Hi everyone! I am completely new to this fandom as a fanfiction writer, so I hope this story will turn okay and that you will enjoy reading it as much as I did enjoy writing it x) I think this will be a collection of one shots and they will happen mostly on the three years gap between the first and the second game.

Also, english is not my first language so please be gentle with me if you notice any mistakes! ^^

Just another lonely night

He woke up with a start, his head hurting like it never did before. Flashes of his nightmare from his experience at Beacon and the death of his child still fresh in his mind. He looked all around him nervously, as if he might get attacked from nowhere. The dim-lit motel room was coming more clearly to his eyes now that they had adjusted to the dark. He was alone. At first he almost felt relieved, his newly born paranoia always making him fear the worst with the powerful organization that was Mobius. But then he remembered what that word meant. Alone. No daughter. No wife. No home. No job. The crushing feeling of self hatred for what he had failed to protect came back at him full force. He rose up from the worn out bed and grabbed a bottle of beer in the small cooler that sat near the entrance. Draining it fast, he instantly grabbed another one and sat down on the mat again. He hated that habit, of taking refuge in such cowardly methods, but it was the only way he knew to ease the pain. He glared at his faded reflection in the window.

I'm a worthless piece of shit. Not being able to save my own daughter. Not being able to keep my wife and to keep it together when she needed me. Not being able to discover the truth and stick the pieces back together when given the chance. I failed them all.

It had been three years since the Beacon incident. And instead of finding in this event a new lead, some new clues, he just buried himself in the trauma it triggered and sank deeper into his own demons. And in alcohol. He could have discovered the truth. He could have found what had happened to Mira all those years ago. What started the fire. But no, he had reached a dead end, incompetent that he was. And now he was stuck at a point of no return where he had to hide from a shady organization and where he was unable to go any further in his investigations.

Frustration and guilt overwhelmed him at this thought and he tossed his empty bottle on his reflection, successfully breaking the window's glass. Shit, he thought blasé. He was pathetic. Upset, he rose up and walked out the door. He needed a drink. Stronger than the piss poor beer he had stored in his room.

He went down the few stairs that separated him from the street and started to head towards the nearest bar, a shit hole probably full of drunks with belligerent intentions. Which actually would be perfect. If some idiot was willing to help him pass his nerves, then he was more than okay with that.

He sat down on a dirty stool and ordered his drink of choice: whiskey. After a few glasses, all drained in a few gulps, he started to feel dizzy, almost not noticing the man that came towards him, bad intentions written all over his features.

- Hey fella, drinkin' alone tonight? What, yo girlfriend dumped you or somethin'?

Not rising to the bait, the ex-detective poured himself another one.

- Hey you might wanna answer when I ask you somethin'!

He knew it was not a good idea. He knew it. But he just could not resist. Bitterness and anger mixed in with his tiredness and the alcohol, and thus, he snapped.

Grabbing the poor guy who unknowingly volunteered to be beaten up, he slammed his head on the counter, knocking him unconscious. But of course, it would have been too easy if the man was actually alone. So in a same movement, his two friends rose up and threw themselves at him, to the dismay of the poor bartender who was obviously tired of the fights that inevitably broke in his establishment.

Seems like he was in for some kind of distraction.

OoO

He came back in his room two hours after he had left, his right cheek pulsating from pain. The skin was probably busted, because he felt something wet and sticky on it. His knuckles where in no better shape. He stumbled in the bathroom and ran his hands under the tap. The cold water felt like a million shards. His left hand wasn't that bad but he had to grab some gauze in his bag for the other one. Blood still oozed from the injuries he inflicted on himself. What the hell had become of him? Beating up some punks in a gritty bar. He sighed, too tired to even care anymore and finished his quick bandage.

Still a bit drunk, he fell heavily on his bed and went back to his nightmare fueled dreams. All in all, it was just another lonely night in his life.

That's all for now! Thank you for reading, don't hesitate to give me your thoughts on this first chapter ;)

See you next time! :D