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There are two prevailing smells right now. Musty damp that seeps out of the walls and, of course, the copper on your blade. Lambs blood. Enough to cover the glint of silver in the sparse moonlight that shines through the dirt-encrusted windows. Enough that there's the occasional drip on the floor and you're not sure if it's a leaky pipe in the distance or a steady drip from your knife.

Around the next corner is where you see them. Two women. Both pretty, but you know it's not their looks that got them into this situation. They're hanging on hooks like meat in a butcher's shop and your stomach drops at the sight of them.

You make a sweep around the room first, checking corners and doorways that lead to other corridors, even going as far as shining a flashlight above you into the rafters overhead. Nothing. You'd be worried but then you finally reach them with two fingers pressed into their necks.

They're already dead.

Your whole body seems to tense with the disappointed sigh you let out. You'll come back for them, cut them down, and mutter your respects but not yet. There's not time yet. The damn thing is probably already out there, lurking under the cover of darkness, looking for its next victim.

But maybe not.

You don't drop your guard for a moment. The night is young, and you've been burned before by your assumptions. You know by now that monsters can be as unpredictable as the day is long.

There's nothing more you can do for these poor souls that hang next to you. Well, nothing except killing the bastard that bleed them dry. A happy daydream in exchange for a life never sat right with you. And cutting this bastard down wouldn’t bring them back but it would stop anyone else from becoming a blood bag. 

You chose one of the three doorways you haven't explored yet and start walking. There's a gracefulness in the way your heavy boots hit the floor, a practiced silence, almost delicate as you avoid the occasional puddles of dirty water pooling in the warped wooden floors.  

This is what you do best. This is what you have to do best. You’ve done this alone, for years now, and silence is your best weapon as well as your only defense. Especially when you see a soft blue glow in the distance.

Your stomach lurches as you fight to bury the adrenalin rushing through you. Slow and steady wins this race.

It takes everything to keep the course instead of charging but charging gets you dead. You sneak closer to the open stairwell and the source of the light until your backs against the wall giving you a moment to steady your heartbeat.

But it is just a moment, and then you slide yourself around the corner and come face to face with it. Glowing blue eyes piercing through the darkness to call you out.

As you stare into those eyes, a rattled breath in your lungs, silence suddenly flies out the window.

Your hand never let's go of the knife. It's a learned skill. Even while throwing punches, even while taking punches, your grip is like an iron vice because if you drop that knife then everything is over. And finally, after fighting for minutes that feel like hours, you land a kick that sends the thing flying a few feet before it lands on its back.

And then you're standing over it, fighting its hands that desperately try to hold you away but you're forcing your body weight forward with that bloody knife inches from his heart.

You're so close. Any moment now and it'll be done, you'll be able to breathe again.

Until that other pair of hands appear from nowhere dragging you away. The second pair of blue eyes. 

One hand wrapped around your chin holding you steady against the wall, enough to bruise, fingers tightening against your throat to deprive you of further oxygen.

You don't let go of your knife. Not until his other hand, glowing blue, curls itself over your forehead like a mother feeling for a temperature.

You open your eyes and there’s a white door in front of you with ‘9B’ painted in block gold lettering. Before you can begin to fathom what’s happened it swings open and someone jumps at you, arms wrapped around your neck pulling you closer, and shampoo that smells like peaches and cream invading your nostrils.

"Y/N, you made it!"