The hallway of the facility was dimly lit and especially quiet, so much so that the man imagined he could very well be the only one left alive in the facility. For a moment he considered yelling out to see if he'd get a response, but knew that was a silly notion. It could serve him no benefit, and he was better off alone regardless, especially considering the task he was undertaking. He continued down the corridor, seeking out a very specific person.

It wasn't long before he'd come to a stretch of hallway that was almost entirely dark. He assumed one of the ceiling lights above had been damaged in the tremors from the earlier explosion, but was still hesitant to move forward. He'd always been somewhat unsettled by the dark, ever since childhood, and the circumstances here certainly weren't helping. He knew what was at stake though, and for the sake of self-preservation, he forced his legs to move onward.

As he stepped out of the darkness and into the next lit area of the hallway, a scream rang out from somewhere ahead of him. He stopped and stared forward, hoping to catch any sign of what he'd just heard, but there was nothing there. It sounded like it'd come from a little ways off, so he figured he might be able to find the source if he hurried.

As he brought his foot off the ground to run forward, he felt a strange sensation at his neck stopping him from moving. He reached up inquisitively, and was met by the feeling of warmth and wetness. Pulling his hand away, he saw it glistening a dark red color under the florescent lighting. He felt the cold metal of the knife as it was ripped back out, the serrations tearing chunks of his flesh out with them. As he became aware of the situation he was in, he turned to look over his shoulder. The last thing Vrael saw before collapsing was the gas mask disappearing back into the darkness.