When Vic saw a village, the first thing he thought was how it looked as if it was ripped right out of a fantasy novel; however, for some reason he couldn’t fathom, Vic didn’t feel the sense of elation that he thought he should’ve felt. That, and that his jaw was starting to hurt again.

Vic heard a sigh and turned to look at the old guy that was leading the way. Except this time there was also someone else following Cutt. The woman whose origin coincided with his own, had, after the initial meeting, yet to converse with Vic. She wore a muddied black blazer along with the classic white shirt and trousers, also covered in dirt. An office lady, Vic presumed, but he didn’t really feel like confirming.

Maybe she was working when she was taken… I wonder what weapon she chose, maybe she said a keen mind was all she needed

As they entered the boundary of the village… Vic was a bit surprised. The few people who were walking on the wet dirt paths stopped and stared at their little group, but that wasn’t what threw Vic off.

Cuttison, the only person Vic had met in the Otherworld previously seemed to have the general European features from Vic’s home.

Vic supposed it only said more about his preconceived notions about this place when he was surprised to see what he thought were people of Afro-Caribbean and East Asian features in woollen trousers…

At least this medieval village has racial diversity

…Vic thought he was pretty funny until he choked on some of the bark he had chewed into a paste and let out a hacking cough. An action which caused the woman for whom Vic had no name, to look at him before looking away again and allow Vic to realize he didn’t want to know her name anyway.

Cuttison on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice nor care. Ignoring the stares of the people, he was focused on the state of the village.

It seemed the harsh rain took a toll on the place.

What remained of soaked thatched roofing lay sagging with melancholy demeanour, collapsed within their own stone walls. Some of the wooden roofs stood a bit stronger, though the green blight of mould ate at the edges of the planks.

All in all, Vic thought it did pretty well for the primitive architecture used. He did, witness the ferocity of that which the rain fell with beforehand. In fact, Vic was pretty sure he could’ve seen some sandbag-looking things by some of the more torn-up buildings- so they were just fine … but that was just his opinion.

An opinion Cutt apparently didn’t share judging by his grave expression.

Wait, all the measures seem pretty short term… that mean either such heavy rain is not so common or were they not expecting it

Vic wouldn't have been suprised if the devilish rain he saw, did in fact come from hell.

While they further into the town, attracting all the more stares while they were at it, it became obvious they were going to one of the bigger houses. Sitting with markedly bigger stone bricks standing defiantly in the nascent evening air, yet it had all the more mould on its larger roof.

Was this their destination?

Cuttison walked up to the house and knocked on the door of the house in question three times, dessicating Vic's doubt.

A moment came and went. Vic, Cuttison, the woman unnamed all stood there silently.

For Vic, though, it seemed as though the mere moment stretched onward endlessly, obstinate in its elusiveness.

Cutt didn’t knock again. The door opened.

A loud creak sounded, reverberating around Vic like his obnoxious alarm, except this time, he couldn’t wake up. It was then Vic not only got the urge to pinch himself, but also saw the guy that opened the door.

He was a pretty tall guy, towering in fact, his head nearly reaching the pinnacle of the entryway. Clothed in what looked like greyish garments pretty similar to Cuttison and although he was lacking the leathery armour constructs, he looked like a soldier. In addition, he looked a fare bit younger than the aforementioned old guy: his face was littered with salt and pepper as opposed to the Santa Claus-like being that occupied Cutt’s face.

Almost instantly the man’s fleshy face was replaced with one that was one of rock as he saw the figure of the man that brought them there. Not staring at Cuttison’s face the man’s gaze darted at the woman, his features unchanging… till he saw Vic, who was sure the guy’s eyes softened for just the insignificant moment they hovered over him.

Vic felt nauseous…

Maybe I’m shivering too much

…but perhaps it was for the best as it was then, wordlessly, the guy opened the door further, silently allowing them entry. Wearily, the group stepped into the building.

The interior of the house had more or less the same design of the old guy’s hut, that was to say, it was barren. However, as they followed the man Vic could've sweared he spied a rather large grey pelt hanging on the wall, through the feverish haze that accompanied him.

It wasn't long before they entered a tiny room with chairs sprawled over about, Vic reckoned this was probably the man’s living room.

Cutt sat on a chair, the other otherworlder stood by the corner and Vic didn’t know anything except that his feet hurt.

“You'd better take off you’re bandages first” the guy called out as he rummaged through a wooden storage box.

oh

A pained look emerged on Vic’s face as if he had heard then heard the death of his parents- but he hadn’t, he had heard that he would have to take off the bandages.

Trembling like the kid he was, Vic steadily lowered himself and he placed his pistol on the floor. The cloak and the bloodied shirt followed soon after. Vic felt naked and he felt cold. A chilling draft bit into his damp skin, however the numbing sensation wasn’t strong enough to freeze the bubbling panic in his chest.

Vic stumbled onto a chair.

He looked at himself. He used to have a few birth marks on his left shoulder but at that point all he saw were bandages.

Vic met eyes with Cuttison, but he failed to gather any meaning from them. The two men were looking at him intently, Vic noticed the younger of them also held a sinister metal syringe.

That must be the healing item then… a syringe, how’s he gonna heal me with that...

Vic, began to unpeel the bandages. He began on the itchy bandages on his hand. The wounds weren’t that bad there- just some cuts.

The sound of peeling filled the silence of the room, only accompanied by the sound of the rain that started again and the sound of erratic breathing.

It seemed greenish, the wounds, they were red and all but Vic wasn’t sure if his mind was playing tricks on him and he was sure his wounds weren’t green before…

At least it's not bleedin-

Vic’s mind was spinning at mach 10 blurring, every object around him, blurred but he had successfully taken of all the bandages off himself and he was sitting above a pile of white.

That was when the guy appeared before Vic, dashing towards him and before he could react, the guy stabbed him with the metallic needle of the syringe into shoulder.

All Vic saw was the glass container of the syringe fill with red.