Remembering all of the stories of the silhouette Harrow's gaze intensifies. Shaking his head to tap out of his trance he looks over to Brock
"Hawk won't believe this. We finally have a lead."
Harrow remained seated, his hollow eyes fixed on Brock. "Go. But remember, the path ahead is treacherous. Trust your instincts."
Without another word, Brock turned, taking a deep breath and sprinted down the corridor. The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly, its walls pulsating with darkness. Each step felt heavier than the last. Suddenly, the corridor shifted.
Doors appeared and vanished, the floor warped beneath his feet, and the ceiling dripped with the same black goo that had covered him earlier. The environment was alive, reacting to his every move.
A door to his left creaked open, revealing a room bathed in darkness. Inside, shadowy figures writhed, their forms indistinct but menacing. A child's voice echoed, "Stay with us..."
Brock shook his head, resisting the pull. He pressed on, the hallway's layout changing with every turn. Staircases led to nowhere, windows opened to voids, and mirrors reflected scenes from his past, distorted and haunting.
He stumbled into a chamber where the walls pulsed like a heartbeat. In the center stood a pedestal with a familiar object: his father's pocket watch. Brock remembers his dad as he was a big part of his life. Reaching out to grab the watch he retracts his hand knowing it'll capture him. As he reached out, the shadows converged, forming a towering figure—the silhouette.
"Oh God, he's back" knowing he can't fight him. Its presence was overwhelming, a void that consumed light and hope. Brock's legs stiffen, memories flooding his mind—moments of fear, loss, and isolation. The silhouette didn't speak a word yet whispered, "You cannot escape me." not even speaking but a sense of Brock feeling his words in his mind, and the chamber began to collapse.
Brock started to bolt again down the hall, the environment disintegrating around him. He leaped through a doorway that materialized ahead, landing hard on a cold, metallic floor. The door slammed shut behind him as the final doorway was in his reach. As he runs feeling the corridor twist he takes a sharp left running to the door at top speed.
As he's in the final stretch Brock skidded to a halt, heart pounding, as the Silhouette materialized before the final door. Its form was a void, absorbing the dim corridor light, emanating a chilling presence. Desperation surged within him. He couldn't confront it directly—he needed an escape.
His eyes darted around, searching for anything he could use. A glint caught his eye—a broken pipe protruding from the wall, dripping the same black goo. An idea sparked.
With a deep breath, Brock lunged toward the pipe, wrenching it free. The corridor groaned, reacting to his defiance. He turned to face the Silhouette, brandishing the pipe.
The Silhouette advanced, shadows reaching out like tendrils. Brock swung the pipe, striking the floor. A burst of light erupted, momentarily blinding both Brock and the Silhouette. Seizing the moment, Brock dashed past the entity, toward the door. the best he could, still not being–able to see.
"What the hell did I do" knowing he has no time, he's still confused and dashing.
The corridor twisted violently, walls closing in. Brock leaped, crashing through the door as the world behind him collapsed into darkness.
He landed hard on a cold, metallic floor, the door slamming shut behind him. Silence enveloped him, broken only by his ragged breaths. He had escaped—for now.
Gasping for breath, he looked around. He was in a dimly lit room, the hum of machinery in the background. A familiar voice called out, "Brock? Is that you?"
Relief washed over him. "Hawk…"
Seeing this area Brock jumps up scared thinking he's In another room of the 'nightmare'. Darting his eyes towards Hawk and back over to a window in the room he notices trees and grass.
Brock's breath caught up with him as he stared out the window. The sight of swaying trees and sunlit grass seemed almost surreal after the claustrophobic nightmare he'd just escaped. His body trembled, adrenaline still coursing through his veins.
"Brock?" Hawk's voice broke through the haze, grounding him.
He turned to see his friend approaching, concern etched on his face. Brock shakily stood until he was enveloped in Hawk's reassuring embrace.
"It's over," Hawk murmured. "You're safe now."
Brock nodded, though the images of the collapsing corridor still flashed in his mind. He pulled back, scanning the room. The metallic walls, the hum of machinery.
"Where are we?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
Brock leaned against the cold wall, catching his breath as the silence of the room wrapped around him like a shroud. But then, something caught his attention. His hands.
He raised them slowly into the light. His breath hitched.
Black, vein-like tendrils snaked up from beneath his skin, pulsing faintly as if alive. The same oily darkness that had seeped into every crack of that horrific place now marked him. A souvenir from the nightmare.
"No…" he whispered, flexing his fingers, hoping it was just an afterimage, some trick of adrenaline or trauma.
But it wasn't.
The veins remained, dark and alien–like.
Hawk stepped closer, his voice low. "You okay?"
Brock hesitated, lowering his hands. "I... I think I brought something back."
"What do you mean?" Hawk questioned feeling as if feeling nervous Brock showed him. Hawk's eyes widened, his jaw tightening. "Those weren't there before."
Brock nodded slowly, staring at the dark lines now etched into his skin like scars. "I don't think I left it all behind. I had these exact same things in the nightmare"
For a moment, neither spoke. The whirring of nearby monitors and the faint buzz of electricity filled the space. Outside the window, the trees swayed gently.
"I thought escaping meant it was over," Brock muttered. "But what if it never ends? What if... it's in me now?"
Hawk's expression softened. "Maybe it is. But maybe that's why you made it out. You resisted it. Fought it. That has to mean something." Hawk says hoping to make Brock feel better.
Brock wasn't so sure. The veins pulsed again. He walked to the window and pressed a hand against the glass. The sunlit forest looked impossibly far away from the madness he'd endured. And yet, something inside him whispered that the nightmare wasn't finished—not really. It had followed him, embedded itself into his very being.
"I don't know what's real anymore," he confessed.
"We'll figure it out," Hawk said, stepping beside him. "Together."
Brock glanced down at his hands again, at the veins that now marked a new chapter.
Whatever came next, he knew one thing for sure:
The nightmare may have ended... but it had left its mark and it wasn't done with him yet. Hawk letting out a slight smile he was ready for the ride.