Forward
HELP is a secretive WAR (Worldwide Assault & Rescue) agency that is responsible for violently eliminating hostile paranormals around the globe. Although HELP (Hostile Elimination of Paranormals) is known in the governmental underworld as containing a starring role of gung-ho soldiers and commanders—it is the men that serve point, leading the frontline of the group, that should receive the most…pity. The things they see are often more disturbing than when they must deal with them, things beyond this world of demonic and evil natures. These men's eyes shrivel at each horrific sight, their skin tingles and hands tremble, brain throbs, blood races, and the heart beats faster than ever every second they enact their job. Their job. It is often that these men furtively scribble suicide notes—of which are never found, nor performed; it is more often that they write our their confessions of past sins [both minor and major—yet never discovered.
It is these men that have a buried cry for help.
For it is these soldiers of HELP that deserve the most credit—and pity—for their valor and dedication to the cause of maintaining a safe world for the human race.
Shadow Blast
1:24 a.m., Nov. 16
"Shit…shit!"
"Hey, Charlie!?"
"Shit!" Charlie Newman smacks his XAF against his gloved palm, trying to revive the dying battery. "Fuck!" The darkness enveloping him is beyond pitch black; without light, he is lost in the shadows.
"Charlie!" Stewie Kensworth continues to call, breaking the surrounding silence. He turns corners and jogs down hallways…guiding his path with the Xtreme Attachment Flashlight integrated into his G36E.
Charlie, however—two minutes' distance from his rushing comrade—was not so fortunate.
Then it clicked.
The XAF lens flickered with light—and then shone on. Charlie's satisfactory grin was vaguely visible; the light beam lit a clear path ten feet ahead of him. He quickly spun on his heel to reverse, and turned a sharp corner—
The XAF beam glared a spotlight unto the paranormal face of a hideous being having lurked in the shadows. Charlie stopped short as the horror's series of crimson eyes flared—and visible breath shot out its flat-nosed nostrils.
"Ah, f—"
The creature's maw gaped and a mouth of needle teeth glinted from the XAF light, whilst a screeching hiss burst from within.
Charlie's delayed reaction time was not smart, but he remained lucky enough to deliver the first strike. He pulled back the trigger. The MP5A4 rumbled in his gripping hands as it sprayed out half its clip into the creature—at point-blank range. The infernal beast shuddered from the direct hail of 9mm gunfire, unable to even reach out as it was battered from close range. Finally, the creature's chest pumped full of lead, it collapsed backwards so it lay sprawled out supine on the floor. Still, though barely, alive, the thing squirmed and hissed for a moment—a dozen eyes frantically blinking—while oily burgundy blood oozed from its jaws.
Charlie stepped forward, pressing his G.I. Timberland upon the creature's wounded torso, and made five more crimson 'eyes' in its face. At last it ceased movement.
Being the often-vain young man he was, Charlie nodded to himself while smiling conceitedly; he figured killing one was better than none—which is completely true. However, he was far too sure of himself, especially now. Thence he trotted forward and took a wide turn around the next corner, his weapon half-raised.
"Fuckin' shit," Charlie's eyelids shot wide and his jaw dropped.
The hallway ahead was about fifty yards down to the far exit, five yards wide…and flowing with throngs of those twelve-eyed freaks.
Imps, actually—Shadow Imps. They are hideous humanoid demons standing at seven feet with oily black skin and tentacle hands used to swiftly traverse obstacles and be perfectly stealthy concurrently. Such obstacles as vertical walls and high ceilings. Like these.
There were dozens on the walls and ceiling, though few on the actual floor.
"Motherf—"
Charlie spun around to greet a jaw-dropped comrade. Despite the shocked and worried expression glued to his face, the young man seemed alright. A tear which cut through the thick fabric on his left bicep, thence scraping the skin bloody, and a bruise on his right cheek were the only visible signs of damage. Charlie was glad to see this, although quite dejected that it was just him.
Charlie spoke first, in a low whisper so that he may not startle the infernal army ahead. "W-what now, Stew?"
"Honestly," Stewie sighed, "we're fucked."
Charlie rolled his emerald eyes in their fatigued sockets. "Well," he said half-smiling, "thanks for the optimism."
"You got any suggestions?" He barked back, maintaining a whisper. Meanwhile the Shadow Imps seemed not to mind at all, simply 'hovering' with suppressed hisses. "I mean…we've been SOL since we got here: ambushed, lost most of our squad, outnumbered again and the rest of the men have been totally MIA…most probably dead—"
"Not me, at least."
"Wha—" the two were glad when they turned to see their DemoMan, Julius Hammer. The 6'2" 260-pound bulky black man was scratched up quite a bit, but that glare remained in his eyes and the Vulcan still filled his thick fingers. Similarly with Stewie, his physical condition involved nothing more than a couple minor flesh-wounds and bruises.
"I couldn't find anyone else, but I did manage to get to a phone." Julius had evidently seen the demonic mass ahead, yet did not seem to worry much for it. Meanwhile, his news brought a buried confidence and momentary glee to the duo. To finish it off, Julius reported, "We've got air support and evac incoming…"
"Julius, what would we do without you?" Charlie grinned, reloading his submachine gun.
"Absolutely jack-shit." Julius replied straight-faced.
"Damn right, my man." Stewie grunted, glancing back…he realized that the Shadow Imps were gradually advancing. "Now, how we gonna do this?"
"Guns blazin', fuck 'em all, spray-'n-pray,…"
"So…no strategy?" Stewie interjects Julius, concerned.
Julius shook his head and sighed. "Oh, and one more thing—HELP evac E.T.A.: thirteen minutes…that's four minutes now. Thus, we also have four minutes at most to get out before the air raid comes in."
The looks on the pair's faces suddenly transformed from delight to discontent. Then again, as they realized it, their disappointment fueled their strength; for, if they didn't haste, they would be fried in the incoming air-strike. The good side of this is that if they did indeed hurry, they would leave their demonic foes behind to be obliterated in the devastation.
"Stew," Julius abruptly asked, "you got what we came for, right?"
"As secure as my balls, Julius."
"Thanks for the info." Julius retrained from laughing, and took to business. "Follow me—"
There was no delay, no more further await.
Stewie got behind the bulky Julius and Charlie quickly followed. Despite his lumbering size, Julius was a built and powerful man—especially one of whom will run faster than an ostrich in the worst conditions if need be. In this case he was not running, but with knees bent and hipping the Vulcan as it should be, he gradually trudged forward down the hallway. The approach of the three sparked the Shadow Imp multitude so they scurried about their surfaces—whichever they occupied—and hissed, while whipping their tentacles at the air in intimidation.
At last, the first shot was fired.
Julius had pushed down the red button on the handle of the Minigun—and holding it—thus causing the weapon's grouped barrels to rotate, starting up. Finally they were whirring as a blur, spitting out a single 9.5mm round every nanosecond. Julius's semi-
squatting position quickly altered to a leaning stance as it aimed upwards. A gang of the infernal creatures were splattered against the ceiling, instant victims of the Vulcan-toting Julius. Hisses of menace and screeches of defeat sounded from the horrors, as they began to more swiftly react.
Although Julius did well clearing the path directly ahead—by obliterating most on the ceiling and upper walls—the other two had to protect the trio's further vulnerabilities. With a perfect assault rifle, Stewie shredded up the line's direct frontal and often spun to get at his immediate sides. Behind, meanwhile, was Charlie—and his close-ranged SMG—blasting away any that remained after the first two's chaos.
It may seem easy to gradually proceed down this fifty-yard corridor, but with realism on the trio's side it was made quite difficult. Although Julius's Vulcan had a practically infinite magazine (the belt of 2,000 rounds gradually depletes), it did have the unfortunate effect of natural overheating; therefore Julius had to maintain medium bursts (about 100 rounds) of fire as he went along. But the major cons came to Stewie and Charlie—especially Charlie. Stewie was probably worse, though, since he had more to eliminate; his G36E had a magazine of forty rounds. Charlie, however, not only had a clip capacity of thirty bullets but was also low on magazines.
They were more than halfway down and he was on his second-to-last clip. Stewie still had three more, and Julius had an unknown (his estimate was a mere estimate) 400, quickly fading.
As Charlie caught a dropping Imp with a burst to the torso and Stewie decapitated two ahead with three-round bursts, Julius encountered a charging one to his left. Julius let off of the button, allowing the chaingun to cool down, and side-swiped the creature with the weapon's grouped-barrel extension. The force he had jerked it and the weight of the overall barrel caused the melee devastation he had hoped for: the creature stopped midway of its charge, having caught the Vulcan with its abdomen, and practically split in half. Its taut skin held it seemingly together, but within its interior the cartilage-spine was severed and the creature was hence terminated.
Just ahead, Julius realized, the pair of glass double-doors sat closed.
"Go!" Stewie shouted above the gunfire and wicked screeching. He crouched, hastily reloaded, and by the time he stood back up he sighted something that brought a
fatigued smile on his face: Julius charged ahead, literally plowing over a live Imp, and then slammed his right shoulder into one of the double-doors. The body-sized glass panes shattered into a million tiny splinters whilst the aluminum frames gave way in a bending manner. The hinges popped and one set of the double-doors actually collapsed…with Julius. Nonetheless, he had made it outside. The singular and minor light of the stars and moon in the indigo sky above were enough to steer away most Shadow Imps, unless they're loners.
These weren't, though.
"C'mon, Charlie!" Stewie hollered, waving an arm forward as he sprinted forward. He plowed down a Shadow Imp crawling off the wall near him with a spray of 5.56mm fire. Oily-crimson blood splattered and a hiss faded away.
Charlie, behind, was in the midst of reloading for his last magazine.
"C'mon!" Julius's bellowing voice erupted like a roar; he had gotten back to stance, and was now about ten feet from the exit/entrance.
Charlie went onward, still fumbling with his magazine, wile what nearby remaining Imps assailed his position.
Gunfire sounded, which for some reason startled Charlie—and got him moving. He finally locked in the clip, cocked the firing lever, and sprayed some aimless shots around him. A lucky burst caught an Imp in the face, obliterating its evil brain and splattering it against the wall. At last Charlie came to the double doors, and spotted his comrade Stewie kneeling at them and shooting off bursts at nearing Imps. He supposed, for a split-second of thought, that if it weren't for Stewie just then in there he would have fallen prey.
And then a rumbling entered the trio's ears as Charlie stumbled through where the double-doors used to be.
"Let's go!" Julius reminded them to hurry.
The moment they moved, a HELP jet boomed overhead, dropping an unseen 'bomb' unto the building. Acting as they would in an action film, the three threw their arms over each other and dove forward, the moment the blast proceeded.
There was no fiery explosion or rupturing of earth, but instead a mere—though immense—flash of incredible white light. It made a momentary sphzt crackle and in a second were the fading screams of dying demons.
As the SB-10X bomb's flash effects faded away, the trio of combatants lifted their heads to that familiar sound of whirring rotors. They gazed above them to see a lowering UH-2B chopper with rope ladder descending.
"Let's move, move, move!" A commanding voice bellowed from above, obscured by the beating of rotors against the indigo sky.
First went Julius, whom then helped Charlie up the swaying ladder. Before Stewie climbed up, he peered back to see the mostly-unharmed Madison Square Garden arena…the hundred ashy cadavers of Shadow Imps gradually dispersed into the air; their demonic souls would suffer greatly due to their defeat in the fiery pits of Hell.
Stewie reached up, gripped a thick Dominican hand, and was pulled aboard the helicopter. Julius and his eyes met, and they took a deep sigh together, bobbing their heads low. As the chopper lifted with a subtle roar, the co-pilot helped Charlie in raising the ladder. In the distance of the early morning, the fatigued trio could see the fading smoke trails of the exiting HELP jet.
"We greatly appreciate the evac," Charlie said with a vague smile.
As the co-pilot took a seat in his spot parallel to the pilot, flipping gauges, he said without glancing back: "No problem—and I'm sure B.J. greatly appreciates it too…unless you don't have what y'all came for."
"After all that—" Julius began.
"No need to worry about that," Stewie said, patting his right thigh where a bulge indicated the presence of their achieved goal. "Although the loss of…" He stopped short, squeezing shut his eyes.
Julius sighed, shaking his head.
"Brothers," Charlie finally took a serious turn. "They have not been lost…they've been freed."
The co-pilot may have not heard what they had spoken, nor really cared much for it. But as the UH-2B helicopter sped through the starlit sky, towards the secretive HELP headquarters, the trio of men pondered Charlie's words.