Jack's just casually striding and reloading the pistol with armour-piercing rounds. He knows this shit. He enjoys it, even, strange as that may seem. This is something he's good at. Nice challenge, gets the blood pumping, reliably rewarded when he wins. And he usually wins.

Presently, there's a long, low moan that reverberates through the dripping halls. Clanging. And a child's voice. Jack stops, his head turns towards the sounds.

Then he grins and changes course towards them.