You move to the small hole in the wall and tear at it, making it wider. In seconds the hole is twice the size but before you can continue, a corroded and blackened hand darts through the hole and snatches at your throat, taking it in a vise grip. Your air passage is clamped off, you can't breathe but it doesn't seem to bother you.

"What do you want?" You ask in a hoarse, forced whipser.

"Life." Is the reply, in a voice that speaks of time and torment beyond your comprehension. "Do you have some to spare?"

"Life is a precious thing and I have but this one and none to spare. But perhaps together we can find some more, will you help me find them?"

The grip loosens on your throat and the hand withdraws and is replaced by an eye, shot through with thick angry veins and set in a socket surrounded by skin that flakes off like ashes.

"I will." The voice says and it looks as though you have made a new friend, it has been so very long.

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