Silent Hill: Disciples of The Crimson Tome
by Egglesplork
Chapter 12
…
1.
…
This was somewhere else entirely different. Not that Heather particularly noticed, with her not being awake and all. Not awake, Heather wasn't totally asleep either. Laying sideways, the right side of her face pressed to a rough and rust-metal surface, Heather was getting around to getting up…eventually. In that sleepy dim place between sleep and waking up, the girl just wasn't feeling up to it. Her thinking was something like, I'll get up in a minute, dad. Just a few more minutes. Not feeling too great right now…
Heather was having vague thoughts of her father, huh? You know, the famous writer who had to be both parents at once since mom died…before he died? We shouldn't say dying because that could mean he died peacefully at a ripe old age in a hospital somewhere, attached to ventilators and heart-lung machines and with so many tubes and wires in him that he looks like some kind of sci-fi cyborg-in-the-making. When people say that somebody died, it's just the nice and polite way of saying that they're not sure of how they met The Grim Reaper's scythe. Dying? Hells no. Harry didn't die. He was killed, damn it..
Dad was killed by freaks like the ones that pulled Heather into this place. And since the dad wouldn't want to see the daughter lying down on the job, Heather…sat up. Up and at 'em, blondie. We've got twisted things to see and monsters to kill.
Heather's eyesight cleared up, the edges of a headache fading off as well. (Being yanked between holes in the universe is never easy on the ol' think-works. Imagine oneself being treated like molasses in a taffy-pull. And if you've never seen a taffy-pull, then you should get on one of those fancy-pants Internet-connected computers and have a look-see.) The girl made a face, a nasty taste at the back of her throat from breathing the air. That's because the air was different—and so were a lot of other things about this place. It was dark. Dark…and a Hell of a lot different.
An infinite darkness above, there wasn't anything in that starless and Bible-black sky that ought to be a light source. No moon, visible no stars, nothing. Instead, the light seemed to be coming from a fiery light-source from atop a building….
Now the word building is stretching it a little. A building is supposed to look like somebody can walk on in and have room enough to sit in. That huge thing of three floors in height wasn't exactly a building. Damned huge thing looked like a machine.
Across this parking lot of moldy concrete and rusted grates filling in where the concrete gave away, Heather was looking at a structure that didn't look as if it would pass any sort of state inspection for safety—not a fire chief's inspection, not the environmental protection agent's inspection, and most certainly not the occupational safety-hazard association's inspection.
For starters, the ground-floor level looked as if it was half-made out of some bad-ass metal blocks instead of one's garden-variety bricks. Okay, call them metal bricks. And from the second floor on up, the thing had huge armored-metal plates going all around—gigantic armored plates the size of highway billboards. And from the top, that's where the light to see everything was coming from—a set of six huge pipes arranged like smokestacks but with fire coming out of the top. Hmm, they can't be called smokestacks if they've got friggin' fire coming out of them instead of fluffy puff. Whatever. The flaming pipes and rusted metal plates near the top were all vertically smeared with streaks of rust, probably from the toxic rains which fell from the infinite darkness above from time to time. Thank goodness this was not one of those times. Goodness knows what the rains of this world would do to a girl's skin.
If it's not a building anymore, then we'll just have to call it a machine-building. Close enough, ain't it? Just as we can't call those flaming things on top smokestacks, we have to call that gigantic structure something.
Still sitting here and not quite panicking (yet), Heather crossed slim bare arms and stared at what had once been her apartment building. That wasn't her apartment building anymore. And Heather didn't want to call this world her home no matter how many times it kept calling her back. Calling her back, because Heather came from this kind of place—not that this place was often welcoming to anybody or anything that looked human. Never mind if Heather really wasn't and just looked normal for convenience's sake. The merry-go-round of fate brought her back again for yet another go around in this world. If the creatures of this place were to put out a welcome banner, it would probably read, Welcome back, bitch.
Heather scrambled to her feet and backed off a few steps when sounds came from behind her. They were hard and steady sounds. And here Heather was, not having prepared any sort of close-range defense for herself, not even a pocket switch-blade that used to be her standby before getting her abilities.
It was the sound of short-boots on metal-plates. The heels came to a stop. "I have obtained a health drink for you. It shall rehydrate your body and alleviate most peripheral symptoms of the transition."
"Jeez! Well, hello to you too," began Heather...before getting louder. "You creeped me out just now, you know that? Like, could you please not walk up behind a person unannounced? And could you try saying hello or at least breathing or something?"
The synthetic girl performed three exaggerated breaths—her breath smelling vaguely like plastic—before following the second part of the recommendation. "I now say, hello. Is that satisfactory?"
"Sure it is, Intemelessy," responded Heather. "Now how about that health drink? I'm getting thirsty just from being here." A glance up at the raw toxic flames spewing from the top of the machine-building. "The air totally sucks."
Intemelessy reached for one of the small dark attachments on her pistol hip-holsters and reached in. Out of that small attachment came a two-pint glass bottle that was clearly larger than the storage attachment itself. "Here it is," said the synthetic girl.
Heather didn't ask how Intemelessy had done that—squeezing a pint-sized glass bottle into a square-shaped hip-attachment that was as wide and long as thumb. It probably had something with that super-technology from Intemelessy's world. And since Intemelessy's world was toast, maybe that super-technology probably couldn't exist again for a long time.
Whatever technology was used, it left the health drink slightly chilled and downright tasty. If hunger is the best sauce (to quote a certain famous French general), then thirst must be a damned good soft-drink sweetener—probably better than the artificial stuff that's supposed to cause brain cancer. Heather greedily drank the whole bottle, the liquid pulled down her throat and into her body.
It was gone in seconds. The girl then capped the now-empty bottle and gave it a toss, the bottle falling down through the metal grating which made for parts of the ground here. Wherever it went, perhaps one is better off not knowing. What's way down there in the darkness far below—be it machines or monsters, if not both—can only be imagined for now. What more mattered was dealing with what was here.
"Now I'm juiced up and ready to rock," said Heather to Intemelessy. "This is what's gonna happen next. I've dealt with this kind of problem before, and fixing it is a breeze. The thing responsible for this is always something alive…sort of. All we've gotta do is find it, and kill it."
Intemelessy's computer-mind analyzed Heather's statement and how it was said. Heather's voice was too calm, though her eyes widened on the word kill. Infrared scans and audio sensors indicated that Heather's pulse and respiration was up a little. If Intemelessy was a psychiatrist instead of a synthetic killing machine, Intemelessy would have begun speaking in a gentle and calming voice while subtly gesturing for bystanders to…slowly…back…away... No sudden movements, either.
Since Intemelessy was neither human nor a mental health-care worker, none of those things were said or done. Intemelessy was created to fight—those abilities were tempered with computerized logic. And that logic was telling her that Heather would burn herself out within nine to nineteen minutes if going it alone.
Said Intemelessy, "The endurance of your capabilities is limited at this time. I will therefore provide tactical support until contact with the primary threat. Conserving your power until the confrontation will maximize the probability of success to beyond ninety percent."
Heather put hands on jeans-covered hips. "Ninety percent, huh? What happened to the other ten percent? Lost in the dryer like half my socks?" A sigh. The girl turned to face the building. "Never mind. Let's just get in there and do what we have to do."
That said, both the living girl and the synthetic one walked right on up to the rust-metal front entrance of the machine-building. It wouldn't open at first, the rust on the hinges forming a thick layer that sealed it shut—probably because the guys in there didn't make much of getting out too often. A kick from Intemelessy loosened that right up. Then our girls were able to get in.
…
Not that anyone else would want to get in. If the outside of the apartment looked bad, then the inside was even worse…or even cooler if one had interior-decorating sensibilities bred from listening to death-metal music. Metal, that was appropriate, because ground-floor hallway was made of the stuff. Grimy, odd-shaped light-bulbs in rusted little cages gave off dirty illumination. Rust metal boilerplate formed the walking surface, nice and solid. The walls were almost the same deal—sections of square-armor plating. Some of the metal plates were missing, dim views of pipes and grime-smeared electrical cables in there. Just a little further on through this hall were tall and rectangular sections of metal that would have been doors if this was the apartment building, or they would have been doors if they actually opened. Those things were bolted shut. Nobody was going in. Furthermore, nobody was getting out. All throughout was the low thrumming hum of heavy machinery working away in the depths of this inside place.
Heather began walking slowly along this altered hallway in this machine-building. Intemelessy was at her side, pistols drawn and ready. This hall was still about the same size and width as the same one in the original apartment building, but that was about the only similarity to that normal place. Heather's sneaker-clad feet made for solid-sounding footsteps, the heels of Intemelessy's bootlets just a bit higher in volume.
Even louder still was the inhuman howl of a creature on the left. "Aah!" went Heather, stumbling to a side and raising her hands reflexively to ward off a possible attack…from a bolted-shut metal door. That's right. The scream came from behind the doors of one of those former apartments.
"Woohoop!" howled the creature trapped behind that bolted tall piece of door-shaped metal. Bang-bang, it went, pounding on the other side of the door. Bang-bang-bang-bang! Whether it was using something like fists and arms or anything like human-looking appendages, it was impossible to tell from this side of the bolted-shut door. Damned thing could be using tentacles.
Then some other creatures trapped behind other bolted-shut doors began pounding and banging away like this was some kind of demonic drum session, howling and yelling while they were at it. Woohoop, they were declaring. Woohoop, woohoop! At some point, some of them threw in an occasional ne'smirk. Whatever the howling and occasional other-worldly bit of language they used, the dominant theme of this creature-concert was still bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang...
Intemelessy pivoted to look around. Her amplified voice carried above the noise in speaking, more like shouting, to Heather. "The threats are sealed in. We must move on."
"If you say so!" shouted Heather back, wincing and putting hands to ears because the damned noise was hurting her ears and getting on her nerves. Even with her hands being used to block out the sound, it was still just too loud.
In her past dealings with this sort of craziness, before developing her abilities, Heather had her share of scuffles with these creatures before. And without her abilities back then, the girl had to rely on solid weapons to make a creature shut the Hell up. Nothing like a sawed-off shotgun to make a monster get quiet forever. (Too bad the same can't be legally said for annoying neighbors.) Because it came down to getting down and dirty with weaponry, Heather beating and blasting the creatures with bludgeons and firearms, they also got her in return. They had clawed, tripped, bitten, licked (yuck), rammed, and more to try and take Heather down. The girl had even been shot at because some of those creatures had brains enough to use firearms. Thank goodness the powder in their weapons was so weak—the bullets not so deadly. One time, Heather had to deal with a freak that used its whole damned body to block off the only exit to a place. Of all the times and in all the places the freaks attacked Heather, this was probably the first time that they used noise pollution in their tactics. And judging from the raw flames coming out of the chimney-pipes that were visible from the outside of this machine-building, these jokers were probably masters of just pollution overall. And where the fork is the way off this floor?
Then Heather found a door on the right that wasn't supposed to be there…. Well, it wouldn't be there if this was still the old apartment building—which it wasn't. Heather looked at the doorknob made it turn. It swung inward.
The open door revealed a closet-like space that had a square opening. The uppermost rungs of a ladder were barely visible, darkened metal in dirty low light. No elevator, not even stairs, it really was a ladder which seemed to be the only way down right about now. Apparently, these creatures don't believe in handicap access. Anyone or anything in a wheelchair or using a walker to get around would be piss out. On top of that, anyone who would be feeling just a little bit emotionally handicapped by the sight of a dark space was also bound to get the same service or lack thereof. The machine-buildings of these creatures sometimes did have elevators, but finding them sometimes was just about as easy as finding a used drug-needle in a haystack—and just as safe. Good luck on finding ones that worked, too.
So, it's the ladder. Intemelessy went first, holstering her weapons. Her bootlets-covered feet and bare legs extended first down the rungs before the rest of her did, shorts-covered hips next, followed by leotard-covered torso, followed by her head, her hands the last thing going out of sight.
As Heather put her own feet and legs on the ladder, a glad thought went to having switched over to wearing pants more often. Gosh knows what's down in that darkness, waiting for a nice ripe young girl to come on down, reaching up to feel some legs and maybe grope up the skirt…
Ick, thought Heather before following Intemelessy down the ladder and into the darkness. If there was anything waiting to get them right away, Intemelessy was probably going to feel it first. It must be a little easier to be an android, thought Heather. Never scared because emotions aren't a problem. Being almost invincible must be a nice plus, too.
…
2.
…
Imagine a factory basement as re-imagined by psychotic freaks from another universe, and that's pretty much a start to what this area looked like…because that is what it basically is. Some folks would probably argue that the whole damned machine-building already looks the part. Nope, they're wrong. If the upper floors looked all dark and demonically industrialized, just know now that this place was more so. And it was this place that Heather and Intemelessy were willingly entering.
At least the upper hallway had lighting of a decent color. Down here, the lights were red—blood-colored illumination of a foreshortened corridor that was more shadows than light. Odd squared projections of strange machinery jutted out in places, making this already narrow hallway seem even more difficult to get through. Or it'd be more difficult for people who were bigger than mutant-midgets from an alternate reality. All throughout was the thrumming-machine sound heard from the first floor of this building. The same, yet louder down here.
Down here, where things were more dangerous-looking and mechanized. "Hope you don't get a scrape or anything," said Heather. "These guys have got their stuff set up all over the place."
"Damage due to such impacts would be unlikely. The tensile strength of my synthetic skin surpasses that of a titanium alloy in solid state," responded Intemelessy.
Ask a robot a question, get a robot's answer, thought Heather. "Alright. Whatever. Right now, I've got this feeling that we're getting close. Let's look around and be nosey. Any questions?"
Intemelessy didn't sound huffy or anything, but her response had the edge of something just a bit rude. What do androids care about manners? "I have no requests for additional information. My data on this category of scenario is extensive."
"Well, gosh! Thanks for telling me in advance!" exclaimed Heather, throwing up her hands. "Let's just get this show on the road."
So it began, the random testing of doors to find out which doors would work, which ones felt like they were locked and might work, and which doors were probably closed for good. For the record, Heather was using some of her abilities again, twisting the doorknobs by using her mind—not her hands. Some doorknobs turned, but the doors themselves weren't going to open. Intemelessy was doing the same.
About that Intemelessy… So robo-girl has extensive data on this kind of situation, huh? Muttered Heather, "You were born knowing everything, weren't you?"
"That is incorrect," stated Intemelessy, following Heather in her walk. "There is no single source of all data in all universes. I am to acquire information as my existence continues to improve my functionality."
"I was being sarcastic," said Heather, stopping in front of yet another door and looking at the doorknob, doing that move-objects-with-her-mind trick to make it turn. Nope, door wasn't opening. Another dud. Time to move on. "Try the rest of the ones on this side. I'm gonna give the rest of 'em a shot."
"Affirmative," agreed Intemelessy, going to the other side of the hall and stepping around bits of jutting machinery. Unlike Heather, the advanced female android known as Intemelessy had to try doorknobs the old-fashioned way—using her hands. Right hand on a door, giving the knob a twist and pull, and nothing happened. Next door, the female android did the same and got the same results. Twist, pull…and nothing. Are we there yet?
Yes, we are. Click-clomp. Heather managed to get one open. A rush of warm air rushed out, accompanied by even more of that thrumming machine-sound. Just one look inside was all the girl needed to show that they hit jackpot. Got this done faster than I would've thought, thought Heather. No stupid mind-games, puzzles or anything. "Over here!"
Intemelessy turned and strode aggressively in quickly strode in Heather's direction. "Wait a moment," said the synthetic girl. "Do not move from your position."
Since Intemelessy was made to be a fighting machine in the shape of a girl, combat-thinking was always somewhere in the computer-works of her mind. (Pay attention, folks. This is important.) Tactics, situational awareness, probabilities of enemy attack, all of that was always part of her thought processes. And it was such computerized combat-thinking telling her that the probability of enemy attack was getting into the danger zone right about now. Here they were in a newly established—newly altered—base of operations for the enemy, and they hadn't attacked yet. What does this mean?
"This is a trap," said Intemelessy.
"Like Hell it is," countered Heather. "If they wanted to trap us, they're too late. We already found what we're looking for. All we've gotta do is, whoa!"
The whoa came as the metal door slammed in front of her, metal on metal hitting with such great force that somebody would have lost fingers if they had a hand in the way. Two sets of bars crashed down into this basement area—one set of bars at one end of the hall, another set of bars at the other end With the door having slammed itself shut and the way back to the metal ladder blocked off, the girls weren't going anywhere for now.
That's a new one, thought Heather, not really shocked in the least. Never would've figured they'd use one of their own boss-machines for bait. Jerks… Heather kicked the door which separated her from the goal which was in sight not even a whole minute ago. Wreck the thing in that room, and they could've been home-free. "Just wait 'til one of them shows its butt-ugly face."
Ask and ye shall receive. Heather mentally and verbally wished for one of them to show their butt-ugly faces, and that was what the girl got—sort of. Our girl would soon be treated and mistreated to a visit from something that was from around here.
First, Heather heard a sound of a square metal panel opening somewhere above. Then came a nasty sound of grunting and slithering. That was what her ears were picking up. Now her eyes went to work, looking up.
Above and along the ceiling, a pale and muscular creature was pulling itself along the pipeworks above, using its two arms for mobility because it had no legs. Its huge head was turned away. Not turned away were the two lumps of meat which were its crusty and calloused buttocks—rough from being sat on in radioactive cages all the time. Talk about turning the other cheek.
Don't be surprised that Heather was surprised at the sight of the thing. We may have already had the displeasure of meeting one of these creatures in our own travels, but not yet Heather. (Heh-heh, butt not yet Heather.) And it's not every day that somebody sees a mutant body dressed in nothing but some spotted sores and bits of grime, working its way along and among pipes.
Heather's reaction was a look of surprise. Intemelessy's reaction was something else. Things were bright and loud as her nuclear-powered twin pistols fired as soon as they were drawn.
The shots holed the torso of the creature, also putting holes in the grimy pipework it used for a ceiling-mounted traverse-way. Dark fluid gushing down from blasted pipework as the creature started squealing.
Since Intemelessy's shooting didn't injure the creature's huge arms, the damned thing was able to make something like a hasty getaway—clambering deeper into the dark pipework above. Being shot twice in the same go was enough injury for today, thank-you-very-much. No way did it want to hang around (so to speak) while getting its nasty ass shot up by nuclear-powered pistols fired with robotic-girl accuracy.
Too bad for the creature, Intemelessy wasn't done killing it yet. There was no hiding from the intensely powerful blasts of her dual pistols—both pistols powered by tiny little microfusion reactors, like little pieces of the sun amplified a million times and unleashed with every pull of the trigger. You know how much creatures of darkness hate sunlight. So, it's fitting and proper that Intemelessy's creature-killing weaponry use the same kind of power used by that big bright thing in the sky during daylight. Nuclear power, that is. Much as people with their minds stuck in the American 1960s hate nukes, almost all life on the Earth's surface owes its existence to a nuclear furnace at the center of the solar system. Yes indeed, the sun is a gargantuan hydrogen-powered fusion-reactor that had fuel enough to blaze for five billion years so far and probably continue blazing on for a few billion more. Now imagine just a little bit of power contained within two pistols…
Intemelessy's shots hit and went through the target even while it was trying to hide. And we ought to know by now that trying isn't the same as succeeding. That creature just couldn't get away from Intemelessy's dual pistols. Hide fail.
Heather kept to the sides as liquid nastiness gushed down from the shattered pipework and blast-severed electrical cables dangled dangerously. Heather also avoided being whacked from above by the falling body of the creature.
When the muscular, big-headed creature went splat against the floor, it wasted no time in making a scene. It wriggled and squirmed, arms flailing everywhere. Heather took some steps back to stay out of the grip of those huge arms, also keeping her sneakers out of the dark fluid that came from the blasted creature's body—fluid that was nothing like the blood which splashed from the blasted pipes above. Wriggle and squirm as it did, it eventually died. Heather could sense it no longer being alive.
A thought went to giving that ugly thing a good stomp to make sure it was dead, but there was the issue of getting blood and fluids from the pipes on her sneakers and the rest of her clothes. (Hey, her clothes might not be the latest in fashion from Macy's, but they're still her clothes.) More blood was still pouring down from above. And unless there was a way out of this trap, the damage above was most probably going to cause more of the stuff to splatter down on her. Heather gave the door another try.
It opened right up. No problem. Killing that creature also killed part of the will which kept the door closed. "Let's go," said Heather to her synthetic female companion, entering the room which was temporarily sealed off to them. Intemelessy followed and prudently closed the door behind herself.
…
In here was an unfinished machine-room—one of those places lit with dark blood-red lights and soon to have a fully-functioning engine-machine adding to the general din. The short-little midget-dudes were working huddle-backed, their thick-fingered hands using their tools, assembling one of their engine-machines. As for the engine-machine itself, its top was off. Something was alive in that thing—looking like a headless, limbless meat-baby in a rust-metal cradle, the cradle in this case being the casing of the engine-machine. Want to know what some of that blood running through the pipes gets used for? Here's part of your answer. Want to know where the freaks of this place get human blood to run through the pipes? You won't be told that yet, at least not in such an obvious manner.
Whatever it was, why-ever it was, Intemelessy's answer regarding things like this was always the same—just start shooting. Went her programming, the only good monster is a dead monster.
Intemelessy quickly laid waste to those huddled malformed dudes in red coveralls, their bodies being blasted open and blasted back. Of course, a few of them squealed their war-cries and suicide-rushes in this direction with their strange tools raised above their nasty heads. The most successful of them didn't even make it two steps in this direction before they were made just as dead as their coveralls-clad inhuman brethren. No harm in trying? Hah, they were being harmed—given the kind of hurt which meant holes being blasted completely through their bodies. Trying and dying, that is what's going on here.
While Intemelessy handled the rest of the scum, Heather was free from being physically disturbed and had opportunity enough to use one of her most powerful abilities. Our girl was summoning…the unseen servants.
A hot blast of air rushed through this room as the unseen servants became a presence. They can't be seen by most eyes, but they're most definitely there—same as before. And like all those times before, what they did was very visible…and audible.
Though they were invisible (hence unseen), one could hear their progress through this mid-construction machine, the heavy flapping of their leathery wings through the warm air, the heavy sounds of their clawed feet on the metal floor, the occasional rumbling growl. As they made their way toward the unfinished engine-machine and its core of living flesh, they struck aside whole trios of creatures. Some of the unseen servants rushed through the air to snatch some of the creatures in mid-air to rip them apart in some totally awesome ways.
And when the unseen servants reached the living meat-core of the incomplete engine-machine, it was like they were just getting warmed up with how they handled the midget-dudes. Now they were really getting down to business. Maybe they used claws. Maybe used appendages that vaguely resembled human hands. Or maybe some of them used vicious mouths. Can't be sure any way because, again, the unseen servants cannot be seen by mortal eyes. They were just very effective in ripping the bloody mess out of the living meat-core of the engine-machine which was now making a lot of noise.
The screams were not just coming from the living meat-creature but also seemed to be coming from the air, resonating with the floor, the ceiling, everything in here. That's because the meat-creature really was the heart of everything here. It was the thing which transformed this place was connected to it—this place being a staging area for invasion from the other world. It didn't happen here, a failed invasion.
The boss-machine was killed, its living core destroyed. With their work done, the unseen servants…went away. With them also went the temporary rush of increased power in Heather's body. Heather collapsed, falling down hard onto her butt, looking dazed and feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on.
That wasn't the only thing coming. Remember, this place was not yet fully made a part of the invading darkness, not fully part of that other world. Now it was going back to the reality from which it was originally taken—or coming back to that reality, depending on one's point of view. That return began with…a blaze of white light. Big wailing sounds like air-raid sirens came from off in the distance and grew louder. A bright whiteness blazed out everything. Heather fell into unconsciousness, knowing that this battle was done.