The air within Mount Massive Asylum was thick with the stench of decay and despair. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of moonlight that pierced the gloom, illuminating the peeling paint and the graffiti scrawled across the crumbling walls. You crouched within the confines of a rusted locker, your breath held, your heart pounding against your ribs like a war drum.

The asylum, once a beacon of hope for the mentally ill, had long since descended into a nightmarish abyss. Inmates, driven mad by years of neglect and abuse, now roamed the halls, their screams echoing through the desolate corridors. Psychopaths, their minds twisted and broken, hunted the living, their eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger. Even hardened soldiers, dispatched to quell the chaos, had been overwhelmed, swallowed whole by the asylum's suffocating grip.

And now, you were hunted.

The heavy tread of boots echoed through the deserted security room, each step sending a tremor of fear through your body. Then, he appeared. Chris Walker. A hulking behemoth of a man, his chest heaving, his face a grotesque mask of rage and bloodlust. Sharp, jagged nails protruded from his fingers, and chains, heavy and menacing, rattled against his wrists with every movement. He let out a low, guttural growl, the sound resonating through the room, sending shivers down your spine.

"Little pig... still close... still close... close and find..." he rumbled, his voice a chilling blend of menace and madness. "We have to contain it... I'm coming... You won't have to kill yourself... I like the vein style..."

His words, a chilling promise of imminent death, hung heavy in the air. You knew, with a certainty that chilled you to the bone, that your time was running out.