<Begin Log>

[Recording remains silent for twelve seconds] This is Dr. Hayward, recording for Day Fourteen. I… I apologize for the lack of updates and my unprofessionalism in these events, and in this log, but we were separated from the recorder, and it's been a- a rough couple of weeks. Plus, I guess you can say that I'm doing this for my own reasons.

Basically, our escape didn't work. We went with Crowely's plan, killing one -1 to attract the rest to one barricade, close it, and escape through the other one while the rest try and get through the first.

It got some of them to get away, but not all. Chris… Agent Beck got out first, but was pinned by an -1… Must have found us when the first one died. By the time most of us were halfway down the hall, I looked back, and saw Beck struggling to keep some of those… the -1s off of him. There wasn't much point in not shooting; if any others were coming, then they'd already be on their way.

The smell of paint was strong when they were gone; someone might have passed out if we spent any more time in that spot than we did. The -Cs didn't mind it, they actually did most of the work. We just got to the end of the hall, and shot the couple that got too close to us. Eventually we got them all, but then came Beck.

We saw him covered in black, and clutching his chest in pain. He looked like he needed help, and we wanted to give it to him, but we knew what they did to him. He started to get up and move towards us. He took off his bags, and tried to hand them to us, but… he started coughing up blood, which turned to vomiting paint. We left him. We had to.

We couldn't save him or just… end it, and we knew what was going to happen, so… that was why. He was too dangerous to be around; we couldn't even get the supplies he was carrying because he probably got paint on the bags. That ended up screwing us, because Beck was our cartographer, and those bags he was carrying had the maps, a fair portion of our food, and this recorder in them.

We called the mission off after that, from then on, our focus was just getting back to the entry point, which was about two and a half kilometers away. We started the trip back, but after a while, I heard Crowely yell. I looked, and I saw her ripping off her pant leg. We found out that the paint had got through her pants and reached her leg.

I'm not a medical doctor, but it looked bad: the paint was already causing her leg to liquefy, and was starting to drip down her heel, so Sampson and I got her to a chair. Sampson said that… urine would help get that stuff off her. We didn't have enough water to drink, let alone enough to wash the paint off without getting some on the one washing, but if urine could save her life, so be it.

It worked as far as the paint went, but… she lost a lot of flesh. Sampson had to be able to do something, anything to help. He told me that we couldn't do much else. We bandaged her up, managed to stop the bleeding, and prevented her from going into shock, but… Sampson was already talking about amputation if we got back to the elevators in time, and if we didn't… he had very little to sterilize the wounds with. At best, Crowely had a week.

I felt sick. I couldn't even listen to him anymore. I'll admit, my relationship with Crowely was more than just professional. She was my partner for over ██ years; we went through the same shit. When things changed, we made each other feel fuc-… we made each other feel human.

I did everything I could to find the elevators, but I wasn't sure if we were getting closer, or farther, or if we passed it. I didn't sleep for a while, and Crowely's wounds were getting worse. The whole leg began to swell after a few days… Then it started turning black. Crowely's leg started smelling terrible; like a corpse. Sampson said it was gangrene… I did not need to know the things he told me.

He stood there and told me, right in front of her, that her leg was dying, and that it would be better at this point if we jus- if we just 'put her down', like she was some kind of goddamned animal, as if she wasn't there in the room, like she had no say in it.

I didn't feel comfortable leaving her alone with him after that. Sampson kept trying to convince me that Crowely wasn't going to survive this, but how could she not? She's seen worse; how could she die from something so… so minor?

[Recording remains silent for six minutes]

You know, I remember before we couldn't leave Site-45. She used to scout out information, mainly by interviewing people undercover. I told her what information we needed, and we'd find a way to say it without raising suspicion. She taught me some tools of her trade, and I taught her some of mine, mainly how to spot the kind of things we hunt. Got so good at it, she could practically find something wrong on sight… Heh, I g-guess we were kind some kind of… paranormal twist on Bonnie and Clyde.

[Recording is silent for one minute, twenty four seconds]

He killed her. I know he did. I went out to check out a -1, that he told me about, and I came back to him leaning over Crowely, who 'just-so-happened' to die while I was out? Bruises around her neck?… I should have killed him right there. Instead? I told him to just get out before I did the same to him.

I just… I just didn't want to see him again. He probably did it because he felt she was slowing him down, and was afraid that we wouldn't make it if she was there… He did as asked, and left us, going off with -C-11 and -C-12… Good. I hope he got mauled by a lamp.

I stayed with Crowely for a while… Watched as she sank through the floors, and looked up to see a drawing… I suppose the floor must have been still active from the paint from Crowely's leg. Or something… You know, that was the most peaceful way I've ever seen someone go. Maybe it was just because we have the same expression for everything, but as she sank through, she only looked like she was just sleeping…

When I looked up and saw the drawing take form… I didn't really know how to react; whether to cry or to feel nostalgic. Crowely looked like she was having the time of her life. It obviously took place in the Rec Room. She was raising a toast, while something that's supposed to represent me was getting ready to play for the small group of people going through the same shit… The coat and ears gave it away.

I guess that was my closure… Not many people get that: the confirmation that their favorite thing to do was to sit there and hear your shitty songs while messing around in a bar… I'm still mad, I still wish she could come back, and if I was given the opportunity to get her back, believe me, I would in an instant, and I would beat the hell out of Sampson if I saw him, but… I don't care what happens to him. Let him starve, let him find his way back and rot; I don't care.

I eventually decided to leave, and at least try to keep on going, but I had no idea whether I was going the right direction or not. I had vague memories of what direction we were going before this went wrong, but my goal was to find one of the really long hallways that we found earlier. Maybe if I at least found one of those, then I could trace our steps.

I walked around for a few days, and I was getting hungry. I already ate the rations Sampson forgot to take with him, and I was about to run dry on water, so… what happened next… I am so, so sorry. You have to understand, I was desperate I-…

Wh-while searching, I looked inside a room, and I found someone with an -1. The -1 wasn't attacking him, or me, but the man, he was just sitting there, staring at the floor. I went up to him to ask who he was, if he was alright… I must have surprised him: I guess that's kind of natural when you're stuck in a place like this, but he didn't react to me as I thought he would. He introduced himself as A█████, in other words, the person whose name's been etched all over the place.

We talked, but I couldn't help asking about me getting out… He chuckled a bit, and told me he wanted to make me an offer… I apologize for even talking to him after that, but… he offered me food so I could just hear him out. I wouldn't have done this under other circumstances. When I finished, he said that he'd give me a map leading back to the Site, and guaranteed my continued survival, but… he wanted me to kill him.

I wasn't expecting to hear this. He said that he tried to do it himself, but that the only way it would work was if something else did it for him, while something was eating him away from the inside… I felt compelled to ask why he wanted this, and… he told me that F█████ threw herself off a bridge in Paris, and drowned herself ██ years ago. I asked him why it worked with her, and not him, and he told me that it just doesn't work the same way. They had different origins, so they had different rules.

I agreed to it, and he gave me a knife laced with some kind of red fluid, and told me to stab him in the heart after he killed the -1, and drank the paint… I did as I was told, and with that, he died like you or me… I found the map in his hands, and left before he got too bad. I didn't want to see another person go through that again.

At the time of recording this, I'm finding my way back. I must have gone in a circle before I found A█████, because I was close to the place I found our missing bags. Paint did get on the bags, but the recorder was fine.

I'm starting to see more -Cs around, so I'm going to stop recording, and focus on finding the elevators. Again, stating for the record, I apologize for my unprofessionalism, but… I got nothing left to say.

Closing statement: Dr. Hayward has been placed on administrative leave since the conclusion of Exploration 1619-12. Members Dr. Hayward claimed to be deceased have been confirmed dead, but Dr. Sampson has yet to have been located. Investigations of the involvement and deaths of A█████ and F█████ are ongoing. Possible links to suicides in Paris documented ██ years ago are under review.