The First Sound

The discovery of the lighter had forged a new man. The pain in Alex's hip and shoulder was no longer a debilitating injury; it was a distraction. The vast, intimidating scale of Level 1 was no longer a prison; it was a map, and Leo was somewhere on it. Purpose was a powerful analgesic. It didn't numb the pain, but it made it bearable. It gave it context.

He moved with a renewed, if still pained, deliberation. His senses were on high alert, his focus absolute. He was no longer just looking for supplies or shelter. He was looking for signs. A footprint in the dust. Another discarded wrapper. Any clue, no matter how small, that he was still on his brother's path.

He chose a direction—a long, straight corridor flanked by towering, silent shelving units that rose up into the oppressive gloom. The industrial hum of the level was his constant companion, a sound he had already learned to parse, filtering its rhythmic drones and clanks for any anomaly, any sound that didn't belong. For a long time, there was nothing. Just the steady, mechanical pulse of the level and the soft, rhythmic scrape and shuffle of his own agonizing progress.

He paused to take a sip of Almond Water, the cool liquid soothing his throat and taking the edge off the grinding pain in his bones. He leaned against a steel support beam, catching his breath, his eyes scanning the cavernous space ahead. The sodium lamps cast long, distorted shadows that seemed to stretch and writhe with a life of their own. The graffiti warning echoed in his mind. Don't trust the Smilers. He found himself studying the darkest corners, half-expecting to see a pair of gleaming eyes or the curve of a fixed, unnatural grin. But there was only the oppressive emptiness.

He was about to push off the beam and continue his slow trek when he heard it.

And the world stopped.

It was not a sound from the level. It was not the thrum of machinery, the hiss of pipes, or the hum of the lights. It was a sound that was wet. And it was organic.

From a dark corridor to his left, about a hundred feet away, came a soft, rhythmic, skittering sound. It was accompanied by a wet, dragging noise, like a heavy sack of damp meat being pulled across the concrete floor.

Skitter-drag… skitter-drag… skitter-drag…

Alex froze instantly, his body going rigid. Every muscle tensed. The bottle of Almond Water slipped from his nerveless fingers, hitting the concrete floor not with a loud clatter, but with a soft, dull thud, the plastic absorbing most of the impact. The small sound was like a gunshot in the sudden, sharp focus of his attention.

He held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The industrial hum of the level seemed to recede, fading into the background, leaving the wet, skittering sound as the only thing in the universe. It was a sound that had no right to exist here. It was the sound of something alive. And it wasn't human.

His mind flashed back to the graffiti on the wall. IT HEARS YOU.

He pressed himself flat against the cold steel of the support beam, trying to make himself as small as possible. The pipe-crutch in his hand felt pitifully inadequate. His gaze was locked on the mouth of the dark corridor. The shadows there were deep, absolute. The sound was getting closer.

Skitter-drag… skitter-drag…

It was slow, but it was deliberate. It was moving with purpose. Was it hunting? Or was it just passing by? Had it heard him? Had the soft thud of the dropped bottle been enough to draw its attention?

A primal, animal terror, far colder and sharper than anything he had felt in Level 0, seized him. The horrors of the yellow maze had been psychological, a war against his own sanity. This was different. This was the ancient, instinctual fear of a predator in the dark. This was real. This was a threat that could be seen, and touched, and killed by.

He risked a slow, infinitesimal turn of his head, trying to get a better angle on the corridor's entrance without making a sound. The pain in his neck was a distant, unimportant detail. His entire being was focused on that patch of darkness.

The sound stopped.

The sudden silence was somehow more terrifying than the noise itself. Had it heard him move? Was it listening? He could feel the blood pounding in his ears. He forced himself to remain utterly still, not daring to even breathe. His lungs began to burn, but he ignored it.

The silence stretched for an agonizingly long ten seconds. Then, the sound started again, but it was different. The rhythmic skittering was gone. Now, it was just a slow, wet, dragging noise. And it was coming straight out of the corridor, towards his position.

It knew he was there.

Alex's mind raced, a frantic torrent of panicked thoughts. Run. But his leg was broken, his body was a wreck. He couldn't outrun anything. Fight. With a pipe? Against something he couldn't even see? Hide. Where? He was exposed, silhouetted against the dim orange light.

He was trapped. All he could do was stand his ground, press himself against the cold steel, and pray that whatever was emerging from that darkness was survivable.

A shape began to resolve itself at the edge of the shadows. At first, it was just a deeper black against the gloom. But as it dragged itself forward, into the faint, spill-over light from the nearest sodium lamp, its form began to take shape.

And Alex felt his last vestiges of courage turn to ice water in his veins.