herp a derp.
Didn't really feel like posting this on dA until I got more out of it, but this is what I have so far.
Title: No Happy Endings
Game: L4D2
Characters/Pairing: Nick/Ellis (Not in this part, but I swear there will be some later on.)
Rating: idfk, R? NC-17? There's going to be gaysex later on, and probably some mentions of suicide.
Summary: "Promises are made to be broken." That's what Nick always told himself, until he met those three on the roof of The Vannah that day. As they walked through the circles of Hell, he could always count on them to watch his back and before long, he watched theirs. One in particular showed him that life could be worth living, that maybe these circumstances weren't as bad as he made them out to be. He began to have hope, and that was his mistake.
Word Count: 921 (WiP)
Warnings: Death, suicidal thoughts, sex
Author's Notes: God, I'm terrible with summaries. I didn't really wanna give away what happens in the story, would sort of take away the impact. When I write, I always end up whipping around with time and point of view, I confuse myself a lot. I'll be writing the beginning of the story and suddenly get inspiration for a flashback and then I'm like SHIT HOW AM I GOING TO TIE THIS INTO THE STORY and I end up with like a 3 page long flashback and I'm rambling now so I'll stop.
This story will be mostly told from Nick's point of view, and I'm hoping to make it a few chapters, at least. I got some ideas from herewithstupid and provided I can stop being lazy and tear myself away from TF2 (OF COURSE THIS WEEK IS THE ENGINEER UPDATE HURR DURR), I'll try to get them out in a timely fashion. idk, Umineko 6's english patch is almost done so that'll probably distract me too. I'm also waiting for my beta-er, x_lolipop_x to get her computer back, but I'm probably just making excuses for my own laziness now SO WHATEVER. I hope you can enjoy what little I've got here, and I hope if you do enjoy it, you'll look forward to more.
-------------------
They had raced across that bridge, the landscape rocking every few minutes as the earth went to hell around them. They had boarded the helicopter together, hand in hand, hopeful smiles adorning their faces. They had delusions that they would get out of this relatively unscathed.
Once the chopper had landed, they were forced out of the cabin and separated. Nick was taken into an open white room, watched over by men in hazmat suits. He was ordered to strip down completely; they couldn’t risk his clothes contaminating others. They sprayed him down with hoses filled with dubious chemicals, stinging slightly as it was forced into each and every wound. Needles poked and prodded at skin, draining samples of blood and tissue. Pens wrote furiously at paper tacked onto clipboards, recording data. The con man watched with a feigned interest. He was more so lost in his own thoughts than the events going on around him.
“Is this what you call saved?” he muttered under his breath.
The con man was forced into a chair and his wrists were held down with leather straps. A buzzing noise filled his ears; they were going to shave him. Damn, they really didn’t wanna take any risks. The greasy brown locks that had been grabbed, stroked, and pulled countless times in the past week fell unceremoniously to the white tile below. Slowly, thoroughly, the razor drew lines in his scalp, making sure each and every hair was gone before moving down to his face.
His eyebrows were obliterated, his thin moustache vanished, sideburns and stubble surrendered to the cold, unrelenting steel. When they were finished, he doubted Ellis would recognize him.
A small smile rose to his face at the thought of the men trying to wrestle the hat from the boy’s hands. He’d no doubt be throwing a fit when they took out the razor,
“No! Not my hair! Come on, man!”
Before long, the straps holding down his arms were released and he was ushered up and out of the pure, white room. He was led down a wide highway, dimly-lit by hanging florescent lamps. They flickered and flashed, causing their shadows to dance beside them as they walked. Nick glanced around; the passage was filled with small tables lined with vials of blood samples and gurneys. Some contained nothing more than bundles of clean sheets, most contained… something else entirely.
Bodies, most covered with a single white cover. Red splotches stained the fabric around their chests, their exposed arms and faces riddled with marks from syringes. They lacked the pale pigmentation of the infected; they were immune… just as he was. Nick shivered, wondering if this was going to be their fate. They had come so far… was this their reward? To be used as lab rats before being executed in some slow, painful dissection? He closed his eyes in contemplation and held his hands together in prayer, something he hadn’t done in… shit, he didn’t know how long.
“Please, God, don’t let this be the end for us. For Ro, for Coach, for Ellis…” he said, barely above a whisper. He could swear he heard one of the men beside him snicker, and he clenched his teeth.
“In there, sir.” One of them said, partially muffled by the air-tight suit he was wearing. It was a small room, probably a closet before CEDA had taken over the building for use as an impromptu laboratory. The man picked up a small heap of clothing from a bin beside the doorway and handed it to the con man.
It was a pair of white scrubs, as well as a pair of white slippers that hospital patients often had to wear.
The room had no door, in its place was a metal rod shoved into the threshold and a thin shower curtain hanging from it. Nick entered and pulled the curtain closed behind him, giving him a brief feeling of privacy. The room was no more than 10x10, and along the wall opposite the door was a small wooden bench. A wall-length mirror hung to his right, slightly cracked and stained with what he hoped wasn’t blood. The whole thing was lit by a small light bulb hanging from the ceiling by a wire. As weak as it was, it was still able to provide him with adequate light to dress himself in the uniform provided.
He held the thin, paper-like material to his nose and inhaled. It smelled highly of disinfectant, the kind of stuff you’d use to spray when a kid threw up or something. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, a slight feeling of nausea coming over him. He had always considered himself a neat freak, but there were limits. He hastily put on the thin pants, raising the shirt over his head and slipping it onto his chest. He sat down on the bench and shoved his feet into the slippers.
He sighed and closed his eyes. They had leapt right out of the frying pan into the fire. He replayed the moments of doubt through his mind. That biker in Rayford had said something about the military, he was sure of it. About how they were sick of it, and it only caused them more grief once they’d been taken up north. They had all seen those bodies outside the trailer, the tally marks and graffiti describing the horrors their saviors had carried out. He should’ve stopped right there, should’ve been the voice of reason.
Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve.
Title: No Happy Endings
Game: L4D2
Characters/Pairing: Nick/Ellis (Not in this part, but I swear there will be some later on.)
Rating: idfk, R? NC-17? There's going to be gaysex later on, and probably some mentions of suicide.
Summary: "Promises are made to be broken." That's what Nick always told himself, until he met those three on the roof of The Vannah that day. As they walked through the circles of Hell, he could always count on them to watch his back and before long, he watched theirs. One in particular showed him that life could be worth living, that maybe these circumstances weren't as bad as he made them out to be. He began to have hope, and that was his mistake.
Word Count: 921 (WiP)
Warnings: Death, suicidal thoughts, sex
Author's Notes: God, I'm terrible with summaries. I didn't really wanna give away what happens in the story, would sort of take away the impact. When I write, I always end up whipping around with time and point of view, I confuse myself a lot. I'll be writing the beginning of the story and suddenly get inspiration for a flashback and then I'm like SHIT HOW AM I GOING TO TIE THIS INTO THE STORY and I end up with like a 3 page long flashback and I'm rambling now so I'll stop.
This story will be mostly told from Nick's point of view, and I'm hoping to make it a few chapters, at least. I got some ideas from herewithstupid and provided I can stop being lazy and tear myself away from TF2 (OF COURSE THIS WEEK IS THE ENGINEER UPDATE HURR DURR), I'll try to get them out in a timely fashion. idk, Umineko 6's english patch is almost done so that'll probably distract me too. I'm also waiting for my beta-er, x_lolipop_x to get her computer back, but I'm probably just making excuses for my own laziness now SO WHATEVER. I hope you can enjoy what little I've got here, and I hope if you do enjoy it, you'll look forward to more.
-------------------
They had raced across that bridge, the landscape rocking every few minutes as the earth went to hell around them. They had boarded the helicopter together, hand in hand, hopeful smiles adorning their faces. They had delusions that they would get out of this relatively unscathed.
Once the chopper had landed, they were forced out of the cabin and separated. Nick was taken into an open white room, watched over by men in hazmat suits. He was ordered to strip down completely; they couldn’t risk his clothes contaminating others. They sprayed him down with hoses filled with dubious chemicals, stinging slightly as it was forced into each and every wound. Needles poked and prodded at skin, draining samples of blood and tissue. Pens wrote furiously at paper tacked onto clipboards, recording data. The con man watched with a feigned interest. He was more so lost in his own thoughts than the events going on around him.
“Is this what you call saved?” he muttered under his breath.
The con man was forced into a chair and his wrists were held down with leather straps. A buzzing noise filled his ears; they were going to shave him. Damn, they really didn’t wanna take any risks. The greasy brown locks that had been grabbed, stroked, and pulled countless times in the past week fell unceremoniously to the white tile below. Slowly, thoroughly, the razor drew lines in his scalp, making sure each and every hair was gone before moving down to his face.
His eyebrows were obliterated, his thin moustache vanished, sideburns and stubble surrendered to the cold, unrelenting steel. When they were finished, he doubted Ellis would recognize him.
A small smile rose to his face at the thought of the men trying to wrestle the hat from the boy’s hands. He’d no doubt be throwing a fit when they took out the razor,
“No! Not my hair! Come on, man!”
Before long, the straps holding down his arms were released and he was ushered up and out of the pure, white room. He was led down a wide highway, dimly-lit by hanging florescent lamps. They flickered and flashed, causing their shadows to dance beside them as they walked. Nick glanced around; the passage was filled with small tables lined with vials of blood samples and gurneys. Some contained nothing more than bundles of clean sheets, most contained… something else entirely.
Bodies, most covered with a single white cover. Red splotches stained the fabric around their chests, their exposed arms and faces riddled with marks from syringes. They lacked the pale pigmentation of the infected; they were immune… just as he was. Nick shivered, wondering if this was going to be their fate. They had come so far… was this their reward? To be used as lab rats before being executed in some slow, painful dissection? He closed his eyes in contemplation and held his hands together in prayer, something he hadn’t done in… shit, he didn’t know how long.
“Please, God, don’t let this be the end for us. For Ro, for Coach, for Ellis…” he said, barely above a whisper. He could swear he heard one of the men beside him snicker, and he clenched his teeth.
“In there, sir.” One of them said, partially muffled by the air-tight suit he was wearing. It was a small room, probably a closet before CEDA had taken over the building for use as an impromptu laboratory. The man picked up a small heap of clothing from a bin beside the doorway and handed it to the con man.
It was a pair of white scrubs, as well as a pair of white slippers that hospital patients often had to wear.
The room had no door, in its place was a metal rod shoved into the threshold and a thin shower curtain hanging from it. Nick entered and pulled the curtain closed behind him, giving him a brief feeling of privacy. The room was no more than 10x10, and along the wall opposite the door was a small wooden bench. A wall-length mirror hung to his right, slightly cracked and stained with what he hoped wasn’t blood. The whole thing was lit by a small light bulb hanging from the ceiling by a wire. As weak as it was, it was still able to provide him with adequate light to dress himself in the uniform provided.
He held the thin, paper-like material to his nose and inhaled. It smelled highly of disinfectant, the kind of stuff you’d use to spray when a kid threw up or something. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, a slight feeling of nausea coming over him. He had always considered himself a neat freak, but there were limits. He hastily put on the thin pants, raising the shirt over his head and slipping it onto his chest. He sat down on the bench and shoved his feet into the slippers.
He sighed and closed his eyes. They had leapt right out of the frying pan into the fire. He replayed the moments of doubt through his mind. That biker in Rayford had said something about the military, he was sure of it. About how they were sick of it, and it only caused them more grief once they’d been taken up north. They had all seen those bodies outside the trailer, the tally marks and graffiti describing the horrors their saviors had carried out. He should’ve stopped right there, should’ve been the voice of reason.
Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve.