The prisoner halted, every muscle in her body tensed up like springs, waiting for release.  She cocked her head to one side, priming her feet against the moist metal surface of the catwalk.  The woman had found herself in an abandoned part of The Slam, a place that should have rightfully been locked up tight to keep anyone from accidentally wandering into it...or to keep anything from wandering out.  Every so often the strange and terrifying subterranean ecology of Crematoria would surge forth from unseen depths and completely overrun entire sectors of the Prison, devouring guards and criminals alike in a frenzy of gluttonous violence.  Sector 84 was one of them.  Ancient and decrepit, falling apart from years of disuse.  The air was rank with the smell of monsters, but everything was silent.  It wasn't the creatures that worried her, for she knew that she had become prey for a very different sort of Beast.<br/><br/><em>"Elizabeth...  What dark places a desperate mouse will run to when the cat comes calling,"</em>a voice rasped.  The chilling sound echoed from every direction, impossible to place in the high, hollowed out cavern.<br/><br/>Elizabeth blanched, shooting looks everywhere for even the slightest sign of her pursuer.  She'd heard of Flayer's games.  It wasn't unheard of for guards to use the prisoners for their own amusement, inciting them into fist fights to lay bets on or just outright screwing them when they got lonely enough.  But only one seemed to get pleasure out of actually killing them.  But not just killing them either.  Breaking them down until they were nothing.<em>Then</em>killing them, when death had finally become a favorable alternative to living.  This was just another form of entertainment.  When she saw him she'd panicked like a newborn child, running anywhere her feet would take her.  No doubt he'd unlocked the door, going so far as to risk letting those monstrosities into the rest of the complex.  Just so she'd be all alone.  Perfect.<br/><br/>"Far brighter than in the gullet of the cat," she retorted, her face set in stone.  After a moment she hesitantly eased herself to the far end of the catwalk, crouching down and glancing to and fro with every careful movement.<br/><br/><em>"Too true,"</em>the voice admitted.  It made her pause; the static was louder now.<em>"But to what depths will prey sink to in order to survive?  All too often a mouse will flee from its feline enemy, only to run blindly into the mousetrap."</em><br/><br/>"Better to die suddenly and without warning that be toyed with for hours before a torturous end."<br/><br/>Silence, then;<em>"I like your perspective, Miss Elizabeth.  Let us see how far you are willing to fall before that end comes.  I'm eager to see if you can beat the record."</em><br/><br/>Elizabeth slowly turned on her heel, lowering herself down a nearby latter while keeping a careful eye on the catwalks above.  Where ever the Beast was, it had to be above her.  Cutting off the one chance she had at escape.  If she really wanted to survive, she would have to somehow distract him and double back around and into a more populated section of the Slam.  Either that or wait for a lucky break and hope one of the other guards finds the unsealed door and calls it in.  Luck hardly seemed to be on her side now.<br/><br/>"Record?" she asked, touching down on the next floor.  She took a glance over the railing.  The crevice seemed to stretch down forever, a pitt webbed with thousands of old catwalks dug straight into the oily black rock.  Occasionally a dark shape moved far in the distance, or a pair of eyes flashed.  Sometimes too many eyes.<br/><br/><em>"I'm sorry to say that I do not have the luxury of coming up with creative new scenarios for every morsel I select, Miss Elizabeth.  You would not be the first to be lured down to Sector 84.  I like seeing how far each one of you can manage before getting torn to pieces by some unfathomable monster.  Like the gladiatorial games of old.  Some of them last days, but nobody has yet to hit the very bottom.  It would be quite an accomplishment.  Why, I hear this Sector connects with a tram system that goes right up to the surface!"</em><br/><br/>Elizabeth swore under her breath.  Of course.  Putting a prize like that right under her nose.  Taunting her with it.  But she wouldn't be fooled.  The only thing waiting on the surface was a death by boiling heat or frigid cold.  Even if she managed to come up during the short grace period, the only place to go would be another entrance to the Slam.  There was no escape from Crematoria.  Who knows how many poor fools had struggled hopelessly downwards in the hope of finding that mythical shuttle.  That was the trick.  Flayer wouldn't want anyone to consider that the best path out was back the way they'd come from.  So he'd suggest tantalizing prizes down below, and threaten with death from above.  She couldn't fall for it.  Even if she died by the whip, she'd die with her face looking towards the heavens.  Even if heaven was so very, very far away.<br/><br/><br/>