For a reason he doesn’t wish to explicitly consider, Kierk is attempting to find the roof again. The bones. But upon reaching the top of the stairs and finding no rooftop door, he realizes he is in the wrong stairwell. He backtracks and wanders around the top floor for a while, trying to find the other paths to the roof, but runs into doors to which he does not have access to: his keycard merely makes the locks beep red. He passes the breathing machinery, all organic with pumps and fluids and the ticks of recorded electricity. An autoclave sits like a dragon and boils the entries in its belly with loud clanging. Finally, he finds the door at the head of a stairwell with the flaked NO—XIT sign. Shouldering it hard, he bounces off to a loud clank. He looks over the edge of the railing all the way down and neither sees nor hears anyone. So he kicks it as hard as he can, once, twice, three times before his heel explodes in pain and Kierk hops up and down—Fuck fuck fuck—now leaning against the stairwell wall, one hand on his hip too, eyeing the door vehemently. Defeated, he limps away from his search.