#renalyra

Shoulders sloped. Lax, hanging hands. A remarkable posture of unshaken ease. The exhausted eyes that find Carlos scale up his formidable size, a mark like a bull's eye in the center of his left sleeve. Red and white alternating slices form a simple umbrella shape.

His doesn't neglect his surroundings either. Hypervigilance is the baseline of a mind reared in warfare, so as he observes it appears as natural as when he shifts his weight from boot to boot, or shrugs, or breathes. Not frantic, not frazzled. Anonymous in its plainness.

"You learn to tell the shadows apart. Which ones are bullshit, and which are worth getting worked up about." The mercenary, to counterbalance that trembling resolve, spoke steadily.

Chastising, harmless, Carlos tapped a finger against Renato's wrist. "Easy, don't do that." Hands in mouths was a big no. In these marshy conditions, he would prefer to have the ends of his pants sealed with tape to prevent the invasion of creatures and critters. How many stories had he heard of men keeling over for their hubris doing things like putting their fingers into their mouths? Nature was unforgiving like that.

Truth was, Carlos is scared. Yet, all he shows Renato is a soft smile, speaking nothing of the rebellion-hunting militia he sees; sees them always and impossibly in the edges of his vision, stalking in the dark. (But those are phantoms from a lifetime ago. There are new hunters now, and these can't die as far as Carlos can tell.)

@renalyra​  says :  ‘ come on, give me a hug. ’ 

     when  he’d  heard  the  botanist’s  scream  cut  across  the  open  expanse  of  the  cornfield,  a   chill   had  taken  hold  of  his  spine  and   twisted  hard.  heart  pounding ,   he’d  continued  to  fiddle  with  the  generator  before  him  with  shaky  fingers ,   his  only  guidance  the   brief  stint   at  the  mechanic’s  he’d  put  to  such   great  use   back  home.  despite  the  distance  between  them ,   he  could  still  see  her  –  strung  up  like  a  piece  of   uncured  meat ,   dangling  lifelessly  from  the  hook  jutting  through  her  shoulder  –  and  nobody  else  was  taking  the  bait.  

     teeth  grit ,   he’d  given  a  helpless  groan  and  reluctantly  abandoned  the  generator ,   pistons  firing  rapidly ,   to  sprint  across  the  field  and  help  her  down.  they’d  been  given  little  time  to  run  afterwards ;   the  roar  of  a   chainsaw   announced  the  killer’s  presence  as  he  charged  at  them ,   his  makeshift  face  an  impassive  mask  of  stitches  above  rotten ,   jagged  teeth   that  parted  with  an  inhuman ,  almost  pig - like  roar. 

    he’d  shoved  her  forward  –  just  go,  i  got  this  –  but  his  efforts  to  distract  went  unnoticed   ( or ignored )   as  the  giant  fixed  its  sights  on  her ,   bloodied  apron   rippling  with  each  step.  in  a  moment  to  catch  his  breath  behind  an  unfinished  wooden  wall ,   he  saw  the  girl  fall  with  a  sickening   crack   from  the  cannibal’s  mallet.  

    brown  eyes  had  widened  as  the  chainsaw  was  shoved  through  her  sternum  with  little  resistance ,   dragging  upwards  until  the  gurgling  of  blood  in  her  throat  was  silenced  by  the  chains   tearing  through  her  skull.   his  stomach  gave  a  familiar  churn  just  as  the  alarm  sounded  to  signal  power  returning  to  the  exit  gates. 

     the  next  few  minutes  were  a  blur ;  he’d  managed  to  stagger  through  the  gate  by  the  skin  of  his  teeth  and  ended  up  wandering   away   from  the  campfire  rather  than   towards   it.  guilt  settled  in  his  gut  and   ate  away  at  him   from  within ,  nagging  him  for  having  not  done  enough  to  save  her ,  for  not   trying  harder.  

''name one hero who was happy.'' / to nancy! campfire conversations maybe, / @renalyra

nancy  stares  at  the  fire,  a  million  thoughts  going  through  her  head.  she  hoped  steve  was  doing  well...  she  missed  her  family.  even  her  stupid  little  brother.  what  she  would  give  to  hear  him  and  his  nerdy  friends  play  dnd  in  the  basement  again.

@renalyra​ says :   [ 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑 ] ― sender whispers something in receiver’s ear ( specify what )  //  perhaps for dwight fairfield ... renato keeping his voice low like, let's move quietly so we don't get found mid-trial or smth 

        it's  been  an  exceptionally  long  and  arduous  trial ,  with  two  fellow  survivors  gone  in  the  blink  of  an  eye.    escape  doesn't  seem  likely    —    not  with  the  nurse's  telltale ,  breathless  shrieks  piercing  the  night  air ,  and  not  with  the  injuries  they've  sustained  and  can't  tend  to ,  lest  they  give  away  their  hiding  spot.    his  hands  are  shaking ,  back  pressed  almost  painfully  against  the  crumbling  brick  wall ;  if  nothing  else ,  he  can  buy  renato  enough  time  to  find  the  hatch ,  maybe ,  but—  

        you  think  running  will  help?  

        he  blinks  at  the  sudden  whisper ,  focus  contorting  pallid  features.    he  won't  allow  renato  to  take  the  fall  for  this.    certainly  not  for  the  likes  of  him.    it  was  only  due  to  his  fellow  survivor's  stamina  that  he'd  been  granted  enough  time  to  complete  a  second  generator.    had  their  positions  been  switched ,  they'd  both  be  dead  by  now.    his  stomach  twists  with  anxiety ,  the  dawning  realization  of  what  needs  to  happen  for  the  most  favorable  outcome.  

        ❛❛    no ,  i  don't ,    ❜❜      he  says ,  in  a  voice  that  he  hopes  comes  across  with  more  confidence  than  he  feels.    ❛❛    but  i  don't  think  we  have  much  of  a  choice.    listen ,  i'm  not  —    ❜❜      a  shuddering  breath ,  shoulders  deflating.      ❛❛    i'm  not  that  fast.    i  won't  make  it.    but  ...  i  can  get  far  enough  that  she  won't  catch  you  in  time.  ❜❜