[ The third archivist still does not make himself known, and Prompto has no choice but to begin prowling around the room, seeking him out and hoping he can get a jump on the other before he himself can get attacked. His gun remains in hand, the sight trained in front of him, as he stays low, turning corners around tables and benches and equipment, still listening, listening...
And then he catches it, a slight crunch of glass beneath a boot, and not a moment too soon, really. It's getting really hard to breathe through his nose. Prompto springs around a long silver bench where the archivist hides on the other side, finger threading the trigger and —
All at once, all of the air goes out of him, like an invisible hand has reached inside his lung and squeezed them empty. His gun clatters to the floor as he sinks to his knees, clawing at his neck in some vain attempt to release the invisible fingers there, but it doesn't help. He can't breathe.
Helpless as he struggles for air, the archivist steps towards him, a cool, wicked smile upon his face, as he reaches for Prompto's gun. ]
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And then he catches it, a slight crunch of glass beneath a boot, and not a moment too soon, really. It's getting really hard to breathe through his nose. Prompto springs around a long silver bench where the archivist hides on the other side, finger threading the trigger and —
All at once, all of the air goes out of him, like an invisible hand has reached inside his lung and squeezed them empty. His gun clatters to the floor as he sinks to his knees, clawing at his neck in some vain attempt to release the invisible fingers there, but it doesn't help. He can't breathe.
Helpless as he struggles for air, the archivist steps towards him, a cool, wicked smile upon his face, as he reaches for Prompto's gun. ]