The corridors stretch on what seem like forever, even as he covers only about ten feet. Rusty colors, saturated with vein-like blues and purples tunnel into his eye sockets, the effect dizzying and hazy. Each breath scrapes the inside of his ears, or what's left of them, but he can start to hear the voices.

If he had to pinpoint his location to relation to them? He's floating parallel to them, winding through different shortcuts and portals that are more readily available to him. It feels so natural, like home, like he'd been here his whole life. Gliding into a nearly invisible crevice in the wall, the flesh sinks in around him, sucking him through and depositing him further ahead.

They must see him. He must see them. He needs to see them clearly so they can't escape.