Chapter 11: I'm Going to Save You – Part 2
Server Room – Minutes after Richard's Departure
Rebecca sits with her knees drawn up, the pistol resting on her lap. She breathes deeply... but the thick air scorches her lungs. Cold sweat coats her back, drenching her shirt. She looks down at her hands. They are trembling.
"It's just stress..." she murmurs, as if to convince herself. She presses on the wound on her arm. There's barely any blood... but the skin around it is already turning a deep purple. It hurts. Far more than it should.
A sudden stab of pain at the base of her skull. Her pulse races. A wave of dizziness hits her. She blinks. For an instant the world warps. The emergency lights seem unnaturally red, more violent. She forces herself to breathe. Counts to five.
Then she hears it. Not outside the room... inside her own head. A whisper. Not words. An animalistic echo. Her eyes snap open. She raises the pistol to her temple... and then lowers it immediately, trembling even more violently.
"No... not yet..." she whispers.
Same Room – One Hour Later
Rebecca is now leaning against the wall, her eyes open but glazed. Her skin looks paler than usual, and faint dark veins ripple beneath her jaw. A metallic clatter from somewhere makes her jump. She snaps the gun up, panting. But there's nothing—only a valve dripping in the corner.
It takes her several seconds to lower her weapon. Her pupils are dilated. Her mouth is parched. Her teeth are clenched. She scratches at her neck. There's a dark stain under her skin. It's not blood. It's something growing.
"Richard... please..." she whispers.
Later, the servers' hum is relentless—a high-pitched drone, almost unbearable. Her eyes remain closed, but her body twitches as if in a nightmare. Soft, unintelligible murmurs escape her lips. Then...
"I... I don't want to..." she mumbles, barely above a whisper.
She jolts awake. A roar builds from her throat. She clamps a hand over her mouth in horror. Her breath feels thick and hot, like polluted steam. She rushes to a metal panel and studies her distorted reflection. Her face is her own... but something is wrong. Her eyes. For one terrible moment, they were not human.
And then she screams.
Emergency Gate – Sublevel Alpha (Exterior)
CLANK! The steel door shudders from the Tyrant's blow. Richard pants, back pressed against the wall. His left arm is bleeding—an open gash from the debris soaks his sleeve to the elbow.
"Shit..." he mutters, trying to steady his trembling legs.
On the other side of the gate, the monster's deep, ragged breathing can be heard. The metal groans under another furious strike, but the door holds. Then... silence.
Richard allows himself a moment to collapse against the wall and closes his eyes... and thinks of Rebecca.
Interior – Sublevel Alpha
Richard continues down a corridor that's cleaner but no less menacing. Blue lights flicker across stainless steel walls. Doors are secured with biometric locks.
Then he spots an illuminated arrow on a cracked monitor: "Restricted Medical Lab – Experimental Substances Storage." He's almost there.
He hesitates, then activates the short-range channel on his PDA.
"Rebecca, do you copy?"
Only static answers.
"Rebecca... are you there?"
Nothing but white noise. Richard clenches his eyes shut. "Damn it! Hang on, Rebecca," he mutters.
Restricted Medical Lab – Entrance (Sublevel Alpha)
The door before Richard has a biometric scanner... now destroyed. Screens hang shattered, keyboards dangle from exposed wires. A rusted plate bears an illegible number, but the sign above is clear: "ACCESS TO COMPOUND D – Authorized Personnel Only." Richard frowns and scans his surroundings.
A secondary panel blinks: "System reboot: security code and emergency fuses required."
To his left, he spots an open fuse box—several fuses are missing. Down the hall to the right, a worn sign reads: "Control Area – Chemical Maintenance Closet." Richard exhales. He heads down that side corridor.
Maintenance Corridor – Sublevel Alpha
The corridor is choked with broken pipes dripping a milky-white fluid. Rising steam smells of rotten antiseptic. Richard's footsteps sound hollow on the metal floor.
At the end, a small chamber glows under a flickering red light. Inside: a smashed console, charred papers scattered everywhere... and a rusted cabinet.
He uses the butt of his shotgun to force the lock. CLANK! Inside he finds three fuses. One is coated with a dried, amber residue. He takes them all.
A noise behind him.
He whirls around. Nothing—only the echo of his heart pounding. But he feels as though something is watching.
"I don't have time for games..." he mutters, returning to the main panel.
Access to Lab – Emergency Panel
He slots in the fuses. One of them sparks as it locks in. The screen flickers with a message:
FUSES ACCEPTED – Power insufficient
REQUIREMENTS: 4-digit security code (symmetrical combination) and fingerprint validation from two medical staff members
"What...?" Richard frowns, eyeing the display warily.
To the right, taped in place with yellowed adhesive, is a stained handwritten note. The ink has run in some places, but the message is still legible:
"The code is the mirror of itself.
The sum of the digits at the ends equals the sum of those at the center.
The door opens only when both witnesses are present.
In an emergency, use the handheld scanner from the storage room."
"Symmetrical..." Richard murmurs, chewing on the clue. "'Something like 1441... or 2332...'"
He types quickly: 1–4–4–1.
The panel scans his input and beeps:
CODE CORRECT – INITIATE FINGERPRINT SCAN
His momentary triumph vanishes.
The screen flashes blood-red and a new message appears:
VALIDATION INCOMPLETE – TWO BIOMETRIC SAMPLES REQUIRED. STATUS: 2 REMAINING
Richard grits his teeth. "Now fingerprints too? Whose?"
He taps commands swiftly, searching for answers. The console reveals two names:
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL: Dr. H. Alonso, Dr. L. Wu
He sighs. "Great... looks like I'll have to go to the morgue."
He glances down the corridor to his right—dark and silent. Too silent. Without hesitation, he steps forward.
Ancillary Corridor – Medical Staff Morgue
The hallway narrows and the air grows damp, thick with a sour stench of decay, rust, and stale chemicals. Overhead lights flicker—some are dead, others sputtering and sparking.
Richard moves cautiously, shotgun at the ready. His footsteps echo and quickly fade in the oppressive darkness. He rounds a corner.
Medical Staff Morgue
A heavy hatch is slightly open. Claw marks gouge the painted metal, and a curved streak of dried blood drips down onto the floor... as if something was dragged away.
Richard pushes the door open.
A low hum greets him. A gust of frigid air rushes out, stealing his breath. Inside, the temperature is even colder.
Rows of refrigerated chambers line the walls. Metal gurneys stand empty or with bodies wrapped in black bags. Some bags are sealed, others ripped open—from the inside. As if something had crawled out.
At the far end, a biometric console pulses red: FINGERPRINT SCANNER – IDENTIFICATION: DR. L. WU
Richard swallows. He scans the room. Frost coats every metal surface. Clumps of torn fingernails lie scattered. Dark patches mark where bodies have been.
Finally, he sees it—a human arm, swollen and grey, hanging from the edge of a gurney. The corpse's eyes stare blankly upward, glazed with death.
"Sorry, Doctor..." he whispers, kneeling as he pulls out the portable scanner.
He presses the reader against the frozen fingers.
FINGERPRINT 1 VALIDATED – DR. L. WU
Before he can scan another...
CLANG!
Something heavy crashes outside. Richard freezes in place. He holds his breath.
Footsteps.
Heavy.
Slow.
Then a rough scraping sound, like razor-sharp claws tearing along the walls.
The Prototyrant. It's already inside this sublevel.
Richard snaps the scanner back out and scans the remaining bags. One lies open. Inside, a face is twisted by decay... but a hand remains intact.
He places the reader, trembling, on the hand.
FINGERPRINT 2 VALIDATED – DR. H. ALONSO
He wastes no time. Pocketing the scanner, he bolts from the morgue, racing down the corridor.
Behind him, through the swirling steam, a colossal silhouette materializes—a monstrous arm stretching out from the fog.
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