Alchemilla Hospital (Nightmare World)
She stands, head spinning from the pain, then curses when she sees where she is.
"Rachel? RACHEL?!"
She shouts in a panic before she remembers that making noise here might not be the best plan ever.
So she does what she's always done- grit her teeth and prepare to go it alone.
The flashlight comes on. She tries the exit- not opening anytime soon. She quickly searches the lobby, coming up with a first aid kit and a map of the building.
And she readies her gun and heads in.
She's starting to get used to the burned smell. (The hint of cooked meat makes her mouth water a little. She swallows and tries not to think about food.) Her feet crunch on broken tile and grit. She doesn't think about the dark smears on the walls, ceiling, and floors, or the thick, corroded bars over the windows. (And the door to the office, preventing anyone from going through.) She just focuses on forward, on finding an exit.
The hall door opens. She leaves the stairwell for later- a jump from a higher floor is not her idea of a safe bet. The map shows a side exit on the other end of the building- she's aiming for that. If the second hallway door will open...
It does. With a soft, hissed "yesss!" she moves on.
And then hits a wall of bars just around the corner.
"Motherfucker!"
She breathes and seethes and says some more unprintables directed to the town in general. Then she takes stock of her surroundings. One door is unblocked- the lounge. And there might be a way around the bars...
There isn't. But there's some sealed snack food in the refrigerator, and there's a bulletin board.
"two-oh-three," she mutters to herself, removing the note. A humorless smile quirks a corner of her mouth. Her mother's "unlucky number." The memory of the woman freaking out once during apartment hunting rises in her head- she refused to even be on the second floor if she had to pass that number.
Sighing, she shakes the memory off and resigns herself to seeking a higher exit.
The stairwell is warm, uncomfortably so, and casts weird, flickering shadows behind her. The smell is stronger here, too; she pulls her shirt over her nose and tests the walking surface. She can feel the heat through her sneakers, but everything seems solid. She makes her way to the second floor as quickly as she can safely manage.
It's a good thing she wasn't headed for the third floor- the stairs stop abruptly, leaving a gap and a fall into a burning furnace. "...no fuckin' thanks," she mutters.
For a moment, she worries that the stairwell door will be blocked and she'll be stuck. But it opens onto another burnt, bloody, barred hall.
The doors seem more suited to a jail than a hospital- observation windows, criscrossed with wire so they can't be broken through; heavy locks and thick metal. She's peering through one's window when her cell starts up again.
Her flashlight beam races across the walls until it hits a blotch of blue scrubs.
"Shit! What..."
The head turns. The nurse moves forward.
There's no face under the surgical mask and cap. The figure's stride is jerky and inhuman. And that's a big needle in its hand.
But it looks like a person. So she holds the gun up, hands shaking, as she backs into the wall.
"b- Back off, asshole! STOP!"
It staggers closer.
It raises the syringe.
The muzzle flash glints from the needle. Amber can't hear the bang over her screaming and the rushing in her ears.
She flees to the stairwell again, leaning against the door, panting, eyes squeezed shut.
fuck this place fuck this place fuck this place
The gun shakes from her hands and clatters on the ground. Her legs give out. The floor is hot against her bottom. She doesn't notice.
fuck this place fuck this place fuck this place
She breathes.
WUMP
The door shakes. Amber screams and jumps away from it.
WUMP
It's still there it's still moving and she can't get out and it knows where she is.
WUMP
And her spine prickles with steel.
WUMP
Gun. Bullets? Yes. Stand back. Reach. Turn knob.
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG click click click click
wump
The only movement is her chest and the blood spreading across the floor.
She lowers the gun and sobs.
"Rachel? RACHEL?!"
She shouts in a panic before she remembers that making noise here might not be the best plan ever.
So she does what she's always done- grit her teeth and prepare to go it alone.
The flashlight comes on. She tries the exit- not opening anytime soon. She quickly searches the lobby, coming up with a first aid kit and a map of the building.
And she readies her gun and heads in.
She's starting to get used to the burned smell. (The hint of cooked meat makes her mouth water a little. She swallows and tries not to think about food.) Her feet crunch on broken tile and grit. She doesn't think about the dark smears on the walls, ceiling, and floors, or the thick, corroded bars over the windows. (And the door to the office, preventing anyone from going through.) She just focuses on forward, on finding an exit.
The hall door opens. She leaves the stairwell for later- a jump from a higher floor is not her idea of a safe bet. The map shows a side exit on the other end of the building- she's aiming for that. If the second hallway door will open...
It does. With a soft, hissed "yesss!" she moves on.
And then hits a wall of bars just around the corner.
"Motherfucker!"
She breathes and seethes and says some more unprintables directed to the town in general. Then she takes stock of her surroundings. One door is unblocked- the lounge. And there might be a way around the bars...
There isn't. But there's some sealed snack food in the refrigerator, and there's a bulletin board.
"two-oh-three," she mutters to herself, removing the note. A humorless smile quirks a corner of her mouth. Her mother's "unlucky number." The memory of the woman freaking out once during apartment hunting rises in her head- she refused to even be on the second floor if she had to pass that number.
Sighing, she shakes the memory off and resigns herself to seeking a higher exit.
The stairwell is warm, uncomfortably so, and casts weird, flickering shadows behind her. The smell is stronger here, too; she pulls her shirt over her nose and tests the walking surface. She can feel the heat through her sneakers, but everything seems solid. She makes her way to the second floor as quickly as she can safely manage.
It's a good thing she wasn't headed for the third floor- the stairs stop abruptly, leaving a gap and a fall into a burning furnace. "...no fuckin' thanks," she mutters.
For a moment, she worries that the stairwell door will be blocked and she'll be stuck. But it opens onto another burnt, bloody, barred hall.
The doors seem more suited to a jail than a hospital- observation windows, criscrossed with wire so they can't be broken through; heavy locks and thick metal. She's peering through one's window when her cell starts up again.
Her flashlight beam races across the walls until it hits a blotch of blue scrubs.
"Shit! What..."
The head turns. The nurse moves forward.
There's no face under the surgical mask and cap. The figure's stride is jerky and inhuman. And that's a big needle in its hand.
But it looks like a person. So she holds the gun up, hands shaking, as she backs into the wall.
"b- Back off, asshole! STOP!"
It staggers closer.
It raises the syringe.
The muzzle flash glints from the needle. Amber can't hear the bang over her screaming and the rushing in her ears.
She flees to the stairwell again, leaning against the door, panting, eyes squeezed shut.
fuck this place fuck this place fuck this place
The gun shakes from her hands and clatters on the ground. Her legs give out. The floor is hot against her bottom. She doesn't notice.
fuck this place fuck this place fuck this place
She breathes.
WUMP
The door shakes. Amber screams and jumps away from it.
WUMP
It's still there it's still moving and she can't get out and it knows where she is.
WUMP
And her spine prickles with steel.
WUMP
Gun. Bullets? Yes. Stand back. Reach. Turn knob.
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG click click click click
wump
The only movement is her chest and the blood spreading across the floor.
She lowers the gun and sobs.