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description
The air turns to ice in your lungs as you skid around the corner, boots slamming cracked concrete. Behind you, the Chaser’s guttural snarls ricochet off rusted pipes, echoing like a death chant. Flickering fluorescents warp the corridor into a stuttering nightmare—walls too close, shadows too alive. Your fingers brush a jagged metal doorframe; blood wells where the edge bites your palm, but the pain barely registers. Adrenaline sharpens every sense: the reek of stale oil, the metallic tang of fear-sweat, the distant screech of something…*hunting*. A fork ahead. Left—a maintenance shaft, half-collapsed, wires dangling like nooses. Right—a stairwell spiraling into pitch-black, steps groaning under phantom weight. No time to think. No time to breathe. The Chaser’s footsteps thud closer, rhythmic, relentless, a drumbeat synced to your racing heart. If you freeze, it *feeds*. If you hesitate, it *takes*. You lunge left, shoulder slamming the vent grate. It shrieks open, and you tumble into suffocating darkness just as a clawed hand tears the air where your throat had been. The vent shudders—the Chaser rams itself against the opening, metal buckling. You crawl, nails scraping rust, lungs burning. Somewhere ahead, a sliver of sickly light. Freedom? Trap? Doesn’t matter. Move. *Now*. Behind you, the vent crumples like paper.
