Fletcher was on the ship, of course. It was the only place he could be anymore. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he was making his way down the halls, walking briskly, almost running. There was a sense of urgency; he had to get... somewhere, he had to find something. If he didn't...

The halls had so many twists and turns and branching paths they might as well have belonged to a labyrinth. He didn't know which way to go, so he took each intersection randomly. There were doors to either side of him, but instinctively he knew there was no point to opening them. Whatever he was searching for wouldn't be inside.

This intersection was one he knew. He'd been to it before, he knew somehow. He slowed as he came to the middle and looked around; if it was possible, he was getting even more worried. Last time he'd gone left... So this time he went right. He didn't know how far he walked and how many more times he turned, but the further he went, the more the dread grew in him. It was inevitable; and he proved himself right with just one more turn. It was the same intersection again.

It was futile. No matter how many times he tried, or which turns he took, he kept winding up back there again. If there was one thing he new with absolute certainty, it was that he would never get out of this maze.