avoid being blinded "I know, I just- I thought you might be someone else. There's some crazy shit going on around here, I'm telling you-"

Crazy shit is right "Why?" She demands, already storming down the hall towards him "Like, are you actually some kind of psycho? Sneaking around in the dark and touching people-"

"What?" He freezes where he is "What are you talking about?"

As she gets closer she can see the bruises on his face, the split in his lip, and the mysterious injuries only reinforce her suspicions "Don't play dumb, dirtbreath," she grabs him by the front of his grimey tank top "You think this is funny? You really get that much of a kick out of scaring people, huh? I'll show you scared."

He definitely looks it, trying and failing to break her grip on his person "Seriously, what-"

She doesn't let him finish the question, driving a fist into his gut that leaves him doubled over, and then just to push the point home she smacks her knee upwards into his face. It's incredibly satisfying- the kind of satisfaction born both out of frustration over being trapped in here for so many hours now, and the fact that even if Jo didn't get to go toe to toe with that bitch that killed Lightning, she at least gets to take out her anger on someone almost as awful. Whatever his angle for pulling this stunt, he deserves it. She boots him in the knee, sending him falling to the side with a shout, and just as she braces herself to really kick the shit out of him, Anne Maria and Sam finally catch up.

"Hey!" Anne Maria spots her, gasping for air like she'd just run a marathon. Sam comes to a stop right behind her, promptly collapsing to the ground the second he knows they're all here and accounted for. And then Anne Maria actually registers this bizarre scene, pulling a face as she demands "What the heck is goin' on?"

Jo pauses where she was about to put a foot through Scotts ribcage "What's going on is the natural conclusion to what happens when you fuck with me. I caught our stalker- and guess who it was!"

Scott takes the opportunity to crawl away from her while she's distracted, putting some distance between him and his attacker before defending himself "I wasn't stalking you! Why does everybody think I'm stalking them?" It comes out around a mouthful of blood, his nose bleeding profusely where Jo had kneed him "Shit, I think you broke my nose."

She rounds on him once more "And I'll break more than that if you keep on lying."

"I don't think he's lyin', Jo," Anne Maria cuts her off, forcing herself to run yet again and get between them before any more unnecessary violence takes place "That guy you was chasin'- that didn't look like no person, and it definitely didn't look like him." she throws a thumb in Scotts direction.

"Yeah, like," Sam joins them then, just about recovered from his run "We've all had those dreams with the hat man, right? It looked more like that than, like, a solid guy."

Jo can't even beleive what she's hearing "Did your brains both fall out on the way here? You seriously wanna talk about the fucking hat man when the worst person we know just happens to be right where I lost track of-"

"God, put a pin in it, will you?" Anne Maria waves her off, turning to Scott instead where he's still kneeling on the floor "Let's straighten this out. Did you pull my hair and run off into the dark like a total weirdo?"

He recoils at the absurdity of the question "No. I just came round the corner and this crazy bitch starts wailing on me." He forces himself upright only to discover that the boot he took to the knee has done some real damage. He nearly falls over again, has to awkwardly redistribute his weight less his left leg give out right underneath him "Fuck. Oh, you've totally fucked me over, and for nothing. Why would I even do that? Like, does everybody think I'm some kind of creep?"

"Uh, yeah," Jo confirms, nothing but satisfied with the fact that she's injured him "Because you are."

"Lay off, Jo," Anne Maria snaps, making her best attempt to shove the taller girl, not that she's moved an inch "I believe him."

Jo finds that ridiculously insulting "Over me?"

"Yeah, over you," she asserts, pointing an accusatory finger in Jo's face "Cause you're the only person here still actin' like we ain't dealin' with freakin' demons! Dirtboy's the least of our problems right now."

And even as she says it Scott's using the temporary lack of spotlight on him to try and slink off back into the dark, limping unsteadily away from the scene, and it's just... it's insane. Jo knows full well what's happening around her. Maybe she's just exhausted, and angry, and feeling completely isolated at this point, because that's where she snaps. If everyone else wants to play ghosts then fine- she'll show them how unbelievably fucking stupid they sound.

"...Y'know what? You're right!" She yells, storming off ahead and shining her flashlight agressively around the empty hall "Guess we better throw everything else aside and go looking for the demon who pulled your hair. But look, nobody else here! Isn't that just so fucking crazy!"

Anne Maria groans- this isn't what she wanted at all "Oh, this is so uncool." She bemoans, but Jo ignores her.

"Look, an open door!" Jo crows, throwing the offending slab of wood back so that it clatters against the wall, glaring inside without hesitation "Nope, no ghosts in here!"

"Um." Sam hovers awkwardly, backing away from her and all the noise she's making "Do you think maybe we should keep it down a little? I mean, the demon could hear us and-"

"Great, saves us the search." She laughs, borderline hysterical as she moves onto the next cell, ever further away from the group "Well, would you look at that- nothing in here either!"

"Alright, enough with the weird freakin' tantrum already!" Anne Maria shouts, nearly pulling her hair out from the stress.

"Tantrum?" She turns sharply on her heel to face them once more, absolutely seething "I'll show you a fucking tantrum. I hope these super dangerous demons are brave enough to come out of hiding, cause I would just love to be proven wrong. In fact, I would love to not be in this insane situation at all- that's why I'm trying to get us out of here, but you ghost-happy morons do nothing but get in my way!" She throws her arms up, the beam of her flashlight blinding the group with every erratic gesture "Tell me, why is it all on me to-"

She ends her rant rather abruptly as her light glances over the ceiling.

Jo has never known the sensation of being frozen in fear, but tonight seems to be its own special once in a lifetime experience. She's never seen anything like it. These things aren't supposed to exist. And the fact she'd walked right underneath it-

"Oh, do not start with that bull." Anne Maria throws her hands up, taking Jo's sudden silence entirely the wrong way "You should be the one gettin' us outta here, seein' as how this is all your fault in the first place." She accuses as she struts towards her, and as universal law would dictate she ends up standing directly below their newest problem. Jo's first thought is to yell, to push her out of the way, to do anything, but her body won't let her "You're the one who decided Halloween weren't scary enough. You're the one who dragged us all up to this bullshit haunted hospital, brought out a freakin Ouija board and started this whole-"

She pauses in her complaints to make a startled noise, wiping a drip of something off her forehead "Oh, great, now this place is leakin' on me." She sniffs the dark substance on her hand, recoiling in disgust "Ew- what is this, sewage?"

And Jo's still staring at this thing's open, cavernous maw, dripping unknown fluid onto her friend.

It's big. Bigger than any of them, long limbs stretched out either side to hold itself up against the high ceiling, pale and nude and all the wrong proportions to be human. She'd lowered the light the second she spotted it, but she can still see it's face so clearly- the lack of nose, the pitch black eyes, the head seemingly made up entirely of mouth. She knows full well she should be taking action right now, but then it's all too late.

The thing drops down like an ambush predator, a bony, long-clawed hand taking Anne Maria by the hair and throwing her to the ground beneath it.

Anne Maria screams as her head cracks against the floor, loud and jarring like someone set off a fire alarm. In the sheer terror of the reality they've found themselves in, Sam rapidly discovers a second wind, taking off back the way they came after Scott who's struggling to move fast enough to get the hell away from what's arguably an actual, real life demon, and Jo is stuck in this awful, visceral moment where her entire world turns upside down because- because holy shit.

Jo doesn't know how to accept when she's wrong. It's not a skill she's practiced in. She's also not used to being afraid, or confronted with something that she's not willing to get into a brawl with, and everybody here is going to die at the hands of a literal fucking monster because of her, and-

And thats when the shock wears off, replaced with gut-churning adrenaline. Nobody's going to die- she isn't going to let it happen. Not again.

But she also doesn't want to get anywhere near that thing. It bears down on Anne Maria, flipping her over for better access, and Jo snaps into action. Quick on her toes, she takes hold of the old gurney sitting out in the hall, and in a feat of strength that only comes under severe duress picks it up by one end, swinging it round in the confined space and smacking the thing across the entire upper half of its distorded body. 

The gurney and the creature both go crashing into the wall, a mess of inhuman limbs and screeching metal. Its a relief to see Anne Maria take her opportunity to escape, scrambling to her feet with tears in her eyes and blood dripping down from some unseen head injury. The relief is short lived, however, when the thing recovers from impact startlingly quickly and rounds on its attacker.

"Oh shit." Her life flashes before her eyes at it lunges, and the pain-

The pain is blinding. It's every awful thing she never thought could actually happen to her coming to reality all at once. There's teeth in her neck. She's aware of this in an abstract way, the same way that she knows the thing on top of her is cold to the touch and freakishly heavy. The same way she knows she's about to die.

But then she doesn't.

"Don't be a hero, idiot!" It sounds impossibly far away "She's already dead!"

The thing abruptly unclamps its jaw from the juncture between her neck and shoulder, twisting itself at an impossible angle to see just what has decided to try and pull it away from its meal.

And what that is happens to be Sam, sweaty and pale faced and looking like he's about to throw up with nerves, tugging at the things leg as if he ever had a chance of dragging it off.

And in that moment he really is a hero- the distraction is enough that it leaves an incapacitated Jo where she is, and turns on him instead.

"Oh. Oh no!" Sam turns tail, the reality of what he's chosen to do hitting him full force.

He sprints down the hall, the thing in close persuit on all fours in a bizarrely spider-like fashion. It's awful, genuinely sickening to watch, but he skids just slightly as he makes the sharp turn at the end of the hallway, and that's enough to be the death of him.

Jo manages to sit up just in time to see it. The creature grips his ankle with one bony claw, sending him sprawling to the ground. And then it climbs on top of him, jaw unhinging itself like a snake.

The blood splatter is insane. It tears into his body with that gaping, alien mouth, sending spray in every which direction. It hits the walls, it hits the ceiling, and it hits Anne Maria full in the face.

Anne Maria screams once more as the entire front of her is saturated in blood, eyes shut to the gore coating her person, and she turns on her heel to run blindly off into the dark.

"Annie, where are you-" Jo calls out, but has to stop when it comes out garbled, the simple action of using her vocal cords putting strain enough on her neck that a fresh wave of blood gushes out over the collar of her hoodie. Panicked, she grabs the stained fabric and brings it up to press it into the would, a terribly ineffective patch job if there ever was one, but it'll have to do. She forces herself onto her feet, and when she takes in the scene unfolding in front of her she can't help but think that maybe Annie has the right idea.

With one part of its meal procured the thing snaps its head up, soulless black eyes fixed on Scott. He backs up into the wall, breathing heavily, and holds out his shitty little switchblade in front of him as if that's going to be any threat to a literal fucking demon. Jo wonders for a second- why isn't he running? He's exactly the type to run. 

And then she remembers that he can't. She busted his knee for reasons she isn't even sure are valid anymore and, in the here and now, that's a death sentence.

It lunges at him, the same way it had come after her, but he blocks it with his forearm. The creature just sinks its teeth into that instead.

"Fuck!" He gasps, going white as a sheet with the shock of it. It knocks him to the ground in much the same fashion as its other victims. He's barely holding back this thing that has it's teeth in his arm as he looks up to make eye contact with Jo, who's still just standing there, for once in her life completely unsure of herself, and-

And she makes the call. Jo breaks eye contact, reassuring herself with the fact that if their positions were reversed, he wouldn't help her either, and turns tail to chase down Anne Maria. After all, who knows what could happen to her if she runs off alone.

... And then it's just Scott, and the demon attatched to him.

Maybe it's a moment of inspiration, or just plain desperation, but as the thing starts to tear the flesh of his forearm away from the bone he makes his last-ditch play. He takes his knife and gouges upwards, as long and as deep as possible. If it were an animal, or a person, perhaps organs would have spilled from the laceration that runs all the way from its navel to its throat. Instead he finds himself half drowned in dark grey, foul-smelling gunk.

The creature squeals- roars- makes some absolutely incomprehensible noise as its insides fall out, all over Scott and across the floor, and thankfully lets go of his arm in the process. It doesn't exactly die, just flops forwards in a ragdoll sort of way when its lack of internal substance means it's no longer able to support itself.

He heaves the thing's limp, heavy body off himself and crawls backwards out of the pile of gore until his back hits the wall. In retaliation it swipes lethargically at his ankles, a claw catching the hem of his jeans, but makes no real attempt to attack him again. Instead it drags itself to get between him and Sams mutilated body, hovering in front of its kill and making these odd sort of hissing noises, like an animal trying to warn off a larger predator.

"...Keep him." Scott tells it, probably pointlessly. He doesn't know why he's talking to it- maybe it's just the shock of still being alive. And if that wasn't enough of a shock-

"Oh, no, no."

It's weak, barely audiable, but he definitely heard it. He snaps his gaze down to find Sam, somehow also alive, even with this gaping open cavity in his abdomen the size of a kitchen rat, intestines half pulled out from the inital attack and dangling at odd angles, some touching the filthy floor, and-

The thing starts to drag itself towards its helpless meal, snarling and clacking its several rows of teeth together in anticipation. Scott uses the wall as leverage to push himself up onto his feet, and then he's just staring at these two horrors in front of him- one human, one very definitely not, both leaking their guts all over the place.

"Oh, come on- please." Sam groans as the creature gets too close to his face. Scott knows that plea is directed at him, and part of him wants to walk away, to leave this scene to run its natural course but- Jesus, what a way to go.

There's no saving Sam. Not really. He would have been better off dying quickly, but things just haven't played out like that. Scott decides that he's officially lost his fucking mind, because he hobbles over and uses his one good arm to grab Sam by the leg, hauling him roughly out of range of the things teeth only a split second before it clamps its jaw around thin air.

The demon hisses at him, twisting itself around to take chase as best it can. Scott continues to drag Sam down the hall- he's heavy as shit, and Scott only has two fully functional limbs, and they're barely inching away faster than the thing is crawling after them but there isn't much else that can be done. It's a slow, harrowing journey to find Sam a quieter corner to bleed out.

///

When Jo eventually catches up to her it's not a pleasant reunion- one of them severely injured, the other inconsolable, and both entirely at their wits end.

"Annie," she says through a mouthful of blood, strained from the unexpected extra run. Even as quiet as it is it feels loud in this previously unexplored part of the building- Jo isn't sure where exactly they've run to, but it's probably not all that much better than where they were before. She decides to say exactly the opposite "Calm down, okay? I'm alive, you're alive, we got away from the, um," It's actually painful to have to say it out loud "the demon. We're gonna be okay, okay?"

"Do you even hear yourself right now?" Anne Maria chokes through a sob "We're gonna be okay, are we? Sam died. He was- he was a good guy, Joey. He didn't deserve that, and he died right in front of me, and-"

"He died in front of both of us. Keep it together, will you?"

The sniffles abruptly cut out, Anne Maria glaring up at her with something akin to contempt "Look, I have done a freakin' stellar job at keepin' it together, alright? That back there-" she points behind Jo, back the way they came "That was fucked up. It was too much. I'm covered in blood that ain't even mine!"

"Yeah, well, I'm covered in blood that is mine! Just be thankful you didn't get hurt." Jo snaps, too stressed to deal with frivolous things like feelings right now. And then she instantly regrets her statement as Anne Maria bursts into tears once more "Oh Annie, come on, stop crying-"

"I am hurt." She sniffs, touching the back of her head where her hair has matted around the blood "I'm hurt, and I'm tired, and I want this nightmare to be over already. I wanna wake up in my own bed and find out it really was just a nightmare. But most of all, I wanna feel clean." She breaks down completely, tears falling freely and hiccuping with the force of it "I'm covered in- I just want this off of me."

It's perfectly understandable. Jo would probably kill for a shower right about now, and she's nowhere near as high maintenance as Anne Maria "It'll happen." She tells her firmly, trying her best to keep a level head. She's already been wrong about so many things, she needs to get this right "We're gonna find a way out, and we'll all go home, okay? Or, y'know, all of us still alive."

Anne Maria nods shakily, rubbing her eyes and smearing wet mascara further down her cheeks "This is a mess, Joey. I'm a mess. I don't think I can-"

And then as she looks back up, it's with a sense of wonder in her eyes, enraptured by something just past Jo's shoulder "Oh- oh thank god."

She's off in an instant, ducking around the taller girl and making a beeline for whatever could garner such a reaction in these circumstances. Jo turns around, rightfully confused, and then freezes in place.

The hallway- it's no longer a hallway. Jo jumps back from the open door she's suddenly standing less than a meter away from, the well-lit room on the other side setting off all her alarm bells for a variety of reasons.

First off, it's literally a bathroom, the very thing Anne Maria asked for. A large, sprawling, military style wetroom with a line of showers jutting out either side of tiled walls. No curtains, no privacy, likely the exact same conditions residents would have been subjected to when this place was in operation. In the centre of the wetroom sits a massive drain with a grate, next to it an oddly placed, awfully conspicuous bathtub. Just the one, all alone.

It's so weird. But secondly, and the main reason the sight of it makes her feel like she might puke-

"That's the way we came." Jo hisses, not willing to follow and step foot inside the mysterious bathroom. And she tries to yell, tries to make her listen, but every time she raises her voice blood soaks further down into her collar "Annie! That's- you know full well we just came from there. Get out."

"What was that? I can't hear you." Instead of following the perfectly reasonable order she takes her time fiddling with the heat settings on the taps, adjusting them this way and that until the water streaming from her shower of choice is perfectly to her liking "Oh yeah, that's the stuff."

"Have you gone crazy?" Jo snaps, feeling like she might just be going crazy herself "This is obviously a trap- get out of there, follow me, and stay alive."

Anne Maria rolls her eyes like she thinks the notion is ridiculous, but then states the absolute opposite "I don't think anyone's gettin' outta here alive, Joey. You saw that thing that attacked us- for all we know everybody else got caught by somethin' even worse. We could be the last two people standin' right now. If I'm gonna die tonight I'm gonna do it feelin' good, and this messed up place knows it. It gave me my shower- why would I not take that, huh?"

Jo watches, perturbed as Anne Maria whispers a silent thank you, blowing a kiss to the ceiling. And then she starts undressing herself.

It throws her entirely off balance- Jo quickly averts her eyes, blushing furiously all the way up to the tips of her ears. It comes out especially strained when she chastises "Anne Maria."

"Don't get weird about it, Joey. We're both girls."

That doesn't make it any less strange in Jo's opinion, but she doesn't know how to argue. Anne Maria has her shower, and Jo hovers outside the door, awkward and red-faced, heart racing in this surreal situation where she genuinely doesn't know what she's even supposed to do.

She's not going in there. Hell nor high tide could make her enter the fake, clearly evil room, but she can't just stand here either. Anne Maria's right- they really could be the last two people alive. They have no way of knowing. And that makes it all the more important that she gets her friend to see sense before it's too late, before it's just Jo, alone in the grip of what she's come to accept is an actually haunted psychiatric hospital. She's more terrified of this revelation than she could ever admit to herself.

By the time Anne Maria's finished cleaning up Jo's practically vibrating from stress "Okay, alright, if you're done you can come back out now." 

"God, could you just relax?" Anne Maria switches off the water and gathers her bloodied clothes, frowning down at them with clear distain "Oh, I do not wanna put these back on. Ruins the whole point, y'know?"

And then her eyes go wide, head snapping up towards the ceiling again, adressing some unknown spectator with a soft "Are you sure?"

"Annie?" Jo calls out to her "Who are you taking to? Annie?"

She isn't listening. Jo feels trapped out on the slightly safer side of this door, only able to look on in horror as Anne Maria approaches the tub in the centre of the room. It's almost like she's in a trance as she climbs inside, one leg at a time, perfectly calm as she sinks back into the water.

She takes a deep breath, holds her nose, and dunks herself under. Jo has the overwhelming urge to scream.

This is ridiculous. She waits it out with her last ounce of patience, but when her friend doesn't re-emerge after a good ten seconds she starts to panic, looking up and down the hall she currently stands in with a resigned "God fucking dammit."

Jo places one cautious foot inside the wetroom, and when nothing immediately happens she sprints over to the tub. This has gone on long enough- she's going to drag Anne Maria out of here by force if she has to.

Except... she's not there. Jo freezes up as she stares down into the tub, the water gone still and alarmingly red.

"Annie!" her own safety is pushed to the wayside as she sticks her arms straight into the questionable liquid. She has to be in here- she saw her get in, there was nowhere to go. Her desperation only grows when no matter how much water she expells from the tub there's no solid body underneath.

"Shit." she says to herself, coming to the understanding that her friend has dissapeared- died- right under her nose. Again. The very last one. And then she catches movement in the corner of her eye, whipping around with a significantly louder "Shit!"

The grate on the drain has been pushed aside, a pair of impossibly long fingered hands reaching out of the dark. She thinks of the demon from the hallway, and that mouth full of teeth that nearly killed her, and desperately does not want to find out what kind of creature would choose to lurk in the sewers of this place. With one last despairing glance at the bathtub Jo makes a hasty exit, sprinting out through the halls for the third time within the hour, except now instead of doing the chasing, she's running away. 

Chapter Text

"I think we should stop." Cameron gradually slows his pace to a walk, out of breath and desperately trying to formulate a new plan of action now that the world has been turned upside down "We need to regroup, or at least take a look at your injuries before we have to do any more running."

Zoey's inclined to disagree- she's vaguely aware of the burn in her shoulder, but it's hard to consider it all that important when the rest of her body is so packed with adrenaline. And as they approach the end of the hall, and Zoey sees exactly where he'd deemed an appropriate place for a break, she's more than willing to get back to running to avoid unearthing any more hurt "...Not here. Lower your light." She instructs "Maybe if we circled back to the last turn and took a left instead-"

"Why would we do that?" Cameron turns back to her, raising an eyebrow.

Zoey blinks at him, disbelieving, and then makes a subtle gesture towards Dawn who's been half catatonic since they left the foyer. The most anyone has gotten out of her after the incident took place was a breif nod when Zoey had asked if she could run by herself, and even now she just stares wide eyed at her own feet, allowing herself to be led along without question by the tight grip Zoey keeps on her uninjured hand. But Dawn knows why she's so hesitant to lead her in there without so much as looking up- she can feel his energy.

"You don't need to coddle me." Is the first thing Dawn has said since the unfortunate end to their experiment. She drops Zoey's hand and leads them inside.

What they've happened to come across is another of B's cameras, set up in the middle of what looks like a waiting room, curved metal benches on either side of the circular area, long-dead plants reminiscent of ferns sat sullenly beside them. The camera points towards an old oak door with a bronze plate on the front, rusted over with time and rendered unreadable. She remembers coming through here at the very beginning, when this venture was still supposed to be some semblance of fun.

Dawn approaches the camera, a pang in her chest as she places a gentle hand atop the device "Although I still wouldn't call this a preferable place to stop. When B had asked me to find haunted locations I'd determined this space as especially rife with negative energy- a darkest heart, if you will."

"A darkest heart? How ominous." Cameron bites his lip "...We should watch the tape."

"Cameron, is that really the priority right now?" Zoey throws her hands up.

"It is. It could be helpful." He counters "Personally I think the more information we can get on these very real spirits trying to kill us the better, preferably without interacting with them directly again. Besides, I don't see how it could possibly make things any worse."

Zoey's about to argue some more but Dawn cuts her off before she gets the chance "You're right. Please," She carefully removes the camera from its tripod, setting it in his waiting arms "See if we've captured anything of use. B would have done the same." 

Cameron nods, already fiddling with the settings as he takes up residence on one of the benches. In the meantime Dawn removes her overcoat, and then her sweater, shivering in the cool October air. As much as she couldn't have predicted any of the events that have taken place tonight she can't help but wish she'd thought to wear her thermals. She readorns her coat and attempts to tear her sweater into pieces, but finds that she can't grip the fabric tight enough with her burnt hand to bring her vision to life.

She turns to Zoey "In light of my role in the cause of your injury I know it's bold to ask you to make your own bandages, but it seems that I am unable to."

"Dawn," Zoey waves the sweater away as if the idea is absurd "You didn't cause anything. You don't need to literally take the clothes off your back-"

"I did, and I do." She insists, thrusting the garment into her arms "I placed my faith in the spirits benevolence and was fantastically wrong to do so. I put everyone at risk, and you got seriously hurt, and B-" Her usually stoic expression crumbles, the thin line of her mouth twitching with the threat of a sob "And B, he- it would not have happened if I had listened. I should have listened."

Zoey says nothing, expression tight as she instead directs her towards the unoccupied bench and dedicates her focus to the task of ripping the sweater into long strips, the simple motion a welcome distraction from the reality they've found themselves in. The bandages come out uneven, and not really an ideal material, but it's better than nothing. 

"...We don't know what would've happened." She says after a while, once there's no more fabric to busy herself with "We don't know anything . I never thought I'd watch anyone die in real life, but I did , and- and I can't stop thinking about it. I feel horrible . For all we know other people are dying right now, and we should be trying to find them, not sitting around patching ourselves up. It isn't important. I can't even really feel it."

"You're in shock." Dawn states plainly, eyeing the jagged shard of glass still sticking out of her shoulder. It's pierced through her jacket and shirt, the hidden site of the wound leaking red through both layers "And I'm afraid this is going to be even more of a shock. Tell me, quickly- who else do you think is dead?"

"What?" Zoey balks at the question, the image of Mike that flashes through her mind making her stomach lurch "Why would you ask-"

The purpose of the distraction becomes evident as the glass is ripped from her shoulder. Zoey can't help the ragged gasp that escapes her, the pain of the removal somehow worse than the initial puncture. She's shaking as Dawn holds up the chunk of glass, about six inches in length, dripping red from halfway down.

And when Dawn asks her "Could you please remove your clothes? I need to take a look." It sounds impossibly far away, like she's hearing it from underwater.

Zoey complies almost robotically, shrugging off her jacket, but when she goes to lift up her shirt she discovers she can't raise her right arm over her head. Her injury suddenly goes from a sidenote to a genuine source of distress, and she finds herself borderline hyperventilating as she says "I- I can't. I can't. Does that mean it's bad? Don't look, I don't wanna see it if it's bad."

"I'm sure it's fine." Dawn lies through her teeth "Here, let me."

She leans in to pull the tear at the puncture site open wider, up to the collar so the whole ruined garment falls apart and off her shoulder. The wound is duly exposed, puffy and sore and seeping an unsightly trail of yellow amidst the blood. Dawn blinks in shock- there's no way infection should be able to set in so quickly. Is it due to some chemical in the lanterns' makeup? Is it something in the air? Dawn's considering the possibility of something akin to ghost bacteria when Zoey asks-

"How does it look?"

The question snaps her back to reality "Normal." She says quickly "It looks normal."

Dawn hopes the tremor in her voice doesn't give her away. There's no point in causing more panic. She wishes they'd thought to grab their bags before making their hasty exit from the foyer- this should really be cleaned with at least a little water, but they have none on hand. She uses one particularly wide strip of their sweater-bandages to wipe away the fluid leaking down Zoey's torso and then gets to work setting the clean ones in place, wrapping them tight and as neatly as possible around such an awkwardly positioned wound. She has to loop some under Zoey's arm, others around her chest, and once she's finished the thick fabric of her sweater makes the whole ensemble odd looking and bulky, but at least the puncture is no longer exposed to any more airborne pathogens.

Zoey's only slightly calmer by the time she's done "Okay. It's- it's your turn." She says, still shaking as she organises the remaining bandages, gently taking Dawns burnt hand in her own.

But as her hand is brought between them, when she sees the charred and mottled flesh, a wave of hot fury washes over her. The skin is reminiscent of the entirety of B's body, his means of passing especially cruel. Pointless . The spirits here are not kind nor forgiving, so she can't be either.

"...No." She says shortly, shrugging off Zoey's attempt at covering her injury.

"No?" Zoey repeats, confused.

Dawn shakes her head "I want to be able to look at it." She clarifies, examining the raw, weeping texture of her appendage "As a reminder."

"Um, guys?" Cameron hisses from across the waiting room, anxiously waving them over "You might wanna see this- and keep your voices down, too."

Zoey and Dawn exchange a glance, following suit without further question. It's evident that the camera has captured something of note, but what exactly it could be that's made Cameron so nervous shatters the illusion of a reprieve after their brief moment of down time. As they join him he shuffles on the bench to hold the camera screen in their view, rewinding the footage by a few minutes before pressing play.

The shot focuses on the same door that it has the entire night, all just as still and empty as it should be, until a figure enters the scene.

A man, the wrinkles on his face visible even in the low light of night vision. He wears his hair cropped short and glasses not dissimilar to Cameron's own, no discernable features that would paint him as obviously undead like the spectres in the last video. The only distinctive thing about him is his choice of clothing- a long, white labcoat.

It's a short clip. He walks through the waiting room, opens the door, and disappears inside. The video itself would be mundane in any other context, but here and now it has to be asked "Is it a ghost, or a person?"

Zoey's the one to pose the question, and Cameron answers "Hard to tell, but that's not my main concern. Look at the time stamp."

He points to the string of tiny numbers in the corner of the screen, spelling out a bright white 06:01 AM , and Zoey frowns as she realises that she has absolutely no idea what the time is anymore. She checks her phone, and immediately gets this awful swooping sort of feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Whoever that is walked through here what could only have been minutes before they arrived. She shoots a panicked glance towards the door and-

"Do you think they're still in there?"

It comes out barely a whisper, but it doesn't need to be heard. Everyone's thinking the same thing. It's the sinking sort of dread that comes alongside the realization that someone's been close by when you thought you were alone, that they could've been listening in the whole time, laying in wait. 

"I watched the full video, right up until we arrived." Cameron swallows thickly "Nobody came back out of that room."

All three of them fall quiet in sick apprehension, as if waiting for the mystery man to hear their assessment and burst out of his hiding place now that he's been caught, but nothing happens. Zoey's quick to back out, half rambling as she declares "We should get out of here. We should go find Mike, or maybe Jo, or just anybody willing to take on a grown man because- no offense to you two- but I cannot handle a guy by myself right now. We don't even have a weapon , and-"

"You don't need to do anything." Dawn reassures her, fumbling with her flashlight as she rises onto shaky legs, and wills her body to feign calmness as she resigns herself to taking this one for the team. Zoey's concerns are only somewhat relevant in her opinion- after all they've seen she'd be hard pressed to believe that there suddenly is a living human threat on the premises, and she's never been afraid of the paranormal. Well, at least not up until a half hour ago, when she saw just what the undead are truly capable of. But if the spirits choose to set her aflame then so be it. There'd be no stopping them anyway.

"Oh, no, Dawn," Cameron sets the camera carefully down on the bench, hopping to his feet and following close behind her "Please, let's just think about this for a minute."

Dawn ignores him, inspecting the rusted sign on the door, running her fingers over the well-erroded divots in the metal that once would have been words. She leans in close, squinting in the harsh beam of her own flashlight as she thinks she can just barely make out the title of Doctor.

Interesting. Dawn takes a steadying breath through her nose and turns the handle. It opens without issue, and then she disappears into the darkness inside.

Zoey and Cameron hover uncertainly in the waiting room, wearing twin expressions of disbelief at the fact she'd so brazenly walked into the unknown, and then she calls out-

"It's safe- there's nobody here."

Cameron sighs in relief and takes a step forward to join her, but Zoey quickly throws an arm out to stop him, hissing a short "Wait."

They've been here before- the situation is too reminiscent of the freezer incident. Zoey has a moment of intense paranoia where she's absolutely convinced this is a setup. She imagines a variety of horrific scenarios waiting for them behind that door- perhaps their friend has been taken hostage by the person inside, forced under duress to beckon them into the dark and to their untimely deaths. Or maybe Dawn's no longer with them, and the voice is nothing more than a projection, a mimic to draw them in. They don't know whether she could be laying dead just beyond the entryway.

Except she definitely isn't, because after a few seconds of no action whatsoever Dawn pops her head back around the corner "Is everything alright?"

Zoey thinks she's really starting to lose it "...Yeah," She lies. Nothing is alright. Nothing is ever going to be alright again "I just- nevermind. What's in there?"

Dawn waves them in, shining her flashlight slowly around the room to reveal a large, relatively normal looking office, all things considered. The walls are lined with bookshelves, the potentially thousands of heavy tomes they display coated with a thick layer of dust. In the centre sits a massive hardwood desk, papers strewn haphazardly across it as if the last occupant had to leave in a hurry.

"There doesn't seem to be another exit," Cameron notes, scanning the bookshelves for any gaps, or anything that could indicate a second door hidden somewhere "So I think we can assume that the man in our video is indeed a ghost."

"A ghost with some... weird hobbies." Zoey narrows her eyes as she shines her flashlight over the papers on the desk "Oh, that's- that's disgusting."

Curiosity piqued, Dawn comes around the other side of the desk, leaning over an old chair to inspect what's been found. The second she lays eyes on the image she feels her mouth curve downward involuntarily. Zoey's right- it is disgusting.

Drawings. Several diagrams of bodies- men, women, children, all depicted in various states of dismemberment, detailed annotations beside them listing the organs of interest. None of what she reads strikes her as particularly research oriented- it feels more like a shopping list.

"I thought this was supposed to be a psychiatric hospital." Cameron says, wrinkling his nose as he snaps dozens of pictures on his phone. He pauses on one particularly long paragraph "Why would anyone be writing papers on- on metaphysical properties of the adrenal gland? I'm honestly not even sure what that means."

Dawn doesn't know either, but it doesn't sound like anything good "I'm beginning to understand why the spirits lingering here are so violently angry." She says, resting a hand against the chair tucked under the desk, and then flinches as she receives a sudden surge of absolutely vile energy "Oh."

"Oh, what?" Cameron asks, confused by her seemingly random change in demeanor.

"I don't- it could be nothing, but maybe..."

Dawn hesitates for a moment before pulling out the chair, and even touching the old worn leather makes her feel lightheaded but that's all the more reason she needs to investigate. There's no room for caution anymore. She perches herself very gently on the seat, and the second her feet leave the ground it all comes crashing down on her like a tidal wave. 

No meditation required. No focus to be had other than the cacophony of images, thoughts, memories-

The world shifts, and then she's in the same place but a different time. She's coldly breaking the news of an inpatient death to a grieving mother, and then just as suddenly she's discussing potential new test subjects with a burly woman in nurses uniform who she inherently understands to be her right hand woman. And then she's in a different room altogether, a strange, sprawling place lined with mostly empty beds, shelves of medical tools, oddly clouded jars with god knows what floating inside.

There's a girl. Roughly her own age, strapped down on the table directly in front of her, naked as the day she was born. Dawn sees everything in greyscale under the sterile surgery room lights- the pewter flush of the girl's face streaked with tears, the dull silver of the scalpel, the deep black binding of the book laid open on the table. She reads over a paragraph, touching the pages with large, gloved hands that aren't her own, and then she feels her mouth move, says something aloud that her brain can only translate into static.

The scalpel pierces just centre of the left hipbone, trailing a deep incision across the girl's lower abdomen and exposing the wet, shiny set of organs underneath. She screams, but nobody able to hear her would think anything of it. In this context she isn't a girl, but a subject, an available body to be used in the pursuit of science. The flesh either side of the incision is forced apart by well experienced hands to further expose the parts of interest, and the screaming just gets louder and louder and-

"Dawn!"

It comes up hot, acrid and as deeply unpleasant as everything she'd just witnessed. Dawn opens her eyes to find herself on hands and knees, hovering over a puddle of what appears to be the former contents of her stomach. She rights herself into a kneeling position, trying and failing to stop her body from shaking.

"Are you okay?" Zoey's at her side immediately, trying to pull her up onto her feet, but Dawn waves her off.

"Yes," She lies, voice hoarse "Don't worry," And then fixes her gaze on the underside of the desk inches from her face. She feels along the cool wood, finds the seam she's looking for and claws against the almost imperceptible gap there. With a little effort the compartment pops open and she reaches in, gingerly taking hold of her prize.

When Dawn stands up she presents a book clad in deep black binding, holding it out at arms length, expression tight as they all take in the unmarked leather exterior.

"What is that?" Cameron's the first to ask "And why do I feel so weird looking at it?"

"The key to our escape." Dawn informs them, and has to add "I think we were all already aware, but the existence of this document has only confirmed it- this is not a normal hospital."

///

Brick isn't convinced he ever woke up from that nap.

He can't have, because everything that's happening to him is like something straight out of a nightmare- Dakota loses her mind and tries to murder him, the entire premises is nearly pitch black and he doesn't have a flashlight on his person, and no matter how far he thinks he's walked he can't seem to locate another living soul. He's alone, and lost, and he's starting to feel dizzy from blood loss.

There's a hole in his side. The viciousness with which his injury burns is the only reason he's not a hundred percent sure he's still dreaming, but he sure hopes he is because he thinks that if he doesn't plug this wound soon he's going to end up dying instead. He'd wanted to find somebody to tell them about Dakota's predicament, get help sent her way before he tended to himself, but he has to be practical about this.

Brick’s military camp training kicks in. He takes full inventory of his surroundings- an entirely empty hallway, near identical to every one he's passed through so far. This is as appropriate a place as any to stop and fix himself up. His eyes have mostly adjusted to the dark by now but he still can't stop trembling, the way the cell door at the far end hangs ajar conjuring images best left undescribed. Right now, here in the dark, he's a hundred percent ready to piss himself. All it would take is a small noise- god, even a gentle breeze . Anything would be enough to send him into hysterics, but he has to put on a brave face long enough to ensure that he doesn't actually die- he won't be able to get anyone to help Dakota if he keels over in the next ten minutes.

That's his motivation as he rips the bandages from his cargo pocket, as he lifts the hem of his shirt, as he feels for the first time the dampness that's saturated all his clothes from the waist down- it's a nasty puncture, and for once he's thankful for the dark because it means he doesn't have to see the telltale red that's leaked out of him in its full glory.

It's fixable. It has to be fixable, and he has to stay optimistic. He begins wrapping a length of fabric around his middle, makes a start on the first knot, and that's how far he gets before he hears it.

Hissing . Brick snaps his head towards the sound, the first picture in his mind being that a stray cat might have gotten locked in here with them somehow. Tense, he squints down the hall towards the turn at the end, waiting for it to come out into the open.

A hand rounds the corner, long nails clawing into the gaps between the tiles, and something that is definitely not a cat proceeds to drag its whole self into view.

And Brick, honest and plain, just doesn't understand what he's even looking at. He's frozen in place, staring at this thing with its ghostly white skin, its legs that sprawl out behind it at odd angles as it leaves a trail of viscous black sludge in its wake. 

So this has to be a nightmare, because that's not an animal, or a person- that's not a thing that exists in real life. And it just keeps on crawling, slowly dragging itself along, inching ever closer towards him.

He repockets his bandages, rising silently to his feet, and begins backing away in the opposite direction, never once taking his eyes off of it. If he's dreaming, then maybe this is some subconscious recompense for Lightning's death- his faults and failures following him at a snail's pace, not an immediate threat, but always creeping along just behind. Even here in dream world Brick doesn't want to find out what happens if they catch up.

When he reaches the next available turn in the hall he stops to stare at it for a long moment, heart racing despite the fact he knows full well he could outrun the thing without issue, but that small comfort is shattered instantly when he hears something worse.

Footsteps, as if someone were sprinting not too far off. He freezes at the juncture of the two halls, stuck between a rock and a hard place, because those footsteps are coming in fast , and he seriously doubts he could match pace in his current state. That, and he really, really doesn't want to have to run back the other way past the monster.

So he hides. Brick ducks into the crevice between the wall and a nearby open door, and hopes like hell that whoever it is passes before the thing on the floor reaches his hiding spot.

A figure comes hurtling out of the darkness. Brick sucks in an unsteady breath, making himself as small as possible. They're in far too much of a hurry to notice him, panting and erratic as they make the turn, and-

"Oh!" they jump nearly a foot in the air, coming to a sharp halt as not to run directly into the creature "Fuck my fucking life!" And despite how strange and awful and terrifiying the circumstances are, Brick could just about cry with relief right now.

"Jo?"

She whips around, startled out of her skin for a second time in the space of less than five seconds, only to be confronted with a face she'd assumed she'd never see again.

"Brickhouse?"

She'd honestly thought she might never see another living person again, let alone him , and it's such an overwhelmingly simple sort of joy-

It's ruined by the stupid fucking thing that grabs her ankle. 

"Just fucking die already! " She snarls, crushing the things wrist under a well placed sneaker. It claws at her legs, making these pathetic hissing noises, and that only makes her madder. She boots it firmly in the head, sending it sprawling sideways across the hall, and then at the very least it stops trying to come towards them.

"Jo, what-" Brick shuffles out from behind the doorway "What is that? Am I dreaming right now? Please tell me I'm dreaming."

"I dunno... you might be." She says slowly, just now starting to come back down to earth after the most harrowing experience of her life. She's sweaty, and distraught, and she's watched three deaths that she swears to god if they happened all over again right now she could prevent each and every one of them "But I guess I must be dreaming too. Something drag you out of the safe room?"

She looks him over, pale faced and clutching his side with a grim expression. The biggest surprise here is that he's seeing the exact same thing she is- this literal monster that's already caused so much anguish- and he's not even crying or pissing himself or anything. It's so wildly out of character.

"Right," He starts, taking on a gravely serious tone "We need to go back there as soon as possible- Dakota may be hurt. I didn't mean to hurt her, but I'm afraid she may be undergoing some kind of psychosis, and I swear it was entirely self defense-"

"Woah, woah, stop," She waves him off, something in that statement not making any sense "What do you mean self defense? What could that prissy little socialite possibly do to- oh, shit."

It's then that she notices. It's hard to tell in the dark, but the hand at his side is most definitely coated in something that looks almost black, held tight like he's worried his insides might spill out if he lets go "Jesus christ. Forget Dakota, we need to take a look at that first. How are you not bawling your eyes out? How are you even walking around?"

Brick slumps against the wall, looking like he might pass out "I, um. I don't know. I think I might be in shock."

"You don't say." She takes him by the shoulders, directing him towards the way she had come, and glances back at the creature that's just starting to get on the move again "Come on, let's put some distance between us and that , and go get you patched up. I'm not watching anybody else die today."

"Anybody else?"

///

"Oh, thank god."  

It comes out involuntarily, strained and breathless like the gasp of a dying man being handed water. Mike screeches to a halt, bending over double, and closes his eyes for just a moment to recover from running through what felt like miles and miles of infinite darkness.

He wouldn't even be surprised if he'd hallucinated it. That's how desperate he is for this nightmare to end, but when he opens his eyes again it's thankfully still there. 

A door. Solid and real and only about another thirty paces in front of him. There's been nothing else to see on this journey, no other exit, so now as he makes the last leg, stumbling and exhausted, he can only pray that it actually opens. Otherwise, he has no idea what he's going to do.

And as his hand closes around the handle, pushing down to hear the telltale click , he could almost cry in relief. He inches it open, warm light spilling out from behind the crack, and hesitates- it occurs to him then that he doesn't know what he's expecting to find, but it can't be any worse than the tunnel. Mike takes a steadying breath and peeks his head through the smallest gap he can manage.

The room beyond is cavernous, so huge and sprawling that he can't make out where it ends beyond the grand shelves of multicoloured jars, dozens of empty beds sat lonely under yellowish lights overhead. While the whole place still screams hospital , this room isn't like any other he'd seen upstairs.

It's shockingly dustless, for a start, as if this space is the only one to receive any kind of maintenance. There's machinery in here that's clearly still functional, even as old as it is, because there's flashing lights and a quiet beeping coming from somewhere further inside. The air carries a funny smell, a combination of something strong and overtly chemical over the top of something distinctly organic- this sickening, musty sort of rot that breaks the illusion of a sterile environment.

In conclusion... Mike can't come to any kind of conclusion. It's weird, and wrong , and he's not any less confused than when he'd woken up in the tunnel.

He feels like he's trespassing- mostly because he technically has been this entire time- but coming across this strange place in the underbelly of the hospital gives him this awful sense of unease, like he knows he'd in trouble for so much as setting foot in here. At least it seems to be empty, he thinks, but just to double check-

"Hello?"

It echoes around the basement, and he waits a solid minute for something to happen, but there's no reply. With that small reassurance he slinks cautiously into the room, shutting the door gently behind him.

Mike creeps along in near silence, thinking about what Staci had said right before the incident on the stairs- is this some kind of mortuary? The containers of strangely coloured fluid on the shelves would make more sense if it was. He also remembers she had theorised there could be an exit down this way, and if she happened to be right then maybe this nightmare he's been thrown into could end up saving the day- if he can find the way out then he can go get help, and they can all just go home and forget this ever happened.

He's wondering what's going on with everyone else upstairs when he comes across something that- given the context of hospitals and mortuaries - is so wildly out of place it makes his head spin.

It appears to be some kind of... altar? Up by the far end, taking up a large portion of the wall is a tapestry depicting several occult-looking symbols he couldn't name outside of the central pentagram. Beneath that is a table covered in candles melted to various degrees, nestled amongst them what he's certain must be human bones. They can't be animal- most of them are too big, and he can definitely pick out a few skulls, immaculately polished and almost shiny under the soft glow of the ceiling lights.

Disturbed yet fascinated, Mike approaches the altar. There's acid in his thoat, a million thoughts running through his head on why on Earth this would ever be down here, who could possibly have set it up, how those bones might have been procured- the scenarios he imagines only get more and more horrifying, and as he gets closer he can see the ancient bronze offering plate in the centre of the table, some crusty, red-brown substance smeared across it and-

And he nearly trips over right into the display.

Mike quickly rights himself and tries to even out his breathing, but it's not easy when that awful smell is so much stronger over here. He grimaces at the brown smudge on the plate and brings his shirt up to cover his nose, breathing through his mouth instead to alleviate the stench, and then he looks down to see what he'd tripped on.

A circular, plain metal handle, jutting out of a huge hatch in the floor. Curious, he takes a knee- he's already in the basement, isn't he? It's strange to have another level lower than that- and hopes that maybe there's a passage under here, some secret exit back into fresh air and daylight, back to a reality that makes sense. With a short prayer spoken in the back of his mind he takes the handle in a shaking dual grip and heaves the heavy metal slab upwards, throwing it wide open. And then he almost pukes.

Bodies. Hundreds of them. No passage, no relief, just a giant sub-basement pit filled near to the brim with mutilated corpses. Some are aged to the point of no longer having flesh on their persons, but others- others look fresh . Months old at most. And then there's one, the most recent and prominent right at the top, that he actually recognises .

The wave of flies that spiral up into the air with their newfound freedom barely even register in his mind. Neither does the smell, pungent and rancid and absolutely overwhelming- he just breathes it in like it isn't even there, because nothing could ever be so overwhelming as the shock of finding Staci, vacant eyed and still, thrown carelessly atop the pile with all the others. It's more than just a dead body- it's the dead body of someone he knows , which means his friends upstairs are dying . His stomach lurches as he thinks of Cameron, of Zoey-

The hatch is abruptly slammed shut.

Mike falls back on his elbows, horrified to find he's no longer alone as he looks up into the bespectacled eyes of a man- older, hair cropped short, leering over him with a look that could only be described as predatory.

"I'm so glad you could make it down."

And then just as suddenly there's a needle in his neck. Mike's hand flies to grasp at the syringe he's been stuck with, a shout on the tip of his tongue that never quite makes it out as the world falls dark around him.

Chapter Text

When Mike regains consciousness for the second time within the same night, it's not with a jolt. It's slow, sluggish, a desperate struggle to get his brain up and running with what he assumes are sedatives in his system. But this time, when he blinks his eyes open, he doesn't have to wonder where he is.

No, he'd much rather still be lost in the dark, because this new, equally confusing situation he's found himself in is a million times worse.

Dread. There's no other word for it. An all-encompassing sort of panic that has his heart racing while the rest of his body lies perfectly still. He can't lift his arms. But it wouldn't matter whether he could move or not, because as he angles his gaze downwards, the one movement he can manage, he sees his restraints- worn leather straps holding down his wrists and ankles, a set of wider straps around his torso to keep him in place. He can't see, but he can feel the one across his forehead, and another around his neck, tight and restrictive and making it infinitely harder to keep his breathing even as he attempts to so much as twitch his fingers.

"Ah- you're awake." Comes that voice, the one he's been hearing in the back of his head all night, and Mike hopes to high hell that all the acid in his throat isn't about to expel itself from his body, because he doesn't think he'll be able to turn his head to avoid drowning in it "Excellent. The experiment isn't viable if you're unconscious, you see."

Experiment . It's not that he hadn't already suspected as much, but that's all he needs to hear to have it confirmed- this is the end of the line for him.

The table he's strapped to appears to be situated amongst several tall, open shelving units, surrounding them to form a false wall. Maybe when this cursed basement had more occupants, it would have been designed this way to provide a sense of privacy, but now it just feels suffocating.

Or maybe that's the fault of the strap around his neck. Mike finds it cutting upwards into his chin as he's adjusted to a forty-five degree angle, the table squealing in protest at the strain put on the ancient mechanism. And then he's face to face with the man he can only assume is who locked them all in here- the one killing his friends. The one about to kill him .

"It's so rare I get a new patient these days." He muses, reaching a hand up towards Mike’s head. His first instinct is to flinch away from the touch, but his body won't let him "Especially one with so much promise. Five demons occupying one body? I've never had such a severe case walk through my doors."

Mike is very much hung up on the choice of the word demons . He'd be shouting right now if he could, demanding to know just what backwards sort of worldview his captor possesses because that is not how DID works- not even close, or real - and then he's distracted by the fingers that trace across his scalp, noting the distinct lack of friction he'd usually expect. There's no pull, and it may seem silly given every other horrific aspect to his circumstances but Mike freaks out all over again as he realises that part of his head's been shaved in his sleep. He's trying to figure out why the hell anyone would do that to him when-

"Are you familiar with the practice of trepanation?" He's asked, and suddenly he's floating away, the fear too much to be contained in his body, because yes, he does know what that is.

Mike is fixated on the image that flashes through his mind- specifically a drawing he once saw in a textbook on medieval history, a picture of a man having holes chiselled into his skull as a means to let the demons out.

He thinks he might be crying. It's hard to tell when he's this distressed, whether the sensation of tears falling down his face is phantom or otherwise, but it's confirmed for him as he's told "You don't need to be so upset. You're one of the special few who come through here that I'd prefer to keep alive- safe to say, you won't end up in the pit. At least, as long as there's progress to be made.”

"I've designed a schedule best suited to track the effects of our enterprise. We'll be making a new incision once a week, keeping you under close observation to monitor the demons taking residence inside your head. If after six months the trepanation yields no signs of improvement, then we'll move on to more experimental methods. As much as I'd like to prove the benefits of this practice, I am curious as to whether five demons can be expelled simultaneously through one exorcism- I must say, you're an absolute treat to have in my lab."

Mike's barely listening, overwrought with utter despair. His brain half-registers that he's not about to die, but now he sort of wishes he was , because even thinking about a minimum of six months, locked up in here with some psycho -

The sound of something whirring snaps him back to the present. His eyes fix themselves on the piece of equipment held in steady, calloused hands- a surgical drill, small and precise. The man looms over him, a thumb brushing over the left side of his head, picking out an optimal spot to begin the process.

Mike's in shock before it even starts. His heart rate goes through the roof, every muscle in his body held taut to the point he thinks they might snap as the drill inches closer to his skull.

"Don't worry," He's told in that patronisingly neutral voice "You'll definitely feel the vibration, but this won't hurt half as much as you think it will."

///

"I just want to get as far away from the doctor’s office as possible. I don't see how that's unreasonable."

Dawn takes a keen lead, gripping the book tight to her chest and in no mood for conversation as she storms ahead. Cameron follows behind, illuminating the path for her with his flashlight, not that the dark is a problem for her. She's never been worried about the dark, only the things potentially lurking in it- but now that isn't an issue either.

"Look, Dawn," Zoey tries to reason from where she takes up the rear of their little group "I get that you don't want to talk about your... experience back there, and you don't have to go into it, but you do have to tell us what the plan is. Where are we going? We suddenly have this creepy book, what are we trying to do now?"

"It's very simple, Zoey." She replies, not looking back "We're going to try our hand at magic."

There's nothing simple about that statement "Um," Cameron winces, glancing nervously back at Zoey over his shoulder "are you sure that's a good idea? Playing with that sort of thing is what got us into this mess in the first place, I don't know if we should be-"

"I can guarantee you it's a very different premise this time." Dawn explains, holding up the book "And this is our safety net. What we have here is a grimoire of sorts, a handwritten tome of discoveries that cross the border between science and magic. Of course, those are actually the same thing by different names, so the idea that someone in the last century has bridged modern and ancient practices isn't all that far-fetched. Current public opinion seems to dictate that one is hard fact while the other is fanciful whimsy, but we wouldn't have rocket science today if we hadn't first invented alchemy."

"Okay, seriously," Zoey pulls a face " What are you talking about right now?"

"The incorrect assumption that the human pursuit of innovation has ever been any different to how it currently is. We revere our doctors, our inventors, our scientists- eight hundred years ago these people would have been called wizards, but I digress," She stops in front of a wire mesh gate that sections off what looks like some kind of recreation room "This is as good a place as any."

Cameron angles his light inside, exposing peeling walls and musty upturned furniture. It's about double the size of the patients’ cells, the only things indicating this isn't one being the lack of bed, the much larger window, and strangely enough some board games dotted about the place. 

"So we're gonna go in there and, I'm quoting you here- try our hand at magic?" Zoey clarifies, sceptical at best.

"Must you ask so many banal questions?" Comes the short reply as she tries the handle, finding the rec room locked. Zoey frowns- she wasn't trying to be rude, and she's about to say as much when Dawn surprises her again. She knocks twice on the mesh door, orders absolutely nobody on the other side "Let me through." And then steps aside just in time for it to swing open on its own.

"...Oh dear." Cameron backs away from the door, Zoey copying his movement, cautious and confused and trying very hard not to freak out over the fact there's obviously a ghost in there, but apparently Dawn doesn't share their concerns.

"As I already told you," She holds up her book "This is the key to our escape. Not literally, but metaphorically, like a key to the city- everything we have seen and heard tonight can be understood via the contents of this tome. And I happen to be in possession of it." She pauses there, giving the two of them a pointed look "Now if you don't mind, please make yourselves busy for a little while. I have to do some research."

She gestures for Cameron to hand over his flashlight. He complies without argument, and then she heads into the rec room, seating herself in a once-plush, moth bitten armchair and diving nose first into her book. 

Zoey and Cameron exchange a concerned glance, neither of them daring to enter "Do you think Dawn's acting kind of... strange?" She asks him in a whisper.

He contemplates it for a moment, but then just sighs, gesturing to where Dawn is buried in the text "Yes, but who wouldn't be? I'll be honest, Zoey, I am not handling this well. I think I might be losing it, too."

"Oh, don't say that, Cam- you're the calmest person here."

"On the outside." He says, not meeting her eye "Would my feelings be more valid if I were screaming or crying? I have no idea what's going on anymore. I've witnessed two deaths. We've been so busy running around trying to save ourselves and play ghost detectives that we haven't even tried to look for Mike since we initially lost him. And at this point, I'm fairly certain he's dead! Absolutely nothing would surprise me. I mean, look at what we're doing- we're placing our hopes of survival in a mysterious grimoire apparently so powerful as to be able to shift the fabric of reality and bring the dead to life, and, right now, that sounds perfectly reasonable to me. Oh, god ," He rubs his hands over his face, knocking his glasses askew as he pushes away the threat of tears about to fall "I can't just stand here waiting for Dawn to come up with a plan. I need something to focus on, or I think I may implode. I want my mom."

Zoey listens to his spiel with a trembling lip caught between her teeth. She hadn't realised he was so strongly affected- it's hard to tell sometimes, with him "Oh, Cameron ." She doesn't know what more to say, doesn't want to speculate on Mike’s current status of living or dead. She feels horribly guilty, and goes in to hug him, but is held back with a shaking hand before she gets the opportunity.

"No, Zoey, I'm sorry," He says, sniffling as he steps away from her "That's only going to make it worse. Maybe we should go looking for Mike again, just until-"

"Don't go anywhere." Dawn calls out "I can't guarantee your safety if you do."

It rubs Zoey the wrong way, turning to her with an exasperated "But you can right now?"

"Yes." She says plainly as she looks up from her book, meeting Zoey's frown with manic, silvery eyes "Just have a little faith."

///

"Sam and Scott?" Brick aims his gaze downwards, keeping his borrowed flashlight fixed on where Jo squats in front of him, tying off the bandages around his torso. She's done a fairly decent job- at least it doesn't feel like his insides are going to fall out anymore "That thing we saw... it killed both of them?"

"Yeah." She confirms, voice raspy and strange "And then Anne Maria drowned herself. Or, I dunno, let herself get drowned. I don't really understand what happened there."

"I don't understand any of this." He scowls, trying not to think about how bright the flashlight is, how he can't see anything around him outside of this little ring of light "It all just sounds so unbelievable."

"You know what's even more unbelievable?" She snaps, standing back up now that she's finished with her work "The fact that we've all been dealing with demons and fucking dying , and you got maimed by Dakota . Like, seriously- you haven't run into anything actually dangerous, and somehow you still nearly bleed out, and it's because you couldn't even defend yourself from fucking Dakota . Get a grip, man- this is a war zone ."

Deep down, he knows she's right- he's pathetic- but she also doesn't have the full picture. He's about to argue how it's different, that he was faced with an opponent he didn't want to hit back, how he couldn't bring himself to hurt a friend who's obviously undergoing some kind of psychosis, but he never gets the opportunity to say as much as Jo's heated rant prompts her to go into a sudden coughing fit. 

It's violent, and loud, and he contemplates offering to rub her back but he's sort of afraid of how she'd react to that given her capricious temperament. Instead Brick finds himself awkwardly waiting it out, up until she spits out something dark and viscous into her palm, and-

"Oh my god," He's hovering. He's got both hands reaching out, unsure whether to touch her "Jo, what- are you alright? Come here, let me look at you in the light."

She shakes her head, still trying to stifle coughs as she backs away from him, and he makes the bold decision to grab her by the arm to keep her in place. There's an attempt at a protest, but she can't manage to get the words out. Once he's got his flashlight trained on her person the issue becomes obvious.

Deep, dark red, soaked all down her front "Jo- what happened to you?"

Jo goes still, face screwed up in some indecipherable emotion, and after a very long pause "...That thing got me, too."

There's almost a trace of humor to it. She pulls her hoodie down by the collar to reveal the mutilated flesh underneath, teeth marks by the dozens in great uneven rows leaking a cacophony of colours- red, yellow, green - all mixing into a repulsive mess that saturates the thick fabric of her hoodie. Brick doesn't even know what to say. It takes every ounce of self restraint not to outwardly panic over what he's seeing, the fact this could happen to Jo of all people-

Brick forces himself to take a deep breath as he procures more bandages from the pocket of his shorts "If I could ask you to take off the hoodie, just for a minute so I can-"

"No, no," She interrupts, pulling away from him "Don't do that. This is my fault, and my problem. Gimme those."

She tries to snatch the bandages but he holds them firm, taking on a stern tone as he demands "What are you talking about? This isn't the time to be putting on a brave face- you're hurt , Jo."

"Yeah, well," His assertiveness unfortunately only gets her more worked up "other people are dead!" And then she's laughing- this sick, bubbling sort of thing that just spills over, like she can't control herself "Why am I not dead?"

Brick is on high alert, suddenly concerned that Dakota isn't the only friend among them experiencing a mental health crisis "I don't know, but I'd like to keep it that way." He tells her gently, placing a hand atop hers where they're both gripping the bandages "You haven't done anything wrong by staying alive. You deserve medical treatment, same as me."

Jo stares down at their hands for a long moment, coming to the conclusion that "No, I don't ." She's shaking- he's never seen her tremble like that "I made everyone lock themselves in this fucked up place, and then I let them all die . Sam died saving my skin, and for what? Just so I could let Annie walk right into the next trap and get herself killed, and-"

"And you didn't have a choice in any of that." Brick tries to reason with her "You couldn't stop anyone from making their own decisions."

"But I did ." She argues, biting her lip as if to stop the confession from slipping out "Scott. I- I beat the crap outta him, cause he's an asshole. Totally busted his knee. He didn't even get the chance to run."

And then the impossible happens. Brick has to do a double take as he realises that Jo's actually crying . It comes out shaky and breathless as she continues "And I gave you so much shit for leaving me behind when we lost Lightning, but when I was on the other end of the deal... I was looking right at him. I knew he was about to die, and I ran away anyway cause I didn't want that thing’s teeth in me again. And we can all make jokes- like, who cares? It's just Scott , right? But that's still a person that I killed . I've killed everyone here. All of this is my fault."

Brick has no idea how to reassure her after hearing all that. Part of him wants to be angry, an I told you so on the tip of his tongue- they never should have come here in the first place- but he can't bring himself to say it. She already knows. Instead he settles on-

"The only way to move is forwards." It's neither a confirmation nor a denial of anything she said, just a simple fact. She only sniffles in response, so he follows it up with "Get a grip, will you? This is a war zone."

Hearing her own callous words thrown back at her is startling enough that she sobers up, blinking owlishly at him in the darkness. Maybe under different circumstances he'd be more inclined to offer comfort, but she was right. People are dying- this is war . They can't afford to spend any more time on things like guilt, or huddling up in the corner succumbing to their terror. Brick has wasted enough of himself like that already.

When Jo surges forward to hug him it's sort of a surprise, but at the same time it's not. It feels natural, like something that's long stood unspoken has finally been confirmed. Here and now, having the strongest person he knows fall apart in his arms, Brick finds his own fears fall to the wayside, replaced by a determination he didn't know he possessed. They're going to get out of here. He just needs to make it happen.

///

Scott sits on the dirty floor of a miscellaneous storage room, Sam’s flashlight wedged between his teeth. It's trained on his left leg, angled outwards in front of him as straight as possible while he tries to make something akin to a splint.

They ditched the demon. Eventually. It took just about forever to get enough of a lead on it that they could hide, and then a whole nother, equally tense forever waiting at the storage room door, listening to it snap and snarl as it shuffled past, praying that it isn't tracking them by smell or something.

Scott's already patched up his arm- there's all kinds of junk in here, wasn't too hard to find some relatively clean rags and a roll of duct tape- and now that he's not distracted by bleeding all over the place he's focused on getting himself into a state where he can walk properly again. The limping is fucking unbearable , and if he encounters something else out there once he's back on the move he isn't sure if he'll get another lucky strike.

His anger festers like rotting meat, eating away at him like ravenous flies, like parasites. Everyone he's run into tonight has attacked him- Mike, Zoey, fucking Jo - and based on nothing more than their own wild assumptions. Is his reputation really that awful? Do these people honestly think he's a stalker, or a murderer , or evil enough to deserve being beaten and left for dead? He's only trying to get out of this alive, same as anyone else. And yet, for some reason, Scott is the enemy.

"You're gonna do me next, right?" 

Scott's dragged out of his internal spiral by Sam. He glances up, trying not to stare at the mess of intestines that trail all the way to the floor, an unfortunate accident that took place when he'd heaved Sam off the ground, more of him spilling out in the process. There's no bed in here, so he's been dumped across a row of wooden crates- not the nicest place to die, but still a million times better than being eaten alive.

"Oh, for sure." Scott lies through his teeth. There's no fixing Sam, but it'd only be cruel to tell him as much. Sam's the only person still alive he might consider sort of a friend, or at least someone who's never really pissed him off. He debates it for a moment, but ultimately decides that nobody's ever going to know he was pathetic enough to need the affirmation "Can I ask you something?"

"What is it, man?"

"Does everyone hate me?"

Sam goes quiet at that, tries to raise his head to squint at him in the dark, but it's too much of a strain. He flops back with a grunt "I, um..." He stalls, and that's enough of an answer that Scott doesn't want to hear the rest. Oblivious to that fact, Sam continues "I wouldn't say hate - not everyone, anyway- but you make yourself kind of hard to like, you know? I thought you already knew that. I didn't think you cared."

He's right, in a way- Scott never cared, not up until it started to bite him in the ass. He scowls down at his twisted knee, contemplating whether it's worth taking revenge over, when Sam goes and opens his mouth again "You're not all bad, though. Like, thanks for saving me from the monster, even though it was super inconvenient, and pretending I've still got a shot and stuff. For what it's worth , I like you."

That's nice to hear, he supposes "Don't talk like that, Sam." Scott tells him, uncomfortable with addressing his inevitable demise. Good bedside manner isn't really his forte "You're going to be fine."

"Oh, come on, man, I'm not stupid ." Sam groans, flopping an arm over the side of his crate "I'm literally in my bleeding out arc right now, and I'm coming to terms with that. At least I saved a life tonight. And I got to do the voiceover at the beginning- that was pretty cool."

Scott would like to ask him just what the fuck he's talking about, but reminds himself that these are the inane ramblings of a dying man. Sam can say whatever he wants at this point. He's about to agree that this mysterious voiceover was indeed cool, when they're duly interrupted.

"Hello, you ." 

The door slams open and Scott nearly jumps out of his skin. He's minimally reassured when he realises it's just Dakota, who then says "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were struggling with dark thoughts ."

He frowns, not only insulted, but also deeply confused by the fact that she's addressing only him, completely ignoring Sam laid across the crates beside them. Scott can't remember ever having a direct conversation with Dakota once in his life.

"Dakota?" Sam tries and fails to sit up, hissing as the attempt only agitates the hole in his stomach "Oh- oh my god . Thank you, hand of fate." He chuckles weakly "You have no idea how happy I am to see you again."

"Oh, really?" She finally deigns to register his presence, expression light and curious, not even a hint of surprise about her as she takes in his current state of mutilation "And why's that?"

Sam sighs, relaxing against his crate like he might actually be at peace with his situation "I just- for a minute there I never thought I'd get the chance to say anything, but you're here. You're here . I like you so much, Dakota- I've never even wanted to be with anyone else. So, I know it's gonna sound totally out of the blue, cause we've never been on a date or, like, even kissed or anything, but,"

He reaches out one shaky arm, brushing his fingers against hers "I wanna say it before I die. I love you."

Dakota happily lets him take her hand, smiles down at him with warm eyes crinkled at the corners, squeezing his hand back.

" Aww ." She coos, and then draws her other arm out from behind her, revealing this long, nail-like thing, and-

And she drives it directly through his eye.

Scott can't help the high pitched yelp that falls out of his mouth, all too loud in the brutal aftermath. It happened so quickly - one second he's third wheeling a tragic romance scene, the next he's watching Sam flinch in this dramatic, full-body spasm before going still for good.

"What-" He can't get the words out, tries to get up onto his feet in his shock but his knee buckles, sending him crumpling onto the floor again "What was- why would you-"

"That was a mercy killing." Dakota justifies. She sharply removes her weapon from the cadaver, shaking the accompanying eyeball off and onto the floor "And now that it's out of the way, let's get down to business- I have a proposition for you."

There's nothing he's ever wanted to hear less "Have you gone fucking crazy?"

"No," She smiles, taking a step towards him that despite her light stature has him crawling backwards into the wall "But you happen to be on the brink of it. Now, you're smarter than you act, so don't let me down- what do you think is going on right now?"

Scott is half inclined to attack her. She just murdered Sam in cold blood - and yet, he knows something here isn't as it seems.

As little as he knows Dakota, even he's fully aware of how odd it is that she's not screaming or crying over being trapped in a real life horror movie. He's also pretty sure she's never been inclined towards murder - that notion is ridiculous. She's an objectively nice person, just kind of dim, and it strikes him that she's speaking far too calmly, using entirely the wrong cadence, the wrong vernacular, her new voice erasing every previous personality trait he could use to describe her.

Scott comes to the conclusion that he's not looking at Dakota.

"Oh, I don't know," He sneers at her, teeth bared. She's was right- he's about ready to completely fucking lose it "Insane ghost shit? Is it more insane ghost shit? Are you possessed or something?"

" Very good . I'll let the bad attitude slide- there's more important things at hand." She crouches down in front of him, reaching out towards his twisted leg, and he flinches away. She glances up, giving him this painfully condescending look "I'm not something you need to be afraid of. We try to heal people here, not hurt them. Not without due cause."

Scott doesn't like the threat implied in that statement. This time when she goes to touch his leg he allows it to happen, her touch both light and ice cold. A walking corpse. She hums as she feels around his knee, removing his attempt at a splint and telling him "This is a dislocation, not a fracture, so you don't want to bandage it. Take a deep breath and count to three."

He does no such thing. Scott didn't know what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t for her to suddenly take his shin in a tight grip, yanking the limb outwards.

He feels the cartilage pop and crack, a shockwave of pain that jolts all the way up his spine. He makes a strained, unintentional noise that registers as pathetic to his own ears, and then just as suddenly his leg is shoved back in place, the joint perfectly realigned. Good as new.

"That'll be sore for a couple of weeks, but you won't have any trouble walking on it."

Scott doesn't feel inclined to thank her. He doesn't even understand why she's helping him "What do you want?"

Dakota smiles, that infuriatingly serene expression that never quite leaves her face, and explains "A favour. You see, one of your so-called friends has stolen something important, and unfortunately due to its nature I'm unable to get close enough to take it back myself."

"...And you want me to go get it." Is his quick assessment. Scott gets the distinct feeling that he's being proposed a deal with the devil here, a terrible idea at best, but his natural curiosity has him asking "What would I be stealing back, and from who?"

"The little girl, wearing her mothers skirt-"

"Dawn?"

"That's the ticket." She confirms "She has a book. I need you to bring it to me, without looking at its contents. There's sensitive information in there that we'd rather remained hidden from prying eyes."

Scott doesn't care about that, more focused on the fact that- "You know she's not just gonna give me this super important thing she's found, right? These people don't trust me."

"They don't need to. Which leads me onto the fun part-" She gains an unnatural light to her eyes, this excited, unearthly glow "I don't just want you to bring me the book. I want you to kill them all."

Scott recoils in horror- even with all the insanity going on around him that's definitely a step too far "And why the fuck would I do that?"

"Because if you do," She explains, perfectly calm, as if they're discussing the weather "Then you'll get to walk out of here alive. Once the book is in my posession, and you're the last man standing, I can sincerely promise that you'll get off," She leans in close " Scott-free ."

And then she has the audacity to go and boop his nose, like she's talking to a toddler. Scott just sits there, mouth agape "I- I'm not a murderer -"

"Oh, don't be so down on yourself." She pouts "You're so full of bright ideas. Look, I even brought you some toys."

As if from thin air, Dakota suddenly procures a toolbox, setting it in his lap. He stares at the rusty red metal, this Pandora's box of potential, and wonders whether he's really that desperate not to die tonight. Whether he could actually go through with it.

"Kill all your friends!" Dakota encourages him, absolutely beaming "You know you want to. Just imagine it- hunting them down, setting up traps, playing murder in the dark- you may as well have some fun while you earn your freedom. You don't even have to feel bad- they all hate you anyway."

In another setting, where nobody actually dies, maybe Scott would think that sounded like fun. The caveat here is that it's not a game- not when the end goal is murder. He looks up at Dakota who's positively bursting with manic glee, because they both know what's going to happen now. As distressing as a killing spree sounds he understands that he's been posed with a very binary choice here.

It's either him, or them. And, honestly, he hates them all right back. Scott grips the handle of the toolbox, mouth set in a grim line.

"Okay."

///

"Dawn, I really don't like this." Zoey says for what feels like the hundredth time now "Isn't this place already creepy enough?"

"I at least wish you'd let me read through the texts." Cameron adds, eyeing the book she keeps tucked under one arm with clear disdain "Just so I could understand what we're doing here."

Dawn doesn't reply for a moment, too engrossed in the symbols she scrawls across the rec room walls. She stands atop a chair leant at a precarious angle, a piece of mysteriously acquired chalk held awkwardly in her burnt hand, dragging it over chipped paint and exposed concrete to form a mosaic that could be described as an occultist masterpiece. She's working on the last, highest corner, every other wall fully decorated, the floor displaying a large summoning circle that Cameron and Zoey avoid stepping too close to as they wait for the point of this exercise to be explained.

"The magic we're about to use is actually quite simple." Dawn says once the chalk has been worn down to the nub. She hops off the chair, landing silently on her feet, and immediately begins flicking back through the pages of her tome "It's an alchemical concept that could be likened to an ancient form of quantum physics, and in such a spiritually charged environment has some very interesting practical applications."

Cameron blinks at her, and then frowns, tapping his chin "Are you implying that magical energy and symbols are enough to alter physical reality? I feel like if that were true we'd have discovered warpspeed technology by now."

"Perhaps we have." Dawn agrees "In its earliest stages, at least. From what I've read I assume it would be difficult to achieve something similar in the empty void of space. Maybe if someone could get close enough to a wormhole to harness its energy it would be a different story, but as it stands-"

"Okay, um," Zoey interrupts this exchange, very much not used to being unable to follow the conversation "I swear I'm not stupid, but is there any chance you can explain this to me like I am?"

Dawn pauses as she finds the page she was looking for "Of course- I noticed early on that the building could shift parts of itself, as well as us, to different locations. We're going to use that same magic against itself to achieve something that will hopefully save us a lot of time and potential heartache." She walks forwards, stopping directly in the middle of her summoning circle "I'm going to read something now. It's probably best if you both covered your ears."

"...Why?" Zoey still doesn't really understand what's happening. She turns to Cameron who's already followed the order, nervous gaze fixed on Dawn as she begins to read aloud.

Zoey is immediately flooded with static. It's white noise, a black hole in auditory form, something wild and primal and completely incomprehensible in her mind.

Then there's a lurch, almost like the floor itself jumps out from under her, and just as suddenly she's tumbling back into a neverending void.

The sensation is indescribable- she falls, and falls, and for a moment she feels that the entire world might have ended, become nothing more than a concept, a blip that exists only in her memory, but then that's gone too, and-

And she lands heavily on the floor, right back in the rec room.

"What was that?" Cameron demands in the most aggressive tone she's ever heard out of him, unnaturally grey in the face and shaking like a leaf. He has to cover up a gag before continuing "I've had enough of your vague, roundabout explanations- we could have at least had a warning before you did... that ."

"I'm sorry," Dawn appeases him, looking fairly shaken herself "I didn't realise it would be quite so intense an experience." And then glances towards the mesh gate that separates the rec room from the hall, perking back up as she hears voices from somewhere close by "Oh, thank goodness it worked." 

"W-what worked?" Zoey rubs at her temples as the world resettles around her, the new voices out in the hall only putting her more on edge "What did you do?"

Dawn shuts her book, all too pleased with herself "I just summoned every living person in this building to our current location."

Chapter Text

"What the fuck?" 

Jo gasps as the world falls back into place, head whipping around every which direction in her panic, just trying to figure out where the fuck she is because-

"This is definitely a different hallway." Brick declares, eyes wide and darting around, looking for anything that could have possibly caused their sudden transportation.

"No shit." Jo agrees, frantically wiping away any remaining tear streaks from her face. Once reality itself stops spinning she tries to organise her thoughts "This place is fucking with us again. High alert, Brickhouse- I think we're in the eye of the storm."

One moment they're hugging it out, the next they're spiralling through time and space, dumped directly into the unknown. She takes in her new surroundings, squinting down the hall where she can see light emanating from one of the cells. If she's learned anything from her time here, it's that finding places that don't fit the bill of dark and empty is nothing but bad news. 

"Affirmative." Brick salutes, just barely trembling as he notices the light in turn. He sucks in a breath, steeling himself for the inevitable horrorshow they're about to face, when his eye catches a pipe jutting out of the wall beside them. 

Inspired, he goes ahead and grasps it in both hands, leaning one foot against the wall for traction as he rips it out of place. It comes apart with some effort, and then he has a perfectly viable weapon, a piece of lead piping about two feet in length. It's not sharp, but it's better than nothing. At least holding it helps him feel brave.

"Let's go show them who they're messing with."

Jo's so surprised by this display of newfound confidence that she honestly doesn't know how to react. She just stands there for a moment, taking in the image of him- armed and dangerous- and wills the horribly timed flush on her face to subside. Feeling something so unfamiliar prompts her to fall back on what's definitely familiar, and she blurts out "What, you're not gonna piss your pants first?"

Brick blinks at her, taken aback "Ma'am, I am soaked through. I wasn't too concerned whether any demons were going to notice."

And there he is- her Brickhouse.

The whole situation is so absurd, so utterly ridiculous, that suddenly Jo finds herself bent over double with laughter. They've been through so much hell tonight, the brief comic relief is more than appreciated. There's something disgustingly, disturbingly sentimental on the tip of her tongue that never gets said as they're nearly shocked out of their skins by the unexpected cry-

"Jo! Brick!"

They both turn sharply in surprise, only to be confronted by none other than Dawn, her slight figure racing towards them in the dark. A little ways behind her Cameron and Zoey emerge from the well-lit cell, looking just as disorientated as Jo feels.

"Dawn!" Brick waves in enthusiastic reply, already passing Jo to go greet their friends "And company! Did you feel that just now? We've theorised that the building has moved us, but if it did the same to you, and put us all in the same place-"

"No, no, that was us." Dawn wraps him in a quick one-armed hug before backing off, explaining "We've found the secrets necessary to ensure our escape, and it's all in here." She holds up a large book, plain in its appearance, but for some reason so much as looking at it makes Jo shudder "What you just felt was some very powerful magic- I've discovered how to shift the fabric of space to transport us anywhere within these walls."

Brick squints down at her, brain working overtime to conclude "What, like... like small-scale wormhole theory?"

"Precisely, yes."

Jo looks between the two of them in disbelief, astounded yet again by the things that come out of Brick under duress. She shakes her head, addressing Dawn "No chance we could do that to transport ourselves outside , huh?"

Dawn raises a wary eyebrow, choosing her words carefully "Unfortunately not- the magic is confined to the bubble we entered upon arrival. Honestly, I'm shocked that you're so easily accepting of this premise."

Jo rolls her eyes, pretending not to be bothered about being called out over her previous, horribly wrong viewpoint "Yeah, yeah- demons, ghosts, magic, you've got the fucking necronomicon now for some reason- I get the gist. Whatever insane thing we're doing next, I'm game." And then she adds, in the most awkward, unnatural way "...It's nice to see you guys. Alive."

"Likewise." Dawn says simply, a sense of knowing in her gaze, and leaves it there.

"Have you seen anyone else?" Zoey interrupts, frantic and desperate, Cameron trailing behind her with a matching expression of worry "Like, was anybody with you, or- or was somebody in the hall before we came out, or-"

"Any chance you've seen Mike?" Cameron clarifies the point of her rambling. Zoey just nods, wringing her hands together.

"...I'm afraid not." Brick informs them with a scowl "Not since back in the foyer, right after the lights went out."

"How'd you even go and lose Pointy? I thought you three were, like, permanently attached at the hip." Jo says in lieu of a greeting, tacking on a snarky " Hi , by the way."

Maybe that wasn't super appropriate. This is only cemented by the way Zoey's face crumbles, the last of her barely held hopes shattered in an instant, and before they know it she's outright bawling right here in front of everyone. Jo feels this terrible mix of guilty and super fucking awkward because god damn - she's only gone and lost everybody she was with too. Her reaction wasn't all that dissimilar.

"Oh, Zoey ," Dawn looks on the verge of tears herself "I'm sorry. I had really, really hoped-"

"H-hello?" 

Someone stumbles out of a nearby cell, practically falling over their own lanky limbs with all the grace of a newborn deer.

"Mike!"

Even if everything else tonight has gone horribly, horribly wrong, at least the one universal constant of Mike and Zoey has been righted.

It's a heartfelt reunion, Zoey running to him without hesitation, wrapping him in a bone-crushing hug that nearly sends the both of them tumbling to the floor with the motion of it. In another time and place a near-accident like that might have them laughing, lost in the easy joy of seeing each other again, but here and now Mike just grips her shoulders for support, blinking down at her like the world still isn't quite in focus.

"Zoey? What's happening? Where are we? Are we dead? I think I just died, and-"

"No, no- we're not dead. I promise. I just can't believe you're here ." She says through tears, and as she backs off again to take a good look at him, to reassure herself that he's definitely, finally here and alive, her stomach lurches.

Cameron chooses then to rush in and hug him himself, deeming it appropriate now that his friends have had their emotional moment " Mike . You have no idea how worried I was. When you disappeared back in the stairwell I thought you'd certainly- oh . What happened to you?"

He's missing half his hair. It's a bizarre silhouette in the dark, like a caricature of a patient you might expect to find in here when the hospital was in full operation. But that's not the main issue.

"I, um. W-what?" He stutters, a hand flying up to his head where they're both staring, and then makes this distressed, startled noise as he feels the damage there "Oh. Oh, god. Oh, that was real ."

Zoey feels the way he's shaking in her arms, uncontrollable and on the verge of collapse. She completely understands in the same way that she doesn't understand at all, not privy to what he's been through in his absence. She tries not to freak out too hard in turn, just gently guides him back towards the others where they're gathered outside the rec room "Come on. Come sit down for a minute, and we'll figure out what's going on together, okay?"

Mike doesn't even nod. There's no confirmation that he so much as heard her, just this wide-eyed, vacant gaze, like he's gone somewhere else in his head as he allows himself to be led into the light, and that light fully exposes what Zoey and Cameron had both hoped was an optical illusion.

A hole, about an inch and a half in diameter, carved into the side of his skull. Zoey covers up a gag as she sees what she's a hundred percent sure is brain tissue underneath, and has to look away less she make it obvious how revolting she finds the sight of his injury.

The rest of the group goes silent in the wake of their newcomer, openly staring at the hole in his head. Mike comes back to life a little as he registers how much of a disturbance his mere presence has caused.

"W-what? What are you all looking at?" He asks, wildly on edge. He knows full well what they're looking at, doing his best to cover it up with a hovering palm but, god, he doesn't want to touch it . Just imagining what his head looks like right now nearly has him hyperventilating "Is it- how bad is it?"

The question is met with hesitant silence, nobody wanting to provide him with any kind of descriptive detail. And then "It's nothing." Jo asserts, pretending to be unbothered as she rolls her eyes. She isn't sure why she's trying to comfort him- Jo's never really given a shit about Mike. Maybe all the blood loss and terror is making her soft somehow, and, speaking of "I can show you worse. Check this out."

She pulls down the bloodied collar of her hoodie, revealing the mangled, open wound that spans from her neck to her shoulder. Brick looks away sharply, and the four that were yet to see it recoil in horror.

"That needs immediate medical attention." Cameron tells her, frowning over his glasses, and quite daringly grabs her by the sleeve to try and drag her into the rec room "Come here. What on Earth made those punctures? The entire area looks infected."

The sheer absurdity of having Cameron boss her around is enough of a novelty that she doesn't even complain, just lets him take her into the cell and sits in one of the available chairs when prompted, supplying him with the brief explanation of "Demon teeth."

Cameron does a double take, looking over the injury with newfound fascination "Okay. Interesting. Does anyone happen to have something I can use as bandages? The bleeding is slow, but consistent, and if anything were to further agitate it-"

"How about actual bandages?" Brick takes the wadded up roll from the pocket of his cargo shorts, looking guilty as he hands it over to Cameron "I tried to do something about it, I swear, but she wouldn't let me."

"Oh, knock it off, Captain Nag . Yours was worse."

Brick tuts, lifting up the bottom of his shirt to check on his own wound, an unsightly smear of red at his abdomen just barely leaking through the bandages there "Well, it looks a lot better now."

Cameron goes grey at the sight "Am I the only person here who hasn't sustained serious injury?"

"Apparently." Jo snarks, leaning her head to the side so that he has better access to her neck, the stretch of the motion making her wince "Who'd have guessed you'd be doing the best out of all of us? I'm honestly surprised you've lasted this long." And then she finally takes in her surroundings, pulling a face over the bizarre occultist scrawlings lining every inch of the walls "Like, seriously- you're not even doing survival mode right. Why the fuck would you pick out the creepiest possible room to make home base? This is super weird."

"It was perfectly standard and empty before we arrived. This was my doing." Dawn chimes in as she enters, resuming her space in the once-plush armchair "And now that we're all here, I think we should move on to the next step."

"Wait, wait- we're all here? This is it?" Brick's face falls, counting the heads in the room "Just six people?"

It hits harder when said so plainly. Each forlorn face looks round to equally forlorn face, any good spirits over being reunited again smashed in the wake of the realisation that out of the thirteen that walked into this building, only six remain.

"It would appear that way." Dawn confirms stiffly "I summoned every living person, and nobody else is here, so-"

"Oh my god." Brick slaps a hand to his forehead, looking like he's about to puke "I've killed Dakota. I was only going to get her help, but now we're here, and she's not , and-"

"You didn't kill Dakota , so don't even start." Jo chastises, arms folded tightly around her while Cameron fusses at her injury "She was fine when you left, and if something got to her- well. That's not on you."

He nods shakily, biting his lip and holding back tears. Dawn stares at him for a moment, and says "We can take the time to indulge our guilt once our lives are no longer in danger. Don't single yourself out, Brick- the majority of people in this room have led a friend to a preventable death. Including myself."

Jo swallows tightly, thinking of the grave she could fill with all the people she's let die in front of her today. Dawn continues-

"For now, what's important is to keep the six of us alive. We'll be okay in this hallway- the symbols surrounding us act as wards. No spirits will be able to manifest themselves in any physical way while these are present. As I'd hope you'd assume, I wouldn't drag you all to an unsafe location. However, once we've figured out exactly where we're going next I won't be able to say the same-"

She flicks back through a few pages of her book, settling on an entry she'd earmarked upon first read "The most promising thing I have found in this tome is a depiction of a power source hidden within the building, a great well of energy that makes all of the supernatural phenomena we have encountered possible. This is why we can't use the same magic outside of these walls- without the source, nothing from other planes of reality would have the power to enter ours."

"So the book is the key, and the engine that makes it all work is hidden separately somewhere else?" Cameron clarifies.

"Yes, that's a nice simple way to put it."

"Okay, great," Jo leans back in her chair, already fed up with all this theorising and nerd talk "But how does that actually help?"

"If I'm following this correctly," Brick interjects, scowling in concentration "The engine allows the magic to manifest physically, so if we were to destroy that engine," he looks around the group for affirmation "then there'd be no more ghosts, and if the spirits that want to keep us inside are no longer here, then the door should unlock by itself. We're out."

Dawn, while unsmiling, beams at him with her eyes "That is exactly my working theory."

" Brilliant ." Cameron claps his hands together "We have a solution- find the power source."

"Which means going back out there." Zoey warns, already anxious over the prospect "Into halls that don't have wards to protect us."

Dawn gently closes her book, feeling over the leather binding "It should be easier this time, as long as we stick together- while I am holding this, nothing of a paranormal nature will be willing to get close enough to do us any further physical damage."

"This is starting to sound too easy." Brick observes "No active danger, just a search and destroy mission?"

"As I have said, this book is the key to our escape." Dawn confirms "Now it's just a matter of figuring out what and where this power source is, and how we are going to destroy it. With the sheer magnitude of the energy in this building it would have to be something big, something evil enough to form a bridge between realities. As keen as I am to put an end to this nightmare, I am not looking forward to encountering such a thing."

"Wait, wait, hold on," Mike cuts in, only just regaining his bearings enough to follow the conversation "Why are we talking about spirits? Are you trying to say ghosts are real?"

The inanity of that question is astounding at this point. Jo blinks at him, having already done that arc to death, and demands "Where the fuck have you been?"

"...Basement." He answers shortly, looking around the group for some understanding "Look, I don't- I don't know about ghosts or anything, but there's definitely a guy. I met him. He's doing, like, insane medieval experiments and shit in this freaky lab, and-" he gesticulates wildly as he recounts the horrors of his solo venture, tripping over his words as if it feels wrong to say them aloud “-and there was a pit of bodies. Like- like a giant mass grave. And all these symbols on the wall, occult stuff, like this."

He gestures around the rec room at Dawn's handiwork, who in turn lights up with keen interest "That- that could be it. In fact, that's almost definitely it."

“This mysterious person sounds alarmingly like our doctor.” Cameron points out, and asks Mike “Was he by any chance older, wearing a white coat, had glasses a little like mine?”

“Yeah, that's- that's the guy.” Mike confirms, disturbed by the accurate description of his abductor. He shrinks in on himself, confused by the total lack of acknowledgement of his distress “Does nobody care that I got kidnapped and tortured in a basement, or-”

"The hospitals tortured residents being dumped so unceremoniously in a pitiful excuse for a final resting place sounds like the perfect circumstance to generate the powerful negative energy we're looking for." Dawn talks over him, rising from her seat and pacing around her summoning circle, restless in her excitement "So that settles it. I'll reconfigure my spellwork, and transport us all down to the basement."

The moment of surety in finally having a solid plan is ruined by abrupt laughter, everyone turning to where it surprisingly came from Zoey of all people.

She feels the eyes on her, immediately going red over her inappropriate reaction "Sorry, sorry, I just- the basement? That's our way out?" And then all too suddenly she's crying instead, wiping at her face as she guiltily admits "We should have listened to Staci more often. Maybe if we had then we'd be home by now. All of us."

“Y'know what? No. No no, no-” Mike stands abruptly, dragging everyone's attention back onto himself “This is insane. We're not doing that. I'm not doing that.”

Dawn's carefully neutral expression flickers with agitation "It's our best shot, Mike. If we want to walk away from this alive-"

"Then count me dead!" He declares, throwing his arms up. The second his hand leaves his scalp he brings it right back down to cover the hole, wincing as he touches the edge of the incision by accident "I don't care. I'm not going back in the basement- you can't make me. You people have gone fucking crazy , acting like what happened to me was nothing -”

"Whatever happened that landed you with that gross fucking hole in your head, I'm pretty sure other people have had worse. Other people are dead ." Jo snaps, zero patience for this new pointless drama "So quit flapping the hole in the front of your face and get with the program already."

Mike goes still, wild eyed and fingers twitching "Y'know what? I'm not taking this shit. I need some air." 

And then he storms right out of the rec room, heading off to god knows where "Mike!" Zoey calls after him, already freaking out about having him out of sight again, and promptly follows "Where are you going?"

"Stay in this hallway!" Dawn shouts the reminder after their retreating figures "We'll come get you when we're ready to make our move!"

Then it's just the four of them, tense in the aftermath of what feels like a ridiculous argument to have given the circumstances. Cameron sighs, staring at where his best friends disappeared into the dark "Maybe he's right, you know- we've all become awfully callous in the face of adversity.”

“Unfortunately that's a requirement of a life and death situation.” Brick frowns, folding his arms “I'm sure he'll understand once he calms down.”

Cameron nods, still uncertain “I just hate being separated like this right after we all got back together."

"It'll be okay." Dawn assures, trying to remain neutral despite her clear annoyance "They can have their moment alone. I need some time to adjust my spellwork anyway."

"And how long is that gonna take?" Jo inquires, itching to get onto something productive now that there's a goal in sight "I wanna get out of here before daybreak."

"Not too long, I hope. Have some patience, Jo- I'm working with previously unheard of sciences here."

Cameron glances towards the high, barred window at the far end of the rec room, and then down at his watch. He blinks in confusion, looking between the two over and over again like he can't quite believe it " Oh ."

His small exclamation garners the attention of everyone present, Brick following it with a suspicious "Oh, what? "

"It's-" Cameron bites his lip, an existential sort of dread settling in his stomach "It's ten in the morning."

All four look up at the window, a silence falling over them rife with despair as they see nothing more than the endless pitch black of pre-sunrise beyond the bars. Completely impossible. Their ragtag group- the entire world around them- has never felt smaller or more isolated.

"Your watch is broken." Jo mutters uncomfortably, and looks away.

///

Kill all your friends! You know you want to.

Scott stands with his back against the door of the adjacent cell, listening dutifully to every inane thing that comes out of these peoples mouths, whether it's useful to him or not. After the shock of his sudden transportation had worn off, and he'd heard enough to know that it was Dawn's doing, he'd resigned himself to silent eavesdropping with the intent to gather as much information as possible before he decides whether he's really going to take on his proposed assignment.

Not-Dakota had her facts straight- they're in possession of some stupid magic book, and if all this talk of warding and mystical symbols is anything to go by then it checks out that she can't go retrieve it herself. He's not being played for a fool- this isn't a ruse, and she has reason to need him to do this for her. It also makes sense as to why she doesn't want them getting out of here alive with knowledge of the contents of that book. He might wonder why she'd come to him with the job and not any of the others, except, deep down, Scott already knows.

He understands why he's been pushed into this role- under the right circumstances he's no less an enemy to these people than the demons prowling the halls, and it's surprisingly easy to accept that fact because, really, he's always been the enemy. The outsider looking in. As of right now, they all think he's dead, and he knows full well that nobody in that room is doing any kind of grieving over him.

So he won't be grieving them when he walks out of here alive. Last man standing . He thinks that has a nice ring to it.

Scott listens to their plan, checking off each voice he hears to make a mental list of his targets. They're going to the basement- he's traversed enough of this building to know exactly where the entrance is and the route to get there, so it's a clean path to follow. He learns who's injured, the severity and locations of the wounds, and who's going to be the easiest to pick off like sickly antelope at the edge of the herd. 

Maybe he has gone crazy, he thinks as he flips open the lid of his gifted toolbox, inspecting its contents- rope, wire, a mysterious assortment of syringes, among other things. He rifles through his new toys, imagining all the ways he could put them to good use, only one question on his mind-

Could he really go through with it?

He listens to Mike's poorly timed freakout, the footsteps that indicate two people separating themselves from the group, and figures that now is as good a time as any to find out. Scott closes the lid of the toolbox and slinks silently out of the cell, using the cover of darkness to remain unseen.

///

"I just can't , Mike," Zoey pleads, exasperated "It doesn't matter why- I can't let you out of my sight again. I keep thinking that if I do, the next time I find you you'll be dead ."

"Oh, Zoey ," he can sympathise. He really can- for a minute down there in the basement Mike had thought they were all dead "It's just for, like, two seconds, okay? Like, what do you want me to do, hang around in your peripherals the whole time? You won't even actually look at me."

Despite being directly called out she still can't bring herself to set her eyes fully on him, and it makes it that much more pressing that he gets his two seconds alone. He needs to inspect the damage, see why everyone is so over-the-top horrified by his new appearance. Zoey opens her mouth, about to argue some more, but they're both momentarily distracted by a noise a little further down the hall.

A clang . Small but loud in the quiet surrounding them, as if something metal had hit one of the cell doors.

"What was that?" Mike stares into the darkness, trying to force his eyes to adjust and paying no attention to the silent figure that slips through the door right behind him.

"A rat, maybe? Dawn said this hallway is safe." Zoey studies the darkness in turn, using the mysterious noise as further excuse not to look at Mike "Which makes it even more stupid that I'm so worried, but I just- what if you disappear again? I don't want you going anywhere by yourself."

"Look, Zoey, I'll only be in there for a minute." He throws a thumb towards the door behind him that displays a bathroom sign "I totally get where you're coming from, but I feel really weird about you watching me pee, okay?"

It's a lie- he doesn't actually need the bathroom, but the implications behind that statement get her off his back. Zoey pulls a face, already on the verge of tears "Okay. Okay, just- I'll be here outside, and if you see anything, or hear anything, shout for me and I'll get everyone to come help."

"Thank you." He sighs. He doesn't want to upset her, but he suspects that any little thing would upset her right now. He's too strung out to navigate her feelings on top of his own "Two seconds, and I'll be right back with you, alright?"

She nods, eyes trained on the ground, and he thinks he's supposed to kiss her now, so he does.

Or, he tries- Zoey flinches, backing up a step to avoid him "Oh, Mike, I'm sorry-"

"It's fine." He lies, and wow this is awkward "I'll be right back."

And with that he turns and heads into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a quiet sigh, finding himself relieved to be alone and away from judgemental eyes. His own fix themselves on the wall-wide mirror across from him, and even though he knows full well what happened to his head he can't help the audible gasp that escapes him as he takes in his own appearance.

Even in the dark his silhouette is absurd- half bald is not his best look. He can't blame Zoey for not wanting to look at him when his new most obvious feature screams crazy person . Mike approaches the mirror, switching on his flashlight and steeling himself to inspect what's inevitably going to be the most gruesome thing he's ever seen.

It is. Mike hovers, one white-knuckled hand clenched around the ceramic counter displaying a row of sinks, the other shaking profusely with the light trained on his scalp. The beam illuminates a sore, reddened circle of skin that outlines the visible bone of his skull, and beyond that-

It's grey, soft, wet - all the things that describe body parts that should never be seen while still alive. Mike is vaguely aware that that's him- all his thoughts, everything he is and ever will be, the pilot of his body, but it doesn't feel that way. The texture reminds him of worms, a big ball of them sat dead and unmoving, this grotesque lump inside his head.

Mike throws up. He doubles over the sink, flashlight rolling across the floor where he dropped it in this sudden onset of harsh, yellow bile, violently expelled from his empty stomach. He's there for a while, long after nothing else will come up, gagging and retching and unwilling to open his eyes again because when he does, the hole will still be there. It'll always be there. He doesn't know if there's even a corrective surgery to fix something like this.

Once he's quite certain he won't go back to puking if he accidentally sees it again, Mike switches on the closest tap, rinsing his mouth out before he goes to rejoin his friends. The water tastes stale, but it's still miles better than the acidic flavour of his own stomach lining.

" Hey ."

It's quiet, cautious in its tone, but so wildly unexpected that Mike nearly falls over as he whips around, only to find someone peering at him over the edge of the nearest stall.

"Oh, what-" Mike leans against the counter to steady himself, willing his heart rate to slow down "What the fuck are you doing? I thought you were dead ."

"Yeah, well, I'm not, so," Scott rolls his eyes, as if Mike's shock at his sudden reappearance is somehow ridiculous "Nice hole , asswipe- guess this place put you through the grinder, too. Do you believe me now?"

"...What?" Mike squints up at him, caught in the weirdest mix of confused, insulted, and thoroughly freaked out.

"About back on the stairs." Scott clarifies, tone switching to annoyed as he leans further over the stall "I wasn't trying to fuck with you, it was, like, ghosts or some shit. Do you believe me?"

"I- yeah, I guess?" Mike doesn't think rehashing that argument is all that important right now, far more hung up on the fact that "You must have heard everyone out in the hall- why the hell are you hanging around in here by yourself and, like," he can't believe this is something he has to ask out loud " watching me throw up? That's so creepy ."

Scott makes a frustrated noise "Yeah, yeah, everyone thinks I'm a creep, I get the picture. Like, what, would you rather I interrupted your little puke fest? I don't fucking think so!" He gestures wildly with an arm clad in rags and duct tape, and that's somehow the least questionable part of this encounter "And the reason I'm not sitting pretty with the rest of those jerks is cause half the people out there have attacked me tonight, including you , for shit I didn't even do . You're all worrying about fucking demons and shit, but I've got to worry about running into you assholes on top of that. Everyone's out to get me. I gotta make sure I'm not gonna get lynched the second I show my face."

And when he hears that, Mike is suddenly able to empathise with him despite everything because actually, that's a horrible position to be in. Nobody deserves to be facing this alone- not even Scott.

"Okay, I get it- we'll go back and explain the whole situation, and it'll be fine, alright? I'm sure nobody wants to make more problems than we've already got." Mike appeases him as he leans down to grab his flashlight off the floor, ready to go "I'm surprised you're telling me this, honestly. Especially if you think everyone's out to get you."

"Well it makes sense, doesn't it?" Scott hops down from where he's presumably stood atop the toilet seat, voice echoing from the darkness of the stall "The amount of shit I give you on a daily basis- if you don't think I'm a psycho, then they'll believe you."

"I- yeah." Mike blinks as he comes round the corner. It's so weird to have him finally acknowledge that. The whole exchange feels almost amicable, like the pressure of being in a life or death scenario has offset all their petty animosity. It's not important anymore. Mike's mind supplies a brief flash of a reality where they walk out of this place as something resembling friends "I don't think you're a psycho- not really. You're just kind of a dick."

Scott pulls a face over the casual insult, but shrugs it off pretty quickly "Yeah, well, I don't actually think you're crazy. You're just some stupid nerd with a disorder." And then they're standing only a couple of feet apart in this dark, dingy bathroom, and Scott's looking at him funny, up and down like he's making an assessment, and says "Bring it in, man."

He opens his arms, and Mike experiences a whole new kind of visceral horror as he realises that Scott wants to hug him .

" Um ," he's never found the idea of any physical contact less appealing, but as of right now they're actually starting to get along, and Mike doesn't want to ruin that or- god forbid- start another fight while he's already so strung out and shaky over the hole in his head "Y-yeah. Sure."

Mike lets it happen, and then instantly regrets letting it happen. The smell hits him first- he hadn't realised in the dark, but Scott's definitely covered in... something . It's sticky, reminiscent of partially dried sewage, and the thought of his own bare skin touching it makes him want to puke all over again, but he doesn't get a chance to back out as an arm closes in around him, forcing this bizarre, unwanted proximity.

He was expecting it to be short, a clap on the back type of hug, but Scott holds him there long enough to make this ten times weirder than it already was "Okay, you can, um," Mike pauses to stifle a gag over how much of this repulsive mystery substance is getting on his own clothes "You can let go now."

"No, no, hold on." Scott says, and he almost sounds nervous, as if he's stalling, purposely dragging out the moment "I wanna tell you something."

There is absolutely nothing Mike could imagine coming out of his mouth right now that he'd actually want to hear. His anxiety skyrockets over the idea of what he could want to confess, especially in this context- the weird, prolonged hug, the newfound truce, the possibility they both may die tonight- for a second Mike worries he's about to be told that all the pointless bickering has always just been pulling pigtails. It would put a lot of things into perspective.

"...What is it?" He asks slowly, praying that if he has to reject any advances it'll go over smoothly.

"All the shit I say and do to you," Scott grips him tighter, and the restrictive nature of it has his heart beating so hard it feels like his ribs might crack with the force of it "It's never been personal."

Oh thank god. Mike lets out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, relieved that that's all he wanted to say "No?"

"No." Scott sighs, hooking his chin over Mike's shoulder, voice low as he talks directly into his ear-

"I just think you're an easy target."

Mike would be insulted, if he had the capacity for such a feeling, but he doesn't- all his worldly feeling is concentrated into the burning chasm of his stomach, the life poured out of him and onto the bathroom floor as the heat becomes unbearable and his extremities go cold.

Scott twists the knife, drags it upwards, feels the skin and sinew give way to his blade with shocking ease. He feels the warmth of humanity gush over his hand and down his arm, and he feels the nails leaving claw marks in his shoulders, scrambling for purchase in their desperation, and he feels the sickening vibration of a death rattle against his chest as, slowly but surely, Mike goes limp.

He holds the body there long after it's over, just Scott and his first ever kill, still as statues in the dark. It's so strange- he thinks he should be panicking right now, that he should be experiencing some kind of overwhelming remorse, a loss of self in the aftermath of an action so vile, but everyone must be right about him because all he really feels is surprise.

That was too easy .

Mike made it easy, and now he's just another corpse for the pile. Scott gently lowers the body onto the floor, and wonders if the rest of them will put up any more of a fight. They probably will- he won't have the advantage of being assumed dead forever.

So he pulls his toolbox out from its hiding place under the counter, and flicks through a few syringes, picking one at random labelled propofol . He doesn't know what any of the chemical names mean, but he doesn't need to. He doubts he's been given anything purposely useless. 

With one last glance at Mike he heads for the bathroom door, cracking it open silently only to find Zoey, alone, glancing nervously up and down the hallway and waiting for her boyfriend to re-emerge- not that he ever will. Scott would think it kind of sad if he didn't hate her. He briefly wonders if it'll feel any weirder, any more wrong to kill a chick.

It doesn't. Before she's even aware of his presence there's a needle in her arm, the site of injection completely random- Scott's no doctor, and he's not aiming for safety. 

Zoey makes a noise- startled, pained, afraid - and spins on her heel with a look of utter shock as she comes face to face with her attacker "W-what-"

Her hand flies up to the needle, her eyes fixed just past him through the open door as she catches sight of the body on the bathroom floor- this unfathomable tragedy that brings her whole world to an end right as her vision fades to black. 

Scott doesn't waste any time. He makes a break for it, already planning his next step as he darts down the hall, getting well out of sight before anyone thinks to check why Mike and Zoey never rejoined them.

Chapter Text

"What was that?"

Brick presses himself up against the mesh that cordons off the rec room, stone faced and visibly sweating while trying to keep his cool "Something just ran past us. I thought we were safe from ghosts up here?"

Dawn pauses in the alterations of her summoning circle, glancing up with a frown "We are."

"Okay, so..." Jo rolls her eyes "Which one of you is lying?"

There's a pause, an awkward shift in the air. Dawn hunches protectively over her book where she's crouched on the floor, and Brick turns around with a scowl "I don't think either of us are lying. I'm just saying, I saw something-"

"Well then which one of you is wrong?" Jo counters, standing from her chair where she'd been bouncing her leg restlessly for the past twenty minutes, rearing to get back on the move "Cause it's either we're safe, or there's a ghost up here. Only one of those things is gonna be true, so which is it?"

Dawn huffs a strand of white blonde hair out of her face, not looking up as she says "If you are trying to sew discord among the few of us that remain, I would recommend that you stop immediately. It's not helpful."

"I'm not trying to do anything." Jo argues "I'm just pointing out facts."

"Why, even now, are you so unable to trust me?"

"Dawn," Cameron interjects miserably, half falling asleep with his face resting in both palms "It's not that we don't trust you, but you're making it sort of... I don't know. I would really, really like to look at what's in that book."

And Dawn, after all her hard work, is shocked to hear that this mistrust runs deeper than just in Jo. She doesn't respond at first, angrily finishing the last few pictograms around her new chalk circle, and then snaps the book shut "There's no need to. I'm done here anyway."

It puts a temporary end to whatever argument is brewing. Jo sighs through her nose, trying not to let her irritation get the best of her "Fine. Great. Let's go collect the lovebirds and get down to the creepy basement or whatever. Pointy better be ready to face his fears- I swear if he throws another tantrum I'm just gonna lock him in a cell and leave him there."

Brick makes a disapproving noise, taking a cautious lead as he cracks the rec room door open and heads out into the hall "Don't be so hard on Mike. I'll carry him to the basement if I have to."

"Unnecessary." Cameron hops down from his chair, ready to go "I'll talk him round, if Zoey hasn't achieved the same already."

And with that the group make their move, only halted by question of-

"Where are they?"

Jo assists with Cameron's inquiry by shining her flashlight both left and right, revealing nobody in either direction. Confused, she wonders aloud "There's no way they'd be stupid enough to leave this hall, right? They've got to be in one of these cells or something."

"Mike?" Cameron creeps forwards, all too suddenly nervous again "Zoey?"

There's this awful feeling in the pit of his stomach- not just because of Brick's claims of spotting another apparition, but because, really, he knew full well it was a terrible idea to let his two best friends go off together. He'd sort of wanted to third wheel- he does it so often, it wouldn't even have been weird- yet he gave them the benefit of the doubt, and now he's back to the same old game of looking for Mike. Except Zoey's missing now, too.

She's not missing for long.

"Oh!" Cameron nearly trips over something on the floor, closer than expected and sending him straight into a new wave of pure panic "Oh, no, no- Zoey!"

It's a red alert all round. The rest of them spot her pretty quickly after that, crumpled on the ground with limbs sprawled out at odd angles.

Brick is immediately at his side, taking over while Cameron's frozen up in distress, squatting down and feeling for a pulse. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding as he discovers that, while unusually light, it's definitely still there.

"She's alive." He declares stiffly, heart in his throat as he cranes his neck to look up and down the hall, thoughts going straight to the unknown spectre he'd swear he saw only a minute ago "But- but where's-"

"Don't say it." Cameron presses both hands to his temples, eyes shut as he shakes his head, voice gradually rising in pitch as he continues "I am so, so sick of hearing where's Mike? How could we let this happen again? They were only down the hall. I didn't think anything would- this was supposed to be-"

He gets choked up over the words, and then all of a sudden Cameron's crying. It's this awkward, sniffly sort of thing that reminds Jo of a kitten with a cold, but she can't find it in her to make fun of him for it. Instead she focuses on searching their immediate area, flashlight landing on something suspicious that's rolled up against the wall.

"Propofol?" She reads the syringes label aloud, very careful not to touch the needle.

"That's-" Cameron removes his glasses to rub the tears from his eyes, wiping the lenses off on his sweater "That's general anesthetic."

Jo hums in thought as she absorbs this information, piecing the facts together in her mind, and then brazenly poses the question "D'you think Mike did this?"

The other three freeze where they are, uncomfortable with that line of thought. Cameron sobers up instantly, bordering angry as he demands "Why on Earth would you think Mike did this?"

It only seems logical to her "He was with some kind of doctor, right? He could have had access to this stuff. And he was acting all crazy, and trying to run off alone again-"

"Stop it." Dawn cuts her off, furious "Stop trying to pit everybody against each other. I refuse to believe that any of us would turn to violence amongst ourselves."

"I... I don't know, Dawn," Brick frowns as he places Zoey's limp body against the wall, sitting her upright. He hates to admit it, but Jo's deeply unpleasant theory has some merit "Dakota turned on me, when we were alone. It's not easy to think about, but people do change under extreme stress."

"But Mike wouldn't do that." Cameron argues, wringing his hands together "He just- there's no way he would attack Zoey."

Jo hums uncertainly as she folds her arms over her chest "Well, it's either Mike's gone wackier in the head than he already was- and I wouldn't blame him, we all saw the fucking hole- or all the magic and protection from ghosts stuff was a total load of bull. You can't convince me nobody did this."

She gestures to Zoey, and the rest of the group fall into a tense silence, nobody else able to come up with a better answer to this mystery drugging. 

"...Innocent until proven guilty." Brick's the first to speak up, scowling as he approaches the bathroom beside them "We need to go find Mike before we start blaming him, or better yet, just ask Zoey what happened to her. I'm going to get some water, see if we can wake her up the way we do back in bootcamp."

Brick throws the door open, and promptly goes still "Oh," he breathes, blinking rapidly into space as the image of his discovery is burned permanently into his retinas, and then gently shuts the door again "Oh, wow."

"What's wow?" Jo groans, already anticipating the worst as she gears up to take a look "What is it this time?"

Brick turns to her with this wide eyed, shell-shocked look about him "That's- that's a dead body." He tells her as she's kicking the door open for herself, tone distant as if he's floating away somewhere else in his mind "That's a real life dead body."

Mike's dead body, Jo corrects in her head. There's a snarky comment on the tip of her tongue- something about the casualties of war, how he should be prepared to see something like this- but saying as much would feel soulless. She just stares down at their fallen friend, bile rising in her chest as she takes in the open cavity of his stomach, the pool of blood seeping slowly out across the bathroom floor, the open, glassy eyes fixed permanently on the filthy ceiling tiles above.

And then there's a noise, this loud, anguished wail like someone else is dying too. It makes Jo jump, flinching out of the way as Cameron rushes into the bathroom, falling to his knees beside his best friend's body.

"Mike," it comes out weak, broken. All the drama of losing him the first time round, the heartache over speculating that he was likely already dead- none of it compares to the reality of seeing it right in front of him. It's hard to get to grips with the fact that he's really gone for good this time. They just got him back.

Amidst a fresh wave of tears, Cameron finds himself angry. It's not fair. They'd made a plan, they had a way out, and then they split up for a whole five minutes and it's all fallen apart. He doesn't take his gaze off of Mike's slack, vacant face as he says "I told you he wouldn't hurt Zoey. You were talking about him like he was dangerous, like he was crazy, and he was- the whole time, he was right-"

The sentence doesn't get finished as Cameron breaks down, fully this time, his slight frame shaking with every unsteady breath.

Jo looks away sharply, gut churning over the implication that her theory is somehow the most offensive part of this scenario. It was a logical line of thought, so Cameron of all people should understand- she didn't know Mike was dead in the room right next to them. Jo has to settle her guilt with the knowledge that this is one death she definitely didn't cause.

Instead, with the only other explanation disproven, she rounds on Dawn "This hallway is safe, huh?"

Dawn flinches as she's addressed, having been silent throughout this entire event, lost in her head trying to figure out herself how this could have possibly happened under all her careful warding.

"It is." She says on impulse, because she knows it is. She can feel the electricity of her own magic in the air "I don't understand how- there's no way this could have-"

"Oh, you are so full of shit," Jo snarls, towering over the smaller girl as she steps into her space "Acting like you're some all knowing fucking magic expert, telling us to trust you, but you have no idea what you're doing! Look at what happened! We trusted you, and look where it got us!" She gestures aggressively towards the bodies on the floor, one unconscious, the other dead, and then reaches out for the book "You fucked this up, you little witch. Give me that before you hurt somebody else."

She goes to swipe it but Dawn steps away just in time "No, no, I swear," she tries to explain, frantic and borderline shaking as she tries to keep out of Jo's physical range "This shouldn't be possible. This isn't my fault. If I could just meditate on it, see what happened with my own eyes-"

Jo makes a noise like a wild animal, unable to stomach any more of this ridiculous pretense, and then in all her uncontainable fury, she shoves her. Hard.

"Oh!" Dawn goes flying backwards, her tiny frame hitting the far wall with a crack, and-

"Jo!" Brick scolds as he snaps back to life, horrified by the turn this has taken. He rushes to Dawn's aid, trying to help her to her feet, but she ignores him in favour of scrambling across the floor to retrieve the book she'd dropped during the assault, primarily because Jo's going after it too. If there's anything more alarming to her than being attacked by her most intimidating comrade, it's the idea of her wielding something so dangerous.

Dawn gets to it first, sheerly by virtue of being closer to the ground, and then- suddenly more afraid for her own safety here with her friends than amidst the unknown- she runs.

"Oh no you fucking don't!" Jo takes chase. She's objectively a lot faster, hot on Dawn's heels as they race down the hall, the two of them all too quickly disappearing into the dark.

"No, no, no," Brick panics, looking back at Cameron- still hunched over on the bathroom floor with sobs wracking his body- and thinks that, wow, there is no way he can do this by himself. They can't afford to split up again now. Had they not just learned that lesson in the most horrific way?

"Dawn! Jo!" He's shouting, practically screaming, desperate to be heard as his troop crumbles around him "Stop- come back here right now!”

For a moment he imagines the worst outcome- this depressing final three of an unconscious Zoey, an inconsolable Cameron, and his very own self trying to lead them to the basement to carry out a tenuous end goal he doesn't have all the specifics of- but, defying all expectations, Jo actually listens.

Dawn doesn't. 

Jo begrudgingly slows her pace, letting Dawn get a steady lead right up until she turns the corner where she disappears, abandoning them without another word. Unbelievable, she thinks. There goes their so-called safety net, and their entire plan, all because Dawn can't just admit when she was wrong.

She growls in frustration, turning sharply on her heel and stalking back to the remaining survivors, airing her grievances aloud "Y'know, screw her and her stupid magic book. Safe my ass- this is totally on us for believing all the delusional crap that comes out of her-"

"What is wrong with you?"

Jo pauses, not expecting that level of heat to be directed at her "What's wrong with me?" She balks, already regretting still being here with the rest of the sheep. Maybe she should have chased Dawn down, like her gut told her to "What's wrong with you? You saw what happened, she fucked this whole-"

"You don't have proof that Dawn did or caused anything." Brick snaps, red faced with anger and scowling something fierce. It's an interesting look on him "You didn't have proof before you went mouthing off about Mike, either. It's like your first instinct is to attack everyone around you, even when those people are supposed to be your friends-"

"Oh, don't give me that crap, Captain Virtue," Jo can't stomach these accusations, not when they're ringing all too true "Like, what, should I just be standing by waiting for someone else to start a fight? No! I'm pretty sure that's how you got stabbed by Dakota!"

Brick closes in on her space, pointing a furious finger "You're missing the point- there shouldn't be a fight! Not between us!" He tries to make her understand, but honestly with all the pressure and fear he's too worked up to keep his thoughts straight "Dawn didn't do anything to you. You just attacked her, and for no good- you can't just- you have to think before you act, Josephine!"

Jo's mouth falls open "Don't you Josephine me!"

And then she shoves him, too. It's arguably rougher than her assault on Dawn, excessively forceful in an attempt to send him to the ground, but despite her best efforts Brick only stumbles back about two paces. It's impossibly frustrating, just as annoying as the shocked, overly butthurt look on his face.

"Don't try to fight me, Jo," he warns, still clutching that stupid pipe, as if she's supposed to take any kind of threat from him seriously.

"Why? What are you gonna do?" She sneers, and then does it again, an open palmed hand striking him in the shoulder "Are you gonna hit me? Come on, fucking hit me."

And in that moment, she actually wants him to. She really, really wants him to- she wants to see him crack, to lash out at her and go against every overly moral statement he's made, because that would mean that Jo is in the right. 

She experiences a very strange kind of anticipation as she watches his breathing become heavy, body tensed up in a fighting stance, those wide, furious eyes fixed solely on her. There's a second where she truly thinks he's about to do it, he's going to hit her, and she finds that notion so ridiculously exciting-

"Please," Cameron croaks, still crouched over Mike and looking between the two of them like he thinks this abhorrent confrontation might just be the defining mark of the end, the line of insanity finally crossed. Jo honestly forgot he was even here "Please, stop fighting, I can't-" he rubs the remaining tear streaks from his face, trying to get ahold of himself "-I can't do this alone. I can't keep my thoughts straight anymore. We need to stick to the plan, and we need to wake up Zoey, and get Dawn back, and we can't do any of that if you're trying to kill each other."

It's immediately sobering, the tension in the atmosphere waning from impending violence to something a lot more sour and awkward. Brick and Jo sneak glances at each other, neither willing to address how close they just came to throwing hands.

"Alright." Brick takes the lead before Jo gets the chance, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he comes back down to Earth. While she knows full well they should be focusing on the multitude of bigger problems in front of them, she finds herself embarrassingly disappointed by the loss of attention "What was the dosage of that anesthetic? We need a realistic estimate on how long Zoey's going to be out."

///

Dawn turns the corner, uncertain as to where she's going but knowing for sure she has to get away from Jo before things get any uglier. She blinks back the tears clouding her vision, not that it makes much of a difference- she can barely see five feet in front of her, eyes having adjusted to the comfort of light.

She doesn't understand what's happening. She would swear on her own life that her spellwork had been correct. She had everything figured out- had managed to actually make sense of this nonsensical reality they'd found themselves in- but somehow, despite her best efforts, something still got to Mike and Zoey. She needs to be somewhere quiet, meditate on it and find the answer to this tragedy on her own before she can rejoin her friends, because if she can produce a good explanation for how it happened then Jo won't have reason to attack her again, and then they can get things back on track, and-

Her thoughts are cut short as her shin connects with something unexpected set in her path. Dawn falls flat on her face, making an unintentional noise more out of surprise than pain, and twists herself around to see what she possibly could have tripped over. She squints into the dark, pure dread settling into her bones as she makes out a rope, pulled taught across the hallway at ankle height. Amidst all the otherworldly happenings around her, this distinctly man-made obstacle feels menacingly out of place.

And then a hand clamps down on her shoulder.

Dawn gasps in shock, images of demons, monsters, every foul creature of the night she could possibly imagine springing to the forefront of her mind. Before she even has time to turn around she finds herself lifted off the ground, both arms constricted against her torso by one much stronger than her own. She struggles, thrashing against her assailant, the book tumbling aside in the chaos.

"Help-" She goes to shout, scream, anything in the desperate hopes that her friends will not only hear her but also deign to come to her rescue, but a second hand comes up to muffle her cries. On instinct, Dawn bites down on the fingers covering her mouth, the taste of blood committing a vile assault on her senses.

"Fucking ow!" Comes a voice she definitely recognises "Oh, you bitch- let go." And Dawn is so shocked, and confused, and horrified, that she follows the command without a second thought.

Scott shakes his bitten hand as if that'll remedy the pain in any way, and then tosses her carelessly into the open cell beside them, a heavy boot on her back to keep her on the ground as he procures more rope from the toolbox hidden just inside the door.

"What are you-" Dawn starts, high-pitched in her panic, but promptly finds a rag stuffed into her mouth.

"Shut up." She's told as he binds her hands behind her back "Just be quiet, and I'll keep this nice and clean. Stay there."

Dawn does no such thing. She rolls over the second she gets the chance, trying to rationalise through her fear as to why he's chosen to attack her like this, or how he's even here. She sits up, watches as he retrieves the book from the hall, looking for any indication that he might be possessed, or dead and reanimated, or-

"Does anyone else know how to do the thing?" Scott demands, waving the book in her face "The- the transportation thing. Can they send themselves down to the basement without you?"

She blinks up at him, and then slowly shakes her head no, coming to the somehow even more confusing conclusion that not only is he still alive and completely himself, but he's been eavesdropping on them the entire time they were in the rec room.

"Perfect." He says easily, and flicks open the blade of his pocket knife.

Dawn registers the blood smeared across the blade, not even fully dry, and instantly she's overcome with this vision-

She's standing atop a toilet seat in a shadowy bathroom stall, watching Mike intently as he gasps and heaves over the sink. She speaks to him, sees the tentative sort of trust forming behind his eyes.

And then she feels the nervousness as she holds him close, the uncertainty as she reaches into her back pocket and retrieves her knife, the motion of flicking the blade outwards so familiar in her hand-

Dawn can't shout for help, and she has no hands left to defend herself, but her legs certainly aren't bound- she kicks out, striking him in the face as hard as she possibly can. 

"Ah!" Scott falls back, an arm flying up to cover the location of his latest bruise "Oh, for the love of- look, this already sucks, okay? Don't make it annoying."

She scrambles backwards until her elbows hit the wall, frantically trying to come up with any way to remove herself from this nightmare. Her tongue touches the dusty cloth a whole lot more than she's happy about, but with some struggle Dawn manages to spit out her gag at Scott's feet.

"We have a way out!" She yells at him, as loud as she can in the hopes that the others will hear- she didn't manage to run all that far "You must know we have a way out, you heard everything, but you're still- you're doing this. Why are you doing this? We could have all made it out, together."

Scott makes a strange noise- not quite a scoff, and he won't meet her eye as he says "That was never gonna happen. You jerks would've killed me eventually- you all think I'm some kind of psycho."

"No. We- I- you're making a horrible mistake." She's crying. She doesn't want to be crying "Whatever deal you made, whatever the spirits told you, this violence will not end in your favour." Dawn hangs her head. She can't bear to look at him either, lost somewhere between afraid for her life and utterly heartbroken "How could you? I thought you were our friend."

The energy in the room shifts. She doesn't have to look up- she can sense the way his expression falls flat, how his confidence slips when faced with such earnestness.

"I don't have friends." He's talking more to himself than to her, gripping the handle of his knife so tightly his knuckles turn white "And I'm definitely not yours."

Of course he isn't. Not after this- not after his deals with the devil, and certainly not after Mike's brutal, pointless murder- there's no chance in hell that he'd be allowed to rejoin them now, even if he wanted to. Dawn hears his words, and thinks that these are nothing more than the sad self assurances of someone who knows they've crossed the line of the truly irredeemable. It's manipulative, but for a brief second she sees a way out of this.

"You could be," she lies, practically vibrating with nervous energy. Dawn works through a plan in her mind- as wrong as it feels, she truly believes she might be able to convince him to let her go. At least, just for long enough to return to the group, where she can expose his plot to the others and bring his fears to life, knowing full well it'll end in his murder instead. Even now the thought makes her sick, but there's only two possible outcomes to this- either he dies, or she does "You're not a murderer." He is "There's no reason to do this- the evil that lurks in this place will not let you walk free, but you could walk free with us. You just have to choose to do the right thing."

Scott stares for a moment, both eyes and aura unreadable in the darkness of the cell. And then he flips the little blade of his pocket knife back into the handle, tucking it away, and she could practically sob with relief as she thinks she may have actually gotten through to him, but-

"You're nowhere near as smart as you think you are."

He turns sharply, rifling through his toolbox only to procure a plastic bottle containing a miscellaneous clear liquid. He's got his hand covering the label, but Dawn doesn't have to wonder what it is for long.

The smell is distinctly, indisputably white spirit. Scott dumps a good measure of it over her head, saturating her clothes, and walks slowly backwards to form a trail that ends just outside the door.

Dawn knows exactly what's coming, panic skyrocketing to new extremes "No, please, don't-"

"Shut up." He snaps, grabbing his toolbox and throwing the book inside "I told you to shut up, and we could've kept this easy, but no- you just have to keep on talking," his voice rises with every word, unhinged and erratic "D'you think I'm stupid? Do you really think I'd be doing this if I had a choice? I see you trying to trick me, and I know exactly what you're thinking- it's either you, or me. So why the fuck would I let it be me?”

Dawn understands his perspective. She doesn't want to- the simple brutality of it makes her sick- but right now, in this moment of kill or be killed, she knows that she too would prefer to be the one holding the matches. That fact alone leaves her with no further questions- this is the part where she's going to die.

It's not fair. She got everything right. She got everything right, and she's still going to die. And not even at the hands of the spirits- simply on the whim of a selfish, misguided individual acting in self preservation.

"You're a monster!" She screams at him, because here, at the end of the line with both hands tied, that's all she can really do "A soulless, sociopathic scoundrel! I sincerely hope you enjoy spending your final hours committing atrocities because, mark my words, they will be your final hours!"

And Scott- Scott laughs at her, this dry, humourless bark of a thing, and says-

"You wanna see soulless?"

And then he lights a match, and drops it to the floor.

Burn the witch.

The fire is all-consuming, sudden and acrid in the way that chemical flame always is. Scott stays to watch for a few extra seconds, face lit up in the bright oranges and reds that flicker and flare invitingly, the cell quickly becoming a space seemingly made solely of fire, like this little slice of hell of his own creation.

But the screaming is too loud, and all the smoke starts to make him lightheaded, so the moment is cut short. He gathers his things and disappears into the dark once more, taking the long route to the stairwell as to avoid the others. That's all the trickiest parts over and done with, he thinks- Scott's got a solid plan to make the rest of his job essentially hands-free.

///

"But in the event of an emergency, do we know how to access the basement?"

Brick paces back and forth across the same ten floor tiles, counting them in his head again and again as he passes over them. The mundane repetition helps him organise his thoughts, like a low effort form of meditation.

"I think we're well past ‘in event of emergency’." Jo rolls her eyes from her spot on the ground, where she keeps an unconscious Zoey company "Like, what would be an emergency on top of all the shit already going on? Do you think there's gonna be a flood? A fucking earthquake, maybe?"

He'd been aiming his question more at Cameron, but feels the need to explain "I'm only planning for a scenario where Dawn chooses not to rejoin us, because, after your stunt, I doubt she will." He shoots Jo an absolutely withering look, and then promptly goes back to ignoring her, pausing in his pacing by the bathroom door to address Cameron directly "Cam- if she doesn't come back by the time Zoey's awake, I think it makes more sense to go meet her there instead of wasting time looking for her up here- I'd guess she's already on her way down to get a head start on our mission. Do we know where the entrance to the basement is?"

"West wing, main stairwell." Cameron replies, not looking up from his task. He's faring slightly better than he was before, only minimally shaking as he takes pictures of Mike's body from a million different angles, analysing the position of his fatal wound in relation to the blood splatter surrounding him "We'd go back through the foyer to access the other wing, and from the first hall it's only one right turn."

"Okay." Brick nods slowly, mentally plotting the route to the nearest stairwell "As long as we don't run into anything on the way there,  then this should still be fairly straightforward."

"Yeah, except we are going to run into something, aren't we?" Jo snarks, one palm pressed heavily into her cheek. All this sitting around waiting for Zoey to wake up is only making her more irritable. She sort of wishes she hadn't listened, that she was hunting down Dawn right now instead "That's how this goes. Maybe we should stop planning for completely unplannable situations and get moving before-" she cuts herself off, confused as she sniffs the air "Hey- can you smell barbecue?"

Brick copies her, and recoils- despite not having eaten since midday yesterday the smell of anything resembling food in this context makes his stomach turn "Barbecue and... propane? Butane?"

Jo doesn't know much about chemistry, but she doesn't need to to spot the flickering glow edge round the corner at the end of the hall. The air around them suddenly becomes far too warm for comfort, a stark contrast to the icebox environment they've become accustomed to. The flames spread rapidly, the peeling paint of the walls seemingly all they need to feed from to get bigger and bigger, turning the hallway into a tunnel of fire that spirals towards them at alarming speed.

"...Oh dear." Cameron peeks out of the bathroom, half choking on the smog that's suddenly filled the air around them.

Brick pulls the collar of his shirt up over his nose, wincing at the smoke that stings his eyes as he shouts "Alright, it's go time! Follow me!"

He bends down to grab Zoey, but bumps into another solid body trying to do exactly the same thing. Jo and Brick make matching noises of frustration, both backing off to glare at each other.

"See, this is what I meant," Brick gestures back towards the ring of fire, tone especially cutting "By an emergency."

Jo balks, not appreciating his attitude "And this is what I meant by unplannable situations! Like, there's a fucking fire now? Nobody could have seen that coming!"

"Oh, oh wow," Cameron clutches his head, visibly shaking with stress "Can we save the arguments for later? Someone just grab Zoey and let's go!"

Jo rolls her eyes, promptly lifting the other girl in a bridal carry, and then they're back on the run.

Cameron's regretful "Goodbye, Mike," is lost amidst the roar of the fire as the remaining four exit the scene, away from the toxic chemical flames as their only spiritual savehaven is burned to a husk.

Zoey blinks back into consciousness slowly, dazed and confused as the world jostles around her. It's hard to focus, to regain a solid sense of self when waking up from such a horrific nightmare, so before she opens her eyes she barely questions the improbable sensation of being on horseback.

And then she does open her eyes, only to be greeted by the sight of Jo, teeth set in a grimace as she strains with the effort of carrying her extra weight down the stairs. Past her friend's red face and sweat slicked hair Zoey sees the same grimey white walls, the same ever present darkness, the same awful reality she was so sure she'd just woken from.

It wasn't a nightmare.

Zoey screams.

"Oh, god," startled out of her wits by the eardrum-shattering shriek right next to her head, Jo promptly drops her as they reach the base of the stairwell "I carry you all the way down, and then you wake up?"

Zoey pays no attention to her complaints, quickly scrambling to her feet as all the events of the last twelve hours resettle in her mind. Brick comes to a halt where he'd been taking the lead, and despite being winded from their run Cameron practically flies down the last stretch of stairs in desperation to get to his newly conscious friend.

"Zoey," he gasps, trying to catch his breath "What-"

"He killed Mike!" Is the first thing that comes out of her mouth as tears begin to bead at the corners of her eyes "He killed- he-" 

She cuts herself off, frozen in place for a moment as the reality of what she saw happen really, truly hits her. The tears never fall. Instead, she screams again.

This time, it's not panicked. It's not shrill, and it's not afraid- it's this loud, guttural thing that comes from deep in her chest, born of absolute, unfathomable rage.

It leaves everyone's ears ringing, and in the aftermath Brick frantically tries to clarify "Who killed Mike?" at the exact same time that Jo shouts "Enough with the screaming already!", and all the attention and gravitas only gets her more worked up.

"Scott." She spits the name like a curse, and immediately begins pacing, blood boiling far too hot to stay still "I knew he was a psycho, I knew he was a murderer, and none of you believed me. None of you believed-"

"Woah, woah, no," Jo cuts her off, confused both by her statement and her rather abrupt change in attitude "That's impossible. He's dead- I watched him die with my own eyes."

"Zoey, are you sure this couldn't have been a dream? Or, perhaps some kind of stress-induced hallucination?" Cameron suggests gently, very aware of the circumstances during the last time she'd accused Scott of such a thing. It wouldn't be too far fetched that the trauma from both of these incidents had compounded into one imagined event, like a false memory "I mean, we've sort of been over this, and-"

"No, it happened." Zoey snarls, looking between them like their doubt is the ultimate betrayal "He came out of the bathroom, and Mike was- Mike-" she shakes her head, the thought of saying it aloud causing bile to rise in her throat "Why won't you believe me?"

Jo huffs, irritated by this whole diversion, because it's honestly kind of ridiculous. They just escaped a fire "Look, tonight I nearly got eaten alive by a literal fucking demon, and now you're telling me I should be worried about dirtboy?" She throws her hands up "Do you even realise how stupid that sounds?"

It's exactly the wrong thing to say, if the look on Zoey's face is anything to go by. There's a tense moment where it feels like this is about to become yet another Jo-caused altercation, but luckily Brick sees it coming quickly enough to act as the voice of reason.

"Look, Zoey- whatever happened, it doesn't change our objective. We still need to get to the basement and… and destroy a mass grave. Somehow." He pauses, only now thinking about how difficult that task might turn out to be. Brick scowls in concentration, cogs turning in his mind as he works through their realistic options "That's what we should be focusing on. Maybe, if we could make a bomb of some kind..."

"We'll worry about it when we get there. But first we need to, y'know, actually get there." Jo asserts, folding her arms firmly over her chest "So lets can it with the fever dreams and let's get moving already.”

With that she turns around and storms away. Zoey balks over how dismissive she's being- she knows what she saw "Um, no-"

"That is what we should do, Zoey," Cameron takes her hand, carefully unfolding her balled up fist and trying to guide her the right way "The best we can hope for is to get out of here alive, and in the event that what you're saying about Scott is true, then the easiest thing we can do just leave him in here.”

Zoey sharply removes her hand from his "Not good enough," she seethes, but still takes the cue to follow the other three towards the foyer "We should be hunting him down like he's hunting us. When I find him, I swear- I'm going to avenge Mike. I wanna see the life drain from his eyes."

It's a bizarre statement, coming from her. Nobody dares comment- Cameron looks distinctly uncomfortable at his friend's newfound homicidal desires, while Brick and Jo temporarily forget their animosity to exchange a concerned glance from where they lead the group. Has she gone completely nuts?

The walk is short, only two halls away and thankfully uneventful, but as they approach the foyer it becomes clear that something here is horribly wrong.

"Stop, stop- everybody stop." Brick instructs, nerves eating at his stomach as his flashlight passes over an odd shape in the middle of the room "Oh, god, what is that?"

Cameron creeps forwards a step, squinting through his glasses, and is overwrought with a fresh wave of horror as he manages to determine "That's- thats B."

Upright, unmoving, head slumped forwards where he's facing away from them, B stands in the dead centre of the foyer. Cameron has a good memory, retaining a rough idea of how this room had looked when they had left- it seems as if everything has been shifted around, the piles of collected junk no longer haphazardly strewn across the floor, but stacked neatly, as if with purpose. This alone doesn't indicate an immediate threat, but nonetheless Cameron finds it very, very unnerving.

"Why- how is he-" Brick struggles to find the right words "Isn't he dead? Why is he standing up like that?"

"Maybe it's macabre, but I wouldn't take the possibility of bodily possession off the table." Cameron speculates, already slowly backing away "Do we know if there's more than one way through to the other wing? I don't think we should be anywhere near him, less we risk another paranormal encounter."

Jo frowns, a shiver running up her spine as she spots something that makes this whole setup somehow even more strange "No- no, I don't think he's possessed. Can you see that? Here-" she takes hold of Brick's flashlight, angling it upwards above B's body. The light glints off of the tiny reflective surface, confirming her suspicions "There's- there's wires."

And the more she looks around, the more of them there are. Jo shines the beam around in a wide arc, revealing countless hair-thin, nearly imperceptible wires. If you weren't looking for them, you would never know they were there, and she can't for the life of her figure out why they are there. It's just bizarre.

"Why would a ghost think to..." Jo never finishes her question as she draws the light back towards herself, distracted by one wire that's not in the foyer, but strung across the hall, only about two feet in front of where she stands right now.

They all stop, all go silent, but Brick's the one to creep forwards, squatting down to inspect it up close. Curious, he fishes his length of pipe out of the pocket of his cargo shorts and pushes against the wire, just to test the give. He nudges it, and-

And an axe comes swinging down from the ceiling. It slices through the air, coming to a hard, jittering stop barely an inch above Brick's head.

"Woah!" He falls backwards in shock and stays exactly where he'd landed, not wanting to believe just how close he'd come to getting his skull split open.

"Jesus Christ." Jo exclaims, horrified as she imagines all the different ways this discovery could have played out. The blade of the axe is about level with her chest, and for Cameron that would have been his face. If they had only been just that little bit less cautious, then that could have been any one of them. Gone. Just like that.

Cameron finds himself frozen in place, a memory surfacing of this exact trap being described what feels like forever ago now, and suddenly Zoey's claims seem a hell of a lot less absurd.

“Oh…” his mouth turns involuntarily downwards, this sick, creeping dread rising up in his chest. He didn't want to believe it was true, but “I think I know who did this.”

Chapter Text

"You work fast."

Despite getting the distinct feeling she was trying to sneak up on him, Scott doesn't jump. He could tell she was present solely by the temperature drop in the air.

"What can I say?" He doesn't even look up, too busy tying off a length of wire, finishing his newest deadly trap "They're making this too easy. But you're not- piano wire and no gloves? Seriously? Look at this."

He turns to her, holding out his mutilated hands, displaying a litany of stinging, hair-thin cuts over his digits, his palms, his wrists- Scott's on a weird enough adrenaline high that it doesn't hurt all that much, but she needs to know how annoying it is to be doing this the hard way.

Dakota smiles, eerie and serene. It's then that he notices how stiffly she holds herself, the blisters starting to form on her neck and face. There's an odd, wet sheen to her skin that hadn't been there two hours ago- it could be mistaken for sweat if it weren't for the smell. Scott finds himself repulsed as it really hits home that he's talking to a dead person. Walking around in Dakota's corpse, decomposing in real time.

"Well you're certainly earning your freedom, aren't you?" She says, almost mockingly "This is actually quite impressive."

She gestures to the wild network of traps set up down the west wing hallway, expanding all through the foyer and out the other side. It is impressive, Scott thinks- nobody else could have done this. Nobody else would ever have thought to.

"My house, now." He grins, all too pleased with himself "No way any of those jerks are getting through there alive. And even if they do, they'll be too fucked up to put up a fight- hell, I've already won."

Dakota's smile tightens "Okay, enough with the ego trip. Hand over the book."

Well, that certainly puts a damper on his spirits. Scott keeps his eyes on her as he reaches down into his toolbox, calculating and duly suspicious. He moves as if to hand it to her, but at the last second, snatches it back. 

"And then you let me out?" 

Dakota goes very, very still, any remaining traces of humour disappearing from her stolen face "I don't think you're done here yet."

"I basically am," he argues. He isn't afraid of her, undead or not- all she's really done is mercy kill Sam. Scott's done far worse at this point "They're only gonna walk through there and get ripped apart, so I don't see why we can't hurry this up and-"

"That's not the deal." She cuts him off, one hand held out to indicate she expects that book in her possession immediately "Last man standing, remember? Besides, after all your hard work I'd have thought you'd want to watch it all play out. It's not every day you get to pull off a scheme like this."

To be fair, she's right- he's never going to get another opportunity quite like this one. Scott tries to imagine what it'll be like walking out of here, living with the knowledge of what he's done, of what happened to all the others, going back to his everyday life and forgetting about the existence of ghosts and demons and how it feels to commit cold blooded murder and-

And that's just not going to happen. It'd be impossible. He is never, ever going to be the same person again.

"No, it's not," Scott places the book in her hand as if in a daze. Honestly, he's always liked playing the bad guy, but it's starting to sink in just how bad this really is. He wonders for a moment whether slaughtering these people he's known since grade school is worth it- whether his own life is actually more valuable than all of theirs. Even to himself. 

And then he remembers that he never fucking asked for this. This is their fault- Scott's been shoved into this role, made public enemy number one from the second things started to go wrong, and if they didn't want to see him go full psycho then they shouldn't have fucking treated him like one. They asked for this. They pushed the narrative to the point that they made it inevitable.

Hurt can manifest itself in a variety of ways, and this hurt is surfacing in the form of revenge. Scott knows full well that he's on the wrong side, that if this were a movie then the audience would be itching to see him fail and die in grand karmic retribution, but the jeering, hateful crowd that is what's left of his conscience can go shove it. This isn't a movie- and in real life, more often than not, the bad guy wins.

"Again, pretty sure they're just gonna die in there, but... I'll see it through to the end. Any stragglers are gonna get a nasty fucking surprise, that's for sure." He says, thinking through who's most likely to survive his trap, and how to handle them one on one. Scott crouches and begins rifling through his toolbox, not looking up at her as he picks out a very large, very solid hammer "You sticking around to watch? This could get real messy, you know."

Dakota grins once more, bright and manic as she hugs the book firmly to her chest "Oh, I'll be watching from the sidelines. You just worry about taking the rest of them out, and once your part is over, I'll handle all the cleanup! Now, do try to have fun with this- your happy ending is only round the corner."

///

The remaining four stand just on the other side of the foyer, examining this complex obstacle with clear unwillingness to take a single step further. Really they should be plotting a solid way on how to tackle it, but the discussion keeps getting sidetracked, and any attempts at making a plan are turning out to be pretty fruitless.

"...I just don't get it," Jo says, pulling an absolutely disgusted face as she asks the question hot on everybody's minds "Why would he move the body?"

"My best guess," Cameron starts, snapping yet more pictures on his phone, both sickened and fascinated by the elaborate setup "Would be as a distraction. I mean, I can see the logic behind it- one of us potentially could have had an emotional reaction to believing B was somehow alive again, and rushed in without thinking, and then they would have met, well, that," he points up to the axe, still hanging menacingly from the ceiling "But that being said, it's still a genuinely bizarre string of logic to follow, and then choose to act on."

"It's insane," Brick shakes his head, scowling ludicrously into the mess of wires "These are the actions of an insane person. Who, honestly, I get the feeling probably watched Home Alone one too many times."

"Oh, don't make that comparison. Nobody in Home Alone was building traps out of literal fucking corpses," Jo can't let this topic rest. She can see the state of B's body from here, clothes partially singed away and covered head to toe in weeping burns, and she can't stop picturing what it'd be like to try and haul him around. He's a really big guy- she'd probably be able to carry him propped up against her shoulder if she had to, but there'd be so much skin contact, with all that gross burn fluid, and-

Against her will, Jo retches, covering her mouth as she looks sharply away from the cadaver "Okay, alright, dirtboy's a fucking freak, but we already knew that. So moving on, what are we gonna do about it?"

There's a moment of quiet, everyone trying and failing to come up with any even remotely safe way to handle their newest problem. Zoey doesn't seem to share the other's hesitation.

"We go through there, and we kill him." She says with the utmost confidence, as if it's really that simple "I mean, obviously that's what we're going to do."

"No, no, hold on," Brick frowns, not sure how to approach her while she's clearly in the throes of homicidal rage "We're not going to kill anybody. The undead are one thing, but taking out a living, breathing person is-"

"He killed Mike!" And then Zoey's right up in his face, fists clenched with white hot fury "He did it first. How could you even consider letting him get away with-"

"I don't want anybody getting away with anything!" Brick defends, hands held out in front of him like he's worried she might strike. He wouldn't put it past her right now "We'll all get out of here, and we'll go to the police. I mean, come on, Zoey, don't you see how that kind of violent retaliation is only going to put you on the same moral level as-"

"Oh, here we fucking go." Jo cuts him off, unable to resist getting involved in the argument "Check it out, everybody- Captain Virtue strikes again!"

Brick turns to her with a disproportionately wounded look on his face "Excuse me? Jo, we're talking about actual murder."

"Yeah," she scoffs, folding her arms tightly across her chest "The murder… of a murderer. Look, I'm with Red on this one- it's obvious that freckles has gone fucking nuts. I don't get why he's out for blood, or how he's even alive, but it doesn't fucking matter- that rat dug his own grave, right along with Mike's. And, I mean, it's four against one, so save the saviour complex- you don't even have to get involved."

Brick places his hands on his hips, arguing his very reasonable corner "If it's such an easy fight then I'm sure we can find a way to restrain him. And it's the fact that he has so obviously 'gone nuts' that we should be aiming to incapacitate instead of kill. People react to extreme stress in different-"

"Are you seriously trying to say that you think stalking and premeditated murder is some kind of stress response?" Zoey's wound up tight enough to snap. Frustrated by Brick's good nature when her own has been so thoroughly decimated, she stalks away from their discussion, heading for the tangle of wires without a backward glance "I'll show you a freaking stress response. Why don't you stop pretending to know what you're talking about and go back to, like, crying and peeing your pants or whatever."

Brick falls silent, mostly out of shock that Zoey would rip into him like that. Jo, on the other hand, finds her mouth hanging open in the inappropriate shape of a grin "Oh, I like the new Zoey."

Zoey isn't in a headspace that provides the kind of rationality necessary to really tackle the whole wires situation, and she might have stormed straight into her untimely end if it weren't for Cameron's hand snatching her wrist, grabbing her attention at the last second.

"If I can just remind everybody," He says, mostly directed at Zoey "Scott actually isn't our biggest problem. At all. I mean, for what it's worth he's always kind of scared me, and I personally don't think this sudden turn is all that sudden, or has much to do with a stress response, but I digress," he drops that opinion and then just moves right along, as if it's not even worth talking about "This is all very intimidating on a surface level, but, look,"

Cameron aims his flashlight to highlight a tangle in amongst the tangle- the wires holding B upright connect to a big, messy knot just above him "That's the tension point. Honestly, after analysing this whole setup, it's evident that the craftsmanship is kind of shoddy- the angles of the wires would indicate it all hinges on one fairly fragile connection, and it's actually B's significant weight that's holding up the entire structure. I'm theorising that if he were to be cut loose, then the whole thing would be made loose. We could just walk through, after that."

Thank god for Cameron's big brain "Okay, I'm starting to get how you made it this far." Jo praises, approaching the entrance to the wire maze before them "So what, should we, like, throw stuff at him until he falls down?"

"Jo." Brick grimaces, disgusted by the idea of hurling projectiles at their friend's corpse.

"What?" She turns to him, exasperated "Lose the attitude, Sergeant Stickler, this is life or death. And he's, y'know, already dead."

"As charming a take as that is," Cameron glares at her in turn "It wouldn't work. There's too many wires in the way- I don't think we could hit him from here, even if it were appropriate to do so."

Brick nods in thought, glad that they're not about to further desecrate a dead body, and comes to the due conclusion "So what you're saying is, one of us is going to have to go in there, and cut him down by hand."

Another moment of silence. The four stare into the web- the wires are sharp, densely packed, the gaps in between claustrophobically small. As much as Brick is willing to take one for the team, he knows full well he couldn't get through the first yard without being cut to pieces. The girls probably wouldn't fare any better- Jo's not all that much smaller than he is, and Zoey's too tightly wound not to just rush in and make this ten times more dangerous than it has to be. Cameron wilts.

"Yes." He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses "Yes, that's- that's exactly what I'm saying. Oh, god, okay,"

He strips his hoodie off over his head and dumps it on the dusty floor, not needing the additional bulk of thick layers to make this more difficult. He removes his phone from his pocket and hands it to Brick "Just for safekeeping- unfortunately this is going to involve some climbing, and I don't want to drop it and lose all our evidence."

"I hear you, soldier." Brick affirms, tucking the phone into his cargo shorts "It's awful brave of you to volunteer for duty, but, I mean, how are you planning to cut the-"

"Here," Jo interrupts, handing over the scalpel she's just remembered she'd swiped from the nurses office. That feels like forever ago now "This should do it, right?"

Cameron takes the scalpel with a raised brow "Yes, that's... surprisingly convenient." And with nothing else in the way, and no other options, he turns to face the inevitable, muttering to himself "Okay. Okay, Cameron- your time to shine."

"You've got this, Cam- bring it all down!" Zoey pushes, hardly able to keep her feet still "We believe in you!”

Maybe it stings a little, hearing just how happy his remaining best friend is to throw him into the fray, but he understands that he'd have to do this even if she were crying and trying to hold him back "Right. Okay, if I just..."

Cameron takes the plunge, ducking under one taught wire and stepping cautiously over another, weaving his way through the web towards the centre of the foyer. This actually isn't too hard- as long as he treads very, very carefully, he seems to fit through the gaps just fine. That is, up until his spatial awareness slips at just the wrong moment, and his bare arm brushes up against a razor-sharp edge.

"Oh!" He gasps, and nearly topples over backwards.

His own gasp is echoed by three behind him. It takes all his willpower not to follow his first instinct and turn towards the source of noise- he really should have asked for silence, he can't afford distractions right now- but he manages to keep balance. Barely. Cameron finds himself in an extremely contrived position, half-squatting over a length of wire, leant forward at an uncomfortable angle to avoid the one all too close to the back of his neck. He inspects his arm where one had grazed him, and is alarmed to find himself bleeding. He'd only brushed against it.

Okay- do not, under any circumstances, touch the wires. Cameron had already made that call under the suspicion that touching anything would set off more traps like the axe, but now he realises that the wire web is the trap. He's walked right into a huge, obvious trap, and the only way out is through.

Slow breaths, he reminds himself. Panicking will only make things worse. He continues at a snail's pace, limbs aching from this previously unexplored practice of holding them in very specific positions for prolonged periods of time, and he briefly wonders if this is what doing yoga feels like as he reaches the centre of the foyer.

"Hello, B," he mutters, not thrilled to be up close and personal with yet another friend's dead body, and this time he's going to have to get even closer. B has, unfortunately, started to develop a smell. His remaining scorch-marked clothes are wet with the fluid of burn blisters, and Cameron finds himself impossibly nauseous over the prospect of what he has to do next "I am so, so sorry for this. Forgive me."

Cameron sets one apprehensive hand against the tatters of B's overcoat, and duly shudders. It's water, he tries to convince himself. He's holding a damp towel right now. He tests the give, and finds that from up nearer the shoulders the compromised coat is unlikely to fall apart under the stress of his additional weight, so that's where he grabs onto, screwing his eyes shut tight as he hauls himself upwards with some great effort.

The climb should have been short, but as Cameron blindly searches for his next handhold he finds his fingers meet bare flesh, squishy and malleable where his digits unintentionally sink into it, and gags with so much force that only the thought of how awful he would feel for puking on a friend's corpse stops it from becoming a reality.

His spectators, however, aren't in quite the same predicament. Zoey covers her mouth with both hands in a show of genuine empathetic horror, whereas Jo just plain throws up. Loudly. Cameron deems it appropriate to turn and look at them at this point- the only benefit of being in the eye of the web is that there's significantly less surrounding wire to cut himself on- and catches Jo bent over double, clutching her stomach like despite all the injury and gore witnessed tonight this is still the single most disgusting thing she's ever seen.

Brick remains surprisingly unaffected "Less than a yard to go, Cam!" He calls out, more than ready to supply all the support he can from the sidelines "Just don't think too hard. It's- it's mud, okay? This is an obstacle course, and you stuck your hand in the mud."

The imagery is actually quite helpful. Cameron nods and resumes his climb- Brick and his undeniably stronger stomach would probably have been better for this part, he thinks, but he powers through, and soon enough he's got a knee set either side of B's wide shoulders. Now he's just got to take this thing apart.

The knot holding it all together hangs a little ways above his head, two wires protruding downwards to tie around B's torso. Cameron takes the scalpel, and begins sawing through the one on the left.

It snaps with force, the entire structure shaking threateningly as it loses that bit of tension. B flops at an angle due to his supports being halved, and Cameron nearly falls right off of him, having to grab on tightly to his head to stop from tumbling down into the wires below.

"Oh no, no-" he really should have seen that coming. It's only a testament to how distressed he is that he hadn't considered this particular consequence when making his plan "Oh, god,"

Cameron resituates himself, doing his best to ignore the fact he's just touched B's face a hell of a lot more than he'd have preferred to, and sets his attention on the other wire. He prepares himself for the inevitable second jolt, the fact that B is going to collapse once it's cut, and reassures himself that it won't matter if he falls this time, because the wires will all fall first. If they're not taught, then he's not at any risk of injury more severe than a papercut. He just needs to make sure he lands away from B, and not underneath him.

The thought makes him shiver. Cameron braces himself, and cuts the other wire.

It should have all fallen. He'd gone over every visible point of tension, and calculated that this was the key to taking it down, so that's what should have happened. Instead, as the structure loses the anchor of B's weight, the whole thing snaps up.

This event seems to happen in slow motion from Cameron's perspective, but in reality takes little more than a split second- he makes the cut, and on the other side of the room an anvil slams down into the floor, and every single wire strung across the foyer springs upwards to be level with each other, an unavoidable deadly mesh that cuts through the air all the way up to the ceiling. In his last moments, Cameron is reminded of old Looney Tunes cartoons he used to watch as a child, the practical application of an anvil in a real life trap striking him as almost comical.

There's been worse last thoughts to have. The other three, watching this play out in real time, see no humour in this whatsoever. Because there isn't any. The anvil hits the ground with tile-cracking force, the power of gravity springing the wires up, and both boys caught in the middle of it all get sliced to absolute ribbons.

"Jesus Christ!" Jo shouts even louder than Zoey screams, and Brick promptly takes his turn to throw up as they all witness the carnage in the aftermath, because the horrorshow doesn't end there.

The wires aren't sharp enough to literally dice them apart, just cut them to the point of irreversible mutilation, and then there's two bodies strung up by the ceiling, flesh sunk into the razor mesh below and raining an unfathomable amount of blood down into the centre of the foyer- this grand, macabre water feature in striking red.

"Cameron!" Zoey races across the newly cleared foyer, stopping just at the edge of the pool of gore, shouting up at him as if she might still hold any hope he'd survived "Please, Cam-"

She cuts herself off as something more solid falls from above, jumping back with a shout as Cameron's dismembered hand splashes down into the blood at her feet "Oh, my god! Oh-"

"What the actual- honest to god- fuck is this?" Jo exclaims, unnaturally high pitched as she enters the foyer herself. She grips both sides of her head, wide eyes fixed on the bodies above "This is the sickest thing I ever- I can't- how did that even work?"

She's struggling to keep her thoughts cohesive, genuinely distraught and on the verge of hyperventilating. It doesn't help that she can't for the life of her figure out the physics behind it, and that Cameron probably could have explained it to her in a way that made sense- he'd been her tutor since freshman year- and it all compounds into this overwhelming feeling of loss, and grief, and utter fucking helplessness, because nobody here could possibly fill the hole that Cameron left.

Jo is never the smartest person in the room. She's often the toughest, and the loudest, and almost always the most assertive, and while those qualities tend to hide her pitfalls they don't change the simple fact that in most subjects, she just doesn't know jack shit. But her lackings aren't what matter here. What matters is that they've lost their big thinker, and suddenly this mission seems completely insurmountable without his calm, logical influence.

"We're all gonna die." She says abruptly. Zoey turns to face her, looking very much like she's just come to the same conclusion "This is it. It's only us left, and we're going to die."

How did it come to this? Jo's bleak statement rings menacingly true, because it's obvious to the final three that none of them actually have a solid grip on the plan.

"...Yeah. All of us." Zoey says very pointedly, and Jo already knows what she's getting at. Jo's completely on board "Screw the plan, we were never gonna make it anyway. We should take everybody out, take this entire place down in a blaze of glory, and-"

"No no, don't- don't screw the plan. We're not screwing the plan. This is just- I really can't-"  Brick approaches them, green faced and unable to stop sneaking glances up at the ceiling, the crimson fountain pouring down disgustingly close to the girls to a degree that he can't comprehend how they're just standing there, speaking, ignoring it. It should be impossible to have any kind of level headed discussion while standing underneath  such grotesque, inhumane artwork, but after everything else they've seen maybe he's in the minority in that opinion "We still need to go to the basement and meet up with Dawn. She's got that book, and she knows how to get us out- this isn't over, okay? And, I mean, I don't know about you two, but I don't want to die."

Ah, right- the reminder that Dawn is most likely waiting for them to enact their final play offsets the doom spiral. This is still feasible. Jo nods grimly, about to agree, but Zoey opens her mouth first.

"I could take it or leave it." She says, both tone and expression flat in a way that's especially disturbing amidst the backdrop of gore behind her "As long as Scott dies first, I'm fine. Everyone that's important to me is already dead."

It's one hell of a statement. Brick falters under her thousand yard stare, looking away uncomfortably. Hell, Jo can't bear to look at her either, and she's actually down for a little murder.

"We hear you, Red." Jo briefly wonders if she's ever really loved anyone like that- any of her friends, or even family. She wonders- if she felt the way that Zoey felt- whether she too would crack to the point of no return "Let's go commit a murder. And, y'know, at least try to save our skins."

That's the absolute best compromise available, and so everybody is in agreement, mostly. Brick still looks exceptionally squeamish over the idea, but he doesn't try to argue anymore, as long as they're still sticking to the mission. He wouldn't be able to stop them anyway.

The three deftly avoid walking under the carnage still steadily streaming from the ceiling, giving the ever growing pool of blood a wide berth as they come up to the west wing hallway. On first glance the coast looks clear, but Jo's learnt a thing or two from witnessing Cameron's tragic demise, and she throws an arm out to stop Zoey from charging ahead as she shines her flashlight into the gloom, finding exactly what she'd expected to.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me." She mutters, revealing yet more evil little wires strung about the hall. They're nowhere near as densely packed, fairly easy to navigate as long as you're careful, but that doesn't make it any less frustrating "Where did he even get all this shit?"

"I had some help."

Jo snaps her head up, and there he is- Scott cuts a pasty, menacing figure at the far end of the hall, easily mistakable for a less human entity under the eerie beam of her flashlight. For whatever reason, even knowing he was skulking around somewhere, she wasn't actually expecting to see him again. It's disconcerting- Jo feels the same instinctive fear she would as if she were looking at a ghost.

But then she reminds herself that it's dirtboy. It's just dirtboy. Total psycho or not, Jo isn't afraid of him- she could beat him dead with nothing but her bare fists, and one arm tied behind her back. She can't help but think how unbelievably fucking audacious it is for him to come out into the open like this, how daring it is to see it's still three against one, and accept the challenge head on. Jo takes it as a warning to watch her step- there's no way he's stupid enough to think he could win this fight.

And she's right to do so, because Scott doesn't intend to do any fighting at all. Maybe it's not obvious from so far away, but he's fucking shaking- only one out of four went down in his trap, and on top of his only successful victim being the least threatening of the lot, that four was supposed to be three, anyway. Scott's got his eyes fixed on Zoey, and she's staring right back at him. Hadn't he given her some kind of lethal injection? She should be dead.

How he managed to fuck that up, he'll never know. What he does know is that it's thoroughly knocked his confidence. It all comes down to this set of traps, he thinks, because if none of them die before they make it down here, he's completely fucked. 

"You," Zoey snarls with a level of venom that's just plain wrong coming from her "I'm going to kill-"

"Yeah, yeah, save your breath," Scott sneers, pretending that this is all totally expected, and that he's not even a little bit afraid of her, because he isn't. He isn't "What are you waiting for? Come and get me!"

Zoey does not hesitate. With an enraged shout akin to a battle cry, she takes off at a full sprint, leaving the other two in the dust.

"Wait!" Brick calls after her, just as cautious of this clearly rigged hallway as Jo is "Zoey, don't!"

She's not listening. Brick and Jo exchange a panicked glance, and follow her in, albeit at a much more reasonable pace. Apparently they need not worry about Zoey though, because she's in the zone- she jumps and ducks wires with startling grace, making her way through like she was born to take on this kind of high stakes obstacle course. Still, nothing about what she's doing right now is a good idea, and that in mind Jo kicks it up a notch, determined to catch up to her. While Zoey may be unhinged enough to throw herself headfirst into a brawl, that's all the more reason for Jo to very much not like her odds going toe to toe with Scott. Not alone, anyway- the girl needs help.

And then the odds double, triple against Zoey, as in her haste she catches a wire very close to the ground with the heel of her sneaker, and a set of sharp metal skewers come flying out of the wall.

The resulting scream is blood-curdling. Zoey is impaled in three places- both her upper and lower arm, as well as one striking a spot in between her ribs- and speared through against the opposite wall. 

"Zoey! Oh- oh my god," Brick exclaims, only a few paces behind Jo as they both reach her. 

It's bad. It looks bad- Jo grimaces in sympathy as Zoey screws her eyes shut, chest heaving as the reality of her mistake settles in, struggling to remain upright against the wall, every part of her desperately wanting to flop to the floor into the recovery position. Jo's about to question whether removing the skewers is even a realistic option, when she hears laughter- that snide, nasty fucking cackle- and turns to fix her glare on Scott.

He thinks this is funny. Everyone's either dead, or quick on their way to it, and he thinks it's funny. Jo's going to show him funny.

"You're on damage control, Brickhouse," she instructs, temper flaring to new extremes "I'm gonna smash a rat."

"No, Jo," Brick groans in panicked frustration as she makes a beeline for her target. No matter what he says or does, neither of these girls are listening to him. It's already resulted in one injury, and if Jo gets herself mutilated as well, then what the hell is he going to do? It can't just be Brick. He can't do this alone.

But she's off, and completely unreasonable, so Brick resigns himself to keeping an eye on her in his peripherals, and turns his attention to the more imminently life threatening matter at hand "If I try to take these out, do you think you're going to faint?"

Zoey shakes her head no, lip trembling and breathing heavily through her nose. Brick takes this as a maybe, but the cruelty of leaving her pinned outweighs the risk of injuring her further "Alright- on three?"

That's what he says, but there's no counting involved as he yanks a skewer from her arm without warning. Zoey gasps, going white as a sheet, and he feels overwhelmingly guilty, but it's got to be better than letting the anticipation build up. Before she even recovers he pulls out the next one, freeing her arm entirely. He's debating the safest method to approach the one between her ribs when he registers new movement at the end of the hall.

Jo closes in, dodging the last few traps, and instead of facing the inevitable beating of a lifetime this is sure to be, Scott makes a break for it. He darts round the corner, but Brick spots something in his hand, and his stomach lurches as he realises that he isn't running away.

"I- I'm sorry, just- stay here." Brick tells Zoey, rather pointlessly, and follows after Jo.

"Get back here, coward!" She snarls, taking the bait, and the chase, as if this actually is a chase, and-

"Jo!"

And Brick's suspicions are confirmed as she makes the corner, and before she has time to register what's happening, an arm comes swinging round. Jo takes a hammer to the face, the solid steel striking against her cheekbone with violent force, with intent to kill.

But of course there's intent to kill. That's the whole point. Jo goes flying back with an involuntary cry, sprawling out on the ground, and Scott comes back round the corner still clutching his weapon- he'd probably been aiming for her temple, or the top of her head, anywhere that'd immediately cave her skull and put a quick end to this, and that's evident as he stalks towards her in her moment of vulnerability, bringing the hammer up to strike again.

Brick watches as the strongest person he knows flips over onto her knees, choking on blood and spitting teeth out onto the floor, and it finally hits him just how extreme this is- it's the sheer level of brutality, the complete lack of hesitation on Scott's part, and it's just- it's disgusting. Brick's adrenaline levels spike with the realisation that whether it's due to some kind of mental break or otherwise, this person is currently dangerous, and they're just not in a position to handle him with careful mediation. There isn't another option, the crime of personally inflicting violence finally being outweighed by the crime of letting this horrorshow play out. He hops the last wire in the way, and for the first time tonight, Brick attacks.

With a noise like a wild animal he vaults himself over Jo, and before that hammer can come down and take her out for good, he tackles Scott to the ground. After the initial knock against the tiles he sees the surprise on his face, more confusion than fear, as if Brick isn't a force to be reckoned with in his own right, and it actually makes him so much angrier.

"Get off, crybaby," Scott sneers, and Brick is reminded of schoolyard brawls, of years spent turning the other cheek to those who don't share his upright moral standing. The hammer comes up once more, ready to break bones "Or I'll make you get off."

Brick catches his wrist and pins it with minimal effort, his other hand reaching into his cargo shorts, and then the pipe comes into play. Scott may be ruthless, but Brick is physically superior in virtually every way, and there's something almost cathartic about this moment- the motion of bringing the length of pipe down, over and over again, bludgeoning his smug, sneering face in until any trace of self-assuredness disappears. There's the fear- the panic, the dawning understanding that this isn't a fight he can win, nor weasel his way out of. 

Sweat drips from Brick's forehead as he cracks his blunt weapon into the skull beneath him, and it leaves a visible dent, and the caged animal inside him fully takes over as he accepts the inevitability that Scott has to die. And it's going to happen under Brick. How low does a person have to sink to end up beaten to death by Captain Virtue? This lapse in moral code will destroy him later, but right now, it's the only outcome Brick can see. That is, until a hand slips under his shirt.

Brick pauses mid-swing, completely thrown by the absurd notion of getting felt up while beating another man senseless, but that's not what's happening here. Of course that's not what's happening here. Scott locates his bandages, worms his way underneath them, and digs two fingers into his stab wound.

It's blinding. If there were anything at all left in Brick's stomach, it would have come back up right then and there- it's ten times worse than the initial stabbing had been, this invasive twist deep in his insides, the dig and the pull and the burn- and Brick crumbles in silent agony, too shocked to so much as scream.

Zoey watches as the soldier is shoved aside, gasping for breath in the aftermath of such a vile, dirty tactic. She desperately yanks at the skewer stuck between her ribs, the slow, gradual action of doing it herself infinitely more painful than Brick's efficient method, and when it comes loose it's like the life spills out of her right along with it. Zoey feels faint, and terribly, tellingly cold all over, but she powers through on sheer will alone, ignoring all the blood, and the way the hall spins and blurs at the edges, because there's two other gravely injured people on the wrong end of Scott's unhinged death glare, and neither of them look like they're in any shape to fight back.

Neither is she, really, but in that moment she doesn't see Brick and Jo- she sees Cameron, and she sees Mike, and she sees Scott stumbling on uneven feet, clutching at his head like it might help ward off the immediate concussion and potential brain damage, and despite everything, she's not going to miss her shot. Zoey waits for him to stop moving, his attention turned on Brick where he's keeled over, and the hammer comes up, and-

And Zoey hurls her bloodied skewer like a javelin, piercing cleanly through the air, and right out the other side of Scott's wrist.

"Fuck!" He drops the hammer, wide eyes snapping to the site of his newest injury, and then up to meet hers. During this distraction Jo recovers just enough to stop coughing up shards of bone, hauling herself slowly upright using the leverage of the wall... and that's his cue. Scott runs. For real this time.

Zoey takes chase to the best of her ability, which isn't much at this point, but Scott's equally brutalised and off his game. He's got the headstart but he's not too much faster than she is, and then they're both gone, disappearing into the dark with no clear destination.

Jo doesn't follow. She's too disturbed by how close she just came to losing her life, and at the hands of dirtboy. The left half of her face aches with the intensity of a thousand suns, and she could count her remaining teeth on her fingers, and- is this karma? Is this what she gets for leaving him to die? It's embarrassing, is what it is- there's always going to be a permanent reminder carved into the structure of her jaw, that she lost. To Scott. 

"Thanks." She turns to Brick, unusually subdued, the addition of for saving my life going unspoken.

"Don't mention it," he replies, voice strained where he's curled up on the floor, tears in his eyes. In that moment Jo finds him both pitiable and, for the first time ever, threatening.

Despite objectively being a large, well-built guy, Brick could only ever be described as gentle. Up until now. Jo thinks of their moment back up in the warded hall, when she'd expected him to hit her, wanted him to- she couldn't think more the opposite after witnessing that display. It makes her wonder just what he could be capable of when under the right sort of pressure, and so, so thankful that whatever spike of vengeance inspired his assault on Scott has never been turned towards her. God knows she's said and done enough to push him there.

So there's a conflicted kind of caution about her as she goes to help him up, a very confused flush on her face as she tries to lift him from underneath his shoulders and get him back on his feet, but he waves a weak hand to fend her off "Please, just- just a minute."

Jo really can't blame him. She has mixed feelings over the fact that he'd taken fingers in the abdomen for her sake, especially when they're on such awkward terms anyway, so against her better judgement- and concerns over what the hell Zoey thinks she's doing right now- she allows him the breather. A sudden movement, however, turns her attention to the gloom of the foyer. She's immediately reminded of Cameron's wise words right before he took on the fateful task of dismantling the wires- Scott is not their biggest problem. At all.

The pool of blood collecting in the centre of the foyer appears to be attracting... things. Jo can't make them out very well due to the dark, and the distance, but she can see the distorted, moon-white shapes, far too many of them, like a hoard of flies descending on a feast of gore, and then-

And then a ghostly face cranes its way around the doorframe at the end of the hall, disproportionately long neck stretching out, a pair of black, empty eyes making contact with her own.

"We don't have a minute." She snaps into gear, ignoring Brick's agonised cry as she all but drags him upright again, pushing him onwards in the direction that Scott and Zoey had taken "Fucking run!"

///

Zoey's sprint peters out into a stagger as she rounds the corner, the chase coming to a standstill as it becomes evident that Scott's ten yard head start was somehow enough to have her lose him. The hallway is silent apart from her ragged breaths, and she stands very still trying to even them out, ears straining for a sign of footsteps in any direction. But there's nothing to hear.

So he's hiding. Of course he's hiding- he's a coward, and a sneak, and a murderer. There was never a chance he'd take her on with any sense of honor. And while she did know that, this moment of staring into the black, empty silence, all this adrenaline coursing through her veins with no immediate outlet, has her so frustrated she wants to cry.

Or maybe that's the shock. Zoey presses a hand against her ribs, trying not to let the nonstop gush of dark, viscous fluid get the better of her. It's not easy- the rate and quantity at which she's losing blood is alarming, and it's only the desperation of her goal, the chase, that's keeping her on her feet at all. And then, just when she's wondering if it's even worth searching, whether she should be conserving her rapidly dwindling energy instead, she hears a noise.

Amidst the eerie stillness of the hall, Zoey hears a creak, and a clang, like metal against metal. Her ears perk up, head instinctively snapping towards the source.

And then the adrenaline hits again, a fresh wave of it rocketing up her spine. She's never felt more like an animal than right now. Zoey's the lone wolf, separated from her pack, eyes wide and senses sharp as she creeps forwards, fixated on one cell she's dead certain the noise came from. Most of the doors down here are open- askew at random angles to obscure the further depths of the hall, but they don't inspire any paranormal fears. For once she knows that they were left that way on purpose, because this is the very same hallway where Scott had played his stupid wheelchair prank. That event feels about a million years ago now- back when this was still a fun little excursion, a silly Halloween game to play with friends. That reality is so far removed at this point that it basically never existed. Here, at the end, Zoey's lost all her friends, and she's playing for death or glory.

She stops just before the darkened hole of the doorway. Even through the haze of blood loss she acknowledges that Scott likely isn't stupid enough to be accidentally knocking things around in there- not when the stakes are so high- so it seems pretty clear to her that he wants her to go in and get him. He'd have her trapped in with him that way. Oldest trick in the book.

Zoey realises quite suddenly that she's shaking. She saw Jo take that hammer to the face. That's what's going to happen to her, right now, the second she peeks around the doorframe, and unlike Jo there's nobody here to save her in the aftermath. It takes all her willpower to prevent herself from hyperventilating, because this is not a moment where she can afford to make a mistake, but suddenly she can't imagine any realistic way to handle this that wouldn't end in her getting killed. What can she do? She can't turn back, and she can't run past, and she can't just go on in. It's while she's stuck in this hellish limbo, working through her nonexistent options that something- the tiniest, most easily missable detail- catches her attention.

A pale line, in between the open door and the frame it hinges on. Now that- that's a mistake. Everything clicks into place in her mind, her fear replaced with a wash of calm, cold fury.

He's not in the cell. He's behind the door.

And he's expecting her to go into the cell looking for him, and he's not even going to fight her- just lock her in there, and run away, and let her bleed out in her own time. Zoey finds it disgusting, and offensive, because after everything he's done he should at least have the nerve to face off with her, but he doesn't. He doesn't. 

Scott is a stupid, scared little rat of a man, and right now, he fucking should be, because Zoey's going to rip out his throat with her teeth. She sets her jaw tightly, steeling herself with righteous rage, and slams the door shut.

It's a weird moment. She knew he was there, and yet she still completely jumpscares herself. It's how unexpectedly close they're standing, and that from here she can see the absurd amount of cuts and bruises littering his body, which only now does she really register as bigger than her own. It's the freaked out, feral look in his eye, and his violent flinch at the too-loud clang of the door, and the wretched, blood-crusted knife in his hand, and-

“Ah!”

Zoey jumps back in panic, but it's too late. The blade slashes through the air, and embeds itself in her chest.

By less than half an inch. The thickly-wrapped, bulky layers of Dawn's sweater-bandages swallow the blade and catch it in place. Zoey takes a sharp breath in, shocked and confused, and only realises what's happened after Scott's realised what's happened, when he yanks on the knife's handle, unsuccessful in freeing the blade where its teeth are snagged and twisted in woven fibres.

“Fuck,” he hisses, completely dumbfounded over how a simple stabbing could go so wrong, and Zoey never thought a murder attempt could be described as awkward, but if such a thing were possible, this would be a top example. 

There's a split second where everything comes to a standstill- Scott and Zoey frozen in place, looking each other dead in the eye, and not at the knife- and there's something uncannily familiar about this moment. It's not the setting, or the events, but this person that she's known, at least in passing, for the majority of her life.

Zoey's mind suddenly transports her to a different hallway- one far less gloomy, instead lined with vibrant green lockers. She's got fifteen minutes until the end of lunch period, and she's only gone to grab her chemistry textbook, but as luck would have it there's a distraction ready and waiting for her.

She pauses as she recognises dirty sneakers, the frayed end of muddied jeans, his top half obscured by the door of the locker he's rifling through. Zoey immediately thinks it strange- Scott's locker is nowhere near hers. It takes all of about five seconds to realise that that's Mike's locker he's going through, and she reacts with an appropriately defensive tone.

“What are you doing?”

Scott flinches, near violently, understanding that he's been caught out “Oh, I'm just getting my, um…”

He appears from behind the little green door, an uncomfortable, false grin plastered on his face. There's no end to his sentence, and Zoey doesn't think to question why. He's nothing but trouble, so she's admittedly hesitant to confront him, but she powers through her shyness anyway, slamming the locker fully open to see just what kind of ‘prank' he's decided to pull this time.

“Oh, my god,”

It's a dead rat.

Ugly, smelly, rotten and poking halfway out of Mike's gym bag. Her mind quickly connects his lack of gloves, or bag of any kind, and it becomes obvious that he's been carrying that thing around with bare hands. That's disgusting enough on its own, but to make a point of exposing Mike to nasty rat pathogens, to be breaking into his locker to do so solely for the purpose of entertainment, is a whole new level of wrong. 

She doesn't want to hate him. She really, really doesn't. He just seems to constantly go out of his way to make himself hateable, unpleasant, the enemy. Zoey goes still, staring at this stupid dead rat like it might suddenly jump up and supply some kind of explanation as to why it's there, but, of course, it doesn't. There's never an explanation. Scott just does nasty thing after nasty thing and then expects it to blow over, as if the concept of consequences is foreign to him, and this- this is-

“Why can't you just leave him alone?”

She doesn't realise she's said it aloud until after it happens, in the here and now where there's a half inch of steel in her sternum that she can barely feel, because she's completely lost it. She's lost it harder than Scott ever could, because while Zoey's cracked under the stress, he's always been like this.

Her abrupt exclamation snaps them both out of it, the sting in her chest burning anew as Scott frantically tries to twist the blade free, and in retaliation her hands fly up to meet his around the handle, doing much the same thing with a very similar goal in mind. But it's stuck good and proper, and when their hands touch Scott makes a disgusted, frustrated noise, and instead of wrestling her over it, he boots her in the stomach.

Zoey gasps as she falls, back hitting the cold tiles below, the puncture between her ribs flaring impossibly hot to a degree that she thinks she might pass out before the fight's even over. 

“Why can't you just fucking die?” He yells, strained and manic and now weaponless, and before she gets the chance to recollect herself, he attacks again.

Scott practically jumps on top of her, knees sunk sharply into her abdomen to keep her both blind with pain and firmly beneath him. Zoey screams, but it's abruptly cut off as calloused, bloodstained hands find her neck, thumbs bearing down hard on her windpipe. It's a primal, graceless form of execution, and Zoey reacts in kind- thrashing and gasping and yanking at his wrists, hitting him anywhere she can reach in the desperate hope that she can somehow get him off before it's too late.

It's as her vision starts dotting black around the edges, when she's starting to think that this really might be over for her, that she tries the knife again. The angle is terrible, an awkward tug to the side with her elbow trapped under Scott's, but it's the best shot she has. If she could just pull harder-

The thick, woolen fibers of the sweater finally snap. It happens in one arching motion, and entirely by accident- the knife comes free, and the force of the pull it took to get there swings it haphazardly upwards, where it jabs sideways, messily, into Scott's throat.

And he chokes.

It's wet- this sick, bubbling sort of almost-cough that echoes far too loudly over Zoey's own oxygen deprived gasps. On reflex, a hand flies up as if to plug the puncture in his windpipe, a desperate attempt to stop the impossible amount of blood running forth over his fingers, to create a vacuum and drag some air down into his lungs, but ultimately it's pointless. He knows it's pointless- she can see it in his eyes, because he's looking right at her. She sees the shock, and the panic, and the dawning existential horror in the wake of the realisation that this is it. He's done. She's had him.

In reality it takes all of five seconds after the slash of the knife for Scott to fall, but to Zoey this scene could have lasted for aeons. And she really does get to see it up close and personal as the life drains from his eyes.

But then he does fall. Forwards. Directly on top of her.

He's heavy. Still warm. Zoey immediately shoves him aside, and sits up, a shudder running up her spine as she crawls frantically backwards away from the body- as beaten and bloodied as she is, overwhelmingly, pathetically human- and then the hunters drive wanes, and-

“Oh-” Zoey's loose grip on the knife falters further, and she drops it to the floor. There's nothing she wants in her hand less “Oh, my god,”

It comes out as a whisper, still too loud here in the dark, lifeless hallway as she shrinks in on herself, hugging her knees to her chest. Nothing that's happened tonight- none of the death and despair and heartache- comes anywhere close to the horror of this. Zoey knows full well what he did, and for a while she'd genuinely wanted nothing more than this exact outcome, but that doesn't change how viscerally awful, how utterly soul-destroying it feels to have taken a human life.

And they sit there, side by side in the dark, the monster she's slain, and the monster she's made of herself, and she thinks- she won't be able to live with herself after this.

That's how Jo finds them when she comes round the corner, Brick propped up on her uninjured shoulder, and she feels it against her side as he breathes an audibly shocked “Oh, wow,”

Oh wow is right. It's not the most horrifying scene either of them have walked in on tonight, not by a longshot, but the gravity of a definite murder between themselves isn't lost on anyone. Jo knew full well they were likely to find at least one of them dead after they'd ran off, and this is certainly the lesser of two evils, but she still finds herself disturbed by the reality of it. If Zoey could do this, then surely anyone is capable of murder “You- you sure went through with it, huh?”

And Jo just never manages to say the right thing, does she? Zoey blinks at her in the dark, eyes wide and owlish, and then breaks down in a fit of outright sobbing.

It's loud enough to make the two newcomers cringe. Brick unplasters himself from Jo's side, grimacing as he forces himself to adjust to his own weight and ignore the burn in his abdomen “Okay, alright- we made it through, Scott's… y'know, and as far as I can tell there's no more traps waiting for us. The basement door is just down there, right?” He approaches Zoey, tone gentle as he offers a hand to help her up off the floor “It's a clear shot. Are you ready to go?”

He's so ridiculously good, Jo thinks. Everyone is staunchly avoiding looking at the body, because something about its presence is more uncomfortable than any other body they've had the pleasure of encountering so far. Brick and Zoey seem to be caught in this endless loop of her opening her mouth to say something and then cutting herself off by crying again, and Jo can't help but think it stupid. Hell, Zoey only achieved exactly what she'd wanted to- watching Brick baby her in the aftermath is giving Jo tonal whiplash, because he's objectively right- it's a clear shot, and they need to get going while the going’s good. Jo is about to tell her to get the hell up already, but-

“H-hello?”

Jo snaps her head up- the fact that it's a voice she recognises making it all the more disconcerting- only to find Dakota, perfectly intact, shuffling towards them down the hall.

“Dakota!” And then Brick's priorities shift, snapping to attention in both shock and relief, making a beeline straight towards her “How are you- after I left I thought you were-”

“I don't know,” she sniffles “I just woke up over there, and I- I heard yelling…”

Jo narrows her eyes in confusion. Honestly, Dakota's the absolute last person she'd ever expect to have survived this long, and especially without any visible injuries. Except, as she comes closer, Jo can see all these marks on her- lesions, by the dozens, all over her arms and face. She's instantly reminded of zombies, and her first instinct as Dakota gets within ten feet is to back the fuck away, because if there's suddenly some freaky disease going around in here, Jo sure doesn't want it.

“What's with your face?” She demands, repulsed.

Brick isn't quite as forthcoming in his disgust, chastising a quick “Jo,” because even if she's sick, the fact that a whole nother person is alive and here at all is a huge win for them. The more survivors, the better their chance of survival.

“I know, I know, just-” Dakota sniffles some more, voice tight, but while she certainly sounds like she's crying Jo can't help but note the distinct lack of tears on her face “Don't run away from me. Please. I'm alone, and scared, and-”

And when she takes another step forward, Jo takes a huge step back, because everything about this is wrong, wrong, wrong- Dakota's stood directly in front of Scott, and she doesn't even look down. She doesn't acknowledge him at all. Her eyes flick between Brick and Jo and Zoey, as if she's sizing them up, and it's so wildly out of character for her not to be screaming over the literal dead body at her feet that it's kind of more disturbing than the… you know. The literal dead body at her feet.

“-And I'm so sorry I attacked you, I promise it won't happen again. I don't know what came over me,” she apologises to Brick as he guides her back towards the other girls, ignoring how Jo is obstinately keeping her distance, and turns her attention to Zoey, leaning over her to say “Oh, look at you- are you alright? It's been a rough night, hasn't it?”

She's holding something behind her back. Jo can see as much in the angle of her arm “Back up, Barbie- what are you hiding?” and when her question meets dead air she demands, in just as aggressive a tone “What?”

Zoey sobs again as if the tiniest bit of confrontation is suddenly enough to set her off, burying her face in her hands- oh, she's going to be such a joy to work with now, isn't she?- and Brick spins on his heel to inform her, as if her concerns are somehow absurd “Jo- it's Dakota.”

Yeah. Yeah, that's the point. Dakota, who even the wildest of imaginations would never picture as a contender for horror movie survivor. It's weird that she's alive, and it's weird that she's so calm, and Jo's about to start yelling at the lot of them, but the second Brick makes his incredibly obvious statement- of course it happens while his back is turned- Dakota reveals her weapon. Big, oblong, glinting menacingly in the dark… Dakota pulls out a meat cleaver.

Jo freezes up, whatever it was she was about to say lost to the ether, because there's something distressingly familiar about this moment. Except this is infinitely worse than the last time any of them were confronted with a cleaver, because-

The blade makes an awful noise, a dull, heavy thwack as it hacks into the base of Zoey's skull.

“Oh!” And then Brick gets a fucking clue. He spins around again to see it happen, in the same motion attempting to back away from the massacre, but in the process trips backwards over Scott's corpse, one hand landing in the bloody mess that's leaked from his neck “Oh- oh, my god-”

Zoey doesn't come apart easy, or maybe the blade just isn't sharp enough, because it seems to go on for an eternity- this vile, repetitive hacking at tissue and sinew and bone- until Dakota finally prizes her head free from her body, holding it out by one red pigtail for everybody to get a real good look at.

Shock isn't the right word for it. Brick's crawled backwards right up until he hits Jo's shin, stuttering nonsense words in his distress “W-what-”

“She killed my errand boy. I liked him- he kept things interesting.” Dakota says, shrugging almost nonchalantly, and then breaks out into a manic grin as she looks between the remaining two “So… who's next?”

Her eyes fix on Jo's, and they narrow knowingly, and it's a visceral moment of recognition- Jo's soul practically transcends her body with the understanding that the blunt, ugly cleaver in her hand is more than just an impractical weapon choice for a beheading. Dakota's picked it out on purpose to let her know, in all her possessed, evil glory- this is the bitch who killed Lightning.

Jo's going to kill Dakota, right along with whoever the fuck is wearing her face.

“You,” she snarls, already stalking forwards, and Dakota has the nerve to laugh at her.

“Well, alright,” she rolls her eyes, her confidence despite Dakota's skinny little body being absolutely no match for Jo's athletic prowess coming off unbelievably offensive, and says “I did think it'd be funnier- in a narrative sense- to have you watch the good soldier die, but I suppose we can do you first. Catch!”

And then Dakota throws the head at her.

“Woah!” Against her better sensibilities Jo follows the order and catches Zoey, in the moment the idea of dodging and letting her skid away on the ground seeming impossibly disrespectful, and she's so thoroughly distracted by the surreal nature of looking down at her friend's severed head in her hands that she almost misses it when Dakota abruptly turns and sprints away into the dark, laughing all the while.

“Oh no you fucking don't!” Jo shouts after her, and after a split second of uncomfortable deliberation sets Zoey's head down by the wall, a fresh, violent determination overtaking her. She barks a quick “Come on!” at Brickhouse, and promptly takes chase.

And then it's just Brick, still crouched awkwardly on the floor in this hallway now populated solely by corpses, and it- it just-

It just doesn't stop. He can't catch a break, can he? Either way he's going to have to catch up to Jo, because now she's running off into this supposed climactic showdown with absolutely zero planning. Completely reckless. How many times is he going to have to fear for her life tonight? But maybe Jo's life isn't his top priority at this exact second, because then…

This thing comes jittering around the corner, and Brick jumps up onto his feet, breaking out into a new sweat that has nothing to do with his injuries, or Jo, because what the fuck is that.

Armless, eyeless, contorted white body twitching and shaking like a disproportionately huge chihuahua on meth. The two holes in its face that he'd assume function as a nose scour the air, drawn to the blood- to the bodies on the floor, to him- and its several rows of teeth clatter together in anticipation as it throws its legs around near uncontrollably, every step like a spasm as it comes towards him at alarming speed.

Brick stopped counting the number of times he's pissed himself tonight a long while ago. He's just perpetually wet at this point, and this instance only adds to the repulsive pool of bodily fluids collected around the murder site in the hallway that he quickly abandons. As dark, as selfish a thought as it is, Brick finds himself praying that his newest problem will happily make its meal out of the two already dead, because he can not fight that thing.

He's not that lucky. Brick is never lucky- it's in his nature to struggle, and he sure as hell struggles now, clutching his stab wound with one hand and hoping that running away will suffice as a plan until he can come up with a better one.

It doesn't. The creature follows viciously, tracking him easily with its nonexistent nose, and no matter how hard Brick pushes himself to run, the gap keeps getting smaller and smaller, that mouth full of teeth getting closer by the second. Panting, he barrels out into the west wing stairwell. And then his rational mind falters as he bears witness to the nightmare scene taking place in front of him and, unthinkingly, he stops dead in his tracks.

Jo catches up to her target, and Dakota swings round, cleaver carving through the air-

And Jo catches it. Blade first.

“Fuck!” she cries out, the blunted edge sinking into her palm, but she carries through, keeping hold of it just enough to yank it away from Dakota and toss it aside.

It goes clattering across the floor, tumbling straight into the dark, doorless chasm of an exposed elevator shaft. Dakota's spirits aren't dampened by the loss of her weapon. Quite the opposite- she smirks back towards the elevator, and then at Jo, taking her tightly by her mutilated hand as she crows “Dance with me!”

And Brick sees exactly what's coming, and he shouts “Jo!” as he so often does, and she takes a second out of cringing at Dakota's grip to glance back at him, her eyes going wide, and-

Brick hits the floor. Forcefully, with a heavy grunt as the thing headbutts him right between the shoulder blades. Shit.

Winded, Brick rolls himself over just in time to see it lunge down, torso contorted at a bizarre angle to do so with its lack of arms. Thinking fast in his panic, Brick pulls out his length of pipe, wedging it up into the creature's teeth only inches from his face. Its jaw jitters against the lead, as if to chew right through it as opposed to finding another angle of attack, a trail of viscous black saliva running down the side and threatening to fall in Brick's mouth.

It's nearly twice the size of him- holding it back is taking quite literally all of his upper body strength, and the pipe is going to break eventually. Brick kicks at its legs, its stomach, anywhere he can reach in the hopes it'll fall before his arms give out.

And Jo has no idea what she's going to do to help him fight off that thing, but obviously she has to try. She immediately goes to run to his aid, but finds her hand still caught in a deceptively strong grip “Hey- let go!”

“Why?” Dakota mocks, with this ugly, twisted sneer that looks so, so wrong on that face. Jo tries to twist away from her but she holds on even tighter, and they don't have time for this, and in her frustration Jo growls, and punches Dakota right in her perfect white teeth.

But Dakota only laughs. Much to the others horror she uses the proximity to enclose Jo in a tight bear hug- peeling, ice cold skin and all- and starts walking them rapidly backwards “What are you- hey- get off-” 

Jo thinks she's about to be sick, so close up with all that rotting flesh, but the panic only rockets ever upwards as she realises what exactly is about to happen. Before she even has time to yell, Dakota throws herself backwards down the elevator shaft, sending them both hurtling into the chasm below.

Brick watches from upside down where he's trapped on the floor, a wordless, despairing shout escaping him as his very last and most important friend is dragged to her death. His arms buckle under the strain of holding back the monster, and he sobs, and for a moment he thinks- that was it. It's over.

Because it's somehow whittled down to just Brick of all people, stuck here overwhelmed by something a lot bigger and scarier than he is and, honestly, what good is he alone? He's nothing by himself, and he contemplates exactly how painful it would be to give up right now and let this creature have its way with him. He closes his eyes, and-

“Brick!”

And snaps them right back open. His given name echoes up the elevator shaft, and through his aching bones, only drowned out by the impossibly loud chant in his head of alive, alive, alive-

The pipe in his hands finally cracks between the creature's teeth. It lunges down at him with a snarl, and this time, Brick snarls right back, grabbing it by either side of its freakishly proportioned skull, and twists.

Its neck snaps. Audibly, with a sickening crunch, jaw still working overtime in an attempt to maul him, but that's not so viable when its head is flopping around with no support. Brick ignores the teeth that scrape uselessly at his chest and rolls out from underneath it, hopping to his feet with fierce determination, and when it follows, trying to barrel him back over with its limbless shoulder, he takes the whole demon by the middle and flips it to the ground first, landing it on its front.

Not taking any more chances, Brick slams the heel of his solid army boot into the base of its spine, quick and efficient, and the creature makes some terrible noise- somewhere between a rattle and a howl- as it's effectively paralysed from the waist down.

“I'm coming, Jo!”

And he is. Brick races towards the elevator shaft, leaving the thing twitching and writhing on the floor without so much as a backwards glance as he grabs hold of a loose cable, leaping into the abyss without hesitation as he makes his rapid descent to join her.

Chapter Text

“Jo.”

The solid base of Brick's boots partially sink into the dirt at the bottom of the elevator shaft, turned into slick, viscous mud in the wake of all the liquid leaking from-

“Hey,” Jo says between staggered breaths from where she's backed up into one corner “Don't- just don't look. Whatever you do, don't look at her.”

It's an impossible order to follow. Brick manages all of two seconds before giving in to a sick kind of curiosity, the adrenaline coursing through his system luckily squashing the visceral panic he thinks he should probably be experiencing here, because god damn.

Dakota, while still technically in one piece, lays flattened in the mud of her own making. It's like someone burst a human blister- rancid corpse juice saturates the ground, her stolen body mangled and deflated where Jo had presumably landed on her. The evidence of that event resides in the new, putrid stains splattered across Jo's utterly destroyed hoodie. Dakota's head however is, unfortunately, still intact. 

“Oh my goodness, look at you,” she crows, laughing up at him from her second death bed “Sailing down here like a real life action hero- are you here to save the girl? I don't understand why you bothered. All the good ones are dead. That's a lot of effort just for the sweaty, angry, poison-tongued he-she who killed all your real-”

“Stop talking.” Brick growls, the absurdity of arguing with a flattened, mud-swamped corpse not lost on him “How are you even talking? Your lungs must be-”

“Don't think about it too hard, Brickhouse. It doesn't make any sense, but none of this makes any fucking sense.” Jo interrupts, drawing his attention away from the surreal spectacle that is what's left of Dakota. Once he sets his eyes back on her she practically flinches, clearing her throat awkwardly “Are you- are you okay? How did you get away from that-”

Her unfinished question is answered immediately as the demon's floppy, useless head comes clacking and snarling over the ledge they'd all jumped down from. It shakes and writhes, vaulting itself over with one huge body spasm, landing heavily on Dakota's already brutalized torso.

“Jesus!” Jo squashes herself further into the corner, whereas Brick, desensitised to this bullshit to a degree he never thought possible for himself, deftly boots it in the head, putting its teeth as far away from himself and Jo as he can in this confined space.

“Oh- oh no,” Dakota jeers as the creature goes to town on her mangled remains, barely audible over the sound of tearing flesh and squelching mud “You got me! Whatever am I going to do?”

She laughs, hysterical, but Brick's stopped paying attention to her. He's far more focused on what's actually important- the mission, and getting the two of them out of this living hell while they're both still able-bodied. He looks up at the ledge, and all around the elevator shaft, and discovers a set of heavy steel doors behind them, parted by about half an inch and letting in the slightest warm breeze, the air from beyond somehow even more rancid than all the corpse juice and demon sludge fumes they're inhaling right now.

“That drop was more than one story,” he turns to Jo, who snaps her wide-eyed gaze up and away from the feast taking place in front of them to meet his own “Which is weird- we were already on the ground floor. I'd say this is our best bet at access to the basement, but it also poses the question- how deep does this basement go?”

Jo is struggling to give it much thought, winded from her fall and distracted by how close they are to this thing and its flailing, jittery legs “I- I don't know. I guess we're going in there either way, right?”

Brick nods, gripping the edge of one door with both hands “Get the other side, would you?”

She does so without question. They haul the doors apart from either side- the steel is rigid, and Brick strains his abdominal muscles in a way that makes his stab wound burn with a vengeance. Once the gap is wide enough for them to reasonably fit through, a gust of hot air blows out that has them choking on the stench.

“Oh my god,” Jo pulls the bloodstained collar of her hoodie up over her nose, finding the iron tang of her own bodily fluids genuinely less offensive “What is that?”

“Go find out!” Dakota encourages them, ever so cheerful even as her vessel is eaten from the waist up “Oh, what a shame I won't get to see your faces when-”

“Shush,” Brick snaps at her, not an ounce of patience left for this surrealist bullshit “I have just had enough of you. Come on, Jo, let's get moving.”

It's not often Jo lets herself be bossed around by someone else, but this is a rare and necessary exception. He's sharp, no-nonsense, monobrow set in a permanent furrow as he marches into the stagnant, sweaty tunnel beyond. Jo follows, the sound of flesh being consumed and maniacal laughter echoing after them into the dark.

It's cramped in here- the low dirt ceiling restrictive, near suffocating amidst the heat, and the damp, and the buzzing of a million flies that seem to take up all the available space around them. Neither of them have flashlights anymore, those basic comforts having been lost in the chaos a long time ago. Here at the end it's just Brick and Jo, flying blind, no way out but through.

“I don't know what we're going to find down here, but we have to be prepared.” Brick drowns out every awful sound around them with rational thoughts. Whether it's for Jo's benefit or his own is unclear “Mike said the basement was some sort of lab- I'd bet there'll be at least some kind of flammable substance lying around, so if we can get ahold of enough of that, and find all these bodies-”

“You're really on top of this, aren't you?” Jo interrupts, the words falling out of her almost by accident. Brick goes quiet, and it prompts her to continue “I mean, I don't know- it's like every time things get scarier, you get less scared, and that's… I always thought your whole military shtick was kind of ironic, cause, no offense, but with all the crying and peeing your pants I figured you'd never make it past bootcamp. But I've also never seen you in an actual crisis before.”

“I'm just doing what needs to be done.”

“I know,” and despite it all, Jo finds herself breaking out into a shaky smile “Like, maybe Demon Dakota was mocking you, but she was right- you are like a real life action hero.”

Brick stops walking. Jo stumbles straight into his back and nearly topples over in surprise, but he turns and catches her at the last second. It's a weird moment, the air thick with tension and flies as they hold each other in the pitch black.

“Honestly?” Brick tightens his fingers where they're curled around her upper arms, and for the first time in a while he actually sounds nervous “I'm just… I'm only doing what I'd imagine you'd do.”

It's absurd. Jo barks a short laugh, glad he can't see the flush on her face, or the wildly contradictory tears at the corners of her eyes “No, cause- cause I'm here, aren't I? We're in the exact same situation, and I'm doing jack shit. All I've done is fuck things up, and get people killed, and-”

“Don't- don't do that. Whatever you're about to say, don't say it to me,” he cuts her off, and while she can't see his face in the dark, she can feel where their chests just barely brush that he's shaking “We're in hell right now. Literal hell, and no matter how much we argue, you're still the first person I'd choose to have down here with me, okay?”

There's some implications there around the word hell, and the idea that he'd want her there that Jo finds particularly fitting “What, cause this is where I belong?”

“No,” Brick objects.

Yes, she wants to correct. All of this is on her. Every tragedy that's occurred tonight would never have happened if it weren't for Jo, and her need for a grownup Halloween, and her ignorance, and distrust, and her stupid big mouth. But she doesn't say any of that. Instead, she listens to Brick as he continues.

“Because you're the only person who could weather through it.” He's wrong. She's been doing worse and worse ever since the grand reveal that ghosts exist “And if you weren't here- if I actually had to be the strongest person in the room, I would- I would crumble. It'd be over, so don't you dare go soft on me now.”

And then Jo realises a concept completely foreign to her- it doesn't matter what she thinks. 

Not in any context, really, but especially not right now. Her opinion on her own actions and worth are irrelevant, because Brick sees her as his pillar in this crisis, and she sees the same in him, and all that matters at this point, all they can hope to do, is continue holding each other up.

Jo likes him. Jo likes him to a degree that's absolutely ridiculous, and especially when he's berating her. She could never, ever get tired of listening to his ever-righteous arguments and, it's funny, but she actually likes it better when he wins. 

“Okay,” she agrees easily, and steps back, and when he willingly lets her go it's terribly disappointing “Okay- you're doing what you think I would do, and I'm gonna… I'll do what I think you would do.”

So she'll be trying her hand at something she's never done in her life- being supportive. There's a lot to learn from him, Jo thinks, definitely more than there is to learn from her, but she gets the feeling that that notion is mutual.

“Alright,” the word comes out as little more than a shaky breath, but Brick resumes leading them down the tunnel regardless. And maybe that whole conversation was a little too much, or maybe he's just delirious from general exhaustion and blood loss, because then he adds “Not sure what that involves, from your perspective. Are you gonna pee your pants?”

It's startling- this off-colour, self-deprecating little attempt at humour. Jo has no idea how to respond, how to let him know that he's far too good to be reduced to the one character flaw she could pick out on him, so she just laughs. She laughs so hard that she temporarily forgets the ache in her jaw, and the direness of their circumstances, and that distraction lasts her all the way up to the end of the tunnel where the laughter abruptly dies in her throat.

“Oh,” it was wildly inappropriate, honestly. There's nothing funny about any of this. Brick would seem to agree.

“Well,” he swallows thickly, and then regrets it, coughing a little and spitting on the ground because, god, he can taste far too much of that smell. It's inescapable “We definitely found what we were looking for.”

Dawn's theories are proven correct as they stare at the insurmountable pile of bodies in front of them. There has to be hundreds- the ones down here near their feet reduced entirely to bone and dust, gradually getting fresher the nearer they are to the ceiling of their shared tomb. The outlines of human bodies are gently illuminated by a soft, sterile glow, a little square of light coming from an open hatch way up above. If it weren't for that one break in the darkness, they may have stumbled straight into the pile.

“Do you think Dawn's waiting for us up there?” Jo asks quietly.

“...Only one way to find out.” Brick sighs, and what he means by that doesn't have to be said aloud.

Jo shivers. She'd pitied Cameron for having to get up close and personal with B's big, burn-riddled corpse, and now she pities herself in turn. There really isn't another option- they're going to have to climb up the pile and hope like all hell the gap between the top and the hatch is small enough to jump.

“There's no chance we could find another way in, right?” She sweats, trying to come up with anything at all “Like, if we went back, and climbed up the elevator shaft, and found the door that opens out to up there instead of down here, and-”

“Don't be such a wuss.”

Jo balks, mortally wounded by the casual insult. There's a far more scathing one on the tip of her tongue, but it goes unsaid as she gags watching Brickhouse set a tentative foot into a gap between two skeletons near the base. He tests the give of human bone, and his boot goes straight through what she'd guess is someone's femur, but the pile doesn't budge any more than that. Confident enough, he reaches up and grabs hold of a very decayed, very human hand, and yanks himself upwards to begin the ascent.

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters “Not squeamish, are you?”

Jo isn't either, she tells herself. She isn't- this is just insane. Brick doesn't deign to respond, only addressing her again once he's over ten feet up, craning his neck back with a pinched expression “C'mon, Jo, don't fall behind.”

Against every single natural instinct in her body, Jo takes the prompt. Stomach churning, she copies his movements, finding the same footholds, grabbing the same rotten appendages, doing her best not to be overwhelmed by the stench, and the textures, and the flies. There's so many flies. Jo understands why Brick wasn't keen on continuing their discussion once he'd started the climb, because she's pretty sure if she dared open her mouth it'd be nigh-instantly full of bugs.

The angle gets less and less steep as they approach the top of the pile, not so much a climb as a scramble across fresher, juicier bodies that her knees sink into in the most foul of ways. Jo affirms to herself that in another few feet she can probably stand instead of crawl, and that thought provides her with raw motivation to pick up the pace. She's nearly at that point, having caught up with Brick in her determination to stop touching all these god damn bodies, when her hand meets something that reminds her of Cameron's fateful mission.

It's somehow slimy and crispy, conjuring an image in her mind of B's burn-mottled skin, and she barely prevents herself from throwing up right then and there, swallowing it back down before she dares to look.

“No,” it comes out involuntarily, the mix of guilt and disgust overwhelming “Oh, no, no,”

This body- the one with the stomach that Jo's just sunk her hand into- is small, dainty, and charred to a degree that it would be entirely unrecognisable if it weren't for the tattered remains of a long skirt, just about discernible as purple under the limited light.

Brick glances back, and comes to the exact same conclusion that she does “Guess Dawn was waiting for us.”

Jo snaps her head up, ready to- hypocritically- rip into him over how inappropriate a comment that is, until she catches him furiously blinking tears from his eyes, and- and yeah, that's about right. Jo feels it too.

They can't just kneel here and cry, though. Jo clears her throat, struggling to think of words that are both supportive and a nudge in the right direction “But… no point stopping now, right?”

Brick nods, still a little choked up “No- no, of course. I'd just thought that, maybe, we could've had more than two survivors. It's not fair that Dawn's down here. She figured everything out for us.”

And there it is. Once again, Jo feels entirely fucking useless, and stupid, and like any single one of their friends would be more deserving to have reached the end instead of her, but she nips that thought in the bud.

Maybe they're better off dead. Maybe her position is worse- no matter how on top of things Brick is, there's no guarantee the two of them are going to live through the last stretch. To get this far, to watch everyone they know die and then die themselves anyway… fuck. It would have been so much easier to just be killed right at the beginning. This is exactly what she deserves, she thinks, for starting this mess in the first place.

There's no use in pitying the dead. Instead she pities herself and Brick, the living, who have no choice but to crawl onwards.

They reach the very peak of the pile, both of them standing with hands on their hips, pointedly looking up at this hatch in the ceiling as opposed to the bodies of their friends below. Jo's counted quite a few- she doesn't know how or why Zoey is suddenly down here and not where they left her in the hall, can't come up with an explanation for how Mike's been magically slung across her, or where all the little pieces of Cameron in the mix came from- but in the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter. Everyone who's dead is here, and Brick and Jo stand atop them all like the unwilling victors of a brawl they never sought out.

“Can't be more than five feet.” Brick remarks, squinting up into the light “Here, get on my back and pull yourself up. Or, no- I'll go first, just in case-”

“Pop a squat, soldier boy.” Jo orders, spitting some blood out to the side, and grits what remains of her teeth “I'm going up.”

Brick blinks at her owlishly “Yes ma'am.”

Brick gets down on one knee, and Jo doesn't waste any time climbing carefully onto his back. Hauling herself over the ledge isn't the easiest task in the world, what with her mangled shoulder, but she has to do it. Whatever's up there, she's ready to face it head on.

Creepy lab. It's everything she'd imagined it would be, with the added bonus of appearing completely empty save for some gently beeping machinery a little further down “Coast is clear,” she announces, and turns back around to pull him up with her. It's an awful view, looking down on him in that hole with all those bodies. The image only speeds her up, yanking him over the edge and into the light in record time. 

“So. Now I'm going to… build a bomb, I guess.” Brick states, wary eyes taking in their environment, looking for any sign of movement behind the empty beds, the shelves lined with jars full of indiscernible liquids “Which I know sounds sort of impossible on such short notice, but it doesn't have to be complicated. We only need to make something combustible. It's just a matter of finding enough materials to create an explosion of a magnitude that could actually… y'know, destroy all those bodies.”

“You'd know better than me,” Jo readily admits, thinking about her failing grade in chemistry. Trivial matters, really, but maybe she should have paid more attention in school. Turns out the sciences have some practical, real life applications she never could have imagined “You focus on that, I'll scout ahead- make sure we're alone, and that we've got a clear path outta here once the bomb goes off.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Brick affirms, giving her a short salute before quickly darting off to inspect the many walls of shelves, reading through labels and collecting anything he can discern as flammable enough to make an impact.

He doesn't waste any time, so Jo doesn't either. She sees a full wall of freaky symbols, like all the crap Dawn was drawing in the safe room upstairs, and… curiosity gets the better of her. She approaches the altar on the other side of the pit, eyeing the litany of human bones that don't shock her at all at this point, the stained brass offering plate, the multitude of candles-

Jo freezes. One. There is exactly one candle on this display that just so happens to be lit. It flickers away innocently in its spot nestled between two skulls, almost unnoticeable, almost insignificant, but it tells her everything she needs to know.

“Brickhouse,” she calls out warily “Someone's got a candle going down here.”

She cranes her neck to check on him, all his focus dedicated to his task, and is surprised when his only response is “Great- then we've got fire.”

Well, that's certainly one way to look at things “Right,” she mutters, resigned to making sure no interlopers come after Brick while he's hard at work, and selects her weapon. Jo lifts the brass offering plate, solid and heavy, like a macabre, blood-stained shield, and leaves the candle as she found it, pushing on into the depths of the lab in pursuit of an exit, and potentially anyone lurking down here with them.

Jo rounds a rack of shelving, and immediately spots a door on the far side. Glancing in both directions, she discerns that there really aren't any hiding spots down here- it's too open, too well-lit- and she's struck with a sense of unease over how simple their escape is looking right now.

The door opens without issue, revealing a darkened tunnel that stretches on so long she can't see the other end. Part of her thinks it'd be wise to check exactly where this leads to, but there isn't another door in the entire basement, so she can't imagine it just leads nowhere. It's got to be the way out. Besides, she can't even fathom leaving Brick alone down here for however long it'd take to make the trek and back.

“Jo,”

She nearly startles out of her skin, spinning on her heel with the plate held out in defense, even though it's just him “What?”

“It's go time,” Brick announces, grinning at her like he's just struck genius, and maybe he has- he's got a ten gallon bottle full to the brim with some menacing grey-brown substance, gauze wadded into the top and a long trail of bandages dragging across the floor behind.

“That was quick- what the hell is in there?”

“Formaldehyde, medical grade ethanol, and, now, I can't personally believe this, but some of this machinery still runs on gas. Good for us, not so much for the environment. What I've got here is basically a giant, fancy molotov cocktail.” He lifts the bandages off the ground, holding them out to show her “This should let us keep enough distance to reasonably avoid the blast, but we're still going to have to be fast on our feet once the fire gets going. I thought about it and, realistically, we can't start running until we know for sure this has worked. I'm worried about how wet a lot of those bodies still are.”

Despite it all being relevant, and necessary, this particular spiel is easily the weirdest thing that's ever come out of his mouth, that sentiment only compounded by how god damn pleased he looks with himself over his creation, and- and maybe he's gone a little nuts, too. Maybe he went and lost it the moment he got stabbed in the gut, because Jo can't come up with any other explanation for how Brickhouse came to be such an unflappable machine.

He's doing good. Considering the circumstances he's doing great, and while Jo would do pretty much anything to prevent his stride being broken, in the name of rationality she has to broach the idea of “But what if it- what if it doesn't work?”

Brick's eyes harden, his grip on the bottle tightening “Then… we'll regroup, and come up with something else.”

Right. Jo sees the way the line of his mouth twitches downwards, can tell that he's lying to both her and himself, and that's exactly what she'd feared. There's no time to regroup- there isn't even anybody left to regroup with. Neither of them have eaten or slept in over twenty four hours, nor are they faring well with their injuries, and the brutal reality here is that if this doesn't work, then they're not getting out of here.

This time yesterday- hell, four hours ago- perhaps Jo would have mocked him for his delusional optimism, but she has no desire to do so now. She knows he doesn't really believe what he's saying anyway. This is it, the final play, so she tells him, earnestly “It's been a pleasure working with you, Brickhouse.”

And Brick cracks a sad little grin and says “Likewise,” and they're standing here in this creepy lab, where the air smells like chemicals and decay, and for a second his eyes flick towards her mouth, and-

“It's, um,” he coughs, awkward, and casts his gaze down to his feet instead “It's a shame we both threw up, isn't it?”

“Screw that,” Jo balks, surprised and a little disgusted his mind even went there at all “I have, like, no teeth. There is so much blood in my mouth, man. It's not that I don't-”

“I know, I know, I just…” Brick waves her off, blushing something fierce. Then he clears his throat “Josephine,” he says, taking on a more playful tone as he offers her his hand “Would you care to blow up this giant pit of corpses with me?”

It's so, so stupid. Nothing about this situation is funny, or romantic, but it's because of exactly that that Jo finds herself laughing and blushing as if he'd just asked her to prom “Yeah,” she says, and takes his hand, squeezing it tightly “Yes, I would.”

And then they do. It's the worst first and potentially last not-date anyone's ever been on, which is a depressing thought all by itself, but, god, Jo figures that if it weren't for the wild emotional rollercoaster this night has been, she probably would never even have allowed herself the simple joy of holding his hand. She would have thought it too soft, too vulnerable. She craves that softness now.

Brick gently lowers the container down into the pit, leaving only the trail of bandages snaking out of the hatch, of which he hands Jo the free end “Would you do the honors? Please? This is kind of- it's-”

He fumbles over the words, but Jo knows what he means. No matter how necessary it is, the stark reality of looking down there at all their friends and choosing to set them on fire is… upsetting, at best. But Jo'll do it. She's the one who led them all in here to die, so it's only fitting that she's the one who burns the bodies. 

“This is fucking insane,” she states the obvious, if only to lessen her nerves. They'll have less than a minute between lighting this and having the bomb go off, and her adrenaline is going haywire in anticipation for the blast, and having to run from it.

“This is… fucking insane.” Brick agrees, already sweating, and Jo is so startled she can't help but bark a laugh- it's the one and only time she's ever heard him swear. It doesn't suit him at all, awkward as if he's testing the shape of the word in his mouth, and she finds herself looking at him far too fondly over it, a last glance before she turns, and approaches the candle at the altar.

Jo dangles the end of the bandage over the little flickering flame. It catches easily, and then it's showtime.

“Okay,” she takes a deep inhale, muscles tensed in preparation to run “Okay, let's-”

“Woah!”

Oh, the timing. She knew deep in her bones that this was getting to be too straightforward, but the timing of this interruption is just a whole new level of unfair. Jo spins sharply on her heel, brass plate clutched to her chest like armor, only to see Brick duck again as a needle swings through the air, aiming for his neck.

It's an old man. He may have appeared out of nowhere, but it's literally just an old man “Stay still, and it won't hurt nearly as much,” and he talks like a normal person, and steps forward in a perfectly standard, human way, but Brick jumps back in terror regardless. God, they can't be doing this now, not when the fuse is burning, and they need to go, and-

The doctor immediately tires of Brick's dance to avoid the needle point and closes in on him, and Jo thinks that this is the single stupidest encounter they've had yet, because there's nothing scary about this guy at all “Come on, Brickhouse- just hit him!”

But he doesn't, because he never gets the chance. It happens all too quickly- Brick backs up without looking where he's going, loses his footing right in the wrong place, and teeters, falling through the open hatch and into the pit with everybody else.

“No, no- oh, god,” she can hear him panicking down there, scrambling to find any way out, and for good reason.

Jo spares a seconds glance towards the trail of bandages, burning ever closer to the pit’s edge “Oh, fuck this,” she rushes forward, because she's got to haul him back out of there before the bomb goes off, but first, to make sure this will finally just fucking end-

She swings the heavy brass plate downwards, right into the old man's head. She imagines a crushed skull, a definitive fall, at the very least a concussion, but-

The plate goes straight through him. The force of her swing throws her off balance, and she barely catches herself in her shock. Jo stills, not out of fear, but despair, because it finally strikes her just how futile this entire venture has been.

He's a ghost. They're dealing with ghosts- no matter how much her or any of her friends have struggled tonight, have sacrificed for each other, no matter how cleverly they try to approach this, there's no point in fighting, because they're trying to kill the unkillable. The dead. Jo looks at this old man and his tired, condescending face, the last of her hopes smashed all at once, and he says,

“You're not very bright, are you?”

And then the bomb goes off.

It's so, impossibly loud- a grand explosion destroying everything in its wake, the end of the very reality around them. It's so loud it nearly drowns out the screaming that accompanies it.

The screaming isn't Brick's. Instead it's a cacophony of sound, potentially hundreds of voices forming a wall of noise, and- and she can't actually discern his voice in there at all, which has her heartrate spiking as she turns around to see just what the fuck is happening here.

At first Jo thinks she's seeing a pillar of flame- too bright to look at directly, spiralling out of the hatch and up into the air like a beacon- but a fire of that magnitude should be accompanied by heat, right? After a couple of seconds of her mind coming to terms with the abstract, Jo realises what she's actually looking at, is souls.

“What… the fuck.”

Odd movement to her side catches her attention, and she looks just in time to watch the stupid old man fade out of reality, suddenly no longer a visual presence, or a threat. He seems shockingly unbothered by this development, and, right. Can't kill a ghost. Jo remembers that the aim of this mission wasn't to kill the unkillable, but to remove the energy source necessary to allow them influence on the physical plane.

And it worked. It fucking worked, or at least did something. The burst of newly freed souls tapers off, the wall of noise and light dying down until all that's left in its wake is the comparatively dull crackle of fire below.

Jo will never be able to articulate just how surreal an event this was to witness. It's a terrible shame that she was the only one to see it. And then the shock wears off, and she realises that it's actually, finally over, and she's all alone in this creepy, cursed basement, the true last man standing, and-

“Brickhouse!” She's at the pit's edge in a heartbeat, frantically searching the smouldering depths for noise, or movement, or any sign of life at all “No, no, no,”

A cough. Strained and barely audible, but she would swear she'd heard it, and apparently that's enough evidence for her to believe her next move worthwhile.

Jo jumps straight back into hell.

She could have made a run for the exit. Exit is actually an option now, and it would have been so easy to do so, but she doesn't. Instead she takes the dive directly into a smoking heap of corpses, landing heavily in the steadily burning remains.

“Shit- fuck,” and then she's a little bit on fire herself. She pats down her already destroyed tracksuit to put out the worst of it and staggers through the embers, frantically waving a hand to clear the smoke all around “Brick. Come on, just- where are you?” 

It's unbearably hot down here. Jo's pretty sure the soles of her sneakers have partially melted into her feet, but she doesn't fucking  care. It's not important. What's important is that nobody is calling back to her, so she takes two seconds out of her latest freakout to do some detective work- what would Brick do to survive, when faced with an unavoidable explosion?- and comes to the logical conclusion that, like anybody, he'd either hide, or run away.

Jo hops down from the decimated pile and looks back at it with a grimace. No. There's no way he'd burrow himself in there, right? Even Brick's strong stomach couldn't possibly handle cozying up inside corpse mountain. And if he did, he's certainly dead, because the entire thing is a flaming wreck of bone and ash, the only improvement from the fire being the additional death of all the flies that once called it home. Despite the heat, Jo shivers violently at the thought of searching through the wreckage, so in the spirit of what would Brick do she chooses to be optimistic, and prays like all hell he was intuitive enough to run. She sprints for the tunnel they'd initially come through, hoodie pulled up over her nose in a futile attempt to block out all the corpse smoke.

Cramped. Pitch black. Jo can't see a fucking thing in here “Brick?” It occurs to her that she may have to get down on all fours and crawl along, feeling her way to find him, but thankfully she never needs to go through with it.

“Oh!” She nearly trips right over him, the only indication that this is Brick and not any other random body being the weak, pained groan over her accidental assault.

“Holy shit- Brickhouse,” and then she's on her knees, a hand on his back where she can feel he's curled over like a pillbug, likely exactly where he fell trying to protect himself from the explosion “Are you- do you think you can get up?”

But there's no reply. And on top of that- he's wet. She runs her palm up along his spine, locating the position of his head, and double checks that he is, thankfully, alive, by feeling where his breath comes out through his nose, rapid and shallow. That doesn't change the fact that he's unconscious, and Jo tries not to think too hard about how she can't feel any clothes on his back, only the slick, uneven give of a grotesquely large, open burn wound and-

It's not real. She can't see it in the dark, so it's not real. It's going to be okay, she tells herself, because it has to be, and lifts him from underneath his armpits, manhandling him over her uninjured shoulder, the best position she can reasonably manage without digging her hands into his back. Because she's not leaving him here. She can't. While stumbling along through the claustrophobic black of the tunnel, Jo realises that she's crying.

Being the last man standing really isn't all it's cracked up to be. She knows full well they all ended up down here because of her, and if she can't save at least one of them- if she doesn't make it out of here with Brick- then quite frankly she doesn't care about getting out.

She thinks about Zoey, and her revenge mission, and her complete loss of interest in escape after losing her favourite people, and finally understands how she felt. Jo would do anything- literally anything- to keep Brickhouse alive and well. And it's a good thing she's thinking that way, because as she finds the end of the tunnel, it occurs to her that the way they got down here is exactly how they're going to have to get back up.

“Fuck,” he's heavy. He's so ridiculously heavy. The saving grace here is that Jo finds the elevator shaft miraculously empty- no Dakota, and no freaky demon, which she had been fully anticipating running into, but they're just… gone.

Best not to look a gift horse in the mouth- this climb is going to be hard enough as is. Jo feels around in the dark and takes hold of a loose cable, Brick's limp, bulky form hanging awkwardly over her shoulder, and begins the two story ascent.

It takes forever. For fucking ever, possibly the most challenging physical feat she's ever pulled off- exhausted, injured, crying- and yet she does it, because she has to. For him. She has no doubt that he would do the same.

And as she hauls them both over the ledge, panting and heaving and aching all over, Jo sees something she thought she might never see again.

Daylight.

“Oh… my god,” it's streaming through the high, barred windows of the west wing stairwell, exactly as cold and grey as the first of November should be, and it's the single most beautiful thing she's ever set her eyes on “Brick. Wake up. It's- we're going to be-”

Jo chokes on her words, and then chokes again on the bile rising in her throat as she finally gets a good look at him. He may have tried to run, but the blast sure fucking got him anyway- the damage is exceptional, flesh mottled and peeling all the way from his lower back to midway up his skull, the hair there singed clean off, some parts of him so thoroughly burnt away that she can see the shiny white nodules of his spine.

The simple joy of daylight disappears, and Jo wishes it was dark again. That way she could at least pretend the wetness soaking through her sleeves where she holds him wasn't- oh, god, the blood panic can wait. They don't have time for that shit. Jo readjusts him as best she can and takes off at a full sprint, exhaustion be damned. They pass through the murder hall with its skewed, open doors, and where she expects to find bodies, and gore, there's-

Nothing. Nothing at all. Everything around them sits dusty and still, as abandoned as it ever was, the only sound to break the eerie silence being Jo's uneven footsteps and laboured breathing. It's bizarre- impossible, the paranoia that something must be just around the corner, or about to jump down on them, or following only paces behind never once leaving her. She reaches the hall where she'd got her face bashed in with a hammer, squinting ahead to see that even the wires are gone.

For a moment, Jo thinks that she's truly gone insane, that she'd somehow imagined every horror they'd encountered tonight. She comes to a stop, frantically patting down Brick's thoroughly singed cargo pants, because right now more than anything she needs the proof. She needs to know that was real. Brick's current state, his weight on her shoulder somehow just isn't enough. Not after all that. She fishes out Cameron's phone, and finds herself bugging out over the fact the photos are still there. She carries on forwards, holding out the screen, looking at the very last picture he'd taken- the foyer with its wire maze, B's body strung up in the centre of it- and compares it to the foyer as she finds it now.

Dead silent, empty, wrong. There's light coming in through the windows in all directions- the least creepy it's ever looked while she's occupied it- and yet that's somehow worse. The obscene pool of blood is long gone, no junk strewn about the place at all. It's almost like that reality- the one where ghosts are real, where every awful thing she could ever imagine took place- has completely ceased to exist.

Jo doesn't know the first thing about subrealities or wormholes, or even the paranormal, really. What she does know is that she's alive, and the front entrance is right there in front of her. She makes the last leg of this harrowing journey, pushes down on the heavy steel bar, and-

It doesn't open.

“Are- are you-” she stutters, talking to absolutely no one “Are you fucking kidding me!?”

And no one replies. She tries again and again and again only to meet the same result, and then bangs one frustrated fist against the impenetrable steel as the horror of how basic a factor they'd all ignored settles in.

Unlocking the door may have been the main goal- the entire point of their plan- but even after the spirits have been taken out of the equation, at the end of the day, a locked door isn't a paranormal phenomenon. It just is what it is. A locked door.

Jo laughs, abrupt and hysterical, and says “Oh man. Oh, Brickhouse, you would not believe this shit,” because she can't either, and having nobody else share this moment is pushing her over the brink. She forces herself to calm down enough to think through her options, and figures that now there's no demons lurking it's at least probably possible to find another way out. Back to square one.

Except this time she's completely by herself, worn down to the bone and hauling Brick around like he's the catch of the day as he slowly bleeds out on her shoulder. It's the sheer unfairness of it all- Jo can't tell whether she wants to laugh or cry. She crouches, setting him gently on his side to avoid having his all too open back touch the dirty ground, and checks him over to estimate how much time they've got before her rescue attempt becomes futile. His face is slack as if he were sleeping, unnaturally pale in the grey-cast light of day, and when she places a hand in front of his nose to see just how dangerously shallow his breath must be to achieve this level of stillness-

He's not breathing.

He's not breathing.

The world ends. Jo's legs give out in shock, and she falls to her knees, hovering over his body that rests between her and the exit that was never, ever going to open for any of them. All their efforts, her last-ditch attempt at gaining their freedom, the deaths that took place for them to get here become little more than a cruel cosmic joke. Alone and finished, Jo sobs openly.

And then the banging starts.

It's startling, loud- an aggressive, rhythmic beating that shakes the very foundation of the building. Jo recognises this as the anger of the spirits come back full force, and while that should be a terrifying thought, she actually finds herself relieved.

It was an illusion. Their victory, their safety, just a lie to make this moment of ultimate failure all the more poignant. The walls will collapse around her and crush their bodies, and that's fine. Good, even- it'll certainly be easier than sitting here beside Brick, waiting to die of dehydration.

The banging comes to a crescendo, and Jo's ready to face the inevitable, and then- and then, the front doors are finally thrown open, revealing the team of firemen with their battering ram on the other side.

///

“And that's my story.”

The flimsy metal chair creaks as Jo leans back, the harsh white glare of the lightbulb overhead making her nauseous. She finishes her recount of events with her hands in her lap, fingers interlocked so tightly her knuckles turn white, gaze set on the two officers in front of her.

“So…” One of them starts, some beat cop who squints over the table like he's struggling to follow “This doctor- was he, like, a ghost, or a guy?”

It feels like a pretty redundant talking point. Jo doesn't think that factor bears much weight in the longlist of horrors she's just described. She blinks at him, answering slowly “...Ghost. Obviously.”

“Hm,” the sheriff hums to himself, only half listening as he scrolls through the camera roll on Cameron's phone, facial expression giving no indication as to whether he finds the photo evidence provided shocking, or disturbing, or-

“Interesting.”

“Interesting?” Jo repeats, skeptical. 

“Oh, for sure,” he confirms, nodding as he comes across a video, hitting play “I gotta say, your friend got some real good pictures here. The Wilkins boy, right? Could've been in forensics, that kid. Damn shame.”

Jo says nothing, mouth involuntarily curling downwards at the blasé nature of it all. Damn shame. Cameron could have done better with his life than going into forensics- he could have cured cancer, or invented fucking time travel, or some other insane science thing Jo wouldn't know where to start with.

But it's not just him, either. Every one of her friends have been wasted in pointless bloodshed, their own potential buried right along with them. But to this stranger, all the death, the agony, it all boils down to two words- damn shame.

“So what's our take, chief?” The uniformed officer asks, looking to the sheriff for his final opinion.

Not that it matters. Not really. Whatever this bozo with a badge thinks of what they went through means nothing. When the families of the deceased find out- when the whole town finds out- they'll be going up the hill with pitchforks in hand, and that god awful building is going to be burnt to the ground.

Jo's broken away from this fantasy by the too-loud audio of the video on Cameron's phone. She full-on flinches at the tinny scream, recognising it as Zoey's, the image of her severed head instantly pushed to the forefront of her mind.

“Ah, here we go,” the sheriff pauses the video, setting the phone down on the table for all present to see. He points to the screen with the air of someone struck by genius “That one. I've had him in custody a couple of times for antisocial behaviour. I say we pin it on him, call it another massacre up in the woods- nice and easy to swallow.”

“Good one, chief.”

Jo stares down at the still image presented, the video paused on a shot of an industrial style kitchen, the frame displaying Scott partway through shoving Zoey to the ground. Suddenly she feels very far away, like she's still in there with them, bile rising in her throat, and-

“But that's not what happened.” She says, her own voice sounding as if from underwater.

The sheriff isn't too interested in that fact “You did say he killed some people, right?”

“Yeah, but-” it's wrong. It's so wrong. Jo and her mangled jaw may hate his guts, but the false accusation, the lack of acknowledgement of what really, actually happened to her, to all her friends- it's infuriating “Scott didn't massacre everybody- that's just fucking stupid. Nobody's going to buy that. And even if they did, you can't- you can't just-”

Jo's words die in her throat as it registers that this bastard is laughing. He's laughing at her “Look, sweetheart-”

“Don't you sweetheart me!” Jo stands abruptly, slamming her hands down on the metal table. She bares her teeth to the sheriff, openly exposing the bloodied cavities where half of them are gone, because there is absolutely nothing sweet about her “That building is fucking dangerous, okay? You can't lie to everybody and pretend none of it happened- we need to get ahold of, like, an exorcist, or the government, who whoever the fuck usually handles this kind of thing, ‘cause if it happened in this shithole nothing-town then it's gotta be happening in other places, to more people, and-”

“Yeah, alright, that's enough,” the sheriff interrupts, waving her off “Bottom line is, it's not up to you. It was officially a mass murder.”

“I'll tell everybody,” she warns, because the narrative that the sheriff has invented makes her feel violent, overwhelmed with the desire to lunge over the table and choke his fucking lights out. Maybe it's his lack of compassion for what her friends endured, or maybe it's her own guilt for leading the lot of them into that mess. It's messed up that she's not being held accountable- that honor goes to an angry, dead teenage boy whose family is going to think he was always some kind of serial killer.

But it doesn't matter what she thinks, and some forces are completely outside of her control. Same as it ever was “No you won't. Listen, kid- it's nothing personal, but I'd really hate to have you go through everything you just told us, and then end up with a charge for trespassing. Or assault, or arson- are you really that keen to go to juvie? Hell, with the kind of crazy stuff you're spouting, juvie might be off the cards. Maybe a stay in a nice, modern mental health facility would be more fitting. What do you think?”

What does she think? What does she think? Jo looks him in his patronising fucking face, and imagines what it would be like to snatch the taser from his belt and shock him in the temple until he's braindead enough to have no choice other than to live out the same worst nightmare he's threatening her with.

But she's not going to do that, because no matter how awful he is, he's still a cop, and she’s not too keen on going to prison. Jo sinks back down in her chair, and keeps her thoughts to herself.

///

“So… how did it go?”

Jo walks out of the police station with her head hung low, eyes trained on her feet, and spits out through grit teeth “We're not being charged for trespassing.”

“Sha-damn,” Lightning's eyebrows hit his hairline, and then immediately come back down, pinched together in confusion “Wait, was that- were we worried about that?”

“No,” Jo briefly contemplates explaining the situation to him, but ultimately decides that Lightning is the last person worth explaining to. He's not going to understand the gravity of the injustice. Hell, he barely has a grip on what happened while he was gone despite her practicing her recount with him before the police interview “Can we just get out of here? Please? Spending this much time around pigs is giving me hives.”

She goes to grab the handles of his wheelchair and get them on the move, but Lightning shrugs her off “Hold up- Lightning's got it.”

Lightning does not, in fact, got it. He sets his one available hand on the corresponding wheel, the other arm being wrapped up in a cast, and pushes as hard as he can, achieving little more than spinning himself round in a circle “Uh-”

“Come on, doofus, just let me push you.” Jo rolls her eyes, allowing no room for argument as she starts wheeling him down the street “It's literally the least I can do. After all- you saved my life.”

Lightning huffs, frustrated and defeated by his own lack of mobility, as well as the fact that “Lightning should have saved everybody's lives. But he fucked it up. He was too slow, and he failed, and-”

“No, no, don't do that. It's insane that you made it into town at all, or that you're even alive.”

It's quite the miracle, honestly. Jo's been briefed on how her fatefully timed rescue came to happen- Lightning, after falling five stories and breaking over half the bones in his body, had dragged himself back through the woods and into town with nothing but one arm and a whole lot of grit. He managed to get ahold of the authorities around half eleven in the morning and, as much as time ceased to exist while inside that cursed building, Jo's been told she was hauled out of there at bang on midday. 

“Lightning could've done better,” he laments, slumping back in his wheelchair, but then perks right back up with new determination “And he will do better. You'll see- he's gonna heal up and bounce back stronger than ever. The Lightning's gonna be a world famous football star, you know. The spirits said so.”

Jo huffs a short laugh and cracks a smile at the price of reopening a cut on her lip. It's the most genuine mirth she's expressed since before the bomb went off, and while after everything that's happened she can't comprehend having any faith in what ghosts have to say, Lightning's resolve sparks just a little bit of joy she'd thought lost in her.

“I guess they did, didn't they?” The softness to her speech is incongruous with her battered face and broken smile. Lightning’s positivity is contagious, and Jo finds herself pushing him along with a spring in her step as they head towards their next destination. Now, this is the part she's been waiting for all day, practically bouncing off the walls with anticipation, but first-

“Hey, d'you wanna stop at that wing place real quick?” Jo suggests, and suppresses a snicker as she immediately hears Lightning's stomach growl in response “The food at the hospital is total garbage, and I feel like if I'm gonna spend the next two hours going off at Brickhouse about police corruption then I should probably give him something to do with his hands.”

“Oh, Lightning could go for wings,” he confirms, but then grimaces, twisting awkwardly in his chair as much as his fractured ribs will allow to look at her “For real, though- you're gonna go see your man with your face lookin’ like that?”

Jo scowls, a self-conscious hand flying up to cover the gnarly, yellow-purple bruising all across her cheekbone, over her shattered, partially-wired jaw “It's the only face I've got, asshole,” she won't be getting her denture fit until Wednesday, so she's stuck like this for now “Besides, he's seen scarier.”

“Just sayin’, a little concealer never hurt nobody.”

“Oh, fuck off- why don't you go put on some concealer.”

“Lightning is wearing concealer,” he declares,  affronted “In fact, this is a full face of foundation. The Lightning may be good, but nobody is this flawless. Not naturally.”

That's probably true. It's so true that Jo can't even find it in her to really mock him “Yeah, whatever,” she says lightly “Just don't start crying if your makeup gets ruined during our wing eating contest.”

“Oh, so it's a challenge now?”

And the topic is successfully moved along, as is Lightning's wheelchair down the street, as are their lives in general, forever altered by this one-off cataclysmic event that will leave them permanently scarred, but not ruined. Here, in the light of a new day, they can almost pretend that things are normal again- they're still just two friends arguing over wings. Even if Jo did drop him out of a fifth-story window.