2020-12-12 - The Flesh Factory

It's not hard to set up a surveillance point for the shed, surrounded by forest as it is. Alexander has a decent idea of when Dan likes to do his painting, and they can find a small copse of trees nearby that allows them a decent view of the shed. And also is close to a sheltering tree if someone should need...to take care of other things, out of sight. Which may be necessary, because it takes a while for Dan to come out, today. He emerges from the back of the house in an old flannel shirt and jeans, carrying what looks like a rolled up magazine in one hand as he goes to the shed, unlocks it, and slips inside.

"Okay. I think I project an illusion to both of you of what it looks like in there. If he hasn't changed much, you should be able to use that to feel for the right objects. I can let you know when the best time to do it, is, based on his emotional arousal." Alexander leans against the trunk of the tree and closes his eyes, extending his mind.

Which is when it all goes to Hell, of course. The world twists. At first, he thinks its all in his head, but the sensation spreads in an instant, entrapping all three of them in a reality that seems to convulse, then tear around them. Trees run and melt like a Dali painting, and for a moment, each man feels stretched in some impossible, agonizing way, like he's trying to exist in two places at once, and failing badly.

Then the world snaps back into focus. But they are not where they were. Instead, they're sprawled in the dark, on a warm, wet floor, with the air heavily scented with blood. In the distance, a scream rises, then is cut brutally, finally short.

"Please tell me that's what you putting up an illusion feels like," Ravn murmurs and tries to hang on to the warm, wet floor with all ten fingernails, through the gloves. He looks around and focuses hard for a moment on not emptying out the contents of his stomach; reality is not supposed to bend, twist, and spin like a piece of half-chewed taffy. To say he looks a little green around the gills would be putting it mildly.

The world twists, the world bends, the world does it's best to help Seth give up the ghost and eliminate that damn omelet, but Seth is a stubborn one and he grits his teeth together in sheer determination to not purge that omelet from one end or the other. Not yet anyway.

"Holy hell..." the enforcer mutters through his clenched maw, "What the fuck was that. What just happened?" as he forces himself to rise from his position on the floor. "Did we just...you know, whatever? We are not in Kansas anymore, are we?" Seth mutters as his hand slides inside his coat, emerging with a rather large automatic.

"Fuck," Alexander mumbles, his mouth wet from the floor where he's currently sprawled face down. It doesn't taste good; brackish water with a coppery undertone, so he forces himself to roll over. "No," he wheezes to Ravn. "Not usually. Fuck."

He slowly sits up. "My head is fucking killing me," he says, quietly. "I think...goddamn it. I think he was about to go into a Dream and when I reached out..." he looks around, blind in the dark, "I think I got its attention and it pulled us all in here." His breath is raspy. "Sorry." The light is poor enough that each man is only a shape in the dark, outlined in faint, red light that doesn't seem to come from anywhere. The air is moist and warm, clammy. Alexander wipes his mouth, careful not to get any more of the liquid between his lips, then grimaces at the outline of Seth's gun. He doesn't suggest the man put it away, though. In fact, as he climbs to his feet, he reaches to the small of his back and pulls a wicked-looking knife in his left hand. The grip is awkward; clearly not his dominant hand.

"Ugh. I think we're definitely not in Kansas, Dorothy." Some pop culture references seem to be global. Ravn manages to get up on his hands and knees. He glances at Seth's piece but like Alexander, decides not to comment on it. This is not a warm and welcoming environment. This is the kind of environment that has serial killers, and mutilated bodies, and probably hummingspiders.

He hauls himself to his feet. "I'm afraid that the closest thing I have to a weapon is a sharp wit."

"Stay behind me, both of you," Seth says, his demeanor switching in an instant to a more cold, more calculating one than his seemingly usual happier go lucky one. He reaches down and racks the slide on the automatic, checks the safety, and then slowly starts to take a really good look around, trying to make out anything in regards to doorways or other identifiable items.

"You have a cell phone?" he asks Ravn, shifting his gaze over in the Dane's direction. "You can be useful if it has a flashlight app. Same with you, Alexander. Rig it on that sling so you don't lose the use of your free hand." Taking his own suggestion, the enforcer pulls out his own phone and turns on the light, holding it as best he can in such a way as he would a flashlight for a shooting stance. It's a little awkward, but he adjusts as best he can.

"It's more useful than you might think," Alexander tells Ravn, quietly. He doesn't seem to mind Seth taking the lead, and bobs his head, putting the knife back up for a moment so he can get his phone and settle it into place, wedged into the splint with the flashlight on. He takes up the knife again in his other hand. "Keeping your wits about you is the best way to survive, honestly. I'd suggest that we try to find somewhere and hide, but," he sighs, "it rarely works. Only way out is through."

As they shine their lights around, they're revealed to be in a small, concrete room, like a warehouse or factory might have. Everything is warm, and damp, even the iron door, which is caked in red, flaky rust. Alexander gingerly tries the door handle, but it doesn't budge. There's a key hole underneath it. "...I've really gotta get those lessons," he mutters. "Anybody know how to pick locks?" Other than the door, there's a small grate in the floor for drainage (it doesn't seem to do much, judging by the thin film of water on the floor), and high on one wall, a large vent covered in wire mesh.

In the distance, there's a low, moaning cry, the sound of someone in agony. It rises, then falls to a barely audible sobbing.

Ravn has a cell phone -- an old Samsung model, sheltered in a sparkly bright pink Hello Kitty casing that he doesn't seem the slightest embarrassed about taking out and turning into a flashlight as well. "I can try," he replies. "I'm not very good at it but I don't think I can knock down a concrete wall, either. I don't suppose either of you carry anything that remotely resembles a lock pick or a bobby pin?"

He actually checks his pockets while he speaks. At some point in his life, Ravn must have considered a bobby pin or two to be standard equipment. "Alternatively, maybe we can get out through that vent, Bruce Willis style."

"Sorry," exclaims Seth as he continues to canvas the concrete room they have found themselves in, "I'm a hitter, not a thief. I'm not accustomed to picking locks."

The enforcer looks up to the grate and grunts, "Maybe. I'm not sure I will fit through that though. I'm not as small as you are, and I don't think Alexander will be able to crawl through with his arm. Last resort though."

Alexander pats down his pockets. They're large pockets, which he uses for a lot of things. "I've got...uh, can you do anything with a pen spring, a paperclip, and two thumb tacks?" A frown. "How the hell did the tacks get in the--oh, nevermind, I remember." He offers all of this over to Ravn to Do Magic with, while studying the vent. "Agree with Seth. We'd have to boost you up, and get you to come around, or something. I don't think all three of us would get through."

Bright side - the old-timey keyhole doesn't speak to a complicated lock, so Ravn just might be able to make do.

"I'm not a bloody thief either," Ravn murmurs. "Escape artistry. It's a thing. I flirted with it. Realised that I don't like the idea of being locked up in a small space."

"This might actually work." He reaches for the paperclip and carefully unbends it into a straight pin. Inserting it very carefully into the lock he fiddles with it gently, in the fashion of someone who does know what they're doing -- but it's not exactly something they do every other week.

Maybe he should. That little click is not the lock opening -- it's the paper clip breaking.

Ravn murmurs a few choice oaths under his breath; it's probably for the better that they're in Danish. "Let me try that spring. I can't make it worse now."

"Correction, you are a former con artist...which is a thief that just uses words," Seth smirks as he glances over at Ravn. "Now can you get that thing open or not?"

Alexander leans over Ravn's shoulder as he tries to work the lock, clearly hoping to pick up some tips. His face falls when the paperclip breaks, and he hastily withdraws, moving around to Seth's other side, like he might have cursed Ravn's attempt. "Yeah, sure. Use any of it that you need. Otherwise we have to shove you through a vent," he points out, teasing gently. There's a shiver through the ground and the walls, and a metallic clanging starts up, each clang loud enough to shake through their bones, before it slowly fades away into an ear-ringing silence.

"Fair point," Ravn cedes. "But talking this lock open won't do the trick. And I really, really don't want to go up that vent. Don't like confined spaces."

He pauses. And then says, "And now I really don't want to be here, either."

The spring goes into the lock, very carefully, almost as if it was made from glass. This time, at least, the click is the right kind of click. The Dane breathes out with visible relief.

Seth lets out a sigh of relief as the lock clicks open. "Ok. Let me go first," he says to the Dane, waiting for him to back away from the door. "Alexander, you follow behind. Ravn, take up the rear."

Once Ravn moves, Seth carefully and very, very slowly starts inches the door open, checking the floor for any tripwires or rigged slam systems that might be in place. "Are you two ready? I have no fucking clue what we are looking at up ahead, but as Alexander says, we need to go forward."

"You never know. We're Lost now. You might have to talk open a lock or two," Alexander mutters. Then grins when the lock comes open. "Good job. You sell yourself short." He again defers to Seth and moves behind the enforcer, holding his knife in an awkward, but serviceable grip. "Ready. Stay close," he murmurs to Ravn.

The door isn't trapped. It creaks open, flakes of rust coming off to stain Seth's hand with a dark red powder. The hallway outside is...painted. Ordinary concrete walls, floor, and tiled ceiling, sure, but every inch of it is painted in red with a child's talent and enthusiasm. The coppery smell is thicker out here, clogging the backs of their noses, and the light is a little brighter, coming from flickering flourescents in the ceiling. The hallway is a short one, with a couple of other doors, closed, along its length. At the right hand, iron stairs go down. At the left, the hallway turns. Seth can't see around the corner, obviously, but the shadows that he can see move at that end like someone, or something, is moving just around the corner.

Ravn is not about to argue with the people who know what they're doing. He falls in line as directed, taking up the rear behind Alexander (and pocketing that spring in case of running into more closed locks). "If Alexander's right and we got pulled into Dan's fantasies, then I suspect we're about to run into Dan. And I don't need to see his dreamscape to know he's human garbage -- I talked to him."

He pauses and looks up, and then runs a gloved fingertip along the wall. "Am I crazy or is this not paint at all? It doesn't smell like paint."

"Don't think about what it is, Ravn. Just don't." Seth says quietly as he starts to move down the hallway, holding up his hand as he sees the moving shadow. He points to his eyes, then to the shadow on the wall before he clicks the flashlight app on his phone off and slowly starts to creep up towards the corner. Once at the corner, Seth turns on the camera, flips it to the front-facing one, and peeks just the top area of the phone with the camera around the bend of the hallway. Isn't technology great!

Alexander reaches out and swipes his pinky across the red marks on the wall, and then places his fingertip on his tongue. "It's blood," he supplies, helpfully, his voice hushed. He wipes his finger off on his jeans. "But it's not from real people. Just remember that." He follows Seth quietly, knife held loose but at the ready. The camera, like the flashlight, works just fine, and it shows around the corner.

Haloed in red, a hulking figure stands, swaying in place as it paints on the wall. It's not Dan, unless he's been transmogrified into this thing. Instead, this thing is at least seven feet tall, with bestial, elongated features. A long tongue hangs off to the side of his mouth, and his arms are dripping with blood. As the camera pokes around, it stops, and starts sniffing the air with a wet, snuffling sound.

"Fantastic," Ravn murmurs with the kind of calm a book worm from a privileged background shouldn't possess. "Re-enacting The Shining but with less creepy twins and more us."

He falls entirely silent as Seth begins looking around corners; this is a good time to trust the other man's instincts. Because the alternative is trusting his own, and right now, they're sort of running around in the back of his head, arms flailing, screaming Get me out here in several languages. He decides to ignore them.

Making sure the flash and sound are off, Seth snaps a quick photo of the thing and passes the camera back towards the other two, snapping the safety off on his automatic. "I think it smells us, gentlemen..." the enforcer says as he readies himself for combat. "Unless you say it is a bad idea, I am about to turn the corner on this thing and light it up because I don't have many other options if we want to go this way. We could go down, but down just seems to be a bad idea."

Alexander flickers a smile towards Ravn's murmur, but is otherwise silent. When the photo is passed back, he looks at it and grimaces. "That's probably not Dan," he whispers, after a moment. I don't think what he gets here is transformation for himself. I think he sees himself as the one who transforms others. So it should be...acceptable to kill it." He clearly doesn't like the idea of down any more than Seth does.

And whether Alexander finds killing the beast thing acceptable or not doesn't really matter, because the creature walks around the corner, sniffing the air, and comes to a dead stop. It's nude but sexless, and its chest has been opened up, cut to display bone, flesh, skin in a kind of living anatomical model. Its eyes are black and fathomless, but clearly see them. It raises clawed, dripping hands, and makes the sort of growl that recalls cavemen huddled around the fire, praying for safety from the dark and the things that live there.

"I knew there was a reason I refused to go to med school," Ravn says upon that coming within his field of vision. "That kind of anatomical doll needs to hold still."

He looks around himself for something, anything that might be useful as a weapon. A convenient lead pipe? A Gatling machine gun? A stake and a vial of holy water?

Probably not. He's got nothing but a cell phone. With a sharp flashlight. Which he raises to direct that sharp flash light into the eyes of the creature. Any second bought might be a second somebody else can use constructively.

Well, that answers that. As the thing comes around the corner and stands in front of Seth, Seth does the logical thing that someone in his position would do. He shoves the barrel of the automatic into the thing's face and pulls the trigger twice as he screams, "GET BACK!"

The first trigger pull gives a hollow click.

Misfire.

The beast thing looks down the barrel into Seth's eyes, its own eyes narrowing. There's a moment when the enforcer gets an all-too-close look at fangs the size of fingers as they pull back from a mouth that suddenly seems large enough to swallow him whole.

Then Seth pulls the trigger for the second time. The bang fills the space and echoes off the walls and the smell of cordite and blood grows thick as all three men's ears ring with the sound of the gunshot. The monster's ears do not ring. The monster's ears are fine. Everything between the ears, on the other hand, is a red ruin, with much of it turning the childlike painting on the walls into something more Pollock-inspired. The creature takes a step backwards, as if surprised, then falls over the rest of the way, landing in a heap.

Alexander delicately steps around Seth, avoiding the worst of the blood spatter, and looks down at the corpse, then over to the other two. "Good shooting. You two okay? That shot might draw others." He's talking too loud, by accident.

Seth, now with a crimson mask of blood, bone, and brain matter, looks down at his handiwork unphased by the sight. He brings up his hand, wipes it down his face like a makeshift squeegee (which doesn't really help much, if at all), and looks to Alexander. For good measure, he kicks the body of the murder beast once, "I'm ok. Let's move."

Ravn prides himself in his ability to keep a straight face in most situations. A blank facade, or a polite smile, or just nothing at all. He's lived in places that certainly will teach a man to watch things happen without much emotiveness. He's endured so-called polite society, he's been a street level confidence man, he's -- well, watching people or people-things getting their heads pureed in front of him was never part of that. This is one issue that life did in fact fail to prepare him for.

He manages to not throw up. Maybe Seth did him a favour in ordering that omelette for shit and giggles -- he ended up only having coffee for breakfast and thus, there is not a lot in his belly insisting on being returned to the wild. Thank you, Seth.

The Dane just turns a little pale and follows close behind Alexander. That sensation of being miles out of your league? This is it.

After the gunshot, there was a long silence, broken only by the men themselves as they walk along the hallway. Alexander fishes around in the deep pockets of his oversized jacket, and manages to find a small plastic-wrapped travel pack of tissues. He offers these, wordlessly, to Seth before picking up his knife again. The hallway is featureless, aside from some faded old posters on the wall - they look a little like safety posters, directing workers to wear protective gear and not take medication when operating machinery, but mold and blood have obscured everything but the occasional smiling cartoon face or a sternly printed "DO NOT".

As they walk, sounds return - crying, and the meaty thunk of something hitting flesh. The hallway ends at a catwalk stretching to the left and the right, overlooking what proves to be an industrial factory floor of some sort. There are conveyor belts, although they criss-cross the floor in bizarre, nonsensical formations, paths that lead nowhere, or back in on themselves. The belts wind around vats, filled and bubbling with various substances it's probably best not to take too close a look at. A platform at one end contains life, of a sort. Dan himself dominates the space: he's dressed in a blood-stained industrial apron, with a welder's mask and elbow length gloves. Gory implements stretch out on a table to one hand. To the other, the belts have (somehow) delivered to him a human body, as well as what looks like a deer. The animal thrashes in place, bound to the belt, and the human cries and begs as Dan approaches with a cleaver.

thunk thunk

Both bodies go silent, headless. He tosses the human head to a chute, and carefully picks up the deer head, settling it in place on the human body. Which starts to twitch. He shakes his head, murmurs something to the body, then goes back to the deer carcass, contemplating his next cut.

Seth accepts the tissue without comment and uses them to wipe his face down as best he can with the flimsy paper products, tossing the used ones to the floor without care. It helps a little, but Seth continues to sport a dyed red face it just isn't nearly as...wet as it once was.

And then they get to the room. The enforcer stops just before they enter, holding an arm out to signal and block the passage forward as he takes a quick bearing of everything going on inside the room.

thunk thunk

"Fuck..." Seth says under his breath, "...I think we are too late unless that human he just decapitated and went all House of 1000 Corpses on is just a figment of this dream. Wait...it's still alive?"

Ravn swallows something (which tastes rather bloody, strangely). "That's Dan all right," he murmurs very quietly. "Should I try to -- talk to him? I mean -- he knows me. And you two are here for back-up if he thinks I'm next for the grinder."

He doesn't look very excited about the prospect, admittedly.

Alexander halts at the raise of the enforcer's arm, but that doesn't stop him from going on tippy-toe and peering beyond at the factory floor. He winces at the decapitations, but murmurs, "Interesting. I wonder what Dan's previous work was. I didn't do a full background check on him." A shake of his head to Seth. "Just a figment, I'm...reasonably sure. Look." He raises a hand, slowly, to draw their attention to shadows on the far side of the factory. There are loading doors there, covered with stained, plastic flaps. Another person, blank-eyed, waits there to climb silently onto the conveyor belt. "Alive is a concept for debate."

Dan, below, has started to skin the deer, cutting out windows into its flesh. He lifts off the squares of hide, and wraps them around the arms and legs of the human body, which convulses. There's the sound of cracking bone, tearing flesh, and the body twists and reforms, becoming closer to the beast-thing they met in the hall, although this one is lithe, lean, and fearful, rather than hungry and aggressive. He cuts it free, and it staggers away, trying to learn its new legs well enough to run. It doesn't get a chance: two of the beast-things from before scramble out from under the vats and pounce on it. It screams, a high and wavering bugel, as it is torn apart.

Alexander grimaces. "Talking...probably isn't going to work until we break his sense that he's in charge. The director of all of this. But it might distract him. Let us get close enough to take him down," a glance at Seth, "without killing him. He's a real person. We have to break his sense of power." A pause. "Probably."

The enforcer purses his lips, his eyes hard as he stares at Dan and Dan's handiwork. It takes a moment, but Seth finally nods and slips the automatic back into his hidden resting place...less temptation to use it if it isn't in his hand. "Fine." the enforcer says, but not sounding exactly thrilled with this plan. "Tell me what you need me to do, Alexander. You have the ball."

Seth casts a quick glance over at Ravn, "You ok? You're not going to pass out or run screaming or anything are you? Just let me know so I know what to expect from you."

Ravn takes a few deep breaths and then shakes his head. "Not running -- nowhere to run to. I'm Dan's best friend. Gotta find out what he's doing. Distract him, get you guys close to him. I can do this. No worse than Innsbruck."

Whatever happened in Innsbruck probably didn't involve screaming deer men being torn apart alive.

He takes another few deep breaths and then steps out -- into Dan's field of vision and into the role he is putting on like a spare jacket. The Dane's posture changes; he slouches, hands in pockets, wandering up while whistling that same nonsensical little tune he whistled back at Dan's house. When the serial killer in the making notices him -- or he thinks that he does -- he unpockets one hand in a lazy wave. "Whatcha making, Dan?"

"No pressure," mutters Alexander, and he takes a deep breath. He nods to Ravn, although worry twists his face. "Don't die." It means more, in this case, than it usually does. But he seems to trust Ravn to handle this. A narrow stairway leads down to the factory floor for Ravn to follow, although it means he has to tread through dark, oily patches of water...and worse...that's pooled down there. The beast-things raise their heads, snuffling, as he steps out into Dan's field of vision, and the man on the platform stutters to a halt as the conveyors bring him fresh supply - another crying body, and a rabbit that kicks desperately with its hind legs as it tries to escape its bindings. Dan peers through the splattered plastic of the face mask. This is New.

His first reaction is suspicion. He draws back, casting a frantic look around. It's sheer luck that he doesn't look up at the catwalk, and Alexander murmurs to Seth, "C'mon. We need to get behind him. I'll take out the machinery, but you'll need to handle," a nod at the two beast-things, which have raised to their full height, dripping with fresh gore, and are eyeing Ravn like they're still pretty hungry. He follows his own advice, and begins slinking along the catwalk, the old metal creaking just slightly under his weight.

Thankfully, Ravn has Dan's attention, and the motion and sound from above doesn't draw his eyes. "I'm, um," Dan licks his lips. "I'm working. Nothing for you to worry about. You're not authorized to be here," he adds, defensive, maybe a little guilty.

Nodding once, Seth follows Alexander and once again takes his automatic into his hands, because there is no way he is going to face these beast things without a weapon unless he has no choice. "Just give me the signal. I'll try and take both of them down as quick as I can, give you time to do your thing."

Taking a deep breath, Seth moves along the catwalk to get into position above the two beast-like things, stepping up onto the rail and looking like he is planning on dropping down onto one of them to give him enough time to handle the other.

"I guess I'm not but I wanted to see the artist at work," Ravn tells Dan while strolling towards him with the most casual air possible. This is a dream. In dreams, people show up, and it makes sense, because they fit into the dream. Now is a really good time to cross one's fingers in one's pocket and really, really hope that this dream feels like that to Dan too; that his ego wins. "I mean, it's not really a bother, is it? I'm not going to touch anything. I just want to see you working."

He doesn't look at the murderbeasts that eye him up. Do not make eye contact with a feral dog. It may take eye contact as a challenge.

The Dane jams his hand back in his pocket after waving; it's probably not a good idea to show Dan that his hands are shaking. Voice still calm as silk he adds, "You're an artist, man. Could have said something back out there, I'd have loved to hear all about it."

"Don't die," Alexander tells Seth. It's apparently agreement with the plan, because the investigator leaves him to prepare and instead walks further down the catwalk, his eyes on the conveyor belts and other machinery that seems to sustain this macabre industry.

Down below, Seth gets an excellent top-down view on the murder-beasts as they start to circle Ravn, slow and careful. One of them has a small bald spot behind its cat-like ears. Dan watches Ravn warily. "Don't touch anything," he agrees, but hesitantly. He shifts the big cleaver from one hand to the other, his desire for recognition and flattery warring with his shame and, let's face it, bloodthirst. "Come closer, then," he says, gesturing to the belts. "I'll show you. I make them better. Stronger. They won't break like this." His grin is ghoulish behind the blood-spattered mask. "They're strong. So strong. Let me show you how strong they are."

The creatures begin to growl.

Taking a deep breath and holding it, Seth settles himself for what he is about to do. The enforcer takes a moment and performs the sign of a cross before pulling out a small medallion from under his shirt, kissing it, then replacing it. Slowly he lets out the held breath, and once his lungs are empty the enforcer steps off the catwalk and out into the air.

It doesn't take long for gravity to do its job, as it pulls the large redhead down on top of the murder-beast that was below him, the enforcer's booted feet connecting first and driving his weight down onto the man-thing's shoulders in a sickening thud of meat on meat. Letting his knees absorb the impact, Seth lets the momentum of the fall and crumpling monster to propel him forward off his makeshift airbag (or is that meatbag?) into a forward roll, snapping up into a kneeling position and popping off a shot at the other murder-beast that is still standing.

Ravn's eyes widen slightly. Cold reading is the single most important skill of a confidence artist. What's going on in Dan's head at the moment is plainly visible to the Dane, to a point where the other man might as well come with subtitles.

Lure the skinny fucker closer. He wants to see an artist working? I'll show him art. I'll make him into art.

[grins in serial killer]

Ravn is not at all sorry when he suddenly hears a crashing noise behind him; whatever is going on back there, Seth and Alexander are doing what they're supposed to be doing. Which means that it's up to him to maintain Dan's focus.

Dan, who's covered in blood and possessed of some very sharp implements. But who isn't very smart.

Ravn waved at him with one hand. The other remained in its pocket. Now he angles it, makes a finger pistol inside that pocket, tries very hard to make it look like he too carries a piece -- and he's not afraid to blow a hole in his coat pocket. "I think maybe we should talk about this," he says with a smile. "Like, has anyone ever told you that you're dreaming? That none of this is actually real, and that there's a really sick fucker messing with your head somewhere?"

Keep his attention.

Several things happen, so quickly that they're almost simultaneous.

Dan's eyes widen when he sees the 'gun' in Ravn's pocket. "This is my place! You have no power here! It's mine! You can't take it from me! They promised! THEY PROMISED!" Ravn has his attention! Unfortunately, that comes with consequences as he winds back and flings the cleaver in a beautiful end-over-end arc - one which ends up with the knife thunking into Ravn's 'gun' arm, even as the folklorist tries to dodge.

At almost the same time, Seth comes down like a sack of bricks on the first murderbeast. It makes a peculiar sound, a surprised grummph! as it goes down, and he rolls. The gunshots shatter the air, and the second murderbeast staggers back as blood blossoms from his chest. He is, unfortunately, not dead, and lets out a roar of anger as he leaps to counterattack, but Seth is easily able to avoid it, and the first and second murderbeasts collide for a moment.

And just a heartbeat behind, Alexander extends a hand from the catwalk, and concentrates. The belts and hellish machinery begin to spark and scream as electricity overloads them. Dan's mouth gapes open as everything unravels all at once. "NO! NONONONONO! IT'S MIIIINE!" he howls, and grabs a meathook from his table. He charges towards Ravn, murder in his eyes. "You! This is all your fault!"

Seth doesn't dare take his eyes off his current opponents and has to hope that for the moment Alexander and Ravn can fend for themselves while the enforcer fires off another couple of shots towards each murderbeast. "Talk to me..." the redhead yells, trying to get an idea of the situation that is going on behind him without taking his eyes off of his immediate threat. "Alexander? Ravn? I need intel!"

Ravn is not a trained combattant by any means and he's a leeeeeettle bit distracted -- by the generously sized knife that just thunked into his left arm. It's not the first time in his life that he has been hurt -- not the first time in his life someone has hurt him deliberately either -- but it is the first time hurting has involved a weapon. A fist to the face or a knee to the groin just doesn't have the same punch, pun intended.

Look at the bright side, he tells himself even as his other hand flies out of its pocket to clutch at his arm, knife and all. Knife goes through skin. Knife doesn't set off neuropathy. And now I have the knife. Yay.

It's a short-lived yay, because having a knife and pulling it out of yourself to use it are two entirely different things. Also, Dan has a meat hook.

Ravn really wants to do something useful here, but all he manages to squeeze out is a profound, "Fuck." And then he's coiling up like a spring, ready to bolt in whatever direction does not mean taking that meat hook to the face.

The shots ring out, each one a physical pressure against the ears. The beasts recoil; one only has a graze, but the second has already taken one bullet to the chest, and now another one joins it, forcing the creature down to misshapen knees, where it coughs blood, weakly. The still up murderbeast swipes at Seth's head with a paw that could easily crush it if it made contact; Seth feels the barest tip of its claw brush his nose, instead. Dan's charge brings him over the table and off the platform, hitting the concrete with both feet. "He's going for Ravn," Alexander yells, in response to Seth's shout for intel. He's too high and far away to get there physically, stuck on the catwalk, but his eyes flash, and a bolt of electricity flings through the air. Dan goes down like a man hit with an electric cattle prod, the hook clutched in his hand as he shakes and convulses. "Ravn! Get the hook from him! He needs to feel helpless!"

With that, Alexander runs for the narrow stair, disappearing out of sight for a moment.

"Fuck!" Seth exclaims as the wounded Murderbeast's claw rakes across his nose leaving a thin red line of welling blood that mixes with the drying gore already on his face. "Fuck!" he exclaims again as Alexander gives him a sitrep, risking a glance over towards Ravn's direction to get a visual. Seeing that arc of electricity tazer Dan, for now. The enforcer looks back to the murderbeast and fires off another shot as he scrambles backward away from the beast and its claws. "Do you need an assist, Ravn? I'm almost done here...I think."

Get the hook from him sounds like a fantastic idea to the Dane. Particularly the part where Ravn has the hook and Dan doesn't.

Ready to leap to either side, Ravn watches Dan go down in a twitching, screaming mess of pain. He knows exactly what that feels like. He's never been tasered, granted. He's just got a nervous system that sometimes decides that the air is on fire. It doesn't get quite that bad -- but it's disabling enough and he decides to make a break for it.

Uncoiling like the spring he was trying to emulate, he lets go of the knife embedded in his arm, and it falls out with a clank as it hits the floor. Ravn makes a wild swipe for the meat hook in Dan's hand instead, hoping to grab it and then put some distance between himself and the fallen man. It's very, very tempting to use that meat hook -- but Alexander's words about feeling helpless made it into Ravn's conscious, or perhaps he's just too lily-livered to gut another man like a fish. Either way, he wants to have that hook, and be over there with it.

The murderbeast is slowing now, almost as if Dan going down has dealt another wound to it. Its eyes still flash with murder, but as it closes on Seth, the enforcer's gun barks again, and this time the shot takes the creature right in the nose, the bullet breaking through cartilage and bone on the way to the brain. It howls in agony, clawing its own face to ribbons before its body catches up to what its brain already knows: it's dead. It falls over with a boneless lack of grace.

Meanwhile, Ravn's wild swipe grabs the business end of the meathook, smearing his gloves with...stuff. Better not to think about which stuff. Dan tries to hold on to it, but his muscles are spasming helplessly, and Ravn easily claims the tool. Dan's seizures start to quiet, and instead he lies on the ground, weeping. "You ruined it," he accuses Ravn and Seth - and Alexander as the investigator appears out of the shadows, stepping carefully around the blood from Seth's fight. Dan stares at them with bleary eyes. "You ruined everything."

"What you're doing isn't without consequence," Alexander says, voice cold. "You're hurting and killing people." His power stirs around him, digging fingers of guilt into Dan's mind. The man struggles against them.

"No, they weren't dead! They're not real people! I can do what I want!"

"Then we can do what we want. Is that right? If this isn't real?" It's hard to say what Alexander shows or inflicts on the man, because he doesn't share it with the others, but Dan stiffens and then screams, eyes bulging as he stares at something only he can see. It lasts only for a moment, before Alexander instead points at Ravn. "Look at what you did. He's real and you hurt him. There's nowhere you can run from that. We will find you. Even in Dreams." A nod at Seth, blood-soaked and surrounded by the bodies of Dan's protectors.

Dan sobs, curling up in misery.

Standing there, dripping in blood and gore Seth makes a show of popping out the magazine, checking the round count, and then replacing the mag back into the automatic with a resounding clack. "IF you are expecting the one out in the hallway to come and help you Dan, I'm wearing it on my face...along with the others. Don't make me wear you."

Seth slips the automatic back into the holster under his shoulder, using his sleeve to try and clear some of the blood from his face and eyes. "I need a shower and a drink. Likely in that order."

Ravn is not unalert to his surroundings; he's just a little preoccupied with the fact that he's bleeding from a knife embedding itself in his arm. He seems to reach the conclusion that yes, it's bleeding, and he should definitely keep pressure on it -- but nothing is spurting, and that's probably a very good sign. Also, he's feeling rather dizzy because really, blood is supposed to stay on the inside, and it's a lot different when it's your blood that's failing to obey rule number one.

He trails back to the other two men, still holding his arm and keeping the pressure on. Looking down at Dan his expression is almost sympathetic; losing your dream hurts. "You know, you can still be an artist," he says quietly. "Just -- maybe get some therapy? Learn to express yourself in a way that doesn't get anyone hurt?"

Dan stares at Seth with horror - and no wonder, given the grim picture the man presents. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to cover his head with his hands. Ravn's words still seem to penetrate, because he starts mumbling about paintings. As he does, the world around them shifts. It's nowhere near as wretched as going into the Dream, but there's still a half-second where their stomach seems left behind, then returns with a vengeance.

Bright side: the cleaver and meathook are gone, as is the hellish factory, and the air smells of dust and paint, not blood and oil. They're back in the shed, all of them, with Dan still weeping on the floor. Oh, hey, and Seth's no longer covered in gore! His nose is still bleeding just a little, but otherwise, he's clean.

Not so bright side? Ravn's arm is still thwhacked, and blood is trickling past his attempts to apply pressure on it. Alexander hisses as he sees it, then looks around. "It's done. Let's go." There's a tilt of his head towards Dan, as if to say, before this guy regains enough of his mind to identify us. He moves towards the door, since touching Ravn is Right Out.

"Right." says Seth, casting one last glance down at the whimpering Dan before looking over at Ravn, motioning for the former bartender to head out before him. "Let's go and take care of that," the redhead says as he motions to the wound on Ravn's arm. "I'm sure that..." he almost says a name, but instead just motions over towards Alexander, "He knows people that can help."

As Seth leaves the shed, he says to the interior, "This is your one chance. Take it and be smart." as he closes the door behind him quietly to leave Dan to his own devices.

Ravn nods and follows the other men out. He's probably quite pale underneath the layer of gore and grime, but he's also a little disoriented. I'm going to have the mother of all anxiety attacks about this, he tells himself. And then he tells himself it'll have to wait because he's a little bit busy at the moment. That's the one perk of living with anxieties all the time -- you learn to just be afraid, and then get shit done anyway.

"I should probably hit the ER," he murmurs. "I think this might take a few stitches. But maybe I should hose down somewhere first, I mean, we look like we've gone through an abbatoir."

Beat. "Well, some of us look like we've gone through an abbatoir."

Alexander does a double take at Ravn as they step out into the...night. Although it wasn't dark when they went in, it's full night now. "...oh. You're a mover. Sometimes you, uh, keep stuff." He gestures at the splattered gore on Ravn. "Sorry. But yeah. Unless," he glances at Seth, raises an eyebrow, "you want to try? If Ravn says it's okay? To heal, I mean. It's probably not that deep, so it wouldn't be a bad practice run." The shed remains silent; Dan has lapsed into quiet, no doubt processing. Alexander looks back at it, his brow furrowed, before hurrying on with the others. "It should be okay. I'll stop by on occasion, make sure it...took."

"No hospital," Seth says with a shake of his head. "To many questions are involved with a hospital. How do you explain a stab wound like that? It isn't exactly a kitchen accident. I suppose it could be worse, it could be a gunshot...but still, no hospital. I am sure I can make a call or two and have someone take care of it under the radar."

The enforcer looks over to Alexander, a brow raised. "You think I can? I mean, sure...if he doesn't mind," he says with a shrug of his shoulder. He looks back at the shed, "If it didn't...call me."

Ravn looks from one man to the other, and then nods. "I'm not about to fall over dead here. I need something done, but, we're not talking dial 911 before I bleed out. Let's find somewhere out of sight lest we get spotted by someone in a kitchen window, and you can do your thing? Worst case scenario, you get to call somebody after all."

Alexander laughs, softly, at Seth's very practical objections. "I can go with him if it comes to that. When I show up, they stop asking questions. I usually just tell the truth." He shrugs. "Then get put on a psych hold for a day or two, and then get released. No one wants the paperwork, and there are a few doctors who stand out on staff. Gun shots are harder, and I don't recommend trying that on that one, unless you're a cop." His expression turns stony at the last, and he nods. "I will." The path back to the car is dark, but not long, and they manage to get back there with only a few grazed shins.

Alexander glances at Seth's very fine car, but doesn't lean against it, instead standing with his bad hand dangling, and his good one in his pocket. "I think you should be able to," he reassures Seth. "It's not like magic; there aren't any chants or spells. It's just a feeling. A lot of people use some sort of focus, or have a certain way they do things. If there's something that feels comfortable to you, just go with it. And I'll be here. I'm not a good healer, but if you start to make it worse, I can stop it."

"Ok, well, I might as well give it a shot," Seth says with a shrug of his shoulder. He closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath as he reaches out his hand in Ravn's general direction in order to try and 'feel' for the wound, "Just so you know...I feel silly. You better appreciate this, Darth." A small smile forms on the enforcer's face before he becomes serious again, letting his mind clear and trying to feel his way into doing what he intends...which is stick up Ravn, not light him on fire. That would be embarrassing.

Ravn feels rather silly too. He's standing there, dripping blood -- his own and not his own in one delightful mix -- and pointedly ignoring the fact that his hands are shaking and his inner self is curled up in a corner, quietly rocking back and forth. "Do I need to do anything?" he asks, looking to Alexander. "Remove my coat and shirt at least, or does that not matter?"

"It shouldn't matter," Alexander says, "although if you'd feel more comfortable, then I'm not gonna stop you. You're dripping." And indeed, it doesn't matter. Seth can feel the life in Ravn, and Alexander, too, a feel of how their bodies should be put together. Ravn has an acute wrongness in his arm, a place that can be fixed. Alexander has a few, as well, but they're muted, already healing. Nothing as urgent as what he feels from Ravn, but at least it seems to be a simple wrong; a straight cut, with only a ragged edge where Ravn yanked out the knife that was filling it up.

"OK...that's weird." Seth says as his brow furrows a bit when the feeling of their life force hits him. "Cool, but very weird. Someone fucked you up, Alexander. I thought it looked bad on the outside....damn. Whose wife did you sleep with?"

"Ok...Ravn, just hold still. I've never done this before...so here goes nothing..."

Ravn holds still. Sort of. He holds his arm still. His hands are still trembling in their gloves. He's still pretending that they aren't. Everyone's got a coping mechanism, and laser focused obliviousness is his. "I did wonder how long I could keep up this stretch of emerging from Dreams without a scratch," he murmurs. "Everyone else in this town seems to be in a constant state of recovering from injuries, after all."

Seth's words about Alexander's condition has the Dane frowning and looking back at the other man, though. He got no answer when he asked, and he's got the tact to not ask a second time -- but that doesn't mean he likes the implications.

"I didn't sleep with anyone's wife," Alexander says, helpfully. "It's fine. The bones are set, and everything's healing. Focus on Ravn, before you grow a new head out of his arm." Can Seth even do that? No, but maybe Alexander is hoping he doesn't know that, so that it serves as a decent distraction. He does wink at Ravn, which might give the game away. "First time's always the hardest," he tells the man, too solemnly to be entirely serious.

It's weird, the transfer of energies from one person to another, but it does help. The wound doesn't disappear, but Ravn can feel something and the blood goes sluggish, then stops - by the time the healing is over, it looks like he was stabbed a couple of days ago, instead of a few minutes ago.

Seth reopens his eyes, 'So...did it work? I have no idea if that worked or not. I felt something take hold, but I could just be thinking I did." Seth reaches up and wipes some of the blood from his nose, where the murderbeast's claw just nicked him. "I tried to get this as well, but I couldn't really even touch it. Weird."

He looks over at Alexander, and shrugs his shoulder. "Well, I'm glad it's fine. I get it, you don't want to talk about it. If you ever do, you have my number."

Ravn feels along his arm with his other hand; how he feels anything through those gloves remains unanswered. "I think so? It stopped bleeding -- and hurting much." He is clearly impressed as he shrugs out of his jacket and pulls the edges of the torn sleeve apart to reveal an injury that does indeed look several days old. He has reason to be impressed -- no medical professional could pull something like this off, and he's never seen anything like it before.

"It worked," Alexander says, after he leans over to check out Ravn's wound without touching it. "Nice job." He looks up at Seth's last, and smiles. "I appreciate the concern. Really." A glance at Ravn. "From both of you. But it was a personal matter, and won't happen again. I'd rather just let it lie." Then he leans back. "Good. You've got the hang of it, looks like. Sometime, if you want, we could practice some of the other things you can do." He looks back at Ravn. "But, uh, we should probably let Ravn take a shower. Or three."

"Yeah. I may not need that shower anymore, but I still need that drink." Seth says with a nod. "Or a few drinks. Why quit at just one. It's a good thing though, I think I would have had to burn these clothes. There was no way I was getting all that out of these. I would have had to drive home naked just to keep my car seats clean."

"I think I'd like a shower," Ravn murmurs. "Or maybe a bath tub full of disinfectant."

He doesn't ask for a ride. Because unlike the other two, he still looks like he's showered in a paint factory. Turns out there is a distinct down side to that whole moving thing. Bringing back things from the Veil is vastly overrated when those things include a layer of blood and grime thick enough that he looks like he walked off the set of The Walking Dead.

He hitches a shoulder lightly -- the one that didn't get stabbed. "But I'll definitely take that drink too sometime. Pretty sure this coat is done for too, I'll never be able to explain to a dry cleaner what the hell I did."

Alexander nods to them both. He opens his mouth, then closes it, suddenly bashful. He ducks his head, and scuffs at the ground with his toe. "Thanks," he says, after a long moment. "For coming with me. Helping. It was dangerous and unpleasant, and you didn't have to. So, thanks, both of you." He clears his throat. "And I'll walk with you, Ravn. Keep anyone from stopping you until you get home safe."

"Hold on..." Seth says as he makes his way to the rear of his car, popping the trunk with the use of a key he dug out from the front pocket of his jeans. "I likely have a pair of sweats back here for when I go to the gym. They will be a little big, but they should at least cover what a mess you are...and I can also give you a ride if you want." Though the later request sounds a bit more hesitant like he is offering more out of obligation than kindness. "I hope you will live if they aren't black. I don't know if you will burst into flame or anything."

"I'll take the sweats, sure. But let's not ruin your upholstering." Ravn walks over and cannot resist a laugh at that last remark. Anxiety and adrenaline are starting to give a little, and he's sliding into that mellow zone of oh my god, I survived where everything is pink and fuzzywarm. "You know why I wear black? Because it's easy. Everything matches. That's kind of important when you live in a backpack and don't have room for much -- but need to be able to convince somebody you're all that on very short notice. No one argues with black. Don't ask me why, it works."

"But there are different shades of black," Alexander points out, helpfully. "As things fade, some things aren't really black, but only sort of black. You don't notice if you're wearing them with other colors, but when everything is black, it stands out." He trails the other two men...and does he try to take a nosy peek into Seth's trunk? Yes, yes he does.

The insides of Seth's trunk are not as remarkable as Alexander might wish. There are no bodies, no rolls of plastic sheeting, no shovels, or bags of lye. It's actually rather boring as far as trunks go. There is an old plastic milk box of a random assortment of car-related items such as jumper cables, a funnel, a gas can, and some paper towels, and next to that is a duffle bag which Seth unzips and digs into. A moment later Seth pulls out a pair of powder blue sweats, which he casually tosses over to Ravn. "You can burn these when you are done. I don't think a wash will do the trick."

Does Alexander look just a little disappointed? Maybe. Okay, yes. But he straightens up and smiles as the sweats are tossed to Ravn. "I think you should burn everything. Um. Sometimes things that come back from there get weird. You probably don't want your clothes to come alive and try to strangle you or something."

"Them, and everything else I'm wearing." Ravn pulls the sweat pants on with one hand -- the shirt takes a little longer, and he ends up deciding to just keep his injured arm inside of it, rather than try to navigate a sleeve. "Ugh."

He looks back at Alexander, a little flustered. "You know, this is what I keep talking about. Having each other's backs. What's the point if we don't try? Dan may hate us now, and I certainly don't think of him fondly -- but we probably saved lives today. May even have saved Dan's. Pretty sure we saved his wife's, and if he has kids, theirs as well. I feel good about that. Even if it cost me a jacket and a pair of jeans. I'd do it again next week, though I am still wondering if I can possibly think of any way to never sleep without a good knife and a pair of lock picks strapped to my thigh or something."

"I mean, there is always a prison wallet if you are really that desperate..." Seth says with a grin, trying to hold back a laugh. "But I would make sure the knife has a sheath. I wouldn't want a naked blade there."

Seth shuts the trunk and leans against, crossing his arms over his chest. "So, uh, you guys saw a side of me in there most people don't see. I hope we are still good."

"Don't sleep with knives," is Alexander's advice. "It's not a good idea, especially if you're prone to vivid, violent nightmares. What you gain in preparedness, you lose in stabbing yourself in the thigh because you think you're covered with giant centipedes one night." He falls silent at Seth's observation. He just watches the man, expression blank. He doesn't seem to be intentionally hiding his feelings - but the harder Alexander is concentrating on his own thoughts, the less energy he spares for giving his face the usual expressions and life. Finally, he nods. "You kept us safe. In that context, I have no problem with you."

"Told you earlier at the diner, Seth. Shit hits the fan here, you've got knowledge and skills that I don't. Turns out we needed your knowledge and your skills. So yeah, we're good. As long as you're batting for Team Humanity, you're not going to get a hard time from me. The only reason I don't have a criminal record is my parents' money." Ravn pulls up the sweat shirt hood, possibly to conceal the fact that he looks like someone emptied a bucket of paint over his head. "But if a prison wallet is what I think it is, I'm kind of glad I haven't had the opportunity."

Seth laughs at Ravn, "Neither have I. Both to a record or a prison wallet. I don't ever plan on using a prison wallet either, I just know what one is."

The enforcer looks to both men and nods. "I'm glad it only came down to that. Let's hope I don't have to pay Dan another visit at some point. Anyway, I think I might head over to the Twofer, see if Vic is working. Feel free to show up if you like."

"Good. Then..." Alexander trails off, clears his throat. "Good. Might head over that way in a bit. Want to go home and shower. All of the actual stuff is gone, but I can still smell it in my mind. I'll feel better after a shower. Don't die, Seth." He smiles, briefly, at the enforcer, before moving away a little, but clearly waiting to keep his promise to Ravn. And he will, if Ravn permits, walk him all the way to his trailer before heading home himself.