At first Jim says nothing. His hands grip tightly to the ceramic to keep from shaking. Felix took them further down. Down to a dark place that smelled of rotting meat and fetid water. Jim's stomach rolls. He has to bare his teeth to physically force back the urge to be sick. He's got no idea how pale he is, how tight his expression has become while Felix speaks. It's been years, now.

After all this time, Jim really thought he'd be alright.

But all it takes is mention of that dark flooded cave filled to the brim with shambling horrors that reach out in the gloom. Of skin soughing off as limbs brushed against him, covering his hair and clothing in their decay. (Deep breaths. In and out.) Felix is right here. Felix never became one of them. He's right here.

"There were...too many." Jim's voice is tight. "We couldn't get rid of all of them."