And that ever-present drip echoes down the hall. Drip... drip... drop. Into a puddle of blood or water. Impossible to tell, and probably better off unknown.

A splicer yowls upstairs, then scampers off. Whatever her business, she hadn't seen him. Little victories.

But just as the perimeter starts to seem secure, a footstep rings out on the tiles. Then another... and a third. Not a stumbling splicer, but someone with sure footing - and in this place, someone who had to be armed.