As they ran towards the light, the gargantuan sentient arm abandoned its pursuit. Entering this large hall, the trio decided that they were safe for the moment. Still, the question remained: why would it give up? Jacob, in a hushed voice, theorized that it got tired. Isaac, in return, chose to be pessimistic – he thought they had walked into the lair of something even more powerful and frightening. Noah silently glared at him, unhappy with the suggestion. He wanted to take the win, no matter how small it was, whenever they could. After a quick moment of reflection, he allowed himself the faintest of smiles: they had somehow managed to beat the Jester at his game despite the ever-changing rules.

He didn’t allow himself to fully relax, however. He looked around to take in the layout of this new room. The white fluorescent lights on the ceiling were dim and intermittent, only allowing for a second and a half of vision before going out again for a much longer period. Nonetheless, they eventually understood they were now in what used to be a cafeteria. Lunch tables and benches were positioned unevenly on the checkered black and gray floor, with a large open space in the middle, as if the furniture had been knocked away in an impossibly strong gust of wind. The walls had a blue color, presumably once cheerful and vibrant with life like the ocean; now tired and washed out, evoking the tint of an icy death.

Red cafeteria trays were scattered about, both on the tables and on the floor. They weren’t quite empty, much to their regret, since the food had spoiled a long time ago, filling the room with a bitter aroma of rotten meat. It got worse the further they got into the room, making Isaac cover his face with his shirt. Noah retched, his stomach refusing to vomit only because it was empty and starving.

Almost as if to answer an unspoken prayer, a miracle happened in the form of a few unopened cans of food in some of the cupboards. Odd, they thought, that a cafeteria would have them, but they wisely chose to not complain and be grateful for this tiny blessing that could mean the difference between dying of hunger and surviving for a bit longer. They glanced back one last time to ensure the monstrous arm hadn’t come back to attack them once more, then began a search for a can opener or something sharp enough to be used as an improvised tool that would do the job.

Yet a worry grew in Noah’s mind. Coming from a little further ahead, out of view – a sound. It was a faint but serene childish voice; barely audible, it sounded like a melody or a quiet hymn. He investigated further, while his companions prepared their feast. After a brief but tense search, he found her under the blinking lights: a small girl, facing away from him. Aged maybe eight to ten years old, with long and wavy silver hair, her skin as pale as a ghost, her white robe covered in red stains.

They had been tortured by a psychopath. They had experienced things they couldn’t understand, witnessed unspeakable events. Then, right there in front of him, a cliché of a horror movie. He wanted to stop being on the defensive, to rise and be a man, to stop being a passive participant, a victim of the Jester’s machinations. Thus, he acted. What other option did he have?

Firmly holding the metal bat with his two hands, he ran forward, using his full momentum to swing his weapon towards the little girl's head. He was acting for the good of the group, to defend his companions and himself. He was entirely justified in his decision.

There was a loud, dull thud. He felt the bones of her skull cracking through the bat, up to his fingers. She was thrown across the room for a few feet and crashed against the corner of a cupboard, splitting her forehead open before landing face first on the floor. She twitched for a second, then stopped moving.

Blood, blood everywhere. Blood on his weapon, blood on the furniture, blood on himself, and a pool of blood that was growing exponentially under the girl due to the fatal wounds he had inflicted her. It was a mess, a disaster.

It took ten seconds. Ten seconds to realize he had made a mistake, to feel the weight of his failure. He had no way of knowing who this person was or whether she was a threat or not. Ten seconds before he questioned, doubted and blamed himself. He did protect his group, but if right at the start of it all, he murdered an innocent child, wasn’t he the worst there was?

And then the mental spiral began, dwindling downwards in the abyss of remorse, worsened by the laughs of the Jester resounding through the room and his ears, taunting him about what he had just done.

His companions rushed to him. They observed the corpse of the girl and the brutality she had been a victim of. Noah dropped on his knees, sweating abundantly. His hands on the floor, he could feel something rising up from within. His stomach turned. He started gagging. He couldn’t hold it in. He retched twice. It hurt. A lot.

And then, it came out.

A massive puddle of mat black ooze, shifting in shape and form over and again. He looked at it with horror and confusion: what was it and how did it come to be inside of him in the first place?

Agitated, he and his companions moved away from it… Until it moved away from them. It dragged itself in the shadows at an alarming speed, quickly getting out of sight. Whatever it was, the thing was undoubtedly alive.

After a few extremely long seconds, noticing they weren’t under attack, Isaac approached Noah, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on...” He tried to pull Noah up, but he was trembling too much. “We need to get out of here,” he insisted.