Gotta find him gotta find him gotta find him. Dry rotted wood being uprooted from their nailed position by bloody work boots slamming down upon them. Wade knew this was a terrible idea, after all, this was in Collin’s best interest, right? It was therapy, wasn’t it? The patients were getting better, right? No. It doesn’t make sense, why would his dad want to help him? Wade’s thoughts began to become clouded from the voices of abandoned patients, people- no...things experimented on like rats, being told they were recovering from past trauma, but are really being put through more. Screams of anger, moans of agony, pleading, crying, yelling, too much. Wade stopped, needing a moment to collect his thoughts. Where was he? How was he going to find Collin? He removed the police cap from his head, his scalp burning and itching from sweating under his thick ginger hair. He ran a hand through it, focusing on plastic panels on the wall in front of him. He leaned forward, pressing his palm to the cracked cement wall, stroking the remnants of yellow wallpaper with his thumb, causing it to flake off of it’s surface. He was on the second floor, right above the administrative block. Wade let the breath he had been holding escape his lungs, feeling some relief. Thank god the asylum wasn’t too hard to navigate. He turned on his heels, facing a wooden staircase, praying that they could support his weight as he flew down them into the lobby. The coppery scent of blood slammed Wade in the face, nearly knocking him off his feet from the nausea. He held a hand over his nose and mouth, as he opened his mouth, only to whimper,

“G-god…” He choked as the scent entered his mouth, tricking him into tasting it. Gagging, he turned to a gated elevator shaft, taking deep breath to hold as he gripped the rhombus shaped openings. It was thin, and thankfully easy enough to break. The elevator was on the floor above, and Wade didn’t want to bring it down to face whatever it could attract or bring down with it. With no hesitation, Wade leaned into the wires, grabbing onto them to climb his way down to the labs. The sweat off his palms made the journey more difficult than it already was, slipping and nearly falling each time he moved downwards, this caused him to rely on the rubber soles of his boots. Fear gnawed at his thoughts of Collin and escaping this hell with him, turning them to anxious what if scenarios. What if Collin was murdered by an escaped patient? Or slaughtered from the so called therapy? Thoughts of Collin’s mutilated corpse caused Wade to misstep. His hands slipped against the wire, and the rubber grip of his boots failed, sending him hurtling down to the basement forty feet below.  Upon landing, his left arm twisted behind his back under his massive weight, breaking the bone with a sickening crack accompanied with a scream of agony from Wade. Through the pain, he gathered only one thought as he pressed his healthy arm against the glossy stone wall to pull himself to his feet. Why was he doing this? What was so important that he had to sacrifice himself for it? Why? Then a familiar voice reminded him. A spine chilling cackle, It was hardly recognizable, but he knew it was Collin. The pitch, the voice cracks, the hollowness. Who else could it be? Wade focused on the direction it came from, and ran off as fast as his trembling legs could go. “Collin! I’m coming! Stay where you’re at!” He choked out through his breathlessness, having knocked it out of him when he landed. He dug his heels into the bloodstained floor soon after, hearing a soft noise from behind the lab doors to his right. Something similar to the cackle. In silent prayer, Wade took the chance of being cornered and kicked the door open, having to use his healthy arm to clutch his broken. Like the others, the lab was a blinding white, or would be if it wasn’t for the obsessive amounts of blood that painted away the ordinary, and the intestines that decorated the walls like streamers. Wade dismissed the grotesque scene before him, and focused on finding Collin, as he had been the entire time. He took a step into the lab, observing each corner, every edge, and every possible hiding place if it would become necessary. The faint sound of wheezing circled him as he turned, it never changed direction, it was always behind him. Wade knew Collin had struggled with asthma for most of his life, and he knew full well it went untreated while he was under the so called therapy. “Collin. I...I know you’re in here, I hope that’s you, at least…” he slowly moved his healthy arm from his broken one, letting it dangle limply. He forced a smile and a chuckle, hoping to draw Collin out with fake lightheartedness. “Com’on, Wheezy McGee. I sure did a number on my arm, and I know darn well that you were beat all to heck by the ‘doctors’. So what ya say? Let's get the heck out of here and to a real hospital? Not just a fake looney bin?” He shuffled forward a bit, doubling over a small bit as the chuckle caused some strain in his dislocated shoulder. “Come on, babe. We needa...get the hell out of here.” Wade shuddered from the pain shooting up through his arm up to his neck. He stood there, looking down to his blood glossed boots, waiting for some reply from Collin or whatever he was locked in with. Deafening silence, occasionally interrupted by a scuttle from something in the vents, or a siren calling for an emergency exit. “Babe...ple-” He began, but was cut off quickly. Indescribable pain shocking his nerves, everything burned. Can't breath. Silence replaced with ringing. The origin turned in his flesh. Warm blood, the taste already in his mouth became physical as it trickled from his lips. Wade's was frozen from the shock, but his eyes moved down to where he felt the pain begin. A scalpel, wielded by a small, bony hand. A hand he has grown to love. A hand he has felt against his cheek, and lips. Now twisting a weapon pierced into the flesh of his chest. The ringing was broken by a hollow voice, cracking the smallest bit.

“Hey, babe.”