Carmelo's footfalls made empty echoes that moved down the corridor, underscoring just how alone him and his men were. It was half an hour since they had left Luciano and Angelica, and already a cold trickle of sweat ran down the his back, funneling down his spine, sending shivers in a likewise direction. The static of an open commlink played through his ears, a symphony of empty hisses, pops, and a cacophony of crackles against the silence that was the ship. Samuel, a burly man that had enough testosterone to float a boat, had point, gun held in a ready position and eyes on the search. Carmelo was second, followed by Santos, a wiry man with a runner's body. Down the line was Domingo, Anibal, Consuela (the only girl in the group, and harder than the men), and bringing up the rear was Manolo, a short and stocky man with fists the size of hams.
Despite almost constant fear and wired nerves, he fell into a rhythm. He almost fell asleep, how lulled in the inactivity he was. Then, something snapped him out of it. A change in the static.
He signaled for a halt and listened. At first he didn't hear anything, but something had grabbed his attention over the commlink.
"Luciano, report," said he, a bit of fear at what he'd hear. His fears were confirmed: he heard nothing. He turned around and ran back the way they had come, the marines quickly turning and matching speeds. Down the halls, his long stride ate ground like a starving man. He crashed through a door that was open just a crack, his shoulder taking the blow. He felt what would turn into a bruise, but paid it no mind. He was back in the room they had left in ten minutes. There was nothing.
"Where the frick did they go?!" he demanded, punching the wall. There was a whimper. He stopped breathing as he listened again, this time finding it. Opening the locker, there was Angelica, her hands covering her eyes as if trying to block out a terrible memory that refused to leave, one that was imprinted on the inside of her eyelids, one that would forever haunt her.
"Where's Luciano?" he demanded. She shook her head an ambiguous 'no', either saying she didn't know where or denying what had happened. "WHERE IS HE?" He heard the sound of someone bringing up their lunch behind him, and he looked back. Everyone was staring up. Carmelo looked up, and saw Luciano. He was hanging by his own belt, eyes gouged out.
"Sweet Jesus," he said, crossing himself. He had never been a religious man, but now was as good a time as ever to start.
![[Image: iskariot_4.png]](http://i134.photobucket.com/albums/q97/Zax_Gentoo/iskariot_4.png)