Chapter Text
A man with no memories woke up in a gray-lit town filled with broken buildings and crowned with a dreary sky. He was lying on a cracked asphalt street, completely out in the open. He sat up, muddled confusion humming in his head. Cliched, almost useless questions fly through his head. What day was it? Where was he? Who was he?
He should be panicking, or at least shouting for help. But there was no one near—just him and the gray world. With shaking hands, he patted himself down.
'I'll figure this out,' he thought with determination as his shaking died down.
He's uninjured, which is a relief. He's wearing dark jeans, a gray hoodie with battered cuffs, and worn boots. A quick pass of his hand over his head reveals a knit beanie, and he can feel that he's wearing a poorly fitted shirt under the hoodie. A search of his pockets yields no phone, wallet, nor keys, but the hoodie has a pocket cleverly sewn in the inside lining over his left pectoral. That hidden pocket contains a single sheet of tightly folded paper.
The paper is a letter, addressed on the outside simply as to “Gabriel”—to him. The name clicks into place with such ease it's almost a surprise that he had forgotten it. Almost. His name is Gabriel, he knows that with such confidence that it is simply a fact, but anything else about himself is lost in a fog. It should be frightening, this lack of memories, but he has no time to panic. He only has himself to rely on, and he can only move forward.
He carefully unfolds the paper, distantly noting that the paper is deeply creased from folding and refolding as if he, the owner, often read and reread its contents before storing it away safely next to his heart. The letter's contents are short and written in a hurried hand in black ink. It says:
Gabriel,
Meet you at home.
—Jack
It's almost a disappointment with how little is revealed, but nonetheless, Gabriel harvests what information he can. He knows someone named Jack, and...
He has a home.
–
Move forward. It's all Gabriel can really do. He needs to find basic necessities: food, water, and shelter. He's doesn't need them yet, but even without his memories he knows he's going to need them soon. He also needs to find people. It's odd that he hasn't come across anyone yet. He's in an urban environment, not lost in the woods. Someone should be around.
“What should be” is not the same as reality. As he walks through the gray town, he sees no sign of life besides his own. The few trees planted on the side of the road are barren leafless effigies, their empty branches reaching out to the gray sky like grasping hands. The town is just a maze of rundown buildings with boarded up windows and doors. The whole place seems abandoned. There are no people, no animals. No life. Even the color has been leeched out of this place, leaving everything gray and muted. It's so quiet, so very still. Gabriel can only hear his own breaths and the scuff of his footsteps.
This town is almost unreal in its emptiness. Gabriel finds unease curling in his gut. He rubs his hands over his arms despite the lack of chill. He's alone in this gray empty place. Alone. He's all alone. There's nothing here. Just like his memories.
Nothing. There's nothing. Nothing at all. There's nothing here!
Snarling in frustration, Gabriel slams his fist into a nearby wall. What the fuck is he doing? He's wandering around in circles! He doesn't understand—doesn't know anything. What can he do?
He let out a breath. Unconsciously, his hand pressed over his heart—over the letter. He can't just give up. He had a home and, more importantly, someone waiting for him there. Jack.
Suddenly, a shrill shriek shattered the silence.
Gabriel is turning and running before he fully registers the noise. He's moving on pure instinct. But instead of running away, he runs towards the sound, a feral grin lighting up his face. He doesn't notice. His body is on autopilot.
This feels familiar. It sings in his bones and in his heart, this feeling of danger, danger; run, run, run—fight, fight, fight. He feels so alive—he feels like he's burning up. He runs towards a chain-link fence, and scales it without a second thought, his momentum allowing him to swing over the barricade with graceful ease.
It's instinct to roll with the landing, then spring back up, alert and ready. And then, he stops cold at the sight that greets him. For the first time since he woke up, he lays his eyes on something that isn't drab and gray.
It's red.
There's so much red. So much. Vibrant red liquid paints the ground, and seeps into the cracks on the road, like a thirsty field sucking up water. Gabriel knows what this is without being told.
It's brutality. Blood is spilled all across the street, crimson splattered and sprayed out in mad visceral patterns. There's so, so much, and it glistens wetly in the dim light. It's fresh. The scent of copper is unbelievably strong; Gabriel can practically taste it on his tongue, as if he had been sucking on pennies.
He feels bile rise in his throat, and he swallows it down. He can't break down now; he refuses to. Gabriel takes shallow breaths through his mouth, trying to avoid the bloody stench. There's so much red, so much blood, and there's something about this scene that makes the inside of his head itch.
He's seen this before.
The thought is persistent, nagging at his mind. He's seen this before. But where? How?
Gabriel looked closer.
There's a lump in the center of all that red. His curiosity beats out the caution that starts buzzing in his veins. Carefully (or was it carelessly?) Gabriel takes a few steps towards it, his boots slipping slightly in the blood. When he gets close enough to get a good look, the bottom of his stomach falls out.
In the center of the blood pool is a person. Or rather what was left of one. The body is drenched in blood, turning every scrap of clothing it's wearing bright crimson—even the leather jacket it wears. The face was so thoroughly coated in blood that Gabriel had a hard time making out any features. The cracked red visor that rested over the eyes didn't help either. The corpse's torso was heavily damaged with huge holes punched through the flesh like Swiss cheese. The left arm was barely attached with a strip of sinew barely an inch wide. But it's the right hand that grabs Gabriel's attention.
Barbed wire wound tightly down the limb, piercing through the leather jacket and into the dead flesh underneath. The wire curled tightly around the corpse's hand, binding a rifle to its grip.
The rifle was stocky looking weapon, something built with purpose and practicality in mind rather than beauty. It looked heavy—it probably required two hands to handle unless the user felt like getting knocked on their ass from recoil. Like its owner, the gun was covered in blood, completely obscuring whatever paint job lay beneath, and red liquid was oozing into the grooves. It would be a miracle if the gun could fire with all the filth that undoubtedly made its way inside the firing mechanism.
Still, Gabriel knew that having a weapon would be useful, and it wasn't like the dead guy was going to use it. He reached towards the gun.
Quick as a viper, the corpse's left hand snapped up, and snagged Gabriel's wrist.
“Holy fucking shit!” Gabriel yelled, his heart rate skyrocketing in an instant. Panicking, Gabriel wrenched his hand up, trying to get away from the animated corpse. He heard a wet, sickening riiiip as the scrap of flesh holding the corpse's arm in place tore away. Despite the disconnection, cold fingers tightened around Gabriel's wrist in a vise-like grip.
Gabriel shouted wordlessly, trying to pry the hand off of him. After a frantic, mad struggle, he was able to wrench the thing off, and fling it away. To his shock, the arm flew back to the (not so) dead body. The limb did not reattach fully with regrown flesh and bone, but instead drifted into its proper spot, staying in position as if invisible string sewed the arm back to its rightful place.
Fear's icy tendrils wormed their way into Gabriel's heart, freezing him in place and forcing him to watch as the corpse slowly stood up, liquid crimson still pouring from its wounds. Some distantly numb part of Gabriel's mind noted that a real human couldn't possibly contain so much blood. This...creature was completely unnatural.
'No shit!' the rest of Gabriel's brain mentally shrieked back.
For a moment, the monster simply stood there, its head bent low. It turned and flexed its unattached limb, balling the fingers up in a fist then spreading them out to test their movement. It opened its mouth, as if to speak, but made no sound. Instead, fresh crimson bubbled up from its ruined lips and dripped down its chin, the fat droplets splattering on the already soaked ground. The messy display made Gabriel's stomach lurch, and subconsciously, his shaky legs stumbled backwards until his back hit the weathered wood door of a nearby shop.
He should have run. Moved. Done something. But his shell-shocked mind couldn't help but stare at the bloody corpse in horrified fascination. It looked like...it looked almost...familiar.
A strangled noise made its way out of Gabriel's throat.
The creature snapped its head up at the sound, the visor it wore glowing with hellish light. Gabriel felt like a moth pinned in place by the monster's stare. The rifle's barrel rose to level with Gabriel's chest. Again the creature made no noise, but even so, Gabriel could hear cold words echo in his skull.
I've got you in my sights.
Gabriel froze.
He would have died then. He should have. But a sharp click click from the rifle confirmed Gabriel's earlier assessment. The gun was jammed.
The visor the monster wore flared up again with sinister light, as if in irritation. It smacked its free hand against the side of the weapon, trying to dislodge the block. Gabriel seized his chance, wrenched the door to his back wide open, and darted inside.
Run, run, run . Don't stop.
He ran through the twisting corridors inside the guts of the dilapidated building, feeling like a rat in a maze. The creature gave chase, the heavy thud of its boots echoing behind Gabriel, uncomfortably close. Gabriel swore, trying to pick up the pace. As he sprinted, he shoved over and pulled down random objects he passed—tables, shelving, old boxes—all in hopes of slowing the monster down.
Despite its ruined appearance, the creature was agile, deftly dodging debris, and nimbly scaling the makeshift barriers Gabriel tossed down. It was a fast fucker too, its strangely smooth stride eating up ground like it was nothing. As soon as it was close enough, it swiped at Gabriel, using the rifle like a bat.
The gun made solid contact with Gabriel's back, sending the man sprawling down the hallway and into a nearby filing cabinet, denting the cheap metal. Gabriel tried to recover, but the creature smashed its weapon into Gabriel's back again, sending him back down and causing him to cry out.
Gabriel curled up, his arms coming up to protect his head, as he tried to prepare for the next blow. It never came.
Suddenly, a speeding figure bull-rushed into the monster, sending it flying back. To Gabriel's shock it was a human—a person. Before the creature could recover, the newcomer grabbed the dented cabinet and flung it at monster, all in one fluid movement. Bam! Direct hit. The monster was pinned—momentarily. Gabriel was tugged upward, his savior already pulling him away in another direction.
“Come on!” Gabriel's rescuer shouted, “That won't keep 'em down for long!”
The other led Gabriel down another set of zigzagging hallways made of decaying plaster walls. Gabriel quickly lost track of where they were going. Abruptly, his savior shoved them both through a doorway and into a tiny closet. Gabriel's flash of confusion quickly fizzled out when the other pressed a finger to lips in the universal sign for silence.
Right. Hiding then.
The stranger barely glanced at Gabriel, instead focusing on peering through the wooden slats that made up the closet door, carefully scanning for the monster. Gabriel left the other be, concentrating on calming his body down. He took a few slow breaths, trying to slow his heart and quiet his tired panting. He pressed a hand over his heart, over the letter, and quietly reassured himself. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting in the closet, he turned his attention to observing the stranger.
His savior was a well built man, roughly the same height as Gabriel himself. The stranger was mostly dressed in bland neutral-colored clothing, save for a pair of red motorcycle gloves. He had white hair and a pale face lined with both age and scars. The largest scar, an old angry red line that had healed poorly, nearly bisected his face as it trailed over his forehead, across the bridge of his nose, and down his cheek. A second scar, which cut across his lips, looked equally as ragged.
But it was the stranger's eyes that drew Gabriel's attention. They were a brilliant shade of blue—a bright vibrant color that seemed at odds with drab grays and disturbing crimsons Gabriel had seen so far. That vivid blue strangely seemed more real than anything Gabriel had ever witnessed in his admittedly short memory. More alive.
It hit Gabriel just then—finally he wasn't alone. There was someone else. Someone alive.
After a few minutes of tense silence, Gabriel's rescuer slowly opened the door. The hinges creaked slightly, causing both men to wince. They waited a moment with bated breath, but the blood-covered corpse didn't reappear.
“Thanks,” Gabriel said gratefully.
“No prob—” the other man began, only for the words to die in his mouth as he turned to face Gabriel properly for the first time. Brilliant blue eyes widened, shock written plainly all over scarred features. Gabriel frowned, completely confused.
“Something wrong?” Gabriel asked. Was there something on his face?
The other man quickly schooled his expression into something more neutral, and started to reply, when suddenly a deep throaty chuckle cut him off. The sound echoed all around them, bouncing off the walls and making it impossible to locate the source. Gabriel shivered as the temperature in the whole hallway suddenly dropped, causing his breath to come out in white frosted plumes. The already dim lighting started to flicker, causing the shadows to thicken.
“Shit!” the stranger hissed, his whole body tensing as he looked around warily, “'Reaper'!”
Before Gabriel could ask what the “Reaper” was, the shadows in the hall suddenly writhed like a body convulsing in death throes. Dozens of crimson eyes and fang-filled mouths opened up in the roiling mass of darkness. The red orbs practically glowed with hunger and madness, and that deep laugh started layering on itself in a disjointed chorus as more grinning jaws bloomed into existence.
“Run!” the white-haired man barked out, already dashing away from the living shadows. Gabriel didn't have to be told twice, and rushed to follow the other man.
Behind them, the tangled knot of shadows twisted and contorted into itself, slowly condensing into solid form. Gabriel didn't have time to get a good look at the laughing beast that slowly clawed its way out of the smoky darkness. He was too busy running for his life. Again.
The two humans rounded a corner, only to be stopped dead in their tracks when they found the first blood-stained monster standing at the end of the hallway.
“Fuck,” Gabriel's new friend swore, his body as tense as a bowstring, “I forgot about 'Soldier.'”
At first, Gabriel wondered why the other man called the walking corpse the “Soldier.” Then he thought back to when he saw the creature in motion; crisp clean movements—economical and efficient, despite the ruin of its flesh. At rest it stood completely still and straight, its face looking directly ahead—a Soldier at perfect attention.
At the moment, the “Soldier” remained motionless—simply blocking their escape as the “Reaper” made its way over from behind them. His heart hammering in his chest, Gabriel turned to face the still laughing shadow creature.
The “Reaper” was a nightmarish figure only vaguely shaped like a human. It had no legs, instead gliding forward on a mess of curling smoky shadows, wild red eyes, and snapping mouths. That same roiling darkness flowed around its body to make a hooded cloak. Underneath the hood was a yawning black void and a slash of a mouth grinning in the darkness. It had dark talons for hands, the claws wickedly curved and easily capable of gutting a man. The torso was only a skeletal rib cage, the bleached bones a startling contrast to the deep darkness of the “Reaper's” shadows. Oddly enough, the rib cage wasn't empty. Inside was a snarl of barbed wire cradling a still beating heart.
Gabriel's jaw clenched. His companion was staring at the shadow creature with an utterly hopeless expression stamped across his face. They were trapped. Dead. So dead. And judging by the “Reaper's” snickering, the monsters knew it too. Through the laughter, Gabriel swore he heard the “Reaper” murmur a sneering taunt.
Death comes.
“Yeah, fuck you,” Gabriel growled out defiantly. There was still a way out of this.
He rammed his whole body against the nearby wall. Just as he predicted, the old shabby barrier broke under his weight, and he tumbled through to the other side.
But, instead of falling into another room, he kept falling. And falling. And falling. He tumbled helplessly through a unending pit, trying and failing to right himself. He cried out, completely at the mercy of gravity and the darkness around him.
As he fell, he thought he heard someone calling out his name. But that was impossible.
Gabriel blacked out before he hit the ground.