User blog:Stormlilly/III. You rush the figure, who falls to the ground in surprise - not expecting your attack...

You slam into them, knocking them to the ground with a satisfying whimper and the sound of flesh crashing into hospital tile. However your adrenaline rush is shortlived, as their dowel shoots upwards from the floor, impaling your leg. You scream in agony as they slowly rise - lips looking at you impassively. Slowly, the figure rotates it's 'face' - and you see two, three - eight holes in total, cut into the side of the bag.

From them, growths that might be eyes stare at you with unconcealed hatred.

But even as your shoulder swells with a sudden pain that helps blot out the pain of your weakly cut leg, you have the upper hand. For having moved into the small room - filled with what appear to be display store manniquins, though you don't catch a good look - you are able to hurtle into the room beyond, flinging the door open and then shut with a satisfying clamor of wood and metal. To your delight, there is even a bar on your side of the door - and you slot it in, catching your breath as you hear a few feeble scratchings - and then silence. For now, it looks as if you're safe.

It's clear you aren't in anything like an actual hospital, now; though what possessed the architects to design the previous basement like one eludes you. Perhaps the 'garage' is another room designed to mimic something...

Something familiar, you think, and scratch your arm to quell the feeling in your shoulder.

As for the room you're in now, it is... Bright. The walls are a very light biege, and seem somehow downcast. There are no windows, or rather there were windows - but they have been boarded, taped, and chained shut. Some part of you wonders if there is even anything left under the windows - or if they too, are just something built to resemble something else.

The room itself is spartan. There is a bed - although the term is generous, and it might be more accurately be called a mattress - with several pieces of paper next to it. The paper is so burned as to be illegible. Under the mattress are several gardening tools, hidden with great care. You contemplate taking one as a weapon, but your right shoulder - really, the right side of your body - is killing you. You don't know if you could hold it straight.

Most importantly of all, however - there is a passageway. A passageway up, and out. You can see light - natural, real, non-artificial light - pouring down as if blessed by every god that comes to mind, and given the way you barred the door, you just might be able to get out of this mess - get back to the police and get some help. Yeah, help for your friends. The police'll help...

Your arm itches. You scratch it. You...

Unbar the door, and go back the way you came.

Sleep.

Leave towards the light.