012 strode down dark hallways with renewed purpose. Barely fifteen minutes earlier he had been on the verge of death in a hole in the ground, now he was strong,talled and really pissed. He saw a few other cells, doors open just like his. He knew he wasn't the first, he would hardly be 012 otherwise, but if they were housed here they must not be safe for interaction. 

His eyes were darting around left and right, hand resting on Goldstein's, [i]HIS[/i] pistol. Things looked different when you were tall, but the pools of blood and bullet casings were still the same. He touched the blood, finding it was still warm.

The next doorway beckoned to him with a soft orange glow. Smoke filled his nostrils as he approached, the stone corridor felt a lot more oppresive than it did a moment before. He drew his pistol, accessing Goldstein's combat experience was effortless and the agent's hand was steady.

He stared into something from a horror movie, a laboratory. Manacles and examniation tables covered in old, dried blood revealed that cruelty was not new here. Banks of formerly pristine and sterile computers were shattered - and covered in human remains.Acid melted a section of the floor and a scientist was reduced to nothing but a skeleton in a white coat by the very same acid.

012 eyes were drawn to the bonfire, fueled by the corpses of scientists. The stench brought back memories from Goldstein's past, of friends tortured by cultists in a backwater jungle. But most terrifying of all was a message, scrawled in the filth left by the slaughter. 

"I am 033 and I am free."

012 couldn't help but mutter, "Out of the frying pan."

He backed out of the lab, keeping his pistol handy. Goldstein's memories placed the exit to this block 15 minutes away. He sincerely hoped that 033 had already escaped or been dealt with by then.