@erstwhilerots
Sometimes, the source of the rot is internal.
Pac, more than most, understands this. He's spent years in Mox's shadow, cleaning up after his messes, marking his enemies, snapping the heads off of snakes before they can even make a lunge. Even their storied boss can only handle so much at once, and that is exactly why Pac remains his right hand.
Has for six years, now.
Here, now, approaching a motel he knows is going to be a horror show on the inside, the Newcastle native is prepared for a run-of-the-mill trap house. Maybe even a meth lab. There's certainly tinfoil up on some windows, as well as newspaper.
He'd question why that hasn't led to investigation, but many years in this country has him familiar enough with the way the police tend to work...and exactly what they're willing to overlook, so long as it doesn't impact the cozy suburbs and those who live there.
Who in this big, wide world gives a rat's ass about the ruined dreams of Cincy and the rust belt?
He's got a Hellcat in hand as he measures his breathing, listening through the door to the room he's going to try first. He has a suspicion holds have been cut in the walls to create a larger space- typical of operations like this.
Breathe. In. Out...and go.
He kicks the door in so easily it's evident moisture has festered in the wood of the doorframe and already-taxed and bent metal gives beneath his combat boot. He's hit with a smell so rancid he chokes as he enters, eyes immediately watering.
Decay. Mold. Punctured intestines and their spill.
He's staring at a slaughterhouse that was, at one time, most certainly a meth lab. At the moment, it's soaked-through carpets, the bloated remnants of corpses, and gore-streaked walls where old wallpaper and drywall are utterly destroyed. His bare forearm rises against his mouth, but he can't hold back the sick for much longer.
As he makes his exit to find somewhere safe to throw up that he can take with him to avoid leaving even more DNA behind, he almost thinks some of that mess on the walls looks like writing...
Who, or what, DOES something like this...?
