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Following a screaming man in another section of a thirty foot tall maze of indeterminate length was very much a task. When the sound of Franklin's voice finally seemed near enough, America risked one of the shortcuts, and her relief that it had worked was quickly overwhelmed by the sheer ******** anger just seeing his face evoked. It was only the fact that he looked beaten, like he could very well die if further hurt that stilled her hands from hitting him.

She was very familiar with how fragile he could be.

She had saved his life down here from Roman, aka Squirrel. And then she'd beaten him until he stopped looking her in the eyes. She'd given him her food bars. She wouldn't let him leave the Cathedral. Wouldn't let him sit with his back to her. She'd given him water. She kicked him when he began sobbing. She'd protected him. She'd spent a lot of time trying her best not to kill him because she wanted to, she wanted to so badly and he didn't ******** appreciate how hard it was on her to only hit him.

Ignorant and helpless and so ******** afraid, so full of judgement.

All of it was in her face as she stared at the man backing away from her, hands up, "I-it wasn't my fault. We...the red eyes...we-we-we..."

She didn't ask if they were still alive because she refused to consider the possibility they were not. "Have you seen Randall?" She asked in a low, harsh whisper.

"No-no, b-but..." But he probably was heading their way right now.

"You're going to have to run with me. Can you run with me?"

He nodded, swallowing back more tears and straightening up as best he could.

"Then follow me."

Had he had the words, Kostya would have instructed Taym not to laugh. Had he had the words, he wouldn't be like this, full of red-eyed fury and the deep-rooted, human desire to consume and destroy.

Instead of physically pursuing, Syntax changed to glitter red and only red, pulsating faster and faster until the time was right.

Password required_

No response.

Password required_

No response.

Kostya raised his fist to the ceiling, eyes locked to where Taym clutched his weapon, the anger growing, an animal chomping at the bit.

Password required_

UseituseitI'llkillyouI'llcrushyouIneedyou. Useituseitneedbleeddestroy. UseitnowI'llrendyouI'llruinyouyou'llwishyounevercrossedme.

Password required_

Up, Up, Down, Down, B, A. Kostya fired, the energy pulses themselves glitching and jumping, projections of strings of 0s and 1s, and with that the red-eyed fury faded in time for crumbling stone to crush them both.

hp// 20/40 - 10 (ROUNDING) = 10 20 - 9.5 (NEVERMIND NOT ROUNDING) 10.5
fear// gambler's chance y2
dmg// 27
charge/ 0/3, 1 used

There was no answer, of course. His legs shattered, his knuckles bloody, and his mangled face shifting from a contorted expression of rage to one of gentle, resigned bafflement, he'd had time to exhale, a dark red bubble forming on the corner of his mouth.

He'd closed his eyes, hard, as if fighting back a sound of pain right there, stubborn, defiant a*****e that he was, and he'd reached as if to touch the wreck of his face but his hands never made it, sliding away, Fionnghal winking out as the rocks came tumbling down, and there he lay motionless when Kostya came to. Motionless, with his bag still slung around his shoulder even now, a stupid, blood-spattered frowning-face patch badly sewn to one corner projecting its disapproval in the Russian's general direction.

America was slumped against the wall, beside the elevator doors, the little up light was blinking. Shakily, she tried to get up, go find Konstantin and Taym and make sure they hadn't killed each other yet. With Franklin going up to the top floor, the adrenaline and purpose that had kept her awake and moving for days, going on little water and no food, was now running low. Just staying awake was hard and they were so close, they were so ******** close.

On trembling legs, the girl stood up, taking first one, and then another step. There was a reason she'd stayed down here instead of going up, and she just had to put one foot in front of the other. If she could make it to the first bend they'd be there...they'd be there...now...

And miraculously, they were.

Again that soft huff of laughter. Relief and disbelief and of course. Of course they were right there of course...

In the distance, the glow of runes caught her eyes and relief switched to urgency. "RUN!" Turning back, once again caught up in adrenaline and necessity, America sprinted to the elevator and began to force the door open, revealing not the car but the empty shaft.

She didn't allow herself to rest once inside. Placing a a hand briefly, wordlessly to Kostya's shoulder, trusting him implicitly to understand what was fast becoming Plan B C D E F, America took in Taym's state with a barely realized dismay. Assessing the situation in a few, brief moments, the girl relieved him of his bag, adjusting the long carry strap in a few quick motions and placing it to rest around her neck.

This was not the greatest of plans, really. And if they had to go all the way up it'd be a problem. But they just need to be far enough up. Far enough for Kostya, ranged, to have the advantage of Randall, who was decidedly not.

There was a thunderous clanging as the hammer met the doors.

Grabbing Taym up, she pulled him close enough to place the bag over his head so the strap circled the both of them, the bag itself a makeshit swing seat. "C'mon," she coaxed, trying to get his arms over her neck. "You hardly ever ********' sleep and now's the time you decide to nap?"

Another slam, and ******** it, she was going to have to try and pull them both up any way. Meeting Konstantin's eyes, she nodded and began to climb, cursing in Obadiah Thompson's ear with every awful hand over hand.

A few steps up Taym found himself, with great regrets, jostled back to a moment of, if not lucidity, at least consciousness.

It was accompanied by a sudden breath between his teeth in America's ear at the return of all pain, but through it, forever making pathetic and futile attempts at the mastery of his own body and willpower, he fought to look, to search, his fingers which were now closed in the blood-stiff fabric of her shirt loosening in relief as he realized that Bashmet, too, was here.

"America," he said into her hair, a slurred, barely-audible murmur, the syllables catching raggedly on the edges of his pain. "Underground and miles from civilization. Cashin' it in."

And then his hands loosened again, and he was once more deadweight.

The door opened, and with slow, controlled movements, Kostya held himself upright with a singular hand wrapped around the cable wire. His entire right arm shook from the effort, and sweat beaded on his brow and trickled down his neck.

Taym rasped something above, and America whispered their saving words frantic.

Kostya pointed Syntax's muzzle down below, waiting, waiting, holding. He had to hit it. He couldn't hit the wire or they would be, in colloquial terms, absolutely ******** babbled contentedly with accuracy rates that were arguably a misnomer, and fired once, teeth gritting hard enough that he expected to hear a tooth crack. Blue energy whistled down the elevator shaft until it collided with Randall, but Kostya did not yet desummon. He waited, holding on for dear life, to see if he still stood.

hp// 1.5
dmg// 7

Kostya closed his eyes in relief, landing with a harsh thump against his two nearest and dearest friends. With some struggle, he rolled off of them, so that the medics could extricate the two, and looked up and desummoned his weapon, Syntax retreating into the kind and friendly tamagotchi totem he usually was, his little pixel face carved into a smile.

He did not pass out, but he stayed out of the way, cooperating with instructions given, mindlessly obeying, because he was not capable of more.