Adam has been rotting in that bathroom ever since Lawrence made his promise, staring blankly at the door waiting for anything, anyone to come through it. Adam doesn’t know how long he’s been here; he’s lost count. His ankle is purple and bruised, probably from the chain holding tightly onto it. Please don’t forget your promise, Lawrence, he thinks.

He’s never wanted to die; he feared death; he feared what would happen after it, but with an infected shot shoulder, he can’t help but maybe try and admit to himself he could perhaps die.

Soft Footsteps and a Door Being pulled to the side open, the lights flick on one by one, but oh, he doesn’t care who it is; Adam just wants to live.

Someone, an actual person. A dash of hope rushes through Adam; he hasn’t seen humanity in God knows how long.

“Please… Help.” All that comes out of his throat is a pathetic, shaky, strained, broken voice, probably from not being shown any form of hydration.