Hey there. I've started writing this story quite a while ago and am several chapters in. I'm going to slowly start releasing them if it's well recieved. The story revolves completely around Stiles and there are only minor mentions of other characters in the series.
Let me know what you guys think.
It was cold, and dark when he opened his eyes. A stone cold pavement beneath him, stretching goosebumps over his skin. His lids were heavy and keenly sticking together as if he had slept for days. His legs shifted, crossing one another so that both could feel the ground beneath them. His mouth was dry and tasted of metal, his head filled with cotton that was oozing out of his ears as he sat up. He eyed himself, his simple grey shirt was perfectly clean, and his jeans were spotless. Instantly his hand reached for his brow as his head began to pound. What had happened?
He pushed himself off the ground, steadying himself against a brick wall he found on his right. His vision was spinning but he was sure he didn't recognise what he was looking at. Where in the hell had he woken up?
He found himself a city, an extremely empty and creepy city. There were large concrete office buildings, with windows shattered and boarded back up. There was filth and garbage coating the streets, most of which were flyers. The kind that would be handed to you as you passed an ill-smelling and quite possibly high homeless person. They were white, originally, with a single black sentence on it on bold. "Don't touch the shadows."
How very annoying cryptic. If that was supposed to be some life-changing stick it to the man mantra, they might want to reconsider their presentation.
If he didn't know any better, he'd think that he had somehow wound up in some post-apocalyptic time, where Russia and America had gone to war and everything was blown to smithereens, only leading to an outbreak of disease, which in turn lead to a zombie outbreak. But luckily he wasn't thinking that, else he'd be freaking out.
There was no one to be seen. Cars had been abandoned by people that didn't get their license on their parking skills, suitcases, bikes, even bags of yet to be identified goods were scattered over the street. Had there been some kind of evacuation? How long had he been out for? And why was he in a different city?!
Where was everyone?!
His eyes spread wide in realisation, his head whined as he tried to remember. The last thing he remembered as an earth-shattering scream. Lydia's scream, he'd recognise it anywhere. She was screaming, not in fear or frustration, what was she screaming?
His stomach churned as his head whipped round with a sound, forcing him back to the situation at hand. Breath escaped him in a grunt, a loud one at that, as his mind refused to offer him any other intelligence. He pushed himself off the wall as a sound, other than his own, erupted somewhere down the street. A bellowing, stomach twisting, heart stopping voice, calling him.
It was muffled and breathy, like its mouth was ajar, and held there. His hand quivered, as it dawned on him. He recognised that voice, it had been plaguing his dreams, and even his waking hours, gnawing at the back of his head. His legs pulled at him, trying to force him to move, but his body wouldn't comply. His feet were welded to the concrete tiles.
The voice carried on, towards him, growing frightfully louder with every step it took. Stiles squinted, trying to clear up his vision. The lighting was scarce, only a few of the lanterns were actually functional, and the moon was shrouded by thick thunderclouds. The voice laughed.
At the corner of the street, beneath a dead light, a shadow stirred. From the darkness a black oozing substance rose, freakishly being shaped into a person, dark slivers of blood and the ivory of teeth stuck in its body, they shimmered as a stroke of light hit them.
Stiles pulled at his feet, his eyes wide as he muttered underneath his breath. Instantly he turned from whatever abomination was calling his name, and ran faster than he'd ever thought possible. He stumbled now and again, as his heart started pounding louder. His hands still shook, but more with adrenaline than fear, though he broke out in cold sweat as a roaring voice followed him with an impressive speed.
He had to hide, he had to lose it.
His eyes pulled to their corners, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was chasing him, too afraid to turn his head around completely, and finding it inches from his face. His lungs cried, as the metal taste in his mouth worsened. He closed his mouth firmly, forcing him to violently breath through his nose, hoping that would ease the stabbing feeling in his side. He wasn't the most athletic, but if he was going to die because he skipped leg day, he'd be...genuinely upset.
He turned a corner at random, praying to some deity that he had chosen the one alley that did not have a dead end. The creature was still behind him, though Stiles hadn't heard it in a while, he was convinced it was still there. That dark, gooping- whatever it was. A shadow would be the best way to name it, it did crawl out of the shadows at least. Perhaps that's what the notes meant. Were those things everywhere? Was that why this city had been abandoned?
His hand trailed over the fire escapes as he ran, muttering to himself, blinking rapidly, trying to come up with some sort of plan. His panic became audible as his chest skidded over the rough ground, his leg sticking up for only a moment before scrabbling to his feet, hand smacked against the brick wall. There were black dots dancing across his vision from the fall. "no no no no no no..." He had chosen an Alley with a dead end. "ahhh...ehhh" he uttered, desperately pressing against the wall, as if that would make it budge. His eyes darted as the shadow stood a few meters from him, looking for some kind of weapon, but finding nothing. His shaking hands found their way out in front of him, balling into fists, as he clumsily took on a pose he had seen in boxing matches he'd seen on TV.
A roaring laugh escaped the shadow's jaws. As if it was mocking him, or at least his efforts to defend himself. Stiles winced as the creature crept closer, raising a clawed hand towards him, it's nails not like a werewolf's, longer, like knives. He wanted to shout or scream for aid, for someone to help him, for someone to wake him up from this horrid dream, but his throat could only managed a whisper, voicing his panic.
Suddenly, a muffled shout broke through, it was higher and more human than that the creature had made, and it too seemed surprised to hear it. It shifted, turning only its head around. Stiles shivered in disgust. "dude..." Instantly, he threw up his hands, covering his ears as a loud shot was fired, he squinted and hunched only to see the creature's head splatter onto the walls, and it's slimy body disintegrate into shadow. Revealing a girl behind it.
She stood widespread, with one hand wielding a shotgun in her left hand, pointing at the disintegrating fiend, her other reaching for her mouth where an apple was stuck between her teeth. She plucked it from between her lips and chewed a piece loudly. "You aight?" She asked, her mouth still filled with fruit. Stiles straitened himself, shaking his head slightly. "yeah..." he muttered, not sure of himself. She took another bite while sizing him up, her eyes trailing over his body. It left him feeling like he should be striking a pose, or positioning himself somehow that he'd seem more...more.
"You'd better come with me then..." she said, while clicking her tongue and turning away from him, seemingly not interested or bothered by the circumstances. Stiles twitched. "Hey no, hold on!" he called, willing his legs to stop being spaghetti. "What was that?! Who are you? Where am I?" he called as he followed her out of the alley, carefully dodging the spot where the thing had been. "Hey!"
The girl turned on her heel, tossing the carcass onto the street and wiping her mouth with her wrist. There was an amused look in her grey coloured eyes, as if he was asking for something as ordinary as the time. "It's night time." she said, flicking her hand to motion him closer. "Better keep up with me, we gotta get you off the streets." she added, gesturing at the gun strapped to her thigh. She was armed to her teeth. She was holding a shotgun, had a handgun strapped to her thigh, a knife to her ankle, a rifle to her back, as well as a sword. Her trousers had many pockets, no doubt filled with rounds of ammunition, and even more hiding in the pouch at her hip.
Stiles had no trouble believing her words, and reckoned his best chances of survival were with her. Where ever he was, or whatever had been chasing him, he would not be able to fight it. She had been the only other person he'd encountered, and she certainly seemed to know what was going on, and so, he nodded. "yeah." he said, shaken and peering over his shoulder, to find her standing closer as he whipped back his head.
"What's your name?" she asked sweetly, her face coated with a thin layer of dirt, covering old scratches and scars. She was covered in them, he could only see her arms, a part of her chest, her neck and her face, but he had already counted more than a dozen scars. The most prominent on her right temple, it was thick like a vein, and ran from her hairline to her cheekbone and eye. Stiles couldn't help but swallow down some pity, looking at her. For a girl to have a scar like that, he imagined she cried as it healed. Or maybe she was the kind that accepted these things, and didn't care. Judging from her appearance, the latter might be in place.
Her hair wasn't lushly framing her face, in curls and length, or even cared for, it was short, ragged and he was relatively sure she'd cut it herself. Her clothes were functional, not fashionable. Her face wasn't even washed, and he was pretty sure there was a bit of apple stuck to her chin. She raised her thick brow, licking her lower lip and squinting her eyes. "Stiles." he snapped, suddenly very aware that she had caught him staring. "Charlie." she said, while nodding.
"Lesson number one, stiles. Remember it. Your name represents who you are, and it's the first thing they'll try to take from you." She murmured absently. "If anyone asks you for it, lie." She continued.
"Who will?! What is going on?!" Stiles tried, growing more frustrated by the minute. She squinted, and licked her lips, contemplating whether she would answer him or not. Instead she held out her free hand, it was bandaged by a cloth long past its prime, discoloured with blood. Stiles hesitated and eyed it for a moment until she flicked her head. He took it, wincing at the feel of the cloth. "that's not hygienic..." he muttered under his breath, his right eye squinting at the sensation.
"There's a lot to tell you." she started, jerking his hand to start walking again, peering over her shoulder before joining him in a fast pace. "Stay close to me, and walk fast. I'll explain everything when we're home." she said, as if they had always shared one. Stiles turned to her, a face already made, ready to give her lip on her statement, but her expression gave him pause. She looked stern, yet concerned, not for herself, but for him. There was a sense of urgency around her. She playfully smiled at him, catching him staring at her again. Her smile grew wider as a roar echoed in the distance.
A shiver shot through his spine, but her hand grew warmer in his. His hand got clam with sweat, as another scream bellowed through the street behind them. She chuckled. "I'll let you hold my gun if it makes you feel better." She offered, strained under heavy breath.
"You don't happen to have a bat do you?" he answered, pleased with his own inside joke, though she would not understand it.