Based on Nocturne. More violence and gore to come.
If anybody is offended by the gore content of this fanfiction it was my every intention to offend, and I am not the least bit sorry. Enjoy!
'The world is a dark place.
Who will protect the world from darkness?
We will.'
- Spookhouse code
Prologue
1 year ago...
The elevator doors rolled open. Something was wrong.
The Stranger left the elevator and stepped into the corridor leading to the Spookhouse official headquarters. All the lights were switched off, and the faint acrid odour of burning plastic teased his nostrils. Finding the light switch to his left, his stomach tightened slightly when nothing happened.
Stranger: (in thought) what the hell is going on?
Thankfully his night vision goggles were still fully charged, which enabled him some vision though this in itself was only presented in crude static. Using this, plus his own intuition, Stranger found his way to the door leading to the false office. And his heart sank when he saw it.
The door had been ripped off its hinges, and now lay on the floor jutting out awkwardly in the frame. Some light was blocking the vision of the goggles, so the Stranger turned them off to be faced with the full horrific scene.
The light was coming from the emergency lamp in the corridor leading to the official Spookhouse offices; the secret door to which was now open; and this cast an eerie red glow over the small false office. The reception desk was smashed on the left corner, and the draws had been pulled open, some lying on the ground with files spilling out of them like guts. The receptionist was nowhere to be seen, but her fate was rather clearly spelled out in the sizeable blood pool saturating the desk and scattered files. Pulling out his trademark .45 pistols, Stranger slowly approached the corridor leading to Spookhouse.
There was blood here too, some spattered on the ground and some trailed along the walls in dark, wobbly lines, culminating in large splodgy patterns on the elevator door at the end of the corridor. The emergency lamp buzzed lazily amidst the terrible scene.
Stranger always knew they should have abolished that ridiculous password.
He quickly approached the elevator and jammed the button to open it. Thankfully the emergency power system was working perfectly, and soon Stranger was sailing down to the official offices, pistols at the ready.
He emerged to find the halls in darkness; even the emergency lights weren't working here. Still not risking drawing any unwanted attention with his flashlight, Stranger flipped the night vision on once again. He couldn't see any visible signs of struggle, and definitely nothing alive. He flipped the night vision off and turned the flashlight on instead. This showed him more blood, not so much here but enough all the same. And this was quite fresh. There was still no sound coming from the offices, so Stranger entered through the door at the end of the corridor. Though not before noticing the group photograph of past Spookhouse members had been completely ravished, and lay in shreds on the floor.
All the lights were off in the waiting room. The contents of the many filing cabinets were strewn across the floor as they were in the false office, and more blood adorned the walls and floor. At the end of the waiting room, Stranger could make out a large, vague shape crumpled on the floor, and upon closer inspection found the heavily mutilated and dismembered body of the Spookhouse agent Icepick; along with body parts from various other Spookhouse agents; heavily drenched in glistening, partially coagulated blood. Even this was almost enough to cause the stoic Strangers' heart to sink.
Stranger: If they were able to get Icepick down, then...
Stranger held his thought when something to the left caught his eye. A faint glow radiated from underneath the door to the briefing room, and when Stranger listened warily at the door he could hear the old projector whirring noisily. He tried the door, but it was locked. Thinking it best not to blow the lock with his pistols, he instead turned to check out the lab. Doc was likely to have a spare key lying around somewhere.
Thankfully the door was unlocked, but as expected the lights were out. And Doc, of course, was nowhere to be seen. The lab seemed to have been affected the worst, the thick iron bars of the specimen cage were bent wide open, and the examination tables were upturned and broken: the assorted body parts once assembled upon them now scattered about. The large computer was smashed and flaming; the source of the acrid smell. The lab had been completely looted out, even some of the body parts appeared to have been taken.
And something could be heard from inside the specimen cage, a quiet whimper of sorts coming out in low stuttering gasps. Stranger approached with caution.
And was almost shocked to find Doc's young lab assistant, Justine, curled up behind the small porcelain toilet, her arms held tightly around her knees and tears staining her scarlet cheeks.
Stranger: What happened?
Justine: (Whimpering) E-everyone...they've k-killed everyone...
Stranger: Who?
Justine: I-I only managed to escape by...by hiding in the lab...Elspeth t-told me to hide, so they wouldn't get me...
Stranger: Who did this?
Justine: (Sobbing quietly)
Stranger: I need to get into the briefing room. Does Doc have a key here?
Justine: She...she usually keeps a spare in her desk, but she t-took it with her when she...when she...
Stranger: Where did she go? Is she still alive?
Justine: ...
Stranger: Where did she go?
Justine: ...
The Stranger could see that he would get no more from Justine. But as he turned to leave she called out to him.
Justine: I have a spare.
Stranger: How did you get a spare key?
Justine: I-I found it when I came to do some w-work here one night...
Stranger: You stole it?
Justine: No, it wasn't like that! I was going to return it, but I...but I...
Stranger: Whatever. Just hand it over.
Without another word, Justine handed the small brass key over to the Stranger. She said no more to him, clearly in too much shock. Stranger left the lab, and Justine, in the dark stillness. He went to the briefing room door and, wasting no time whatsoever, shoved the key into the lock and opened the door.
The projector was indeed switched on, but there was no film inside. He could make out more dismembered body parts in here, and just caught the shape of a small, blood slicked prosthetic hook with an arm attached stuck into the padded bench.
Stranger: The Colonel...
But something caught his eye to the right. Scrawled crudely on the wall behind the torn projector screen; in what was likely the blood of various former Spookhouse agents; and emblazoned with a single large claw print, were the words that would haunt the Strangers mind for a long time to come:
Finally found you, Stranger!
* * * * *