Steel on steel. That clunk, it rings through the ears, echoing like one last reminder of the process to follow. Confine, no room to move outside of jumping from thought to thought. Darkness lingers around the corners of the eye, little to see but plenty to fear. Stiff movements, pushing forward, lacking grace or comfort. One sheet of glass remains in front, offering the only freedom from this container. Three other sets of eyes meet, all aware of what is to come, but completely at a loss as to whether each set will still be open by the end.
With a mighty thud, light becomes contraband. Bleak darkness consumes everything in its path. Brief flashes of light meet brief glimpses of hope. Hope meets solid standing, doors open, suddenly those sets of eyes are the only friendly thing down here.
The glow of low-light squirms through, revealing the secrets of the task ahead. Silence dances between stone and metal. Those sets of eyes now have faces, albeit faces disguised under layers of protection. Here we stand, four strangers, alone with only a handful of bullets and some tools to call company.
A few steps forward, scattered movements between discarded crates. Flashlights infiltrate the spaces between. Before us stands our only entrance and our only exit. Though the faces and names may be strange, our actions of perfectly synchronized. Slamming magazines into weaponry, positioning on either side of the hulking door before us. Fumbles into the pack strapped to the back produces a key asset. It may not end the life of anything, but it does get the ball rolling.
Unfashionable, unattractive but necessary. The small display is kind enough to gift the room a weak green luminosity. ‘’See anything?’’ comes from the left of the door, their weapon at the ready. Large circles float across the screen, two, three, four…spread out, mostly the right. Firearms are holstered, the hands they once occupied now play host to blunt objects. ‘’Let’s do it silently’’. The words are met with agreement. Darkness returns as the flashlights are laid to rest, for now anyway.
As the doors open, we see our path. Shadows inhabit the room, giving the fleeting sources of light some room to present themselves. We’re not proud to be here. There’s no standing tall and proud, weapons at hand. Instead, we cower. Hunched up together, squatting in the darkness. A truly pathetic image of vulnerability. We make no sounds, covertly moving between the relics of the lives once lived here. Tables, chairs, boxes, litter.
Green illuminates us once again, the display shows a single dot blocking our path. While avoiding anything that isn’t us is preferable, violence is sometimes required. With ill-intent in our hearts, we shamble forward, awaiting a life form to emerge from the shadow. Wheezing, tortured suffering, a sound so inhuman yet relatable, omitting from the end of the room. We all hear it, a second of silence followed by a briefing.
We know where it is, but we don’t quite know what it is. With this in mind, move forward. ‘’I’ll take it out, just make sure we’re ready for the worst’’ not much of a plan, but a plan nevertheless. One of the voices becomes more distinct, boasting an accent of central Europe, he sounds unsure while checking his weaponry. ‘’Do we shoot it?’’ he asks, only to be met with instant replies of the negative variety. Words pour out from another, this time with a British twang. ‘’They’re sensitive to sound and light, sometimes melee is the only way to go’’ he says with confidence. Admittedly, it’s reassuring to hear as the rest of us clearly lack what he has to offer.
Three sit back, while the fourth takes point. The glint of his silent weapon catches the eye. A hammer? Not exactly subtle is it? I mumble, the others quietly chuckle. Just like that, its blunt head meets with the protruding mass of flesh outlined by the shadows. We move on. Weaving between threats, a single misstep promising violent delights, but not so delightful ends. Footsteps echo through the seemingly endless dark, brief flashes of existence signaled by dull blue light. We know where we are going, but now how we’ll get there.
‘’The objective should be in Section 3’’ a voice proclaims confidently, followed by a swift movement towards a towering door. ‘’I think…’’ a sudden lack of boldness bleeds through, but in such times we grab onto what hope we have. A titan stands before us, locked shut, no sign of vulnerability in sight. Red and green glows brush up its flanks, projected by our comrade’s effort to hack the door.
Success is met with the preparation ritual. Turrets placed on either side of the door, weapons loaded, gear checked. A few final steps taken, sealing up the doors on our sides to ensure the best possible chance of success. Vocal cords rip, cries tear through the steel walls around us, they’re coming.
Pounding at the door, one, two, three, four. Dents appearing, sounds erupting. Every Side of us, like sharks smelling blood. The first appears, hurtling towards us, flailing with unnatural rage. Promptly brought to peace by a well-placed shotgun shell to the upper body, but it means little. For each one that falls, three take its place. Ammunition does little to thin the numbers. Turrets spin and sputter, left empty by the unstoppable wave before us.
Wounded, downtrodden and retreating. We unite in the darkest corner of the room, holding out with what we have. Our defenses shattered, they take our formerly confident leader by consequence. A second is met with a similar fate. Two remain, firing into a sea of foes. Breathing space, a little ray of light in the dark. Their hordes thin out, as do our resources. We take it as a moment of victory, reloading hastily. Silence regains control…but only for a time.
Between the shadows moves an unseen force, large, imposing…approaching. Desperate shots light up the corridor, hinting at the threat to come. Two become one, a sole survivor limping towards anywhere but here. Objectives mean nothing when you’re dead. Sometimes it’s best to just GTFO.
