#castiigator

          He ached, his head reeling from the news, hands clasped tightly against his forehead and temples as he struggled to process the words so easily and callously offered.  A death sentence, uttered with the same amount of concern that any other news might have been delivered, from scraped knees to death sentences.  Six months, give or take, they’d announced, barely even looking up for more than a heartbeats length of time from their files, to even pretend to care about the patient in front of them.

Amanda awoke, her body sore and her head pounding, she pushed her self up off the concrete floor that apparently she’d passed out on the night before.

Something was different, The smell of her dying successor  was gone, and the flickering light that always came un-wired was shining brightly as if Amanda had never hit it with the ladder that one time, John was also gone, missing from the bed that laid in the middle of the floor, Amanda figured that she had placed him in his own bed before she fell asleep that early morning.

As much as the brunette tried to push those oddities out of her mind she couldn’t figure it out. Did she even fix the light when she blacked out? 

The warehouse was dead quiet, the only sounds that could be heard were the sounds of her boots scuffing the floor, not long after Amanda got her bearings the silence was sliced; A small knock on the metal door across the room  made Amanda jump, her first instinct was to grab the gun at her waist; To her surprise there was nothing there, the knife in her boot was missing too. She panicked, looking for something, anything to defend herself with. 

     haunted houses and things like this were almost always lame as fuck and something she didn’t really understand as fun. they just never scared her or made her run away, they made her roll her eyes and grumble as she carried on walking around. there wasn’t even any kind of interesting props or things for her to marvel at, she was just stuck following her friends around this boring place for another night because they thought she would enjoy it despite her frequent protests.

     there was something a little different about all this place, it seemed that none of the props were store bought or just absolutely ridiculous. things seemed to be crafted, hand made by a true master crafter. instead of being terrified and just running as fast as possible from the actors, she had stopped to admire some of the things she could see, wishing she had the time, skills, and money to do stuff like this.

     once they were out of attraction they all decided that food was a good idea, but vinga had a different plan. she wandered around, trying to find the work shop of the guy that had done all of this awesome stuff. after talking to a few of the members of staff, she finally found it and carefully pushed the door open.

     He carries the facade she’s involuntarily familiarized herself with. Though indecorous to presume, it’s become conspicuous to her. His countenance is familiar. Absent, passive eyes, the pace decelerated to lax step and reluctant stride. Her curiosity supersedes lament. Chances are he’s witnessed death too, far more than the common man.  

    “Hey---” Her voice lifts, words spun without a purpose. A rush claims her step, bounding her to gentle sprint to reach him. “You- you seemed unhappy. I felt like maybe there was something that I could do to help out.” One may as well try...