It was dark; wide swathes of light oozed down the walls like bloody half-moons.  The tiled stairs descended down, like subway stairs.  Only a few were illuminated, below him, they descended all the way down into the blackness.
His footsteps tapped as they hit the drab gray tile.  There was no echo, strange.  He heard just the sound.  Endless stairs, plateauing and descending into the darkness.
He still remembered the shot, the bang, the flash, the burning smell in the air.  He had filled with the metallic smell, feeling warm liquid sliding down his chest. 
He walked down and down.
His body had hit the floor with a heavy thud that jolted his brain.  He woke up, and walked down.  Down.
He looked at the lights.  They never flickered, just went on.  And off.  And on.  They moved with him.  As he stepped down one flight, five landings ahead a light turned on.  The one behind him went off.
He eventually tried to go back, to go back up.
Maybe he would go talk to that girl at the cafe who smiled at him every time he came in.  He barely had to speak anymore.
He turned.  He began shuffling up into the darkness, it ate away at his mind, his rationality.  Claws spiraled down from the ceiling to scratch at his face.  They blinded him.  Thinking of her, he kept climbing up.  But soon the claws, the hands, tasting of blood and smelling of sweet smoke, would pull back, showing him the stairs down.  The lights never flickered.
The darkness was absolute, like a thing, a living thing with complete control over black.  He tried feeling his way along the banisters, but they would liquefy and contort back around in the dark, all to be nudged back towards the light.  He tried to follow the steps up, with his hands, feeling each step pass, mind dulled to an animal’s.  His hands slipped on the liquid, oily tile and his body slid down the slimy stairs, only becoming solid again with the light.
As he got up and followed the stairs, down, down, his entire body numbed, ghostly fingers reaching up and down his back.
The tiles were gray, dull, dead, all the way down, until it became past all the way down and it was still going down, the banisters became wooden instead of metal, cracks, turned to splinters, stuck in hand, the gray tile streaked with black, around and around in circles.  He still smelled the metal, but it had turned sour, mixed with burning plastic.
He smelled himself.
The banisters became more and more jagged, rough, not smooth, jagged, the tiles becoming longer, bigger, blacker.  The yellow tape would appear, lying in clumps, and disappear with a blink.  The lights never flickered, just shut off.  He kept shuffling down, down, seeing the two walls bend, distort, fly away, peel away into black.  His legs kept going, moving, down each step, eyes blinded.
His eyes were weary, dark bags underneath, clothes drenched, mouth tasting of rot and salt, body rotten and rotting, still no smell other than metal and smoke, smoke was fading, metal, just metal.  His bones began to creak, his shoes were worn through as his feet shuffled down, down…
A man.  Dead.  Shiny metal through neck, his blood my fingers.  Written in side, name, forgotten.  The eyes watched go by, mind flashing back.  Eyes going blank.  Slumped against wall.  The taste, remember, bloody, metallic, but sweet.  Familiar, but part of past.  Useless now.  Down.
More bodies.  Crumpled, sobbing, bones sticking out.  Faces against wall.  Kneeling.  Skin stretched.  Leathery.  Metal L’s lay near them, discarded, smoke still rising from barrel, holes in heads.  L's shaped like name.  Smoke awakened hunger, smelled sweet, part of past.  Useless now, but smoke stayed.  No escape from sad.  Burned nose and throat like razor, smoke curled round, blood red.  It dulled, metallic, turned black.
The bodies, staring at hands.  Carved, emblems of leaves, carved in leather hands.  Eyes staring, smelled of the sick hunger.  Lay against the wall, staring, gone.  No light.  No stare.
The scratching followed.  The smell followed.  Burned eyes, dark see.
Lines in tiles watch.  They watch.  Eyes. Up.  Down.  Left.  Right.  Follow.  More, more bodies.  Moaning.  Two clawing down, screeching.  Smell of it.  Smell of dust.  Of smoke.  Of metal.  Of shot.  Stains on landings.  Grease.  Smell metal, the sweet turned sour.
Stop.  Look down, no tiles.  No floor.  Deflated men, husks, scratching at door.  Metal door.  End of stairway.  Step down.  Final landing, look at door.  Kick men out of way, they not hungry enough.  They not pass.  They disintegrate.  Writhing.  Turned to dust, turned to it.  Stand in front of door, hallway surrounds again.  It opens, red shadows dance along wall, grinning, beckoning.
Sweet smoke wafts out door.  Hungry.