"Seven zero meters, take the left fork.  Got it.  C'mon, man.  We'll get you out of here soon enough.  What's your name?"

"H-Hugo.  It is my pleasure to meet you."  The stock phrase from his English class rolls off his tongue, a testament to the power of brute memorization.  "And yourself?"

"I go by Sinkhole when I'm dungoneering.  Got to have a little mystery, right?  What were you doing before you got kidnapped?"  Unfortunately, they tend to freak if they don't have something to keep their mind off the fact that they got dungeonnapped.  Kind of a pain keeping 'em calm, but.

"Uh, I was going out for a jog.  I'm trying to get in shape for a marathon..."  He rambles for a few minutes, the stammering gradually going away as he gets more comfortable with his rescuer.

She cuts him off as they get to the branching tunnel.  "One second, hon.  Gotta get directions."  Shame I don't have a sensor right in front of me to just point where I need to go.  "Okay, I'm in the left-hand tunnel.  How long 'til I need to change direction?"

"You're almost there; after four more meters, stop and wait, and a door should form in... about a minute."

"Thanks, Kendim.  Appreciate it.  So, Hugo, have you ever heard of creatine?"

Hugo has not heard of creatine but he'd indicate a willingness to try supplementing with hydrofluoric acid if this girl would give him the time of day for it.  He asks her to spell it out, and notes it down on his phone.  A minute later, a door forms.

Carol's well-aware that the guy thinks she's the bee's knees and the cat's pajamas.  Which is irritating, because it's not like she can even enjoy the attention right now.  Also he's a dungeon rescue.  You might as well be a nun while in a dungeon.  Also, it's not like he'd even like the real her right now.  It takes about two counterfactual seconds to find a way to break the door without also summoning 1d4+3 glassquitos.

"Okay.  Through the door now, it looks like a straight corridor?"  She swaggers through the shards of the 'opened' door, gesturing for poor Hugo to follow behind her.

"Yes -- there's a door on the floor just ahead of you; don't take it, just watch your step. Once you're past it --" and she can direct Sinkhole and her rescuee through the shifting, multicolored landscape, back to the room with the portal.

Hugo is really not a fan of that floor-door.  He creeeeps around the edge of it, trying really hard not to risk putting any weight on or near it.

Carol expresses encouragement and patience.

Carol experiences mild annoyance.  It's literally just a door!  Just don't step on it!

But it's not all that long before they get back.  She pats him on the shoulder.  "Good luck with your marathon, Hugo!  Finish it for me, you hear?"  Ugh.  I wish all my rescues were as milquetoast as him.  Most of 'em are fine, but there's a few that are a real pain.

She strolls over to Kendim and Mai's little presumed cuddlepuddle.  "Good tips so far.  Where's the next vic?"

"Glad to hear the racquet works!" says Mai from where she's imitating a koala.

Her koalaee nods without otherwise moving at all. "If you're ready --" She had drawn in the reach of her awareness as Sinkhole and her rescuee came closer; now she stretches out again till she finds another human shape, and judges the best path to reach them. "There's a chain of rooms through the door to the right..."

Carol draws her racquet and salutes Mai with it, as a fencer might before a match.  And throws in a wink for free, why not.  "I'll see you in a few minutes, then."  She heads off to the right, following Kendim's directions.  And swatting a few glassquitos that decided to see what all the fuss was about.

All goes well till she's about halfway there, when a new hollow rotates into Kendim's awareness.

Ah.

"Redirect. Reverse direction and take the door 30 meters on, above you; there's another victim, and this one's bleeding. They're still moving, but I can't tell much about how bad it is."

Shit.  "Copy, reversing three-zero meters, take the door in the ceiling."  She jogs back, smashes the trapdoor with her baton, and then rapidly smashes the glassquitos that come out.  A surge of strength sees her leaping upwards, setting her hands on the edge of the trapdoor, and vaulting above it.  It costs a little backlash to get this high, but it's worth it.  "I'm up.  Where now?"

"Through the next door, and then a left down the corridor, 100 meters."

Sprinting in a dungeon is a great way to die tired.  Jogging in a dungeon is inadvisable unless you have a major emergency.

A bleeding vic with no way to tell exactly how bad it is?  That's worth jogging for, and when a double-digit swarm of glassquitos arrives, well.  It's worth the backlash to thin the swarm down to four.  The final four get dispatched without any backlash use at all.

Okay.  She's a little backlashed, and she's doing okay physically.  Plenty of energy in the tank.  Now let's see what's goi-

Okay.  That's a lot of blood.  "Vic's not looking good.  Can we get medics to meet us halfway, or is that a no-go?"  It's not the first time she's bandaged a nasty-looking slice, but it sure would be nice if she had fucking Delgado around.  Especially since she's going to have to drop eight feet with a sliced-up vic.

"Hey, hon, can you hear me okay?  You doing alright?"  Just fucking use your words, it's not hard.

She's not really responsive.  She stirs a little bit when spoken to, that's about it.

A moment to consult, then: "That's doable. You should be good to retrace your path down the corridor, then you'll have to wait for a door."

"Copy.  I'll be dropping eight feet down, vic nonresponsive.  Defensive lacerations on the left forearm, down to the bone.  It's pretty bad, certainly going to need stitches.  Possible surgery."  She's not a paramedic with a bullshit regeneration power, so she's going to have to use gauze and prayers.  A lot of gauze and prayers.

She tenderly lifts the mostly-unconscious woman, trying to avoid injuring her any more than she already is.  It's worth it, she decides, to burn some backlash budget on getting the woman out faster.  The wounded woman gets hauled into a pretty effortless one-handed fireman's carry.  Her right hand remains armed with a racquet.