Big Damn Heroes.
She and Bryant had followed the hum. It was a pervasive sound, one that only got louder as they crawled their way up the strange, organic tube that led to a room out of her nightmares.
"Oh, hells." They'd been holding hands up the conduit, and Kesiah's grip tightened in Bryant's, instinctively. Another kind of Them. Aliens, watching monitors. Far too many eyes, and fused with the walls.
Immobile. Watchers. A sudden, heated wave of fury filled Kesiah. They'd watched. Watched people die, watched Marcus become whatever he was. Watched Bryant forced into hybridization, watched the screams and panics of the cells.
Watched like she'd been watched in the asylum, by unfeeling, uncaring eyes. Eyes that waited for the spark of madness, eyes that were linked to hands that prescribed drugs or restraints or more pervasive methods of therapy. Her free hand curled into a fist, clenched so tight her nails cut half-moons into her palm.
"Come on." Her voice was taut. "If they're so focused on watching, let's give them a real show to look at."
Pulling her hand free of Bryant's grasp, she strode toward the things; she wasn't quite sure what she was going to do, yet. Kick them? Rip them out of the wall? Something.