There's nothing behind them; nothing Daniel can see, anyway, and he turns forward again and it's just as well that he did because he finds himself forced to stop abruptly because there is a gaping hole in front of them, a crumbled-away section of the floor that drops mercilessly into some ruined room beneath. It's in a state of horrendous disrepair, vaguely concrete-like material of the walls in midway state of tumbled collapse. Daniel's pretty sure he can see several jutting bits of welded iron, failed supports.

Architectural fascination aside, Daniel is quick to shuffle backwards, away from the hole, because yeah, no, that looks terrifying, thanks, except the sound of water is continuing to get louder and he still can't discern its source. Which is bad. Decidedly bad. He glances over his shoulder, again, and there it is there is the water it's coming right at them it's coming at them in waves.

He has a split second to yell, "Move!" before the current hits them, launches him backward, pitching him violently over and into the room below, and -

- and slamming him directly onto one of the jagged spikes of rebar protruding from the floor.

He doesn't have time to scream.

He just knows, briefly, with overwhelming, agonizing clarity, that it hurts.

And then he can't scream, the water's pouring in, he can't find Seth, there's corrugated metal punched through his abdomen, pain spiking viciously from its source, it's wrenching and distinct and burning, he can't breathe, he can't find Seth, he can't move, he's pinned by water and soldered metal, he's skewered to the ground, he can't move, he can't breathe, he can't find Seth, he can't find Seth, he can't find Seth he can't find Seth he can't find Seth -

The water's pouring in and he can't move.