Lindsey McDonald (morallydamaged) wrote in parabolical, @ 2008-10-22 16:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | lindsey mcdonald, narrative |
Who: Lindsey McDonald
When: Right before the air siren goes off and continuing after
Where: Silent Hillized Wolfram and Hart
What: With the shift in realities, the firm's outsides begins to match its true nature.
Rating: PG-13/R (violence, implied gore, swearing, creepy creatures)
Status: Complete, narrative (unless someone has reason to be in the W&H parking garage)
OOC: 4 a.m. Watching Silent Hill. Inspiration struck -_-
There was a curse on the CEO position of the Wolfram and Hart Los Angeles branch.
The thought occurred to Lindsey as he sat against the wall between the two elevators in the lobby after spending the past half an hour trying to get into the White Room. The result was several buttons now jammed permanently into place and no admittance, as if the mystical area no longer existed. Considering that most of his staff (with the exception of Sharpay somewhere in the city pitching a fit over the state of her penthouse) had just disappeared, he was willing to believe that the room had gone the same way. That left him without much choice.
The building was empty, ironically starting to resemble a demonic law firm. His office looked like it belonged to a demented doctor who took to experimenting on still awake patients for his giddy pleasure. Blood across the walls, on the floor, splattered over his desk and the aged pile of folders sitting on top. The building looked decrepit, there was little light except for the reflection off the dense fog outside, and the heavy duty flashlight he’d relieved from what had once been Penny’s desk.
Lindsey climbed to his feet, snatching his phone up off the floor. The device was the electronic version of a pocket knife for him at the moment, the convenience of several method of communication all in one, right down to logging onto the message boards. So far, there hadn’t been much in the way of updates besides giving the phenomena a name. Silent Hill. Quaint for the little pseudo-Hell the city was turning into.
Just as long as it wasn’t actually Hell again.
Wandering around an empty building to do was getting him nowhere, so Lindsey weighed the risks and decided to get to some place where there was the possibility of something he could do. Maybe get to Cathy’s apartment and take over for that pain in the ass kitten of hers while they waited the ritual out. But he wasn’t going out unarmed with who knew what wandering around out in the thick fog that blanketed the city.
The katana was still resting in the middle of the decorative wall behind his desk. The designer, on one of his first days back, had explained that the weapon gave the understated piece an air of masculinity, strength, and a sense of leadership. He was just happy to have something as part of the décor that could be counted on in case of emergency. The current situation had never been on that list though.
He’d relieved the wall of the blade and just exited the office when the siren began to wail. The eerie sound created a shiver that ran down his spine and he froze, never having heard that siren before in the city. Then came the barely perceptible tearing noises as the walls began to deteriorate rapidly, the flakes disappearing to reveal metal grating underneath. The erosion shot by him, ruining the lobby even more until it really was a desolate place.
Steel toed boots thunked loudly against metal as he took a step back, heart hammering in his chest as he took in the new look of the building. I take it back. It could get worse. This is Hell. If he’d thought the overwhelming silence and emptiness of the building before had been bad, this was so much worse.
Lindsey hit the emergency door flying, the warped door tearing loose from its hinges and dropping to the floor with a clang that still echoed through the stairwell even after he was two floors down. He needed out, out now. He didn’t give a damn about betraying his calm exterior, he just wanted away from it. He wasn’t stupid enough to think the rest of the city was in better condition but it beat being stuck in the building by himself, even if it was with strangers.
He didn’t see the mutilated corpse until it was too late and his boot hit the puddle of blood. Lindsey tried to reach out for something but by then his balance had been ruined and he pitched down the stairway, the scenery rolling and turning until he came to a less than graceful stop against the wall on the next floor down. The sheathed sword slid down the steps and onto the floor after him. It was nearly a minute before he dared move any part of his body in fear of finding something broken. Fortunately, nothing was.
The sword reclaimed, he took the rest of the stairs at a slower pace, the fall having knocked at least enough sense into him to realize he was asking for another trip. Around and around the stairwell went, past the door that led into the lobby, and down three more flights before arriving at one of the subbasements. He reached down to grab the ID card hanging from the belt loop of his jeans and paused. There was no door.
The floor belonged to the tactical division. Wolfram and Hart’s own very small military. Training rooms, the break room, equipment storage, and his current destination, the armory. Down here the floor had been eaten away to reveal more depth beneath it, fires burning hot.
How appropriate.
He stepped out onto the metal grating, testing it for his own peace of mind, before heading down the hallway. All identifying signs were gone and it took a few rounds of “What’s Behind the Door” before he finally found the armory. The place was just as much in shambles as the rest of the firm, as to be expected, but worse. Instead of being able to pick and choose what he wanted to carry, his choices were limited to what he could find and if there was ammo available. A Walther P22 semi-automatic and a shotgun. The Walther was loaded, safety on, and stuck in the back of his belt, additional clips in his back pocket.
He was loading the shotgun when he heard the dragging noise from the doorway and turned to find…it. Tall, humanoid in shape, but armless, the creature came staggering in a little quicker than he would have given it credit for. Lindsey hurried to load the last shell into place when it tilted back its head and spit on him. The viscous black fluid began to sizzle and he was dropping everything to pull the black jacket off and throw it. The creature took advantage of the distraction to stumble closer. Lindsey regained the shotgun, snapped it shut, and took aim.
At close aim, being hit with gore from the hole blown in the creature’s chest was inevitable. It toppled over, as Lindsey turned away from the splatter, disgusted. He reached up to flick a piece of something pale off the dark blue fabric of his shirt. “I approved the purchase of a new flamethrower. What happens when we get sucked into a hellish alternate dimension? IT DISAPPEARS!” Lindsey bellowed, his words bouncing around the room.
Not even kicking the door open farther on his way out helped the growing anger, frustration, and the feeling of being extremely disturbed. Lindsey pumped the shotgun and stayed close to the wall, squinting against the dark shadows created by the light from below. He tried his damndest to remain silent but couldn’t help the tiniest clunk! as the soles of his boots hit the grating. His breath was shallow as he listened for anything that might be lurking around the corner.
Something brushed his arm and he jumped, turning around and bringing the shotgun up to aim.
Just like in the stairwell, a mutilated body was on display against the wall. He couldn’t tell what gender, only that it had once been human and no doubt suffered. His stomach turned and he was grateful that he hadn’t eaten since the day before. “Fuck,” he whispered and turned away, ignoring the strung up body as best he could.
The hallway turned into another, Lindsey going on his sense of direction and familiarity with the floor plan to guide him towards the garage. There were none of the usual markers, all rotted away or disappeared completely. Doors hung open to reveal trashed rooms, blood spattering surfaces and rusty metal exposed everywhere. More bodies, tortured, unidentifiable.
It was getting to the point where he was wondering if how he was feeling was what being insane was like. Reality as he knew it had ceased to exist and he was fighting fear and confusion at every turn. He would have given anything for a straightforward fight, the enemy revealed in all their demonic glory. A straight shot chance at victory, knowing the opponent straightforwardly. Not this, which was bringing up five months of memories he’d been successful on suppressing.
Maybe he did need that psychiatrist.
Turning the corner, Lindsey stopped dead yet again. Right in front of the door to the garage was a creature that he couldn’t have even begun to put a name to. The shotgun raised, his eyes widened behind the sight as it came closer. It looked like two bottom halves had been stuck together, freakishly half conjoined twins. His finger tightened on the trigger. Just as something slammed him in the back.
For the second time that night, his body painfully met metal and the shotgun went skidding against a pile of rotting crates. His elbow went back, just in time to stop strong jaws from latching onto the side of his face. The skin of the creature was slick and he could see something red out of his peripheral vision. With the other hand, he stretched to try and reach the shotgun but it was just out of reach. The jaws snatched again and this time managed to catch shoulder. Lindsey swore in pain, the stimulus eliciting a sudden telekinetic response.
The shotgun went flying farther down the corridor, right between the legs of the other creature.
Lindsey pushed with his injured arm while he struggled to maneuver into a position where he could grab the Walther out of his belt. The creature let go just enough to lunge again, the snap of its jaws loud in Lindsey’s ear. Right about then, his fingers found metal and he pulled the gun loose. It was awkward but he found the trigger and pressed the gun against flesh that wasn’t him. A sharp, high pitched yelp followed and the beast stumbled off him.
He scrambled to his knees to find his attacker was – or at least had been – a dog, skinned alive from the looks of it. Lindsey leveled the gun and squeezed off three more rounds as the demonic animal lunged at him, one in the eye and two right between. It slumped to the ground. The weapon was then turned and emptied on the shambling thing nearby. The clip spent, a new one was pushed in, and he continued firing until it lay in a twitching heap on the ground.
He slumped back against the wall, one hand clutching his injured shoulder. It was by far the worst of the aches and not the worst he’d ever faced. He inhaled, exhaled, and climbed to his feet, and pushing the pain from mind, he loped off down the hallway, snatching the shotgun on his way by. The door swung open easily and he sprinted across the parking lot to the car key box. The keys for the Charger in hand, he returned to the vehicle and got in. It didn’t start. Lindsey attempted turning the key several times and the engine didn’t even turn over.
The lawyer stared at the wheel before he unceremoniously fell forward, his forehead hiting the center of it. A loud honk echoed through the underground parking lot.
At least something on the vehicle worked.