Welcome to Gaia! ::

Walking inside a hospital with no lights left a lot to the imagination. Rufus forced his imagination to work in his favor - he thought of what a hospital looked like in full, blasting flourescent lights driving away even the thought of shadows and casting everything in a bright colored, sanitary light. He could even force himself to smell the antiseptic everywhere, if he tried hard enough. His hands pressed out to the sides, and he felt the glossy walls of his imagination on either side of the hallway. The fact that he could touch them both severely limited his ability to imagine a broad hallway, and the sight behind the darkness changed for him. It all seemed narrower than it should be, and that odd, misplaced narrowness continued to squeeze closer with every step he took. It must be one of those new architectural designs, he told himself. The building was a triangle shape, because some overpriced, underwhelming designer fresh off the heels of his father's legacy decided that this would be his greatest accomplishment. A hospital that pointed. A hospital that gave you direction. Genius!

Except, as it continued to narrow further, Rufus felt the only genius involved was that of the undying, for turning this place pitch black and unusable so no one would ever have to view the eyesore for what it was - some rookie mistake.

All of these thoughts spun through his head as he conjured them in order to ignore the idea that maybe, maybe the walls were just closing in on him. Maybe he was minutes away from being crushed between them, and turning to jelly. Maybe the scraping sound behind him was not actually some loose doorway passing back and forth, but something much more sinister. Something that could see him in the dark, where he couldn't. Something that would end his life in ways much more horribly than simply being squished between two white, sanitary walls.

He turned around, and found that his night vision was getting much, much better - a detriment to his sanity, in this case.

He tripped over himself trying to run away, ignoring the way the walls continued to press in on him, and the hot breath that always seemed just behind him, tickling his neck. He heard the thump of something falling out of his pockets - a sickening, wet thump, and then another. If he'd been able to use that brilliantly clever mind he was so proud of, he would have realized the sound was just two red herrings falling from his pockets - instead, he imagined pieces of the monster chasing him - or worse, himself - dropping behind as they ran.

There was nothing manly or brave about the way Rufus now screamed.

Dropped 2 red herrings

The screaming only stopped when he slammed into a door, a final end to the narrowing halls in front of him. It opened at the force of his full frontal attack, and he fell in face first to a room just as dark as the hallway he'd been in. When he stopped to listen, the sounds of whatever was chasing him were no longer echoing through the halls. He breathed in relief, and turned to lay on his back to try and catch his breath.

He caught a lot more than that.

It started as an itch. Something was poking and prodding him from the ground below, and he jolted up to scratch whatever it was off. When he felt the skin that itched, and realized there was nothing there but skin, he stumbled to his feet and began to feel around for something. Anything. He needed sharpness. Glass, perhaps. Needles wouldn't do the trick. It had to be something that could slice the skin through. Quickly, he told himself. Before it was too late. Before he lost every shred of self and turned into something that -

But even death wouldn't stop that now, would it.

His hands stilled, giving up the search for a tool to end it with, and he fell down to his knees. What was he supposed to do, now? What could any of them do? In a word filled with infected, inhabited by nothing but monsters, was there even a choice?

Make it quick, his mind answered for him. Once you lose yourself, you'll never have to worry about this again.

A shard of mirror was in his hand - he had no idea where - and he brought it to his neck, positive that it was better this way, easier;

Then there was no shard, and no reason to even consider killing himself. He wasn't even an Infected, yet. Someone, or something, was playing dirty, dark tricks on his mind.

The mere idea that he was infected faded away when Rufus left that room. He gathered up what was left of his sanity, and began to hurry back through the corridor. His hands reached out to his sides, and he found he couldn't even touch the walls anymore. This made him feel a mixture of relief, and anxiety. Even when they were starting to crush him, it was still nice to know that the walls were there, and something else wasn't.

So he found one side, and stuck to it as he tried to find his way back to safety. Ahead, he saw a miraculous light dimly flickering from the end of the hallway he'd just turned into, and he began a crazed run in hopes of finding someone who had a flashlight, or any kind of clue as to how to escape.

And to his credit, he did find someone. To his very terrible discredit, it wasn't anyone who would be offering him help, anytime soon.

His running slowed to a jog, which in turn slowed to a very hesitant final step. She was dressed exactly the way he'd first met her, which would have been odd to his quick and clever mind if he hadn't already been terrified beyond belief by things much more frightening than this.

Besides. When was the last time he'd changed clothes?

"I thought you were-" He started, but she rose up that blood red manicured hand and silenced him before he could finish. She never used to let him finish. It was why he would have broken up with her anyway, even if she hadn't been in the accident.

He convinced himself of that, every single day. Today was no different.

"How did you-" Her hand rose up again, and this time her painted lips parted to hiss out a verbal reprimand.

"You don't get to ask me nothing." Her voice dripped with honey and venom, attracting him with the same power that poisoned and burned him. Only she had that power. And there she was, safe and sound and whole and -

"You left me." She reminded him, as if she could read his mind. He cringed, and took a step forward, but that was a step too far. Her hand came winding up until it slapped him hard on the left cheek, scratching the skin with those sharp red nails. He pressed his own hand against the feel of pain, and pulled away blood.

"I won't leave you." His voice had become heated, thick, and lustful. This, after being slapped; after she'd drawn blood, and her rage had slipped into his veins. His heart thudded painfully behind his ribcage. "Not again."

But it was a lie, of course; because all he was ever good at was lies, and the moment her face began to melt, and warp, and distort into what he'd seen in those days after the accident, he knew he'd be running again.

She rose up her hand, covered in blisters and scars, and he was scrambling back towards the exit. Because that was Rufus. Clever, handsome, kind - but a liar, above all things.

A liar every time.