“Demons!”<br/>The hated word blazed across his mind, sharp as a knife, screaming right into some dormant instinct that said DANGER, RUN, NOW. His skeletal legs gladly complied- they were already picking up speed before he could even grasp the whole gruesome situation. When he finally did, a small shudder traveled along his spindly frame, and the feet flew faster still.<br/>“Oh no, oh<span style="font-style: italic"> no </span>….”<br/>Figures came into view, slabbering and growling, horned, fanged, each face a memory of some dormant nightmare. One of them held the mangled remnants of some poor soul. Dex’s own face twisted in sympathy- he (or she?) had been torn up, like some luckless butterfly in the hands of a particularly psychopathic child.<br/>“Not those, bloody,<span style="font-style: italic"> bloody, </span>”<br/>Mostly out of sheer panic, partly to drown out the shrill screams(scream? Too loud to tell) and the gunshots (no guns in the Fog, didn’t they<span style="font-style: italic"> know? Run, </span>you<span style="font-style: italic"> idiots </span>), he muttered and babbled as he sprinted across the ice, held back only by air resistance and the weighty presence of his luggage.<br/>“CLERKS!”<br/>Minion, closely tailing his suddenly-even-more-haywire master, heard every frenzied word: "...Complaints! They're here to file complaints again, the bloody bastards, don't they know when to stop? We can't let that happen, Minion, they'll chew us up and shake us down like the cold-blooded lizards they are, whining and nitpicking and- no no no. I don't want to be fired, I don't<span style="font-style: italic"> want </span>to. Keep them on hold, Minion, play elevator music, maybe, maybe they'll leave us alone..."<br/>He could not continue- the harsh wind had stolen the words out of his mouth, tearing down his sore throat like so many needles. Gratefully swallowing down the miserable tirade bubbling up his chest, he plunged on.