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4898 No. 4898
A/N: It's good when things happen and I want to write.

have some horror/suspense/etc/never explain a fucking thing until the end


He listened to the steady tapping of rain on the roof over his head, his eyes glued to the wall opposite of him. He lay on his side, resting his head on his arm, his pistol in hand. His clothes were dirty and torn in places. His hands were bandaged, and there was a bruise on his eye. The young man closed his eyes briefly. Tap. Tap. Tap. The rain was heavy, and as he listened, he still heard their voices. Separate from the darkness. He could still hear it. Hear them. How long had it been now? He tapped the pistol against his head. One. Two. Three.

A sudden bang.

The young man sat up in an instant. The door jolted again. He jumped to his feet, slinging a bag over his shoulder. As the door jolted on its hinges again, he scrambled for the window, looking out between the board and the frame. Well, the escape route looked clear, but his field of vision was somewhat limited. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing some of the wood splinter.

He pulled the plywood off the window, throwing it aside before he took a flying leap through the broken glass and hit the mud. The loud resounding bang as the door was undoubtedly thrown off its hinges echoed behind him. He was stunned for a moment, rain hitting him in sheets. As quick as he could, he ran for the dirty, junky, and now possibly flooded motorcycle sitting outside. After a hurried bit of coaxing, the machine roared to life and he spun it around, watching the humanoid forms begin to appear out of the tree line.

What were they now?

He wasn’t going to stop and ask for directions. He gunned the motor and urged the bike down the road. The rain pelted his vision, his hands, his skin – all as he blazed a trail of mud away from the shack. They were going to keep following him for as long as he could run. Probably until he died…

“Yo, Doc!”

The air was thick with the sound of gunfire. Scout sailed over the ditch, a bullet whizzing right past his ear, clipping his headset and knocking it off his head. The impact sent him sprawling, tumbling in the dust and dirt. Just as he managed to get to his feet, a fist connected to his face. The youth was struck back, one hand over his now broken nose. There was the familiar roar of a minigun spinning up, and a Heavy staring down at him.


Just as the words left his lips, the Heavy’s head exploded in a mass of brain matter and skull fragments. The mountain of a man crumbled, and Scout scrambled to his feet just as he felt the boost of a medigun start to wash over him.

As it happened.

The sky lit up with fire, and then it al went…

He jerked awake, finding himself on the side of the road. The lights on his bike were flickering. Must have crashed. With a disgruntled groan, he pulled himself up. He was soaking wet, and muddy. At least the rain seemed to have died down. The boy brushed himself off, or tried to, wringing out his shirt. He gathered up his things, rooting through his bag. Making sure he had all of his gear, he stood the bike up. He hoped it still ran, looking it over. With a sigh, he pat the headlight and settled in the seat. It took a moment to get the motor running, but they were off again. He wiped his face as he went on. Away from the borderland. Maybe HQ was still operating, or maybe he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t gone mad yet.

He could only hope.
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>> No. 4905
>> No. 4914

Yes, I stole the title from the song. And I love Silent Hill music

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