Drakmor awoke before Valeria, just as he had hoped. It had taken long enough, but his opportunity had arrived. Today he would escape.

                And he would take Valeria with him.


                Lucas Bates smiled as he walked by the dead ‘so-called creator.’ Today was the day. 

                Wearing his black jacket and jeans along with specially designed shoes, he stood nearly 6 Ft. tall. His head was shaven and short black hairs covered his chin, forming a goatee. On his face he wore a wide grin, which he couldn’t get rid of if he tried. 

                Lucas usually never let his excitement and anger override his logic, but, in the case of the dead men behind him, he couldn't help it. He would not be stopped and those that tried to be a wall in his path would be trampled. Lucas had to be careful, however, lest the others find out he killed someone.

                He ran up the wall to his left and jumped into the small opening above him that lead to the air duct. He never in his life thought this opportunity would arrive, but it finally had. It had taken preparation – years of it! – and luck, but finally he would make it back to the surface and kill that damnable man!

                It was all thanks to a conversation with an unlikely man.

                Licking his lips, Lucas crawled through the air ducts, quietly observing the ‘creators’ he passed. They were pathetic. Brainwashing the ones who lived here and walking around like they were God. It sickened him. He wished he could teach them to acknowledge and fix their mistakes but…. That would have to wait. His escape and revenge came first. 

                And so Lucas Bates crawled toward the meeting place, murder in his heart.


                Drakmor ran down the hallway, Valeria asleep on his shoulder. He hated that he had to drug her with sleeping aide from the pharmacy wing of the facility, but ever since he started sleeping in Valeria’s room, trying to convince her to escape, he knew that this was the only way to get her out. 

                Plus, he knew her true desire…. And he swore to find Valeria’s mother and deliver her daughter to her. Though Drakmor felt bad for probing her subconscious with his mind, he was glad he did. It had left him worried - some of the images and thoughts, that is - but Drakmor assumed those to be bad dreams. In the recesses of his mind, Drakmor still had doubts, but he knew how powerful her desire for her mother was. So, he would bring them together. That was something he had to do, for Val’s sake.

                Drakmor ran through the corridors, knowing they would be empty, and onward to the park. It was a magnificent place. He first saw Val there, though she probably didn’t remember. He remembered the smile on her face as she drew her pictures and enjoyed the birds flying around her. He always thought she looked so happy, so content, but now, looking back, he realized that it was a cover for her loneliness - the only thing that surpassed that was her selflessness, which she constantly showed.

                He swore on that day he would find out just who the girl was and make her his first friend. Back then that was the only thing he knew. The desire for a friend.

                He finally made it to the halfway point and an alarm went off toward his left. But the sound indicated that it came from the eastern wing. ‘Darn it!’


                Randall Smith ran for his life from the creature that chased him. The tall, Black-haired man had been running for a good while and it was getting ridiculous.

                What chased him was a dog, sadly. Who would have thought he would be chased by what he was asked to retrieve. The massive 5 foot tall boxer bulldog chased him vehemently. She was silver in color, oddly enough, and extremely playful. The only problem had been she was TOO playful… And had almost tore his arm off. She had, however, succeeded in ripping his favorite trench coat. Randall had forgotten her name, which only made matters worse…

                “Why do I always get the crap luck!?” He yelled as he ran toward his destination. Surely, the others were having it easy. He just wanted out of this hell hole and back with his friends. Randall hated doing hard jobs. When it was mentioned that someone should grab the dog, he volunteered himself. After all, Randall had trained dogs for years. He should have known there was a catch.

                The dog barked, playfully and suddenly surged forward in a burst of speed. “What was her name?!” Randall yelled to himself, fear rising as the dog grew closer. If he could remember the dog’s name, he could stop her. 

                The animal almost caught up to Randall when the name popped into his head. Still running, he yelled out, “LADY! SIT!” Almost immediately Lady stopped herself, or at least tried to, and rolled past Randall. When she stopped she was sitting. Randall slowed to a stop beside the large dog, breathing heavily. Lady just shook her butt, as her tail was just a stub. ‘About time…’ Randall sighed, walking up beside the monstrous dog. This was a bad start to his day, and that meant it would get worse. 

                Now that he could study her, he realized Lady had a collection of scars along her body and her fur WAS silver. Looking more closely, he noticed half the scars were not scars, they were stretch marks. Her skin was stretched tightly across her heavily muscled body. Lady had been a boxer from the shape of her face and snout. Judging by the shape of her bones and nearly invisible patterns on her silver fur, she had been a purebred. Randall frowned, anger exploding inside. ‘What have they done to you, girl,’ he whispered, mad that such a majestic animal was corrupted physically. 

               Randall petted the animal, feeling small ridges under her skin. The dog jumped slightly, a reaction usually meaning they remember pain. Randall didn't care that his time was important. He needed to examine Lady. Randall checked her underside, only to find an actual scar. She had been spaded. Randall noticed her veins, as the fur was not thick on her belly, and grew angrier. Something in her body had turned her blood silver. Remembering the stories about Drakmor, Randall had a few ideas as to why. 

                “Come on, girl, let’s get on with this,” Randall said when he finished, shrugging of his anger. At least she was a good dog in personality. Lady followed as he jogged down the corridor. 

The End

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