A/N: This first chapter is just an introductary chapter, and thus very short. I hope that you'll forgive me. This chapter is prone to updates, so be sure to check in every other week or so. I changed it to third person; If you wish for it to go back, it will.

Disclaimer: I do not own Left 4 Dead, nor anything to do with it other than my own imagination. Left 4 Dead is owned by VALVE, while my characters are owned by me.

TR4PP3D
Chapter One
I Scream, You Scream

Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum
Fairfield, West Virgina
1 week after first infection
Eric Roger Smith

It frightened him, the darkness. It had no room for him to breathe, had no room to scream. But before it was completely dark, he screamed. He screamed his very soul out; he howled every last living, healthy breath he had in him. Somehow, when he screamed, the darkness stopped trying to bury him, and the demons that were trying to leave him for dead had died, conqured by the angels that had been attracted by his terror. Soon after, he passed out and drifted in his own darkness.

It took Eric some time to wake up and get past the half finished brick barrier holding him in the room. When he had gotten through, he found that the world he had barely known before had gone to hell.

The other people in the asylum he was held in, his fellow prisoners, had escaped. Their jackets, if they wore one, were broken and were allowed to move their arms and hands freely, and their clothes were ripped and bloody. They didn't look like they had when he had last had a glimpse of them. It seemed forever ago that they had been as healthy as they could be, with pink, tan, colored, or pale skin, and grinning, or terrified faces. Now, they all seemed sick. They all had a pale greenish tint to their skin- some were even puking in corners or walls. They all had the same tired, monotonous face, and they all seemed at peace. Well, at least until one get too close to another and got torn apart.

He tugged on his arms, which were held in the sleeves and belts of the damnidable jacket. Eric was jealous, furious, and scared of the others. They had gotten free of their containers, free of their jackets, while he was still trapped in his, vulnerable for attack.

He wandered the hospital then, being sure to stick to the shadows to not be seen, speaking to the souls that had died there. He talked with Lilly the most. She was a little 9 year old girl who was born here, in this asylum prison. She was on the bottom floor, in the childred's ward. He was sad that she couldn't find her mother, and furious that no one had the courage to help her. If he could remember anything, Eric would most likely know what she felt. He didn't really remember anything from before he was stored in these cursed walls. Just a woman screaming, screaming, screaming...

He also happened upon one of the bathrooms that had not been entirely destroyed, it made him wonder how long he was unconcious. He glanced at a half-shattered mirror to see what the illness had done to him. He was stunned. His untrimmed, violent red hair had a dark orange tint now, and his dark, muggy brown eyes had turned a haunting deep crimson, like the stains in his clothes where his fellows' blood had stained him. His skin had taken a darker sickening green than the others as well, only it wasn't as decayed looking. He was frightened of what he had become, and left as soon as every mirror was smashed into pieces. What had happened to him? Why did it happen to him?

Hours later, Eric was bored. So he found a convenient opening in the wall and got to freedom. It was a new experience, this chance to be free. There was a problem, though. He was still trapped in his jacket in this violent, scary, burning world, where the few things that the docters had bothered to teach him had little value and he could easily be killed by whatever had the abillity to. He was trapped, and fear gripped him in the form of his jacket.

The teen focused on walking around this new world without getting killed, making sure not to walk near anyone and sticking to the shadows, keeping quiet. He didn't bother with the people, he wasn't a people person and these things didn't want to talk anyway. There were some people whom he met rather unwillingly. They had guns, and shot at him. When they did, he screamed and ran, and in return he heard them scream and die. It reminded him of a rhyme, though he could only remember very little.

"I scream, you scream," he sang, his voice sounding rough from screaming after lack of use. He giggled. "How manly," he grinned. He was not happy, per se. Just in a state of shock.

He decided to sleep. His throat and legs were sore, and he was tired of being shot and yelled at. He hunkered down in a vast room with a large red door. It was bright, but not enough to keep him from sleep, and he fell into a restless dream.

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