None of it is any good, but Astarion may rest assured: the threat is long gone. He murdered everybody who dared to get in his path and left, bloody prize between his teeth; now Abby walks his old path down the hallway, and tries to tune the long sobbing of the warning sirens out. Her strides are long, but her progress is slow.

The door at the end has a handle that does turn, and she pushes it open. She takes them into the room between the two, where red light pools in the surgical basins lining the way to the next door.

Here, she pauses.

"... I don't know what's behind here."

It would be a warning if she could give him more information, but it really could be anything. There's no logic to the list of bodies that take it in turns to pose disturbingly behind the door; she turns its handle before she can lose it, and try to walk him back.

Pushing it open reveals an empty surgical theater, and a body in bloody scrubs laying supine at the altar of the only hospital bed. His nose and mouth is smeared with viscera, gloved hands spread out from his sides. There's a pair of metal scissors just out of reach of his fingers, a macabre little detail Abby has never noticed before. He was probably holding them when he died. She has no idea. She wasn't there, and didn't protect him.

She gasps: a wet, sad sound.

His is the body she sees the most and it still hurts like the day she discovered it.