Caitlin's just 'arrived,' just turned loose to find her room. As tempted as she was, she suppressed her urge to argue against what she's been told. False memories? No, they can't be. The sheer terror that threatens to overwhelm her, that makes her heart pound and her pulse race, that's real. So is the exhaustion she feels down to her bones, like she hasn't slept in days, and the aches that throb dully in her wrists and her back. It's real.

Isn't it?

That's a question she'll need to answer later. What's definitely real is the elevator she's stuck in. Well, not exactly stuck. Between zooming at break-neck speeds through the floors, it stops randomly, the doors invitingly open. But she knows better than to trust it. She hadn't gotten on the elevator alone. And the first time the doors opened, before it seemed to have gone crazy, her companion had stepped out first.

The crunch of breaking bone and the sickening squelch of tearing flesh still lingers in her ears.

Now it seems like the elevator is trying to either make her sick, to force her off, or make her dizzy and off-balance, to make her stumble out. To avoid the latter, she's curled up in one corner, her knees clutched to her chest. When the doors open this time, she takes a chance to call out. "Help! Somebody? Barry?"

She jerks back, one hand covering her mouth. That name. Why did she just yell that name?