The filter on the big rubber suit doesn’t keep out the stench. Dim light, dark green and brown on the walls. The mask blocks my peripheral, and I turn clumsily to look over at Evan who is standing under one of the few functioning lights in the hall, scraping a thick, pillow-like block of mold off the wall with an old, short pencil. He fumbles with it through his thick yellow glove.

I peer down the hallway, into the relative blackness. The only way out is through there.

“Evan.”

He keeps scraping away. I walk up and grab his wrist, shaking the pencil from his grip. He just looks down at the wood and graphite on the ground. I tell him not to touch the growths. There’s a rumble in the distance. There’s always a rumble before one of us… goes missing.

A thick power cord leads from one end of the hallway, and down into the dark, towards the exit. Innumerable turns, miles of hallways in between here and there.