That is exactly the reason for Mace's confusion. A broken body, the spine twisted so unnaturally that the ribs had burst from the skin. Mangled arms, one still outstretched uselessly to the side, holding what looked like a bullhook. The head nothing but blood and crushed brain smeared across the stone — except it was worse than what he'd done to the zombies from the cabin, because the man had been clearly a man. Reddish hair still clinging to his scalp, or at least the pieces of it visible amid the viscera, wearing a fuckin' old-timey three-piece suit with suspenders.
It's a fresh kill. Meaning the killer can't be far from here, that he might've been the source of the opening door Mace had heard earlier.
Meaning they're in fucking danger, Ian's in danger and Mace needs to be taking him in the opposite direction as soon as possible. His tense gaze flickers from Ian's to the space behind him to make certain it's still clear, an uneasiness starting to settle inside his gut like a stone. ]
I think you've had it right all along. The, the fuckin' puzzle or whatever it is, it might not even be real. Might be a trap, like whatever got that poor sonuvabitch.
[ A ploy, like Ian's saying, and no sooner does he finish adding occam's razor than Mace nods, firm and decisive. ]
We'll take the right. But I don't wanna leave you open to — anything.
[ Definitely not the fork to the left, which means Ian can't be the vanguard anymore. But Mace is equally reluctant to have Ian lead them, because who knows what's over to the right? They're making an educated guess, but it's a guess all the same, and ... ]
I got an idea. C'mon.
[ It's not the most intuitive way to go, but fuck it. Mace had seen this in a spy flick and it makes sense; it's the only way he can provide cover while they turn a corner, lets him lead and shield at the same time.
Ian's hand holding the crowbar ends up between them as Mace maneuvers them so that he's all but pressing Ian up against the opposite wall. Chest-to-chest, Ian with his back safely, solidly against rock. Mace in front, with the torch held out away and to the side.
Their fingers are still overlapped, and he thinks he can feel Ian's pulse through them. Slow but steady, they inch past the bend and Mace keeps them that way even afterward, his eyes focused on the path up ahead to make sure it's empty, devoid of killers and corpses both.
Only when they're about to reach the next bend in the road, thankfully not a fork, does he let up. Steps back and exhales long and slow, shifting them back into their original positions. ]
no subject
That is exactly the reason for Mace's confusion. A broken body, the spine twisted so unnaturally that the ribs had burst from the skin. Mangled arms, one still outstretched uselessly to the side, holding what looked like a bullhook. The head nothing but blood and crushed brain smeared across the stone — except it was worse than what he'd done to the zombies from the cabin, because the man had been clearly a man. Reddish hair still clinging to his scalp, or at least the pieces of it visible amid the viscera, wearing a fuckin' old-timey three-piece suit with suspenders.
It's a fresh kill. Meaning the killer can't be far from here, that he might've been the source of the opening door Mace had heard earlier.
Meaning they're in fucking danger, Ian's in danger and Mace needs to be taking him in the opposite direction as soon as possible. His tense gaze flickers from Ian's to the space behind him to make certain it's still clear, an uneasiness starting to settle inside his gut like a stone. ]
I think you've had it right all along. The, the fuckin' puzzle or whatever it is, it might not even be real. Might be a trap, like whatever got that poor sonuvabitch.
[ A ploy, like Ian's saying, and no sooner does he finish adding occam's razor than Mace nods, firm and decisive. ]
We'll take the right. But I don't wanna leave you open to — anything.
[ Definitely not the fork to the left, which means Ian can't be the vanguard anymore. But Mace is equally reluctant to have Ian lead them, because who knows what's over to the right? They're making an educated guess, but it's a guess all the same, and ... ]
I got an idea. C'mon.
[ It's not the most intuitive way to go, but fuck it. Mace had seen this in a spy flick and it makes sense; it's the only way he can provide cover while they turn a corner, lets him lead and shield at the same time.
Ian's hand holding the crowbar ends up between them as Mace maneuvers them so that he's all but pressing Ian up against the opposite wall. Chest-to-chest, Ian with his back safely, solidly against rock. Mace in front, with the torch held out away and to the side.
Their fingers are still overlapped, and he thinks he can feel Ian's pulse through them. Slow but steady, they inch past the bend and Mace keeps them that way even afterward, his eyes focused on the path up ahead to make sure it's empty, devoid of killers and corpses both.
Only when they're about to reach the next bend in the road, thankfully not a fork, does he let up. Steps back and exhales long and slow, shifting them back into their original positions. ]