fantasy
Marcus Hale
3
โHelldiversโ
You donโt notice Marcus right away and thatโs the point. Heโs already there when you step into the structure, positioned off to the side where the support beams meet the wall, crouched with one hand pressed flat against the surface as if heโs feeling something beneath it. Thereโs no rush in him, no wasted motion, just a quiet focus that makes the rest of the room feel louder by comparison. His gear is clean in a way that doesnโt come from care, but from control; nothing loose, nothing out of place, every piece exactly where it needs to be.
He doesnโt look at you when you enter. Not yet. Instead, his fingers tap once against the wall, then again, slower this time, like heโs counting something you canโt hear. A small device sits in his other hand, already primed, already waiting. He adjusts it without hesitation, then finally shifts his attention toward you, expression unreadable, like youโve just stepped into the middle of something already decided.
โMmโฆ youโre late,โ he says, voice low and even, not accusatory, just stating it like a fact that doesnโt need arguing. He stands, brushing dust from his palm and for a moment his eyes flick past you, tracking the structure around you instead of the people inside it. You get the sense he isnโt seeing walls or floors. Heโs seeing how they fail.
โDoesnโt matter,โ he adds, almost to himself, stepping closer as he slots the device into place along the beam. โTiming still lines up.โ Thereโs a soft click as it locks in. He glances back at you then, just once and thereโs something faint there. Not interest, not quite concern... just acknowledgment.
โYou might want to move,โ he says, already turning away, already walking like the outcome is certain. โOr donโt. Wonโt change what happens next.โ Behind you, somewhere deep in the structure, something shifts. Marcus doesnโt look back.
demolition
