The Vision Within (November/AH solo/Triggers--Extreme)

His eyes opened sleepily, the cold yet dark red contours of the room he lay in blurred with his vison, his head foggy and pounding from the drinks he threw back last night. Always a mistake when you had to work in the morning. Still he brought his hands up, rubbing his eyes before pushing himself to a sitting position and looking around. The room was small and plain, and though a fan in the corner pushed air throughout it the place was stifling like a jungle mid-summer. The rectangular lights cast a warm glow and were covered in red tinted plexi-glass, almost as though whoever designed it intended you to believe you were waking in hell. He pushed out of bed, bringing a leg off the edge and casting his eyes about now in confusion. Next to him was a tray with bloody tools littered over it. It was skewed, as though whoever had done the work left in a hurry. The TV in the corner was off and covered in dust, yet it’s bulbous nature gave the impression it was rather dated.

“Hello?” he called out dryly.

His voice was hoarse, unused, his attempt at connection with something or someone falling short. His throat was arid, sound pushing past and out his throat like feet on gravel. He cleared it, trying to loosen his muscles and push his body to wake more fully. He tossed the blankets that had clutched to his other leg aside, noticing for the first time that he was fully clothed- a dark blue long sleeved shirt, jeans and mud brown sneakers. He lifted up his shirt to check for wounds or cuts from the instruments but found only flesh, his chest prickling with the start of hair, the trail from his belly button down through the bottom of his waistband mimicking the same. He felt fear for the first time since he opened his eyes. What was going on?

Last he remembered he’d slammed his laptop shut, tossing it down on the beanbag next to his bed at home. He’d finished the conversation with Elise about their school project on Vlad the Impaler. The History Professor had asked for their assistance and had certain proclivity toward the morbid, and each of his students had to choose one ruler from history they felt would be the most feared in todays world. He had chosen Vlad for the sheer brutality of his methods, and the horror his enemies must have felt, seeing what he did to his own. Elise was a friend of his, not romantic on her end in so far as he could tell, but she worked with him and they hung out at his place from time to time. He preferred talking to her over the computer so that way he didn’t have to deal with her husband, Mathew Dunkel

Talk about a total twat.

He’s one of those guys whose long blonde locks reminded you of prince charming, and his square jaw seemed chiseled from stone. His forehead, broad like a hammerhead shark, his brow pushed down and forcing his eyes half shut. It was almost as though there was a glare from the sun causing him to pinch the beady little things closed. From the neck down, his muscles bulged and popped, and while most would assume Aaron to be the muscle bound type- no. This guy was a body builder. And a woman beater on top of that. Elise always told him to stay out of it, so Aaron did out of respect. It just pissed him off.

Anyway, he’d got done speaking with her and shut his laptop before rolling over to get some sleep. Now he’s was in some psycho’s wet dream. He cracked his neck before heading to the door, trying to get a handle on the shock of his current situation. He took the knob, the cool metal against his skin giving him pause. Someone had to have brought him here so maybe he should wait and hide until they came back? Maybe take them by surprise? It’s obvious this place wasn’t an ordinary hospital or clinic, so it wasn’t like he could assume he had some urgent medical issue. Someone had to have brought him to this silent-hill like playhouse and left him on that table. He closed his eyes, trying to force himself to get a grip before opening them along with the door and poking his head out.

The hallway was empty and covered intermittently with grime and filth in smears and streaks. A gurney sat sideways in the hall to his right cast aside in an apparent rush to get away from…something. He turned his head to the left, and what he saw caused him to shrink back a little. The whole hallway top to bottom was plugged up by various chairs and tables and equipment en masse. There were some streaks of red he didn’t even want to investigate. He quickly closed the door, his heart slamming in his chest like a drum, the sound of it clapping in his ears. He turned around and put his back to the door, walking back into the room and looking around frantically to figure out what the hell was happening to him.

He pulled the bed out a little in an attempt to look under and around it, to see if something else might have been left. There was nothing- just cold fabric and useless cables, running along the wall. He walked around the bed toward the forgotten table of medical tools. He stepped up to it, reaching down and picking up one of the scalpels and checking the red fluid its end was covered in. The blood was dry, indicating it wasn’t him they had been cut on. Still, it was dark enough he knew there was no way it was fake. He ran his tongue over his lips to try and wet them, taking a steadying breath as he slowly cast his eyes back around the room. There was…nothing useful there. He chewed his lip and looked at the scalpel. He took it, walking around the bed and using the blankets to scrub it as clean as possible. He grasped it tightly after. He walked carefully for the door, opening it and stepping out, not taking his time this go around.

His shoes crunched a little on broken glass, an enema bulb skittering away as his foot kicked it. His put his eyes up to look at the rooms numbers- 3162. 3163. He looked back at his own. 3161. He turned around and reached over toward the window, pulling his sleeve down his arm a bit and wiping away a bit of the grime and dust covering the glass. His mouth parted slightly, as his eyes hit the trunks of trees that put Californian sequoia’s to shame. He tried to follow the trees up as high as he could, pushing his face forward between the bars as much as possible to peer up, but they seemed to go on forever. He just stared for several moments trying to rationalize it, when an odd noise caused him to jump and the blood to freeze in his veins.

It sounded like a growl.

His whole body jerked as he turned to stare down the hallway, the noise easing and eventually dying out. He kept his hand on the window and the wall, starting off down the long passage toward the rumblings origin. He saw the open door and the empty pill bottles littered carelessly around the floor outside room 3170, near the end of the hall. He slowed as strange sounds reached his ear, like something was chewing and eating fiercely. As he peered into the door, the two scary thin dogs bent over the body turned to look at him, a low rumbling growl erupting from the one on the right. Their fur was matted with mud but appeared to be a cool gray for the growler. The other was black, yet you could still clearly see the blood around hit’s maw and mouth. Both were baring their teeth.

He bolted around the corner and into the stairwell, slamming shut the door behind him. He didn’t need to look to know that when he leapt away they started after him, the rapid scraping of claws on the tiles indicative of their need for his flesh between their teeth. Aaron felt fear he hadn’t felt since the road-side bombings. What…what…

“You know why we’re here, Hollows….”

Aaron’s eyes widened. The dogs. The skinny, bone thin monsters behind the door were talking to him. Now he knew he was doing insane. Still, he couldn’t help but listen as the insanely deep voice continued it’s growl before speaking again.

“We’re the dogs of Hell, Aaron…here to take you for what you have done to the people of the world. Grrr…..we’re going to rip you apart….you will rest in hell with us.”

Aaron leapt off the door and rushed down the stairs, the dogs smashing it open and chasing after him. He took the first door he could and sprinted down the hall, the barking and scraping of paws indicating their were nipping at his heels. He slammed into a room on his right- but lo, there were thousands of bodies. Piles of them littered about. He….he stared, wide-eyed. Blood dripped from the cracks in the ceiling. The large pile and mass of humanity around him oozed gore. He saw intestines. He saw vomit and shit and flies. Eyes were hanging out of the sockets of children, and the raped bodies of women were covered in semen and piss. Their throats cut. Babies were burned and deformed….Aaron could do nothing but stare in horror. He saw his parents there, entrails sticking from their stomachs. His whole body was shaking.

He jumped at the growl.

As he turned, he felt a sharp, strong pinch at his neck. Teeth bit into his jugular and he could feel the warmth of the blood. Another bit into the back of his thigh, biting the muscle and tearing it from his bone, pulling it out through the skin. He tried to scream but couldn’t as his throat was ripped from his neck, blood spraying up. There he lay, a body on top of bodies, as he felt the dogs begin to feast on him. He turned slowly to the right, seeing the body of his sister. Her eyes were wide open, covered in fluids of every sort. The word “RIOT” was carved into her forehead. She was missing both her arms and legs, clearly sawn off crudely to prevent her from fighting back. He turned his eyes to the left.

Allen was there, his sword jammed up through the bottom of his jaw. His manhood was missing, as were all the fingers on both hands. He had cuts all over, large patches of skin gone….clearly tortured. They were just two among the many. One of the dogs, his blood still on it’s maw, walked forward and spoke to him despite it’s mouth not moving.

“You see? All the bodies from your wars, all the death that you have caused….you law here among them, just a single body among many. How can you hope to protect anyone else if you can’t even protect your own family? You will rest here with us, Aaron Hollows, Mountain of Fallujah. Iron Lion. The Beast back East. All your titles are meaningless here. Here you are simple….pain. Pain and food, Hollows….pain and food-“

“Would you like some food?”

He blinked, looking over at his counselor. She was on her cell phone, grubhub, apparently looking to order them something. She hadn’t yet wrote anything down as far as his condition, so he would grin, putting a hand behind his head with a chuckle.

“Sorry, I spaced there. I’d love something to eat, thank you.[/color]”

She blushed and cleared her throat.

“Yeah no problem. I’ll get you something then. And as I was saying you are clearly making progress. No daymares, no suicide contemplation. Your job seems to be going well…I think very soon, we’ll be able to put you down as fully in remission for PTSD.”

Aaron felt the bodies….saw them around him. Looking at her, he felt sick.

He grinned broadly.

“Yeah, sounds great!”

They….would never know, right?

OOC: Total words: 2110 before OOC note.

+5 Dexterity if possible. please.