You were crouched behind a large server bank in a restricted corridor, your back pressed against the cool metal. In your hand was a borrowed Polaroid camera, the film cartridge half-used. Proof. You needed proof.

The alarms blared to life a second later, a deafening, pulsating shriek. Red emergency lights strobed, turning the white walls the color of blood.

You rounded a corner. Steve was ahead, looking back for you, his face a mask of pure terror. You chanced a glance over your shoulder.

It was a mass of shadow and sinew, all snapping limbs and too many teeth, pouring out of a ruptured wall panel. It saw you.

Steve shouted your name. A guard appeared from a side door, raising his weapon. A shot rang out, not at the creature, but wild. The ceiling panel above you exploded.

A searing pain. White-hot. Your leg gave out. You fell, the camera skittering away into the dark. The world tilted.

The scuttling was right behind him. He didn’t turn. He just held your hand, his grip desperate.

Steve’s scream was raw, animal, shredding the air. He shook you. He begged.

Men in bulky hazmat suits swarmed in, pulling him back. He fought, clawing at their arms, his eyes never leaving your still form on the floor.

The creature had vanished. The hallway was empty save for you, the spreading crimson, and the fallen camera.

A minute passed. Then, measured, calm footsteps approached. A man in a pristine lab coat knelt beside you. He placed two fingers against your cold neck. He waited. A faint, almost imperceptible flutter answered his touch.