AN~ heh... Another WEIRD AU and this time a crossover. Yeah, I know, these two fandoms don't look like they would mix very well, but I and a friend have been thinking about this for a long time and I've seen some stuff on Deviantart that very well also influenced this work. Let's get truthful: I've thought about doing this crossover for three years. Yeah... Three years... I'm weird. ANYWAY, let me just give you a little heads up: In this universe, F.3.A.R. does not exist because I didn't like F.3.A.R. (Though I DID like some of the character designs.) F.3.A.R. really messed up the story and retconed a LOT of important information. Also, F.E.A.R. 2: Reborn is cannon here. Finally, SOME characters that the games might have killed off may be alive here for reasons you will soon discover. ENJOY MY MADNESS!
A cluster of madness above his head and he was stirred awake in an instant. He could not yet stand but made peace with the idea of staying put for some while longer. There was no clear indication -yet- that he'd been hurt by the crash. Speaking of which... He turned his head to gloss his eyes about the wreckage of the chopper which was suppose to have flown him to safety and free of the madness he'd just endured. Now fire lay a reckoning upon it as though the sun's wrath wished destruction upon it. From the chopper, he came to look about his surroundings which had just come into focus. Evidently, he hadn't made it far from ground zero. He was in a swell of total devistation, consumed by fire and rubble as far as the eye could see. There were no movements save for that of said fire and the collapse of said rubble. No matter... He couldn't stay much longer. Planting his hooves firmly on the asphalt, he stood and stilled his stocky, shaking legs. His left hind leg began to ail him to a light degree, but it was nothing he couldn't manage. It didn't seem broken, only sprained. He stood tall and shook free from small bits of debris and dust which clung to him as well as some of his more useless armor. It was almost all useless. All he had left was the chest-plate and even that was in poor condition.
A small pool of blood began to drip from the crest of his mane, causing his ears to roll back and a slight sigh to break from his muzzle. It didn't seem life-threatening, but only time would tell. In spite of it all - the growing pain within him and the new blood staining his coat- he pressed himself on and began to rummage through what little of the wreckage was salvageable. It was then that the first sign of curious instances began to plague him. There were no bodies... He was the only one there... He knew for a fact that others had been on the chopper with him... One Pegasus, two earth ponies- like himself- and a female unicorn... Jin... His ears rolled forward again and a jump kicked him in his heart. The illness he felt in not finding her was almost painful. If she wasn't there, perhaps she bailed before the chopper hit and his memory was fractured... Or she hadn't and somepony dragged her away... Something had to have moved her... But... why hadn't that same thing moved HIM? Inwardly, he hoped she was alright... Deeply...
Finally, once satisfied with his check, he decided to move onward. One must never stay within the bounds of ground zero... Especially that of a nuclear-level explosion. He knew better. With another sigh, he soon began to walk through a maze of crippled streets, swallowed by the wrath of desolation. As he walked, strange things began to nip at him, breaking through the wall of his mind and into the depths of his innermost thoughts. It felts so utterly intrusive, but whatever was doing so obviously wasn't looking for anything. It simply nestled itself among his thoughts as though to simply, passively observe. Even still, he had no love for anything within his mind other than himself. He'd had enough of the mental games of others. He pushed himself to will the abstract thing away, force it from his own being as the rightful occupant of himself, but this THING was already rooted deeply. As much as he didn't want it with him, though, he pressed himself to ignore it. For all he knew, it was his estranged mother coming to haunt him once again. It wouldn't surprise him. Those of Wade blood had a bad habit of not staying dead.
The clack of his hooves made but a single echo as he trotted so nonchalantly to the crestfallen monolith of which he'd been so eager to find. So many turn-arounds and frustrating hours later, he'd found proper direction to it and was astonished, though happy, to see it still standing and doing so with ease. The explosion hadn't done much else but break some windows and perhaps shatter the fountain in the front walkway. It was a crude monument, anyhow. Such a loss was of little worry to him. Walking quietly to the front doors, though, his happiness soon boiled into more frustration. The entrance was blocked, not only by furniture, but also by the very twisted metal of the doors themselves. He scowled and maneuvered around the yard to find another means of entry. Such a place came in the form of a small shop, though he was unaware- as well as unconcerned- as to what exactly it had been. All he knew was that there was a back-door and one which found him means of entry. This door lead him to the spiraling stairwell which he so grudgingly began to climb. Onto the first landing, he found a gate, swung wide and almost unhinged, though the damage done to it's lock hadn't been from the explosion. The padlock lay upon the ground with the obvious gouges of a pistol shot. In that, his ear's turned back.
"Wonderful," he growled to himself in a sickly-smooth rumble, filtered slightly by the mask which he wore. He guessed that he who had done the damage might have still been near. The doubt was of enough to keep his mane on end. Still, he climbed and climbed, knowing well that his target was nestled into the top floor, the pent-house level. No ache in his legs would keep him from it. He reached it soon and pulled himself to the front door of the very place which he was seeking. It was blown in, scorched by whatever had seen fit to do so- which could have been a number of things.
With a grunt, he pressed forward, ignoring the broken way of the home and up the stairs. Through a door at their top, there was a hallway and, through that, a bedroom. This bedroom was almost as disheveled as the rest of the home, though not too honestly bad. There were the normal accommodations which one could associate with a bedroom, save for the gaping hole in the wall which lead into a soulless, concrete room strewn in papers and delving into another room protected by a blast-door. He had yet to take heed to said room, however, as something else had caught his attention: A small, wooden box. It lay upon the floor as though carefully placed and in waiting. To him, it seemed much like bait, but his own conscious, often foreboding, urged him to investigate. With the muzzle of his masked snout, he flicked open the top of the box... Instantly, a soft, lulling yet trepidatious tune began to roll about the white disk inside. It was then that he lowered his snout and hoofed the mask from his head, shaking back the short strands of mane which fell upon his crest. Bright blue eyes bore upon the box and lost themselves in thoughts... winding... grey thoughts... As they wandered still, farther and farther, he felt those beams of ice grow moist and a deep pain boil within his heart...
He rocked his head to and fro and lowered himself down to lay upon his belly. His head gently pressed against the carpet and eyes fluttered shut to simply relish this... simple... and worthwhile distraction.