Vasey105
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- May 18, 2022
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- #1
it's been a super long time since i tried writing so cc is appreciated
Callum made a split second detour, turning out into the slums of City 24 and into the stink of god only knows what. Grime and decay sludged underfoot and splashed up his legs as he kept running, climbing fences and jumping from point to point. A desperate, muffled plea for help cried out as he passed an iron cage, but he couldn’t bear to look, and he didn’t have time. He passed the old homeless shelter and he was nearly out. His detour had bought him a little distance, but they were closing in from every direction.
He made a final jump down a small flight of stairs, slid headfirst beneath a broken shutter, and clambered back to his feet towards a dimly red-lit elevator shaft. A towering silhouette appeared in the doorway, a cudgel raised high for the strike. Callum had no time: one man in front, countless thuds of footsteps behind. He was much smaller than the coming hulk, but he had the speed. Heart pounding, Callum charged forward, a quick duck at the last second to dodge the strike, and slammed his shoulder into the figure’s waist, sending them both spiraling down the shaft.
Callum’s eyes opened, a haze of foggy yellow clouding his vision. With intense, striking pain in his legs and throughout his body, he pulled his face from the ground and rolled onto his back, staring up the elevator shaft. No watching eyes, no flashlights, no danger? Had they given up the chase? The miasma was pungent, and so he was glad of the bandana still covering his mouth and nose. He looked to his side and saw the body of his assailant convulsing in the doorway out of the shaft. The xen flora illuminated the bottom of the shaft in a dazzling array of blues, yellows, and greens. It would have been pretty, if not for the deadly spores. Callum propped himself up against a barrel, wincing as he moved. “Fuck.” He quickly muttered after putting too much pressure onto his arm.
A beige, fleshy little creature with four dark limbs clambered atop of the corpse and sunk its mandibles into the head. The body wasn’t twitching, it was being eaten by a headcrab.
It blocked his path; he needed to deal with the creature while he had the advantage of surprise. He looked to his hip: no bag, his heart sunk, but at least his knife was still there. He drew it out with a rasp of metal on leather, and slowly shifted his weight to begin the crawl. He could taste the blood clinging to the inside of his bandana. Hopefully just a nosebleed, he thought, and pressed forwards. He cursed again as a shard of glass cut into his palm. He looked up, and so did the headcrab.
The creature steadied itself on the body, then lunged towards him with a horrific trill-like screech. Callum quickly brought his knife up to defend and the creature was impaled, flying over Callum’s head with the knife stuck in it. It landed in a pile of xen-coated debris and corrected itself, sending the knife clattering to the floor with yellow bile-like blood seeping from the wound. It reared itself back and lunged towards his face, but Callum caught it by the legs. The smell in its mouth was repulsive. Free limbs hacked and clawed at his face to escape his grip and mount its body-wide mouth onto his head. A swift slam to the ground incapacitated the creature long enough for Callum to plant his body weight on top, reach out for a piece of debris, and begin to bludgeon the creature. His bludgeoning was weak with his injuries, and the creature began to wriggle its way out of his grasp. He grabbed it by the leg, pulled it off balance, and then scrambled towards the knife. He wrapped his fingers around the grip and lunged back towards the headcrab, sinking his knife deep into its little body. The yellow viscera gushed from its body as it screeched in pain. The knife kept descending and puncturing its body. Callum yelled all the while, until the trilling silenced and the blood stopped flowing.
He tossed the body aside, and wiped the bloody blade onto his trousers, panting. Another trill behind him, this time more like a hiss. His eyes widened, he scrambled towards the doorway and spun around, blade pointed outwards. Black headcrabs, smaller, more nimble and infused with a deadly toxin, began to crawl from the crevices of the shaft and xen residue that thrived here. He pushed himself backwards, eyes darting around for his hip bag. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” One bite could prove fatal.
A headcrab shook itself in a violent display of aggression, then lunged forwards. A deafening noise, blast of hot air and flash of fire blew the creature to a fine paste that splattered Callum. A pump of the shotgun, another lunger and another blast. A different pair of hands grabbed Callum by the shoulders and started dragging him out. Ross let his shotgun fall into its sling, drew a short machete, and sliced through a piece of rope that held up the rolled shutter. The sound of hissing increased and the impacts rattled the shutter, but it could hold some headcrabs. Callum was heaved against the wall by someone much smaller than he was: Alice.
“Hold still, idiot.” She said, and splashed some sort of solution into his eyes and face. He grimaced with the stinging sensation, then yelled out a curse as Alice reset his dislocated ankle. “Y’ fuckin’ cunt!” he quickly exclaimed, grasping Alice’s arm tightly.
“Shutup.”
Callum was hoisted up between his friends and dragged through the underground subways and sewers towards their hideaway. The pain was intolerable at times, but at least he didn’t have to make the journey alone, trudging through the darkness.
Dingy off-white lights tried to give the illusion of a proper triage center, but it was clearly makeshift. Alice applied some of the bright green medi-gel to Callum’s wounds, then bandaged them up. “So the compounds are definitely in the shaft? Did you see where about?”
“No, a was busy fightin’ for me life. Should’ve got Ross to bring the shotty to the top of the shaft and he could’ve just pure blasted the cunts.”
“We know that wouldn’t end well.”
Callum’s youth and vigor made him bold, but he lacked the subtlety of the more experienced sewer dwellers. While the Civil Protection were cold, and brutal; the Volkssturm were sadistic. They didn’t want you dead.
“Did I see a dead one down there with you, like?” Ross asked, his Yorkshire accent shining through. “Oh, aye. A fuckin’ tackled him off the top. He must’ve broke me fall cause he was dead by the time a woke up.”
“You got lucky.” Alice added. “You must’ve bounced off the walkways, no way you could’ve survived that freefall. Plus, he’ll probably feed the headcrabs for a bit, keep any more from venturing too far down. Might make a good warning, actually.”
Ross spoke. “If we could just wrangle these other bloody groups together, we could actually-”
“Don’t bother.” Interrupted Constantine, entering in his dirty doctor’s coat. “Even now, no one will work together. Now, how’s my patient?”
Shackles in the Dark
Ch. 1
Callum leapt across the hole, the dilapidated floorboards threatening to crumble as he tumbled into a roll, jumped back to his feet and kept pace, jackboots soon behind. A dive down a flight of stairs, a slam of his shoulder through the door. Callum’s path was quick, efficient, and predetermined. The bag of stolen supplies bounced on his hip, a stabilizing hand always keeping it firmly tucked close. He dared a glance back and was met with a barely visible glare from beneath a concealing visor. His head spun forwards at the spark of a stunstick and narrowly slid beneath the swing, white-blue fingers arcing towards him. Ahead, another figure blocked his path; how could they have known he would come this way?Callum made a split second detour, turning out into the slums of City 24 and into the stink of god only knows what. Grime and decay sludged underfoot and splashed up his legs as he kept running, climbing fences and jumping from point to point. A desperate, muffled plea for help cried out as he passed an iron cage, but he couldn’t bear to look, and he didn’t have time. He passed the old homeless shelter and he was nearly out. His detour had bought him a little distance, but they were closing in from every direction.
He made a final jump down a small flight of stairs, slid headfirst beneath a broken shutter, and clambered back to his feet towards a dimly red-lit elevator shaft. A towering silhouette appeared in the doorway, a cudgel raised high for the strike. Callum had no time: one man in front, countless thuds of footsteps behind. He was much smaller than the coming hulk, but he had the speed. Heart pounding, Callum charged forward, a quick duck at the last second to dodge the strike, and slammed his shoulder into the figure’s waist, sending them both spiraling down the shaft.
Callum’s eyes opened, a haze of foggy yellow clouding his vision. With intense, striking pain in his legs and throughout his body, he pulled his face from the ground and rolled onto his back, staring up the elevator shaft. No watching eyes, no flashlights, no danger? Had they given up the chase? The miasma was pungent, and so he was glad of the bandana still covering his mouth and nose. He looked to his side and saw the body of his assailant convulsing in the doorway out of the shaft. The xen flora illuminated the bottom of the shaft in a dazzling array of blues, yellows, and greens. It would have been pretty, if not for the deadly spores. Callum propped himself up against a barrel, wincing as he moved. “Fuck.” He quickly muttered after putting too much pressure onto his arm.
A beige, fleshy little creature with four dark limbs clambered atop of the corpse and sunk its mandibles into the head. The body wasn’t twitching, it was being eaten by a headcrab.
It blocked his path; he needed to deal with the creature while he had the advantage of surprise. He looked to his hip: no bag, his heart sunk, but at least his knife was still there. He drew it out with a rasp of metal on leather, and slowly shifted his weight to begin the crawl. He could taste the blood clinging to the inside of his bandana. Hopefully just a nosebleed, he thought, and pressed forwards. He cursed again as a shard of glass cut into his palm. He looked up, and so did the headcrab.
The creature steadied itself on the body, then lunged towards him with a horrific trill-like screech. Callum quickly brought his knife up to defend and the creature was impaled, flying over Callum’s head with the knife stuck in it. It landed in a pile of xen-coated debris and corrected itself, sending the knife clattering to the floor with yellow bile-like blood seeping from the wound. It reared itself back and lunged towards his face, but Callum caught it by the legs. The smell in its mouth was repulsive. Free limbs hacked and clawed at his face to escape his grip and mount its body-wide mouth onto his head. A swift slam to the ground incapacitated the creature long enough for Callum to plant his body weight on top, reach out for a piece of debris, and begin to bludgeon the creature. His bludgeoning was weak with his injuries, and the creature began to wriggle its way out of his grasp. He grabbed it by the leg, pulled it off balance, and then scrambled towards the knife. He wrapped his fingers around the grip and lunged back towards the headcrab, sinking his knife deep into its little body. The yellow viscera gushed from its body as it screeched in pain. The knife kept descending and puncturing its body. Callum yelled all the while, until the trilling silenced and the blood stopped flowing.
He tossed the body aside, and wiped the bloody blade onto his trousers, panting. Another trill behind him, this time more like a hiss. His eyes widened, he scrambled towards the doorway and spun around, blade pointed outwards. Black headcrabs, smaller, more nimble and infused with a deadly toxin, began to crawl from the crevices of the shaft and xen residue that thrived here. He pushed himself backwards, eyes darting around for his hip bag. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” One bite could prove fatal.
A headcrab shook itself in a violent display of aggression, then lunged forwards. A deafening noise, blast of hot air and flash of fire blew the creature to a fine paste that splattered Callum. A pump of the shotgun, another lunger and another blast. A different pair of hands grabbed Callum by the shoulders and started dragging him out. Ross let his shotgun fall into its sling, drew a short machete, and sliced through a piece of rope that held up the rolled shutter. The sound of hissing increased and the impacts rattled the shutter, but it could hold some headcrabs. Callum was heaved against the wall by someone much smaller than he was: Alice.
“Hold still, idiot.” She said, and splashed some sort of solution into his eyes and face. He grimaced with the stinging sensation, then yelled out a curse as Alice reset his dislocated ankle. “Y’ fuckin’ cunt!” he quickly exclaimed, grasping Alice’s arm tightly.
“Shutup.”
Callum was hoisted up between his friends and dragged through the underground subways and sewers towards their hideaway. The pain was intolerable at times, but at least he didn’t have to make the journey alone, trudging through the darkness.
Dingy off-white lights tried to give the illusion of a proper triage center, but it was clearly makeshift. Alice applied some of the bright green medi-gel to Callum’s wounds, then bandaged them up. “So the compounds are definitely in the shaft? Did you see where about?”
“No, a was busy fightin’ for me life. Should’ve got Ross to bring the shotty to the top of the shaft and he could’ve just pure blasted the cunts.”
“We know that wouldn’t end well.”
Callum’s youth and vigor made him bold, but he lacked the subtlety of the more experienced sewer dwellers. While the Civil Protection were cold, and brutal; the Volkssturm were sadistic. They didn’t want you dead.
“Did I see a dead one down there with you, like?” Ross asked, his Yorkshire accent shining through. “Oh, aye. A fuckin’ tackled him off the top. He must’ve broke me fall cause he was dead by the time a woke up.”
“You got lucky.” Alice added. “You must’ve bounced off the walkways, no way you could’ve survived that freefall. Plus, he’ll probably feed the headcrabs for a bit, keep any more from venturing too far down. Might make a good warning, actually.”
Ross spoke. “If we could just wrangle these other bloody groups together, we could actually-”
“Don’t bother.” Interrupted Constantine, entering in his dirty doctor’s coat. “Even now, no one will work together. Now, how’s my patient?”