Sudden stillness presses in around them, oppressive after the rush of combat. Maine doesn't look at the doppelgänger of his ally lying dead on the ground. He looks at the copy of "Frank" instead, and he sees the other man's chest rising and falling. Without a second thought, Maine steps over the fake Brigitte, leans down over the ghost, and — with a quick flex of muscles; a sharp twist; an action too easy for the weight it carries — he snaps the man's neck.

There. Now they can move.

Maine stands up and reaches out to touch Brigitte's upper arm. To guide her past the corpses, if she needs it. To just get her moving if she doesn't. Without a word, he starts leading them onward, following the small scuffling sounds that he can hear echoing from some chamber below.

The closer they get, the more the stagnant air stinks of sweat and less pleasant things. Eventually, it becomes almost oppressive. But it's worth it; Maine's enhanced sight manages to pick out what looks like a familiar shape in the darkness of the next chamber.

Maine reaches for Brigitte's arm again, trying to halt her in case it's not who he thinks it is. Then he utters a low growling noise that would be incomprehensible to anyone else, but will make perfect sense to his best friend: "that you?"