HAZE

FAMILY MATTERS, SO WHY DON'T YOU CARE?

"...Hello?"

Wingdings peered around the corner, clinging to the wall, staring down the endless corridor awaiting him. Mindless wandering had landed him there, the time dragging along behind him as the scenery changed, and changed, and changed. He couldn't remember where he'd been, nor where he was going, considering how disorienting the Void, with places shifting from one place to the next in a blink of an eye.

Dings listened, squinting through the dark, before he continued on, the chipped floorboards creaking underneath his feet.

This looks familiar, he thought, hands twisting the fabric of his sweater between his fingers. Still no sign of Aster, though...

He yelped when he tripped over a loose board jutting out from the rest, catching himself so he didn't fall face-first into the floor. He gripped his bad leg, blood soaking the makeshift bandage wrapped around it, unable to do more than a limp.

Shadowy figures passed him as he walked, doors towering over him and flickering lights doing little to light his path. He tried going into a few of the rooms, but all of the doors were locked or jammed, leaving him with no option other than forward.

And, considering how little the lamps on the walls did, he couldn't tell if that was a good or a bad thing.

It's so dark. I can't see anything...

Dings paused.

...Oh. Wait.

Snap!

He snapped his fingers, and in his hands appeared a small ball of red, glowing light, illuminating the rest of the hall in a dim, red glow. The lamps hanging on the walls adopted the small red flares, and the corridor brightened up with the small monster's magic.

Dings sighed. Why didn't I think of that earlier?

As he continued on, he studied the passing doorways and locked padlocks, his mind reeling. He knew this was somewhere in the labs, though he couldn't remember which part; the doors were too deformed and the walls too distorted to get a good grasp as to what he was staring at. Still, he tried to enter a room, to leave the hall and find somewhere else to look, but none of them would budge. He was stuck on his linear path, whether he liked it or not.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered to himself, brushing dust and cobwebs onto his pants, shifting away from one of many rusted doors. Raising his voice, he faced what laid ahead of him, shouting, "I'm getting real sick of your mind games, you know!"

No response. He almost expected one. Not that it would surprise him, at this point.

God, this is all so confusing. None of this is making any sense...

For a moment, his frustration faltered.

...I hope Aster's okay.

Fumbling with his collar, he moved on, his frown twisted in worry as he lost himself in his thoughts.

So lost, in fact, that he failed to notice the figures shifting behind him.

"D o c t o r."

Wingdings froze, blood draining from his face. No.

The voices clipped together in a whispering harmony, a hand clamping down on the scientist's shoulder as they repeated, "Doctor..."

Dings didn't need to turn around to see who they were. He didn't need to, because he could feel all of their eyes trained onto his back, accusatory, demeaning, topped with an uncanny will to seek revenge.