It's been following him for some time. Something, in the back of his mind, knows this man. He is a soldier. He belongs with his own, mired here in death and decay, and he will not be left behind.

He will not be left alone.

Though unseen, the noises are there. They could just be any of the other noises, imagined or real, that York has been hearing all this time. The raking of chains across one another and the clicking of a gear slowly spinning. The scenery around them seems to shift the further they move, delving into York's mind and plucking away details. But that's all they are. Details.

Locus pays them no mind, intent only on following his prey.