Chapter 3 - Descent into the CatacombsMidnight hung over the asylum like a shroud. Armed with heavy-duty bolt cutters, a high-lumens flashlight, and a Glock service pistol he had secretly requisitioned, Arthur descended the narrow iron staircase leading to the basement.
The air down here tasted of damp earth, rust, and something sweet and metallic—like spoiled copper.
He reached the end of the corridor where the brick wall was supposed to be. To his horror, the bricks weren't there anymore. They had been meticulously dismantled, stacked neatly to one side like old gravestones, revealing a yawning, pitch-black cavity that swallowed his flashlight beam instantly.
Click.
Arthur froze, raising his weapon. A drop of water fell from the ceiling, echoing loudly in the enclosed space.
He flicked on his body camera, broadcasting the feed directly to his encrypted personal tablet upstairs. Stepping across the threshold, he entered the forgotten sub-level.
The tunnel stretched endlessly into the dark, lined with old copper pipes that hissed softly with pressurized steam. But as Arthur walked further, the industrial nature of the tunnels changed. The walls were no longer bare concrete; they were covered in grotesque, charcoal-drawn murals.
Hundreds of them. All depicting pregnant women surrounded by faceless figures wearing old-fashioned medical masks.
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In the center of the largest chamber, a makeshift altar stood constructed out of rusted medical equipment, stained mattresses, and hundreds of burned-out candles. And sitting neatly on top of the altar was a modern, hospital-issued clipboard bearing a name Arthur recognized instantly: Patient #409 – Clara Vance.
Arthur’s breath caught in his throat. Clara wasn't just a patient. She had been his own wife, who mysteriously disappeared inside this very hospital five years ago.
