[4 Hours Remain]

A monotonous silence carries the air throughout the, desolate, facility that makes “31”. Between intermission the intercom speakers crackle to life; the melancholy opening riff of California Dreamin’ overtakes the damp atmosphere and fills its underground tunnels with nostalgia, bittersweet and fucked up all the same. It drags out until the close of the song, then when it’s over, the silence returns, only with it follows Doom-Head.

He navigates the facility with a leisurely gait, of course he’d already committed its layout to memory. Four hours were more than enough; he could have fun with this. He would.

After all - It’s just business, and Doom-Head always delivers his quota. Yes he does-

A silent shuffle boot-steps echoes off the narrow corridors. Doom-Head’s silhouette contrasted against the cold, pale, luminance like a timey-vampire. Perhaps that was the idea.