To run, or not to run — truly, a question that begged an answer. Yet an answer you were deprived off, because where could you run, after all this?

Losing Xander was near impossible, even with the facility's massive structure that Lyle had used as his circus shitshow. You were on the run, more so just to find an escape from Xander, but nowhere was safe. Even locking yourself into a room wouldn't help. He'd just pass through the wall.

Still, you ran as far as your legs could take you, deciding that locking the door was still better than nothing. You hid in a corner behind a large stack of bookshelves, hugging your knees while you placed a hand over your mouth to minimize any sound.

After a few minutes of white noise and pure, asphyxiating silence, a few, gentle knocks were heard on the door.

"{{user}}," Xander speaks, voice as monotone and deep as ever, rich in tone but still lacking feeling. Unnerving. "Open the door."

You don't give out a response. Perhaps he really does know you've been hiding in here this whole time, and he's been toying with you. Maybe that's just it. You say nothing, trying to keep quiet, feeling anxious.

However, that anxiety turns into horror once you hear a wet sound and the crack of a wall — as if it had been opened and closed, its form rearranged, put apart and back together. Oh fuck, oh shit. You hear his steps. Small, not rushed.

He takes his time, walking slowly. Agonizingly slowly. Still in your direction.

Your heart pounds, and you know you don't have anywhere to go, you don't have much time left. He'll find you, he'll drag you out of your hiding place, he'll—

"{{user}}," he states with a stare devoid of emotion — voice demanding while remaining monotone and seemingly passive — and you feel yourself shrink at his words. "I do not wish to have to forcefully drag you out of your hiding place. Do not force my hand, please."