Per 
Dr. Richard Albertson was a rule abiding fellow. He spent his career in the Foundation studying rules, and more specifically, the images that kill those who break rules. Needless to say, he followed the rules. He had been in his office for days, planning up a new one. Survival off McDonalds wasn't a happy survival, but was better than death. He clicked around aimlessly at the pages of the Fourth Edition Memetic Handbook, trying to find something to inspire him. His face was ghostly, and his eyes were shrunken, reflecting the screen of his monitor. He groaned in frustration, having no idea what to do next. Out of anger, he closed the tab and mashed his keyboard into the SCiPnet search bar. He lowered his head into his hands. Richard knew that if he missed this deadline, it wouldn't be like the first two. He knew what would happen. Midway into his wallowing, he heard a noise from the computer.
DING went the speaker, signaling an email, and Richard looked up. He saw the Agent on the screen, and in pure panic, reached for the Memetic Effect Resistant Goggles. He closed his eyes until he felt the safety of the plastic on his face. He opened his eyes towards the screen.
Richard exhaled with relief, seeing that the goggles had worked. He quickly closed the tab and chucked the goggles to the side. He saw the notification from Doctor Emily Hadden, some rant about how the deadline was soon and a bunch of asking who Richard thought he was. He sighed, shutting his computer off. Sleep came quick, with Richard nodding off within minutes.
It didn't last long, however. Richard was jolted awake by a screaming siren, and his door opening. It was quickly shut. In a flurry, he grabbed his gun and spun in the chair to confront the threat. It was Emily, albeit a shaken and bruised one. Richard looked at her, and though he knew exactly who she was, the words pushed out of his throat:
"Who are you?" he asked. Emily stared at him, confusion in her eyes.
"I'm your fucking boss, idiot. And right now, it doesn't matter. Some fucking idiot janked up the locking mechanism on a Keter's cell, and now it and a few others are buttfucking this whole facility" She said, in pure panic aswell. Emily rushed over next to Richard, sitting in a corner. He had never seen her like this, she was always so clean and well put together, very analytical. But now, she was cowering in a corner from the monsters outside.
"Shouldn't we get to a shelter? There is one just across the hall" Richard asked, looking at his boss for advice. She shook her head.
"No use, they're already sealed. Do NOT open that door, either"
"Why?" Richard inquired in response
"Just don't, ok?"
And so he didn't. They sat in silence for what seemed like hours. The air had become sweet and stagnant, most likely due to the ventilation shut down, but neither took too hard to it. It wasn't too bad, Richard thought. He turned to Emily. The corner was significantly dustier, and Emily significantly more dirty. Her hair and nails had grown, and she had lost a few pounds. It seemed impossible, as they had been there for no less than two hours.
"Emily, are you ok?" Richard asked, his voice shattering the silence in the air like a bat to glass
She looked at him, the light accentuating her sunken eyes
"Who are you?" She asked, shoving herself into the corner farther
"Its me, Richard. Emily, are you ok?" He asked, concerned
"We've been trapped in here for months, unable to reach the shelter because you wont fucking let us leave!" She screeched
Richard was startled, but not scared. It was her who had locked them in, he was sure! He turned to his computer, powering it on.
The screen disturbed him, though there was nothing morbid. It was the Login for Emily Hadden, not his. The desk was hers, and the gun was in her hands. He shoved the chair back, terrified. How did he get here? Had he remembered wrong? He walked towards the door, drawing his ID and moving it towards the door.
"RICHARD, WHAT PART OF DON'T FUCKING OPEN THAT DOOR DIDN'T YOU UNDERSTAND?" Emily yelled, drawing Richard's attention. He turned around, looking at Emily. She was fine, looking clean and analytical. All those nights of staying up on a coffee high had taken a toll, he supposed. He pivoted on his heels
"Ah, yes. Sorry, Emily." He said, approaching her. Richard held his hand out to her, offering his canteen. "Drink, you-"
He blinked, and when his eyes opened, he heard a muffled scream. He felt the cold steel of a handgun in his palm, and saw the gaunt, starving Emily clutching her bleeding, broken wrist. He was shocked, confused, and disoriented. He had no idea what had happened. He dropped the gun, closing his eyes as it hit the ground. He opened them, looking at Emily, who had downed about 2/3 of his canteen. He snatched it from her, chugging the rest. He was done with it. Throwing the canteen into his monitor, Richard stood. He unholstered his gun, approaching the door.
He heard a distorted scream from behind him.
"RICHARD, STOP! DON'T OPEN IT" Emily screamed
"NO, WHY RICHARD, PLEASE! LET ME GO, I PROMISE I WONT" Emily screamed in a gurgling voice simultaneously.
He approached the door, scanning his card. The door opened slowly, the hydraulics screeching with age. They had just been polished yesterday, or was it two years ago? Time had faded, Richard couldn't remember. Once the door opened enough for him to exit, he slid through, stepping into what he thought was the hall. Except, it wasn't.
The 'hall' seemed to stretch on forever in every direction. There was no light, no door. Reality bending, if anything. Infront of him was a chair, with a man in it. He heard a splashing noise as he approached, his hand on his gun. As he neared, he saw the source of the noise. The man was spouting blood from every hole in his face, caking his coat and suit in it. He turned the man around to look at his face.
"Who are you?" He asked.
Richard felt something warm push its way up his throat and through his teeth, prying at his lips. He kneeled over, letting the stream of red, chunky fluid cascade into the ground. He felt something stream from his nose and eyes. Richard wiped away the tears, looking at his hands. He looked at his red, stained hands, watching the red droplets rolling off his face puddle in his hands.
He stood, stumbling forward, out of his office, and into something hard. He looked up at the clean, white wall, which was now dripping with blood. He looked around, seeing his coworkers stare at him. Emily stepped from the crowd, looking at Richard with concern.
"Richard, you're covered in blood! Are you alright?!" She asked. He saw his co-workers paging for Trauma teams, but he looked back at Emily.
"Who are you?" He asked. His vision became red, and his breathing struggled. He coughed, falling over. He looked at the stain on the floor next to his mouth, the ever expanding crimson puddle. Richard's breathing turned into wheezing, his lungs feeling as if they had been filled with concrete. Richard took a breath. There was so much red.
And then, there was nothing.
Doctor William Chambers looked to the nurse in front of him. The Surgeon raised his arm and looked at his watch
"Time of Death, 13:05" He said, indifferent. He prodded Richard's head with the back of his pen, feeling the squish of the blood that had pushed through his skull. An Aneurysm didn't just happen, and seeing as his field of work, Chamber's had an idea of what had happened.
"Nurse, lets get a Memetic Consult on this. And you might want to contact RAISA, they'll get a kick out of this"
