https://youtu.be/MUBo2uBmBfIWhy, hit the <span class="mu-g">BACK DOOR,</span> of course! Granted, experience tells you it’s much harder watching someone’s back when they’re on the opposite side of the building, but you’ve got a hunch that whoever’s inviting Stan to abandoned art galleries is gonna be keeping an eye on <span class="mu-i">her</span>, not the back entrance.
Slipping through your refuge’s shattered windshield like a stoat on a mission, you make your way around the back of the building with nary a sound. It’s all about the footwork, really–once you learn where to put your boots and what <span class="mu-i">not</span> to step on, all that remains is your gear rattling against your armor… but you took care of that ages ago. It’s a pain keeping all of the straps so tight and close all the time, but it hasn’t screwed you over yet…
Time enough for <span class="mu-i">that</span>, though. As you slink over a rust-covered chain link fence bordering your target’s loading zone, you’re just about to touch down when you spot a faint glimmer of crimson-tinged light reflecting off of a gossamer length of wire. Gripping the fence in mid-drop, your boots stop a hair's-breadth above the mirage–just enough to feel the trap’s tension underneath your heels.
Carefully moving your feet to a more suitable patch of pavement, you drop with the grace of a cat next to the tripwire. <span class="mu-i">Sneaky</span>, you think to yourself. Very sneaky!
You’re just about to trace the trigger to its payload when you hear something <span class="mu-i">loud</span> crackle from within <span class="mu-g">THE GALLERY–</span>an intercom, maybe? No time to smell the roses, you reason, you’ve got a back to watch, after all.
Once you’ve seen one, the rest of the tripwires lining the loading dock kinda pop out. Dancing silently across the pavement towards that back door you saw, your mind slowly paints a picture of whoever set this deathtrap up–you’ve never been that much of a <span class="mu-i">people</span> person, of course, but this guy… if they even <span class="mu-i">are</span> a guy… strikes you as being <span class="mu-i">very</span> patient–or at the very least batshit paranoid if this is just the <span class="mu-i">outside</span> of the building!
By the time you reach the loading dock, you must have nearly tripped a dozen traps–good thing there’s no one around to see you, right? Retrieving a small <span class="mu-g">HAIRPIN</span> from your pocket, you immediately get to work on the back door’s lock–aside from the static blast a few moments earlier, the art gallery’s grown unsettlingly quiet.
Unlike the welcome you received in the loading area, the lock pops off rather easily–a bit <span class="mu-i">too</span> easily, now that you think about it. Holding your hand out to catch it, you manage to minimize the ensuing rattling of the attached chain… not that it doesn’t make a sound, of course. Gritting your teeth at the unnecessary noise, you allow yourself a quick exhale as the door lazily swings open…
…before suddenly picking up speed as a counterweight drops on the other side!
>CONTD. 