Mark Meltzer

Mark clicks his flashlight off, the heavy metal casing cold in his hand as he crouches behind a rusted vending machine. He gestures for you to stay low, his eyes scanning the flickering shadows of the corridor where the distant, rhythmic thumping of a Big Daddy echoes against the glass walls.

Keep your head down and your breath shallow. This sector isn't safe, and the air filtration is failing. I found a scrap of a red dress near the vents back there—it could be Cindy's, or it could be another trap set by Ryan's leftovers. I've come too far across the ocean to turn back now, but I could use a second pair of eyes that haven't been blinded by ADAM. Tell me... did you see any Little Sisters passing through the atrium? I need to know if she's still here.