#4maldehyde

Sam opened his mouth to answer but then Pat heard it. The scratching down the walls. That damn thing was coming back. It was still here. How could it still know where they were?

He grabbed the other and took off again. Why was it so important to keep the mortician with him? That man was usually in his nightmares. Cutting him open in an autopsy. But here Pat was, dragging him along through the endless halls. Running from that thing. The thing with the hooks. Following them. Wanting to tear them open for the ADAM. Did Sam even have ADAM on him?

"I… fuck."

The younger man stopped, unsure which way to go. The directions looked the same. How could they look the same? Exactly the same. All of the halls. He was used to being able to figure out where to go but he was lost now. Not guided by anything but terror.

"Paaaaattt…"

Shit. It was calling out for him. Did it know him?

"Paaaatt…. Aaaatttllaaasss…. You diiiid thiiiisss."

No. No he didn’t. He’d not done anything.He’d not—

"Patrick…."

He turned. Sam. Oh god Sam’s face. Burnt. The skin flaying off as it tuned black and exposed the muscle underneath. That too burning and sliding away from the skull. Pat tried to pull his hand away but the mortician had his hand tight.

"They were your responsibility."

"NO! No! I jus’ took over for Da’. I didn’—"

The splicer was there not, hooks dragging on the wall, Sam dead and still holding him tight. He’d not done this! He didn’t do anything! He’d not fed them the ADAM. He’d not—-

He’d just continued the fight his father had started. Andrew Ryan had—-

But he also wasn’t letting it end. He kept sending men to their deaths. Lost count of how many times he’d been sent to identify a body in Sam’s office.

He felt a hook dig into his shoulder—

~~~~~~~~