@aeiiopus (finally cont.)
“Can see why they never finished. Place looks like a bloody horror movie set. Nobody in their right mind would wanna step in ‘ere.” Nobody in their right mind, except two merciless mercenaries on the hunt for some kind of buried artifact for their employer. The promise of a paycheck led many people to make stupid decisions, but Mundy had always prided himself in being able to put his sense of self-preservation above everything else, making sure to accept a job when he knew he had a way out.
Now, he was starting to wonder if, somewhere down the line of working with Mann Co and Fortress, stupid hadn’t caught up with him more than he had anticipated.
Mundy’s last encounters with the supernatural had involved a deranged (and idiotic) wizard, a floating and destructive eyeball, and a psychopathic spell book. For a man more inclined to rationality and blessed with very little imagination, he had had his fair share of paranormal encounters over the past few years, and his instincts of survival rang a familiar bell in his mind when he and Jean walked up to the pathetic, moldy, abandoned church erected on that hill like an ornament of the past someone forgot to tear down in time. He didn’t like it one bit. It looked old, cranky, dusty, and just about to collapse the minute they’d set foot in the bloody place. This was a terrible idea, he thought, squinting at the belltower while Jean made her way to the door, piping while he was only half listening. He had a bad feeling about this.
With a sigh, he placed both shovels against the wall coated in flaky white paint, adjusting his rifle on his shoulder (at least one reassuring element in this decorum).
Then, he heard the voices.
It struck them both like a truck (Mundy briefly thinking he was lucky he wasn’t the one who opened the door), his ears immediately picking up on the low, monotonous chant of the psalms. He saw Jean’s face go about as pale as the old walls of the church and her taking a step back (very uncharacteristic) - none of this could be good. Then, of course, came her brilliant idea.
“Oi, don’t throw me out into the pit like that! You’re the one who runs fast, ain’t ya?” He scoffed - but regardless, he made his rifle slide from his shoulders and into his hands, one supporting the weight of the barrel, the other one firmly grasping onto the handle, finger near the trigger. Slowly, Mundy walked over to Jean’s position (half cursing her for making him do what he was about to do) and, using the barrel of the gun, pushed wide open the door that had half-closed after she had retreated. Tense and wary, Sniper refused to budge from his spot even as gloom, chants, and incense made him vaguely nauseous. A shiver went up his spine. Fuckin’ hell how he hated this place.
“There’s gotta be someone in there.” He muttered to the Scout behind him as much as to himself. “Maybe someone from the town doesn’t wanna have two strangers snoopin’ around and is pullin’ a trick on us to scare us off.” And whoever it was, would be better off out of their hair before he decided to take a few well places shots and add a couple more dead bodies in the nearby cemetary. One or two more shallow graves no one would ever be able to tell the difference.
Ignoring his heartbeat alarmingly picking up, Mundy forced himself to keep a straight face and slowly advanced in the building, taking a few steps on the wooden floor (God, the smell of old, rotten wood mixed to the incense was almost unbearable), eyes scanning the area through his glasses. “C’mon, bring in your flashlight. It’s dark as a cavern in here.”
Hearing no answer, he turned around, rifle still pointed inside the church, and indignantly glared at his so-called friend and comrade. “Well don’t just stand there, I ain’t goin’ in on my own! We scout the place, kick out anyone who needs to be kicked out, then we can do our job. Ain’t that what teamwork’s supposed to mean?!”
