Taking the hallway to my left, I walk further into darkness. Voices come from behind a door to my right and I sink back into the shadows of the hallway. The door opens and a man exists, thankfully walking in the opposite direction to where I’m standing. When he is out of sight, I slink through the shadows towards the open door.

In the centre of the room sits an old dining table, this must be used as a tea room or kitchen. With the coast clear I enter, closing the door behind myself. For a moment I take in my surroundings and gather my thoughts, there is a whiteboard on the far wall with dates and times written all over it.

Before I can get close enough to read any of the details I hear a creak behind me. Spinning around and placing my hand on the gun tucked into the back of my jeans, I face a man who looks to be in his fifties with rough facial hair, torn jeans and a flannelette shirt. His eyes meet mine and go wide with shock. Pushing my hood off of my head, I drop my hand from the gun.

“W-Warren?”

“Jesse,” he stammers. “What — you can’t be here.” Checking over his shoulder, he closes the door we both came through.

“I’m here to get you the hell out of this place,” I whisper-shout, throwing my arms out to the side.

“I don’t understand Jesse. How? Why?”

“I can explain all of that, but right now we need to leave before they realise what’s going on. There is a van parked at the rear entrance, that’s our ticket out.”

Warren approaches me and places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. “Follow me.”

Slinking through the shadows once more, Warren leads the way towards the back of the warehouse. Somehow, we make it all the way to the van without being seen, but the relief is short lived. As I wrap my fingers around the door handle, something cold and hard presses against my back.

“L-Lance,” Warren mutters. The tone in his voice tells me this man holds significant power over him.

Raising my hands above my head, I step forward and slowly begin to turn to face the devil. The man who has had us walking on eggshells for the past twelve years. The one who holds the answers. My hands shake, I know I’m only going to get one shot at this, if only I had taken Tanner up on those lessons out at the shooting range.

I take a small step backwards, my hands dropping to my side. Lance’s eyes are glancing between Warren and myself. As his eyes look towards Warren once more, I reach around behind my back and palm the gun. The rough texture of the handgrip tells me I have taken hold of the right part. There’s no time to think.