Teams 1, 2, 3: From the Hook in the Egalgina
You find yourselves in a strange, impossible dome. Enormous, with red ribbed peeling walls and a harsh red light streaming down from a hole at the very top of the thing. Your voices echo, though your footsteps do not, and there is the loud and distracting sound of a heartbeat coming from what seems to be all sides of you. On the wall ahead of
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"Oh god, this place takes the cake," he manages, and made his way to the present. He crouches, just inspecting the thing for a moment. If he had been in possession of a stick, it's likely he would have poked the thing.
Inside his head, the conversation was going something like this:
It's a trap. Of course it's a trap. It's like a sick joke that a vampire would use to lure its prey. But why this? A present? Something so obvious. Man, you're forgetting a video game was made out of this place. Things you need glow or some such shit in video games, right?...christ, will you listen to yourself? This isn't a video game; it's a trap. No it isn't. Yes it is.
Finally, Derek carefully picked it up, ready to scrambled to his feet and bolt if he'd just sprung something. When nothing happens, he looks down at the box again, then at Henry.
"What the hell, why not?" he says quietly, and starts to carefully unwrap it.
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It's a 9mm clip.
He stares at it open-mouthed for a moment, then shrugs and takes it. He slides it into his empty gun and then offers that to Derek. "I have a feeling you're better with these than me..."
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No, really, he does. Even though half his brain is willing to accept 'video game' as an explaination for the present, the rest of him is still trying to run on logical tracks. This? Not logical. The best stroke of serendipity he's ever seen short of meeting his wife in the nexus, but by no means logical.
Mutely, he accepts clip and gun, expertly expelling the empty clip already in the hand grip and replacing it with the one from the box with a minimum of effort. The movement is fluid, almost seemless. If Henry needed an answer, Derek's assurance with the weapon should be enough.
"Thanks," the hunter states quietly, then looks up as he sees something glint in the light down the hall a little ways.
"What do you think that is?" he says.
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To the question, he answers, "I have no idea...I'm just glad it's not a ghost." He walks towards it. The shape eventually defines in the low light as a black dagger. It's stuck into a flesh-colored bit of wall, and it makes a disgusting splorching noise when he pulls it out. He stares at the handle. "18121..." He says each of the digits separately. "That was Andrew DeSalvo, in the round prison..." He holds it sideways, not sure what to do with it.
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The name registers as information, but still doesn't tell Derek much. 'Round Prison' automatically gets shuffled into 'one of the places I don't want to know about unless we somehow end up there' then recognized as the place he and the others had first entered Walter's world through.
Henry's hestitancy with the dagger tells Derek he has no idea of how to use it. The hunter makes his way over to inspect the weapon cautiously.
Laying in Henry's hand, the numbers etched, almost like a small child had done it, seems to glow to Derek for a moment, even though nothing actually happens.
An ugly, horrid sensation unfurls from the small of his back, slithers up the nerve endings of his spine, and lodges in his heart as he reaches, almost unwillingly, for the knife.
As he wraps his fingers around it, he feels as if he's come home.
Right after his parent's death.
Derek shakes a little as he takes the dagger from Henry, still studying it with an odd look in his eye.
"You feel anything when you touch this?" he whispers quietly. His fingers spasm around the hilt then smooth closed in a steady fist, firmly, surely. It felt like an extension of him. An ugly, warped, corroded extension of himself. A part of him he'd rather stay buried.
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Derek shakes his head--once, twice, and the feeling fades a bit. The knife is still smooth in his hand, still cold and oily and far too familiar, but Derek knows it. He thinks he knows what it is, too. Because the poison it promises is only too familiar.
"It's not hurting anything I haven't hurt myself," his voice sounds far away, faint, like he's talking in his sleep. He closes his eyes and shakes his head again, violently. When his eyes open again, though, he seems all right, vision clear and steady.
The shaking has stopped. Derek answers quietly, now in full control and calm.
"No, it's all right, Henry. It's meant for me."
It's part of me.
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He bites his lip, then looks down the hall. "We have to find DeSalvo...he's pretty large, and he has these numbers written on his stomach. He...uh, rolls at you." He's still not sure what they're supposed to do with the dagger, but can't imagine it's much different than the sword.
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"I think we met him once, in the prison," Derek looks around them again, "Do you think the dagger will call him?"
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He walks past, frowning so much he's almost scowling. He turns left at the next intersection and the mostly-tiled walls give way to wet concrete, the layer of water oozing upwards from the floor and towards the ceiling. Henry pays no attention to it. "Yeah, he stuck to the prison, mostly. He...he hurt those kids. He's the only one...the only one that sort of deserved this."
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There's an edge to his voice that sounds a bit horrified, and angry.
"There were notes, letters. God."
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Before he takes two steps, the radio crackles to life. Henry looks down the (suddenly very long) hallway and sees a floating figure. This one has a hat on. Henry recognizes it.
"That's Sharon Blake. She's...not as bad, but don't let her touch you. We can just go past her..."
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He drew the gun instead, nodding to Henry.
"Okay, then, let's move."
Here's hoping they don't get close enough to freeze up.
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The pain starts up in his head, that crawling pressure seeping into his skull. He winces so he can open his eyes again. She's moved to their side, blocking their path. He dodges to the left, striking out with his weapon on the right- and almost losing it as the axe end hits her, sinking in. He pulls it out and just barely manages to avoid her reaching motions, then continues on. He glances back to make sure Derek got past.
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As with Henry, the pain starts up, along with the numbing sensation that tries to sap his strength and ability to move.
He sees Henry juke to the left, hack at the ghost, pull free.
He almost skids right into her outreaching arms.
Derek snarls, pulling the gun and unloading five bullets in her face, trying to buy himself enough time to get back out of range before he froze up completely.
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