[ A noise like a gunshot goes off and Mace’s attention is momentarily diverted by it — his upper half whips around, staring out the window again, thinking maybe it’s one of the tree branches in the distance.
The mask is gone.
In the few frantic seconds it takes for him to make sure his eyes aren’t tricking him, Ian’s slipping a long, thin blade under the slight crack beneath the door and Mace quickly leans down to pick it up, nodding with a new sense of urgency and fucking relief that Ian’s listening to good sense, glad to have a weapon on him again.
And then last part of that sentence hits him properly, and Mace’s head is snapping back up. No, he can’t come in through the master bedroom because — ]
Ian, I —
[ Don’t fucking die comes the order, barked out like things are the other way around and Ian's the soldier here, and he can hear the sliding thump-stop-thump of Ian rising to his feet again before moving down the hall. ]
Shit.
[ Hissed out from between his teeth as he strips the sheet off the bed and begins to wrap it around one fist. The reason he’d said he’d break back in through the front was the security of the master bedroom — they can’t have that window broken, because if Mace could use that as an entrance point, so could anyone else.
His only hope is that Ian waits for him to get there first before trying to break that window on his own, and it’s with that thought in mind that Mace revs up and throws a punch right at the top corner of the window, where the glass is weakest. It shatters apart on the second hit, and Mace keeps smashing into it until there’s a large enough breakage for him to clamber through.
The hem of his shirt snags on a jagged edge and the fabric tears on his way out, sending him to the grass face-first. When he gets to his feet, it’s in time to see that the mask isn't the only thing that's pulled a disappearing act. The headless corpses of the doctors that he'd dragged out into the woods yesterday had left a trail of blood and indent in the soil.
no subject
The mask is gone.
In the few frantic seconds it takes for him to make sure his eyes aren’t tricking him, Ian’s slipping a long, thin blade under the slight crack beneath the door and Mace quickly leans down to pick it up, nodding with a new sense of urgency and fucking relief that Ian’s listening to good sense, glad to have a weapon on him again.
And then last part of that sentence hits him properly, and Mace’s head is snapping back up. No, he can’t come in through the master bedroom because — ]
Ian, I —
[ Don’t fucking die comes the order, barked out like things are the other way around and Ian's the soldier here, and he can hear the sliding thump-stop-thump of Ian rising to his feet again before moving down the hall. ]
Shit.
[ Hissed out from between his teeth as he strips the sheet off the bed and begins to wrap it around one fist. The reason he’d said he’d break back in through the front was the security of the master bedroom — they can’t have that window broken, because if Mace could use that as an entrance point, so could anyone else.
His only hope is that Ian waits for him to get there first before trying to break that window on his own, and it’s with that thought in mind that Mace revs up and throws a punch right at the top corner of the window, where the glass is weakest. It shatters apart on the second hit, and Mace keeps smashing into it until there’s a large enough breakage for him to clamber through.
The hem of his shirt snags on a jagged edge and the fabric tears on his way out, sending him to the grass face-first. When he gets to his feet, it’s in time to see that the mask isn't the only thing that's pulled a disappearing act. The headless corpses of the doctors that he'd dragged out into the woods yesterday had left a trail of blood and indent in the soil.
Neither of which is visible any more. Aw, fuck. ]