Arc 1: The Return
Chapter 5: Wake Up
Cold. Dark. Nothingness.
The only sensations recognized by her senses. Gravity was inconsequential when every direction was simultaneously up and down. She'd tried to open her eyes, but the sights around her made the Commander wish she was back in her Reaper-fueled nightmares during the war.
Suddenly, a voice.
"You… you shouldn't be here. The Dark Presence has made its first move."
Then, another.
"This is still part of the plan. We must leave, before we cannot."
"The power of this place, its hold on us… you will not remember your story."
"That, too, is part of the plan. The less I know, the more natural I'll be. I'll still be following the script, but I won't be forced off the path if I try to change my own writings."
"And her?"
"She'll come too. She has not been here long, perhaps she'll remember."
"If so, what will you tell her?"
"Shepard. The stories and myths you've been learning, they're real. The Darkness… the Dark Presence, it's making its move to take our reality for itself. It will consume everything if we cannot stop it."
"How do we stop it?" She found herself asked, her eyes still closed for fear of the visions.
"I cannot say too much. It'll change the story too much, break the narrative, but I can tell you what we must do… We must find the Lady of the Light. She can help us…"
"How?"
"You must wake up, Commander…"
WAKE UP.
{}{}{}{}{}{}}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}}{}
Shepard's eyes shot open quickly as all sensation quickly flooded her mind.
Cold. Wet. Tired. Sore. Weak. Vulnerable. Pain. Dark.
Jennifer struggled to put her hands beneath her as they sunk into the soft, wet sand. Finally, she was able to push herself to her hands and knees, still on all fours. She was soaking wet as she knelt by the lakeside, her clothes soaked through as they chilled her to the bone. Looking around, she noticed how dark it was, the moon was high in the sky as the night was probably late.
She then took in her own appearance. Her armor was gone, as was all of her weapons. She now only wore her undersuit, which still kept her appearance modest. However, she still felt exposed and vulnerable, especially with her undersuit soaked.
The Commander coughed violently for a moment, forcing water out of her throat without reprieve for a few moments before she finally calmed back down. She took a moment to run through her memories of what just transpired.
She remembered coming to Bright Falls. She remembered the Museum of Light. She remembered meeting with Nightingale and getting onto the shuttle. She remembered… that bastard crashing the shuttle into the lake after spouting madness. She remembered… voices… in the lake? Something about stories and legends. She… she needed to find the 'Lady of the Light', which was presumably the asari from the museum.
She took in more of her surroundings after a moment. Ahead of her stood a tall, dark forest with what appeared to be a game trail leading through the trees. Turning around, she saw a large number of shuttles with large light beams scanning the lake and lakefront in the distance. Are they searching for her and the downed shuttle?
Wanting to tell them she was alright, Shepard reached over and tapped her left arm, trying to pull up her omni-tool.
It didn't respond.
No orange interface came into existence. No voices began to play out of thin air. Not even so much as a beep or malfunction notice. On closer inspection, the housing unit for her omni-tool was missing from its normal position underneath her hardsuit. As if it vanished from thin air.
Shepard gave out a growl of annoyance. All of her equipment was missing, her omni-tool was gone, she was cold and wet, and worst of all, she was stranded on her own with no way to contact them. And, as she felt the winds pick up around her, she knew shouting for help wouldn't work.
The problem was, too, that Shepard wasn't overly patient, meaning that she didn't want to have to wait hours on the cold sand waiting for help to find her at some point. She wanted out… now!
Turning her attention to the game trail once more, Jane figured that the trail may lead her to a road, or even a nearby hunting cabin. Finally climbing to her feet, a glittering object attracted her attention nearby in the sand, several feet away and just an inch from the water's edge.
Laying there, half-buried in the sand, was her hand cannon. Smiling to herself, Shepard reached down and grabbed it, and almost let out a whoop of excitement when she discovered an unused heat sink residing within the weapon… which was odd… didn't she fire it at least once? She shook her head regardless. Either way, she wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.
Right beside and partially buried underneath the pistol within the coarse sand laid a peculiar object. A faint ethereal glow resonated from the object, almost beckoning Shepard closer to it; to examine it. Her curiosity peaked, she reached over and brushed the sand away, revealed a piece of paper. It seemed in good shape all things considered, not waterlogged or wet, as it is resisted the call of the lake it resided by. Her eyes couldn't help but scan the page.
'Jane was close. She heard screaming and yelling in her earpiece, calling the whole thing off. It'd ended in disaster; the entire operation a bust. Everyone who'd tried had died. Everyone. Yet here she was, gravely injured, but conscious. And mobile.
Ignoring the retreat command, the Commander left her other weaponry long forgotten behind her, only carrying her trusty sidearm. It'd gotten her through a ton of tough spots before. Mars. Lazurus Station. It'd be able to do it again. She continued to limp her way toward the beam that connected to the sky; to the Citadel structure beyond sight. To her target.
One would expect more ground resistance to be present around such a valuable target, but there wasn't. It was illogical of these beings to make such a blunder. It shouldn't have happened. Yet it did. Luck was on her side, for once. The only things standing between Shepard and her target were only a lone Husk and a single Marauder, with shields.'
She frowned at the page, seemingly describing the moments leading up to the firing of the Crucible. It was odd. How could someone know in such detail what had happened to her? She grabbed and pocketed the page to worry about on a later date, before refocusing on her sole weapon. It was ironic that it was once again her 'trusty sidearm' to keep her company in such a situation.
The pistol now held firmly in her hand, she had the formation of a beginning of a plan. Follow the game trail to either a building to call for help, a road to find help, or hopefully stay close to the lakeside to go around the lake. From what she recalled from the maps she'd seen of Bright Falls and Cauldron Lake, there were old, asphalt roads circling the entirety of the lake, which would eventually lead back into Bright Falls.
Taking the first steps into the forest, the Commander's first thoughts were how creepy it seemed at night. This feeling only intensified when the small amount of fog rolled into the area, making the small amount of visibility become reduced to nothing.
Continuing along the path, she eventually came across a real, human-made trail, complete with a few sets of fences and an old light pole, which was unfortunately unlit. At least, now, she had a better chance of getting out.
'Follow the trail, and you'll eventually find civilization,' she reasoned.
Following the said trail, she heard bits of movement here and there amongst the sounds of animals in the bushes and grass. The wind began to pick up and kick the fog up higher, simultaneously beginning to howl in the forest. The forest was unwelcoming to the intruder, warning her to leave at once.
She couldn't have agreed more.
However, not a single living thing made an appearance along the path, making the entire trip fill her with more unease. As she continued, she passed by another dead light pole, before a voice in the woods interrupted her silent thoughts.
"AAAAccording to Alliance Protocol…" A strange, distorted voice spoke, its voice echoing through the trees, making location of the voice impossible. For some reason, the voice sounded eerily familiar. "Lunch break is required to last a minimum of fifteen minutes." The voice continued, confusing Shepard.
"Who's there?" She called out in response, her eyes carefully scanning her surroundings as she slowly continued forward.
"Commanderrrrrr… Shepard…, it's an honor to meet you…" The voice rang out again, starting to really make her feel uneasy with naming her, "N-no, no, no, too creepy… how about, Shepard, nice to meet you?"
Luckily, she soon saw a cabin appear through the foggy haze. The lights were off inside, and it looked abandoned, but perhaps it had some way to signal for help. She reached the front door on its wooden porch when the voice spoke again, originating from directly behind her.
"I've got it… Commander, I've been expecting you?"
Spinning around gracefully, with one fluid moment Shepard had turned 180 degrees and had her weapon raised at the man speaking. Upon taking in his appearance she was shocked.
The man stood holding what appeared to be a large butcher knife, but wore a nice black suit with a small amount of blood caked onto it. His face was shockingly familiar. She recognized the man despite the unholy amount of darkness flowing off of him. Regardless, he introduced himself.
"Agent Burke, aaaaaaaaaaat your service…" His distorted voice said, though his actions didn't match his actions, as he slowly raised his knife towards her.
"Agent Burke? Jordan?" She asked, "What the hell happened to you?"
"The Oh Deer Diner has the best breakfast in the country, possibly even the planet… or galaxy!" He shouted, before lunging forward with the knife.
Firing two rounds into him on instinct, she was fortunate enough to also dive to the side, dodging the continued strike. He didn't collapse from the shots. It only seemed to slowly him down slightly, as he continued forward and hit the door behind her. The knife punched through the wood door like butter, and likewise exited the door with grace, ready to be struck towards her once more.
Shepard, after seeing her weapon do nothing to the deranged man, threw a biotically charged punch into the man's jaw, before kicking him biotically in the chest. The man stumbled back stunned for just a moment, before he shook it off.
She waited for him to launch at her once more, before Shepard used his moment to push him further behind. He lurched forward, past Shepard and through the railing continuing several feet past the deck and into the foggy haze, hiding him from view. She wasn't going to just wait for him to come back.
Utilizing the damaged door, Shepard biotically charged through the door, shattering it to splinters as she entered the cabin. Through the windows on the opposite wall, she what appeared to be a large barn.
The strange thing about the barn, though, was that there was a working lightpole shining light upon the side of the barn and the ground nearby, showing a slightly open sliding barn door. Within the barn, itself, she could see what appeared to be working lights, with a moving light beam inside.
Someone else was here… Someone who wasn't trying to kill her for some unforeseen reason. And they might just have a way to contact the Alliance.
That's when she heard footsteps behind her on the deck.
"Have a good day, Commander." He called out behind her.
Ignoring the seemingly immortal man, Shepard felt her biotics coat her in energy, before she jumped and biotically flew through the large window and wall, since there wasn't a back door, landing a dozen feet from the barn and near the light. The said method of travel was not silent, however, and made a huge bang when the wall gave way. The light beam within the barn moved quite a bit at the noise.
Turning around, she could see Jordan standing in the ruins of the wall, holding the knife in one hand for just a moment, before he began to walk forward towards her. "We've managed to minimize the damage." He yelled out as he approached. She was ready for him now, though, as she stood ready to fight with biotic energy rippling across her body.
That's when the barn door slid open further.
A bright beam of focused light came from the opening and centered on Jordan. The moment the light landed on him, he put a hand up to shield his face, and he stopped in his tracks. Hissing sounds came from the demonic figure before her, before he flashed briefly. Now, the dark tendrils of energy were no longer emanating from the corrupted agent.
Not even a second after she'd noticed this, two loud gunshots rang out, both landing neatly in the man's head. Bang. Bang.
Jordan ceased to exist as his form disintegrated before her, intercepted from ever landing on the ground when he began to fall back.
Turning her attention from where the enemy was a moment ago, Shepard kept her weapon raised as she turned to the newest crasher of the party.
Stepping forward out of the barn was a man that looked about her age. Like her, he had green eyes, but unlike Shepard, sported dark black hair and a light beard. He wore jeans and a black sweatshirt, with a heavy gray coat. In one hand was a large, heavy-duty yet old flashlight. In his other hand was an antique revolver.
"Who are you?" Shepard asked, her weapon still raised toward the unknown man.
Upon turning and gazing upon Shepard, he lowered his weapon, seemingly at ease despite the gun raised at him. He had a small frown on his face, "My name is Alan Wake, and you are?" He asked, shocking Shepard into stunned silence for a moment.
Alan Wake woke up to the sound of his own lungs, coughing up water and gulping down fresh air for the first time in over a century. His own eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness surrounding him as he forced himself to his feet. Looking around for a moment, he quickly took stock of his surroundings, his senses undulled despite his disconnection from reality for so long. He could see what must have been a helicopter in the distance, scanning the lake for someone or something. He wasn't sure, but he did know that it must have been a sign…
Once determined that he was not in any immediate danger, he looked over himself, finding himself wearing his hoodie jacket over his shirt. His jeans were soaked with water, as was the rest of him, chilling him to the bone with the cool autumn air. He searched his memories for clues to his story; for anything he could remember that could help him and show him the path he must take.
He remembered a door with a swirl carved into it, deep within a motel. He could remember a doppelgänger posing as Thomas Zane; the infamous urban legend Mr. Scratch. He could remember a different time in a desert. He remembered his most recent attempt to escape. The third thing; the thing-that-had-been-Hartman within the FBC, killed by Jesse Faden in his latest attempt to escape. How long ago was that, he wondered? Days? Weeks? Years? How long had he been down there?
He shook the thoughts from his head, he needed to move. He was back by the lake, Cauldron Lake to be exact, right beside Bright Falls. He needed to find the hero he'd written, the one who was going to help free him from the darkness; his savior from the Dark Presence.
Where was Faden?
Suddenly, a bright presence made itself known in the dark, wet sand. A sole piece of parchment laid upon the sand, untouched by the moisture, beckoning Wake forward. It called out to him, like beacon in the night. It was a Conduit through which he could succeed in his mission. It was a page from his manuscript. Right beside it laid an antique, black flashlight.
The flashlight was off, and one would assume it to be dead after all the time it'd likely spent in the sand and water. It was a perfectly logical thought, but one that was flawed, for it was not possible to know how long it'd been there. Regardless, there were working batteries within it, ready to ignite the light at the press of a button.
Gingerly, with care, the writer lifted the page from the brown sand, holding it in his hand. His eyes scanned the page.
'Beyond the treeline, just as the page predicted, laid an ancient inscription. Carved ages ago into the rock, defying expectations and the toils of time laid a painted inscription. Bright yellow paint splashed upon grey stone, forming a circle around a torch, only visible when light shined upon it.
It was one of Weaver's caches, filled with weapons of the light. To combat the dark.
Wake wasted little time as a warm smile grew on his face. Even so long into the future, Cynthia Weaver was still aiding him. He silently wondered what had happened to The Lady of the Light.'
Alan smiled at his handy work, looking up from the page to the trees only a few yards away. Beyond the trees, deeper into the darkness laid another cache from Cynthia Weaver. He hadn't laid eyes upon the elder since he'd left Barry in the powerplant with her, journeying to the lake. He picked up the flashlight, and experimentally clicked the button.
A literal beacon in the dark, the bulb ignited, shining a beam of lifesaving light into the darkness before him. He could try to signal for help, maybe flash the helicopter looking for someone, but something told him that he shouldn't. The page specifically mentioned a cache in the woods, but it was impossible to tell if that was a page describing the near future or the far future. Hell, it could have been describing the past too… but it wasn't, he knew it had to apply to the here and now. He knew that he needed to head deeper into the woods.
So he did, reasoning that there was someone he needed to find or somewhere to go, much like he'd found Stucky and the gas station the first time he'd escaped from the lake. He had a script writer, but couldn't remember it for the life of him. Perhaps it was for the best, though. Purposefully breaking the script could damage the fiction's narrative. It could break the power that bound reality, derailing it from the new, set path.
And so, he did. He entered the forest. He held the flashlight to shin in front of him as he stepped forward, illuminating his current path. He could see a large bolder, laid into the land and half-submerged by dirt and plants.
Beyond the treeline, just as the page predicted, laid an ancient inscription. Carved ages ago into the rock, defying expectations and the toils of time laid a painted inscription. Bright yellow paint splashed upon grey stone, forming a circle around a torch, only visible when light shined upon it.
It was one of Weaver's caches, filled with weapons of the light. To combat the dark.
Wake wasted little time as a warm smile grew on his face. Even so long into the future, Cynthia Weaver was still aiding him. He silently wondered what had happened to The Lady of the Light.
He examined the ground beneath the symbol, the loose dirt barely concealing a wooden crate beneath the floor. He knelt down and brushed the dirt from the crate, opening it to find a treasure trove, almost as if it were prepared specifically for him; specifically, for this purpose.
Reaching in, he found a few different items. Within the crate laid a few additional batteries for the flashlight, which was quickly pocketed in his coat, which was slowly but surely drying. Digging deeper within the crate was his saving grace:
An antique revolver, in perfect shape despite the test of time. He smiled as he slid the side open, showing no rounds in any of the chambers. Right next to the weapon was a decent amount of ammunition, totaling in 30 rounds. He took a moment to refill the weapon, leaving 24 in the ammo box, which was promptly pocketed as well. He also found two manual flares, and a flare gun with a single shot. Minus flashbangs and a shotgun, he had everything he needed.
'A nailgun would have worked, too.' He reasoned with a smile, recalling his small bout in Night Springs. That whole fiasco was a disaster, minus a few good things that came about. He'd shown three people the truth about the darkness, and had successfully sealed Mr. Scratch back beneath the lake, along with himself once the script came to an end. He'd tried to signal Alice, let her know he was ok, but he couldn't be sure how successful he'd been.
With everything he needed, Wake rose back to his full height, turning deeper into the woods. He could see what appeared to be a game trail; a thinning of the tall grass twisting and turning between the dark greenery. That seemed to be his best bet, as he recalled roads twisting and turning around the lake, which a game trail may reach.
Flashing shining in front of him, the writer began to hike deeper into the woods. He continued for a while, the only sounds came from crickets and the breeze. He'd soon reached an intersection of trails, leading in four cardinal directions. North. South. East. West. North to West seemed the most traveled, so he went West.
Before long, the writer saw a structure in the woods, a large wooden barn. The barn had seen better days, and appeared dark, abandoned to time and rot, yet seemed in good shape. He'd just reached the barn when the breeze became stronger, pulling a fog along with the wind into the area. He didn't like that, the fog at night around the lake was never a good sign.
He walked along the outside of the barn, looking for something he could use. Eventually, around the third wall, he discovered an old generator. The generator was gas-based, and had rust gathered and built around it. What had likely once been a prestigious silver was nothing more than splotchy grey corrupted by red. The pull handle was green with algae, but looked unrotted.
That was a good sign.
Kicking and rocking the generator revealed it to not be brittle and broken. The man-made machine remained in half-decent shape, and the lid for the gas spun without issue, meaning it'd been used recently. Wake decided it might still work.
Changing his grip on his flashlight, Wake grabbed the handle and pulled. The mechanisms spun and tried to start, but failed. He pulled again, he could hear the machine struggle to turn on. Trying a third time finally worked, the machine coming to life and maintaining itself. Only a second went by before the lights within the barn turned on, another light on the outside came on around the corner at another end of the barn.
Wake smiled to himself and nodded at his handywork, before turning and going further around the barn. Turning the corner came a lightpost, shining its light upon the sliding barn door. Across from the barn was an old, dark cabin. He ignored the cabin and quickly approached the light, taking a moment to rest under the light, allowing the healing energy to wash over him. His damp clothes seemed to finish drying after a moment, and energy seemed to return to the man.
After allowing himself the moment, Alan put his hand on the door and gently slid it open, just enough to allow himself passage. Stepping into the barn revealed nothing of surprise. Some hay bales, a tractor, some other tools. The familiar shape of a car under a sheet stood off the side, and likely wasn't working. What did catch his attention was a first aid kit sitting on a bench, with a stark-white sheet of paper next to it.
Approaching the bench, Wake opened the kit first, looking inside for whatever could be inside. He found some basics, a box of bandages, some antibiotic cream, a few other things. What really confused him, though, was a set of three vials of liquid, joined with a syringe for each. His only clue was the word 'Medi-Gel' inscribed on each vial. He pocketed the odd gel for later, before turning his attention to the page.
'The fog obscured sight beyond a short field of vision as the night grew darker. Visibility wasn't great, so they needed something big. Something able to pierce the likely supernatural fog to gain the attention of those searching for her. Wake knew what needed to be done.
With the music from the barn radio playing behind him, Wake stepped out under the broken light post outside the barn and turned his attention to the now-ruined cabin. Raising the flare gun toward the hole, he fired a single flare inside.
The night wind howled in protest at the action, responding to his daring move by making the generator fail, plunging the barn into darkness. The music continued to play as the cabin ignited, serving as a beacon for both the Alliance and for the Darkness.'
Wake reread the page twice more after the first time. He focused on his word choice. 'They' and 'her' meant there was someone else out there, a woman. He saw a flash of a face in the dark, a vision of red hair and green eyes; a suppressed memory. He also recognized the location on the page, it being exactly where he was. He could've sworn he's heard gun shots in the distance, but ignored it with his focus elsewhere.
The problem laid with what the page described. The cabin didn't currently have a hole in it, and there was no music playing within the barn. The latter portion concerned him, too. Obviously, the page was instructions for finding and signally for help, but it seems doing so will attract the Dark's attention. He'll be in for another fight with Taken if he tried to signal for help. But he had to, didn't he?
A crash gained his attention; the sounds of crunching wood and shattering glass echoed in the night outside of the barn, before a boom sounded off, like a small explosion. The loud noise startled Wake, making him drop the flashlight. The beam flew over the room as it fell, before he picked it back up.
Approaching the barn door, he heard something he hadn't in a long time. The voice of a Taken spoke outside the barn, "We've managed to minimize the damage." It said.
Wasting no time, he slid the door open wider and looked forward. Standing there with a large knife in its hands was a Taken man wearing a suit, darkness obscuring many individual details, the destroyed cabin behind him. As predicted, there was now a large hole in the back wall.
He raised his flashlight toward the Taken, focusing the beam through sheer willpower. A second later, the monster flashed brightly for a moment, the light cleansing the darkness away, leaving it unprotected. His other hand held the revolved and fired for the first time. Bang, the Taken stumbled back in visible pain. He fired once more into its head, sending the Taken falling backwards.
It didn't have the chance to hit the ground, before it dissolved into nothingness. It was gone.
He felt someone else's gaze on him, forcing him to face what could have been another Taken. Turning to his left, his lowered weapon as he saw a woman, wearing the same face he'd just remembered.
"Who are you?" The woman asking in a commanding tone, her weapon trained on the writer. It was an unfamiliar weapon, and odd in design, but he didn't comment on it. He frowned lightly upon seeing it, but still felt at ease, knowing fairly well that she wouldn't kill him. It also helped that she didn't appear to be Taken nor touched by the Darkness.
"My name is Alan Wake, and you are?" He asked in response, watching her jaw fall open slightly at his name, seemingly recognizing him. He wished he could recognize her beyond the familiarness of her face.
"Wake…?" She asked quietly, to which he nodded.
Alan Wake's Reference Pages:
Mr. Scratch
Mr. Scratch is a mysterious entity, but a wholly evil and mad being. Wake had first seen his doppelgänger, Mr. Scratch, when he was sealed within the lake after freeing Alice, but he only first appeared in Reality a few years later. After Alan Wake had disappeared, rumors and lies spread about him. Urban legends formed of a psychotic killer who'd gone off the deep end. A man who'd tried to off his loving wife before vanishing into the dark. The lies and fiction were published in online articles, passed by word-of-mouth to whoever would listen, talked about over the radio. It spread like a cancer, like a disease.
Eventually, unfortunately, the fiction… the lie became the truth, and Mr. Scratch was born, brought into reality by the lies. He stalked Alice from the shadows, but Alan still had power in his prison, and prevented him from acting on his impulses to a certain extent. Mr. Scratch became a manifestation of the Dark Presence, and found ways to haunt and act on his nature within Alice's dreams, but Wake was sure to make her wake up before he got her. He did, however, use this to push Alice to the FBC, a small move to set up the future.
Finally, Wake trapped him within a place of fiction for one night, with no escape. Night Springs became their battleground, and despite the resources of Mr. Scratch and his ingenious trap, Wake successfully banished him back to the Dark Place beneath the lake. The writing soon came to an end, and Alan was pulled back to the Dark Place, but not within glimpsing and touching Alice within a dream.
Back under the lake, Mr. Scratch became craftier, using the darkness to confuse Wake and prevent his escape. Rabbit holes and paradoxes were his go-to, trying to make Wake lose his way. He'd posed as Wheeler, as Zane, even as Alice, trying to trick him into writing his escape, sometimes even under the guise of writing both of their escape. Alan had his pages, and even found a way to get away from Scratch.
Wake dove deeper.