There's no footfalls, no breathing, no sound of warning whatsoever before a claw presses against Fives' neck in the total darkness. The first sound is the fabric of Fives' blacks ripping as the claw slides down, unbearably loud in the maddening silence. The air that hits his bared chest is - less cold than expected. The claw itself is hot, not searing but just a little painful, like metal left in the sun.