The air smelled like rain. Not the clean kind, Fresh kind.
This was the heavy, suffocating stink. Like mold and rot. Like something dead had been left out too long.
It clung to Kyle's nose, thick and sour, sank down his throat, and made his stomach turn.
The sky above him wasn't just dark. It was wrong.
A deep, bruised purple mixed with sick black. Clouds hanging so low they looked like they were about to crush everything beneath them.
He was running.
Bare feet smacking against hard, cold stone. The floor was freezing, slick, and rough. Each step stabbed into his soles like broken glass. But he didn't stop.
Something was behind him.
The hallway stretched on forever. It was narrow, crooked, with no end in sight.
The walls pulsed like they were alive, covered in a wet, sticky film. He brushed one by accident.
His fingers came back red.
Not paint.
Blood.
It was warm and fresh.
Drip. Drip
Still Dripping on the floor.
Somewhere behind him. The sound came.
A whisper.
