Disclaimer: The movie Doom and its characters do not belong to me and I make no money from this scribble. This was just a thought that I had while watching…
John reared up in the bed, a scream dying unborn in his throat and his body slicked with sweat. The gun was already equipped with a flashlight and he used it to do a rapid scan around the room. There was nothing. Bringing his ragged breathing under control, he switched the safety back on and put the assault rifle back next to his pillow, where it always was. He noted the damp sheets under him and grimaced as he flicked back the sheets and got up. He checked the clock and noted that he had managed twenty more minutes sleep than the previous night.
* Maybe in thirty years, I'll have worked up to a full eight hours. * He thought wryly.
He activated the blinds and flooded the room with the cold artificial glare of the city lights. Even at the latest hour, the city was never dark. It was the only thing John Grimm liked about the place.
He entered the tiny bathroom and turned on the shower. While waiting for the water to reach a temperature that didn't make his nuts want to crawl into his belly, he used the commode. Done, he stepped into the cubicle, the water now hot and soothing. He braced his hands against the wall and stood with his head under the rushing flow, allowing the heat to wash away the traces of his nightmares.
While the hot liquid streamed over his taught muscles he remembered how Sam had explained the pattern behind the demon attacks. How they knew who would turn and who would die. He thought about the C24 rushing through his system and wondered if a day would come when he took one job too many and he would lose his state of grace, that the C24 would change him, like it changed Sarge.
He stood there until the hot water turned tepid. Turning off the water he snagged his towel off the hook and briskly rubbed himself down. Shoving the towel into the laundry chute, he padded his way into the bedroom where he yanked on some clothes and then threw himself into the chair that looked out of the window into the glaring city.
No matter how many times he played the scene over in his mind, no matter how many times he got Sam to explain it to him, he couldn't make a decision. She had told him that Duke had protected her when the Carmack demon propelled its venomous tongue at them, and that it had missed.
What John Grimm couldn't decide on was who the demon was aiming at, Duke or Sam….