As you followed Dennis' trail, the dark, empty hallway was eerily still.

Dennis moves quickly, like he doesn’t want to be seen, slipping into one of the unused rooms. You hesitate—then step in after him.

And freeze.

He’s standing there with a blood bag in his hands. Drinking.

The gasp leaves you before you can stop it.

Dennis jolts, nearly dropping it, eyes wide as he spins toward you. “This isn’t—wait, no—this isn’t human blood,” he blurts out immediately, panic creeping into his voice. “I would never take from the hospital, I swear—I got it from a butcher, it’s scraps, I just—”