"Well… well… well… if it isn't our… l-l-lucky contestant…"
Felicity slid to a halt at the sound of that voice, and - perhaps against their better judgment - backpedaled to look down the corridor they'd just rushed past.
They almost wished they hadn't.
"Don't t-t-take it personally," what was left of Henry Hotline rasped out, visibly shaking from the effort; "but you look like hell."
That seemed funny, coming from him - all that remained of his lower body was a mess of warped metal, tangled wires, and ruptured tubes that slowly leaked a viscous red-brown liquid. His faceplate had been shattered to splinters, his jaws wrenched out of place with loose wires dangling from the broken side, and one camera "eye" dangled from its socket, occasionally spitting tiny sparks, while the other's lens had shattered.
If the blackened burn marks all around it were anything to go by, he'd probably had his face jammed against a light socket or, worse, the broken end of an active fluorescent bulb.
And under the corridor's harsh greenish light, they could see how time had been taking its toll on him, in the sorry shape of his tattered velvet tailcoat, and the way the foam rubber covering his hands was blackened, cracked, and peeling away.
"You're one to talk," they replied dryly, approaching cautiously and on the alert for any unpleasant surprises; "one of us looks like we've gone through an industrial shredder, and it isn't me."
"T-t-touché." Something that sounded like it was supposed to be a wheezy laugh escaped him, and Felicity crouched down across from him, resting their elbows on their knees.
"I also know why I'm down here," they jerked a thumb in the direction they'd come from, indicating the security room with the creepy rabbit; "but I'm wondering… why are you down here? I'd've thought there would be, like… a repair room or something where you would end up after whatever happened in that hallway upstairs."
He laughed again, and this time there was an almost hysterical edge to it as he struggled to prop himself up on an elbow and motion towards the tiny room's back wall. "Wh-why don't you t-t-try reading the writing on th-the wall, sweetheart?" His voice sounded tinny and distorted now, as if moving had jarred something out of place.
They wondered if it hurt him.
The thought sent a twinge of - guilt? remorse? pity? - lancing through their chest, even as they looked up to read what was, indeed, written on the wall.
Let’s reflect.
How did you end up here?
Was it your fault?
How are you going to fix it?
Are you going to revisit Frankie’s Parkour Palace?
Frowning, they looked back at Henry, who had collapsed back into a heap and was looking down at the floor, giggling faintly to himself and shaking so violently that he was audibly rattling.
"I don't-" They shifted forward to rest their weight on one knee and reached out to take hold of his head.
He tensed and immediately lurched away from their touch, fixing them with the one eye that still seemed to somewhat work. "Don't. Do. That."
"Okay, okay! Sorry. Sorry." They held their hands up in surrender for a moment, then slowly lowered them to fold them over their knee. "Henry, what does that mean."
"It means," he sank back down, still giggling hysterically; "that I failed. I didn't keep you occupied long enough for Frankie to catch up to you, and now…"
"And now…?"
"And now, I g-ge-get to reflect on what a failure I am until the boss decides what to do with me."
Felicity's hackles stood on end as an almost electric sensation crept up their spine.
"They're p-pr-pr-probably going to just k-k-kill me, that's what they do to t-the ones that outlive their usefulness." There was a long pause, then; "…the - the only reason they haven't done you in is because you're boosting the ratings. But the first time you slip up…"
Henry's voice dissolved into static and hopeless laughter, and Felicity found themself shaking their head.
"No - no, that won't…" They stood up quickly, pacing and looking around for something, anything that could be used to help. "There's a freight elevator just down the hall, if I could just get you there…"
"They won't let that happen."
God, he sounded so tired, and why did Felicity even care?
"I have to at least try."
"Why? It's not going to - to accomplish anything."
"I - I don't know, okay! But there's got to be a dolly or something down here, right? I could get you upstairs, at least, and there's got to be - there's gotta be somebody here who can fix you-!"
"J-just get out of here, will you? The only thing p-pr-protecting you in the utilidors is the fact that there aren't any cameras, and the audience wants to see you get pulped. But they're gonna get impatient if you drag it out, and then the boss is gonna send his pet murder machine down here to get you, cameras or no, so you'd better start running while you still c-c-ca-can."
Felicity felt numb as they sank down into another crouch, rocking back on their heels and lacing and unlacing their fingers anxiously. "So, what, you're just giving up?"
"Why not? Isn't that what you did when you came here?"
"No! I'm here because I wanted a better life! That's the opposite of just giving up!"
"God, listen to you - would you quit lying to y-y-your-yourself?! Nobody agrees to come on this meat grinder unless they're at the end of their rope. Sometimes a literal rope. You think you're any different? You aren't." Henry pushed himself up on shaking arms and jutted his head out on that snake-like neck of his, getting as close to their face as he could. "You're just like every other contestant, you're running from something, and I'm not talking about Frankie. You're running because that's all you've got left. So just. Run. Already."
Felicity found themself with their back pressed to the clammy cinderblock wall, prepare to fire off another argument - only to be interrupted by the ringing of a phone.
It was almost deafening in the echoing confines of the utilidors.
Henry collapsed in on himself, shuddering, with a wrenching sound that could have almost been a sob.
The phone rang again.
Felicity wanted to yank the receiver until the cord snapped. To throw the offending noisemaker down the corridor. But before they could reach out, Henry had lifted one shaking hand to pick it up.
The explosion that followed a split second later left Felicity's ears ringing. Shrapnel - jagged little bits and pieces of what had once been his head - peppered their forearms, and they were covered in sprays of mechanical gore.
And, for a long moment, they could only stare down at Henry's lifeless body, their heartbeat pounding like thunder in their ears.
