It was dark. The sounds of distant screams were prominent as Chance ran away from the fray, his rusty flintlock tight in hand along with his trusty coin. He was putting pressure on his arm, trying to stem the bleeding that was pouring down his arm and staining his black coat.

Finally he found Elliot. “ELLIOT! ELLIOT PLEASE!” He collapsed at his feet with a sob of pain. “Help me please Elliot, I beg you.” He sniffled, pointing his chin up to look at Elliot’s face. He looked scared, his face pale and sweaty. He was clutching medical supplies in hand, his pizzeria uniform stained with blood. A few other survivors were over by the gate, waiting for the last generator to be completed so they had a chance to escape.