Izmael sighed. Bashing at the door wasn't as productive as he'd hoped.
The hospital loomed above him, quiet and abandoned. The other members of the party were scattered nearby, in cars, out of cars. People were talking, but Izmael wasn't too interested in the particulars. He'd forsaken the weblike intricacies of the universe many, many years ago. He wasn't about to get tangled in the overblown soap opera that was the personal lives of his companions. There were more important things to worry about. Faces to smash, drug rings to expose...
Nakhimov. Inside the hospital, running past. She looked scared, and then was gone in an instant...dragged away...a streak of blood...
Before he even knew he was doing it, Izmael drew the Colt and fired a single bullet into the glass door. It weakened, but didn't shatter. Frustrated, Izmael lashed out with his feet and fists, bashing down the glass panel of the door and leaping desperately into the lobby of the hospital. The smear of blood was short, and didn't yield much in the way of direction. Cursing silently under his breath, he ran into the nearest rooms, looking for blood, teeth, hair, anything. Something had taken her, something very fast, and very strong, and it certainly didn't seem to have the best of intentions. It had taken Nakhimov, and Izmael owed it to her to take her back.
Haphazard barricades blocked off the corridors, meaning that the only viable avenue of escape was a gaping hole in the ceiling that was once a staircase. Gritting his teeth, Izmael willed weakness into the gravity beneath him, and leapt. He sailed up through the hole, landing in the lobby of the second floor, and was greeted by much the same decor. Ruined plaster, shadowy barricades, a world of disrepair and stale misery. But no Nakhimov. Diving over a counter into a nurses station, he found two severed arms, adorned with Illaria's bracelet weapons. Interesting, but in no way useful right now. He continued his search, steering clear of a pair of redundant elevators (and the cracked and unstable ground that lay before them), and checked all the rooms that he could enter. Each room was interesting in and of itself, in a very disquieting way, and Izmael began to feel uneasy about the nature of the hospital. The aftermath of a frenzied vampire riot was one thing. This place seemed a little more disturbing than that.
Voices rose from the gap in the floor, the pleading calls of the rest of the group. Typically, they were asking him to wait. As if standing around and chatting about ropes and pulley systems was going to save Nakhimov's life. Focussing himself once more, Izmael leapt again, this time into the hole in the ceiling of this level, aiming to reach the second floor.
But before he could get too far, he was met with a unseen force, bearing down on him, pushing him back through the gap. Startled, Izmael flailed mid air as he fell, only managing to steady himself at the last minute, landing in a crouch on the ground floor. He sighed, and looked up. Whatever took Nakhimov wasn't too fond of him, it seemed. Still, no time to waste. Now that he was on the same level as the others, they could work together at getting past this barricade, and find Nakhimov. But they had to act fast.