Click. Click. Click.

It's slow, like the tick of a clock, and here in the halls it seems to come from every direction and none. It doesn't help that the walls too seem to twitch and breathe, like organic beings themselves, despite appearing to be made of metal and wires.

Then comes the rasp of metal dragging against itself, the click of metal links. Is it overhead? Or right behind her? Regardless of what direction it's come from, Connie is definitely not alone anymore.