|Kyle Gibney/Wildchild: Trapped in a haunted house, Kyle (and others) are faced with fear unimaginable.
His hands shook as he pressed himself up against the hospital corridor, trying to listen for anything under the screaming and around the hailstorm of smells. His hands shook and sweat ran down his back, cold and clammy, and Kyle ground his teeth against the shaking to try to force it to stop.
Everything reeked of blood and shit and death and fear and nothing he did, not biting his tongue or pressing his forehead against the cold tile or, fuck, he'd even tried stupid meditation tricks in his head and fuck all of it worked like it should, his heart was racing and he couldn't smell his own sweat under all the smell of fear, but he could feel his shirt sticking to his skin, and every breath he took, shallow and fast, brought in more of the smell of fear, heavy and thick and coating his tongue in a way he hadn't smelled and tasted since
Not since Genosha
Kyle's hands still shook and he still dig his claws into his palms and he could still feel sticky clammy sweat everywhere, but fear is anger's cousin, and Kyle's deep growl swept the screams and cries for help out of his mind.