Chapter 2- The Devil's Own
The dead man on the floor was no longer a man, but an abomination. Its skin was tight and leathery, ripped apart by the small caliber rounds Charlotte had pumped into it. What little clothes clung to the body were ragged and bloody. Its face was obscured by some sort of air filter worn by chemists. But worst of all were its hands, or lack thereof.
Each arm ended in four foot long segment of pipe, sharpened at the end like a prison knife. Flesh clung to the pipe like spiderwebs, keeping the pipes attached to the arms. There was no doubt as to the purpose of these pipes as weapons, as their ends were bloodsoaked and well used.
Charity bent down near the thing's chest. A pair of ID disks were looped around the man's neck.
"Charity, we have to move now. No time to stay here." Charlotte called out from the doorway.
The disks were upside down. Charity gently grabbed them and flipped them over. She lookd down at the name.
Dr. Samuel Pearman.
Suddenly her head began to spin, just as it did when Charlotte had called her name. She could hear screams, mumbles and cries. She could see people in fear, shattering glass and bodies flying. The she could see Samuel Pearman. Pre-abomination Samuel Pearson Talking to her, saying something she could not make out.
"Charity, come quickly..." Charlotte called again.
Lost in her thoughts, Charity could not hear her robotic friend. She also could not see the dead thing open its eyes.
Samuel Pearman, the dead Samuel Pearman, slowly began to sit up, dragging the lead pipes behind its broken body to lift itself up.
Charlotte was not at the door.
What was this man trying to tell her in her dreams? Who was Samuel in life? Why was he here? Where is here?
The thing stood over Charity, glaring down at her firey red hair with contempt and hatred. As it raised its weapon, it breathed out heavily, forming words through gurgles of blood and phlegm.
Charity only came to as the creature shrieked. The pipe was only a few inches away from her face, ready to deal a fatal blow.
Samuel's cry was cut short by a echoing boom. His body sailed across the room, crashing into the far wall with a wet thud. His head was blown to pieces.
Charity turned around, expecting to thank Charlotte once more. But Charlotte was not her savior. A man, clad in tactical gear and carrying a shotgun, loomed over as Samuel had just been. He turned around and called out into the hallway.
"Squad! Consolidate at my location. We've found a survivor."