Stomping, loud and monotonous, resonated across the floor. A man lumbered along, shielded face turning to and fro as he went.

Invisible weights wrapped around either of his legs like sloths on two trees, big and sluggish and heavy.

There was thought but not mindfulness, simple but muddled orders designed for nothing more than guiding the body.

Lift one leg. Lift the world with it. Swing forward and drop.

It pounded to the ground. The sound echoed through the corridors.

It’s too heavy. Doesn’t matter. Lift, swing, drop, rinse, repeat, lift...

Stop hiding.

He listened. Always listening. How was one able to listen over the noise, the stomp, stomp, stomping...?

Where are you?

Creak...

So faint. How did he hear? A pause, and his head swivelled slowly to the side.

Don’t move. Listen. Listen for anything.

...

Nothing. A figment? A hallucination?

Doesn’t matter. Keep looking. Everything is dark. Find the lights. Too heavy... Stand still a little longer. Pull out the knife. Pull out the stone. Slide, scratch, slash.

It was sharp and pointed with teeth all its own. He held it up, gazing through a shining black mask.

Ding-a-ling...

The ring of a bell, unnatural and obvious, faintly reached his ears.

Never a fluke. Follow it.

He never made a sound. That was for him to do. Where had it come from?

Back. Go back. Turn, forward, left, straight, right- Stop. Listen. Nothing there. Where was it? Down. Not here, below. Down, go down. Find the stairs. Right, straight, right, left...

Going up had been hard. Lift, swing- No, lift more. Lift, lift, slide.

Going down was easy. The weight pulled along, wanting to go down, too.

Thud, pound, stomp. His feet hit the ground floor. Where next? The echo was long gone.

Check the door.

Lift, swing, stomp, left, left, straight...

CRASH!

At the beckon of the deafening sound in the distance, he twirled around.

Follow it. Find the source. Run.

The weights on his legs lifted, overwhelmed by his sudden, clear conviction. He bounded around corners, chasing after the echo blindly.

When he burst into the room, he was greeted by a bandaged face, one uncovered eye somehow finding his despite the mask between them.

They reached the main exit, treading lightly so as to avoid drawing any unwanted attention. Caleb clicked on the flashlight and shined it against the doors. They looked decrepit, one hanging off its hinged. Still, they stood blocking the path, held in place by heavy chains wound around the pillars on either side. At the center of the crude, metallic web, a lock- more for show than anything else- dangled from a random chain link.

Far off in the void, Christa could hear the faintest echo, a residual vibration, from the stomping so far away from them. Knowing for certain where he was brought her reassurance. Even if he was fast, there was no way he could cover this distance so quickly.

She looked down. Leaning against the wall was a crowbar. It seemed too easy and too convenient to be there by chance. Nevertheless, it was their best option.

Worst case scenario... Well, worst case scenario, they'd die. Second worst case scenario, they wouldn't be able to break through and get chased down by the masked man. There'd be enough time to hide. That was what she told herself repeatedly as she lifted the crowbar in her hands.

To her relief, horror, and general scepticism, one crank of the crowbar against the lock sent the entire contraption crashing to the ground. The thunderous clanging that followed richocheted off the walls to bombard them from all angles. When the ringing in their ears finally subsided and they pulls their hands away from them, the first thing either of them heard was the hasty, perhaps even frantic stomping of heavy boots.

Without a second thought as to whether this had been too easy, whether it was a trap, she grabbed Caleb's wrist in an iron grip, clamoured over the mess of metal, and hoisted him outside behind her.