(no subject)

It figures. It fucking figures.

Mike slides back further against the wall, hazards a glance out one of the grimy windows. The darkness is almost complete but he can still see them, so close, staggering, curving shapes like an erotic dream gone horribly wrong.

He lets out a breath. Shit. And he still can't raise his arm higher than the level of his shoulder. Neil is going to be pissed at him, and never mind that he hadn't been alone when he went out on this stupid fucking recon mission, never mind that with the darkness and the shifting landscape it's so easy to get turned around even if if you're used to the city at night.

Because this is so much more than night.

He feels the corroded metal under his feet and the rotting depths of the building beyond, all rust and wire mesh and chains. It's not the building he was stabbed in, he's pretty sure, but it feels like it, and he's half expecting more little trolls to come at him out of the darkness, waving their long knives and looking to finish what they started.

But as soon as the fucking nurse-things move on he can leave. And he's pretty sure he's alone here, unless something decides to bleed out of the dark.

Or--he freezes, back against the wall, and closes his eyes, sending all his attention to his hearing.

Was that movement? Was it...? His hand tightens on his gun. Okay.