Prompt 5 - The scene that will give you, personally, the most joy
Somewhere not in Nevada...
The world was shaking itself apart. Or whatever world he had entered. Pieces of grey rubble erupted from the earth with each blast from his shotgun, sending dust spinning around the floating platforms of concrete he was tentatively standing on. Mellow wasn't sure how long he'd been backpedaling. He was running out of shells and the grunts were relentless. They were physically and mentally mangled beyond recognition. Nothing Mellow said would sway them. Their glossy eyes bore holes through his form as their stone-addled corpses shambled faster towards him. It wasn't a matter of killing them, all he could do was slow them down. His visor's reticle identified five more emerging from the floor mere feet from him and it was at that point Mellow realized it was about time to ditch the run and gun strategy. Seemed it was time to think of a new plan.
Slamming the stock of his shotgun into the jaw of the closest man, Mellow used the opportunity to shoulder him off into the void for an opening. He had no recollection of how he got there, was wore out from the never-ending waves of his former colleagues, and was terrified of the ever changing landscape; there was only one thing left that made sense anymore. He spun around and ran. Past the dozens of obtuse stone slabs and walls, the hundreds of now pursuing A.A.H.W mercenaries, and over blackened bloodstains that seemingly marked the many failed attempts of his predecessors. Gravity was significantly lighter so leaping from the platforms, while terrifying, was more than doable. Unfortunately it did nothing to slow them down. The sound of gunshots rung out from behind him, most likely from the dead Soldats and Engineers also pursuing him. What had he done to deserve their ire? Last time he checked, he had been dead in an office.
His escape was short-lived. A couple hundred feet or so later, he approached a sheer drop. Mellow knew he had just shy of thirty seconds before they would descend upon him. It took one look at the drop into the cavernous, grey void below to send him to his knees from vertigo. This was it. Either jump down and pray to be stretched apart and obliterated by the nebula before the stone shamblers got to him, or go down swinging with the remaining ammunition and weaponry he had. The rage and indignation of being hunted by the people he spent so much time on began to build as he propped himself off the floor with his battered Benelli. Reaching into his vest pouch confirmed that he had only a handful of shells left. It would have to do. The thirty seconds were almost up. The thunk of the first of his last rounds being chambered grounded him. He still had his combat knife if he had to resort to it but he knew he'd have a better chance throwing it at someone than actually stabbing these monstrosities.
Raising the sights of the gun up at the approaching horde, he took aim and braced himself for the kick...only to be interrupted by a vibrating sensation coming from another pocket. Quickly withdrawing its contents, he took a moment to inspect the culprit. He was getting a call from his phone, the ID reading: T. Mellow couldn't shake the surprise off in time. One of the grunts pushed the partially extended shotgun aside and tackled Mellow off of his feet; even as he careened into the void with stony hands gripping and tearing at his throat, he never took his eyes off the name. He had been too slow to fire, too slow to dodge, and too slow to answer. He was too slow. His vision was sent spiraling as their two bodies dove headfirst into the endless abyss. He could still feel the vibrations.
Somewhere in Nevada...
He could still feel the vibrations. His lungs were burning for air, his muscles aching from the strain, but he struggled to emerge. He could feel his hands again; he needed to free his throat. Mellow tried his best to claw his neck open with a gasp for breath but could feel himself being restricted in...the warmth? He was suddenly wrapped in something. Gently so. His ears were ringing but he could breathe again. All he had to focus on, to ground himself to whatever reality he had landed in, was the intense vibration reverberating through his body. It was comforting, seeming to help ebb away the pain as his senses began to reconnect. Every nerve was on fire but he held himself still if only to be closer to the source. Mellow was suddenly aware of each pound of gear and clothing he was still saddled with. The bite of the straps from his vest on his chest, the stiffness from the empty shoulder holster, and the toolbelt clinging to his waist. But one thing was missing. His mask had somehow been removed.
His desire to see the world once again, mask or no, finally won through as his eyelids cracked open. There was a small amount of light from a window's blinds. It seemed like he was in a normal room? Without his mask, due to the genetic modifications the agency prided themselves on, his vision would permanently be blurry as a measure of loyalty. What he couldn't see, though, he could feel. He was pressed up against the still vibrating object. His migrating hands slowly felt their way around his surroundings as he pieced it together. It was almost as if he was resting in someone's lap as two propped up legs were adjacent to his arms. The vibrations grew stronger once it realized he was conscious. He couldn't see what had been restraining him but it was safe to assume it was waiting. With a squint in the hopes to focus his vision, he could make out the blobby shape of a medical rolling tray mere feet from him. Mellow had to act. He couldn't go back there again.
A blind lunge was all it took to send him careening forward into the tray with a resounding crash. He had planned on standing up but the pain bouncing around in his bones made getting up an energy sapping struggle. The contents of the tray spilled onto the floor and Mellow could make out the shape of a bonesaw. That could work. The element of surprise would carry him forward long enough to escape. If not, well...he had already died once. So with a shaky grip, Mellow swept up the blade and peeled himself off of the floor. He waved the saw wildly in the direction of where he came as he assessed the blurry form of his captor. It was...unlike anything he had ever seen, or partially seen, before. Easily a head taller than him, its skin was a deep shade of green. The rest of it was an all too familiar shade of grey. It was a grunt, most likely undead. The head was a blobby shape of metal with two blindingly red and seemingly glowing eyes shining through.
Mellow could feel his resolve weakening as the form stood to its full height and slowly began to approach. He had dealt with zombies once before in his career and made it clear to his superiors that under no circumstances would he accept another mission involving them. The agency found it amusing for reasons beyond Mellow's understanding but they obliged. So to be faced with another one after everything leading up to this point had his already weak legs crumbling. He was going to fall either way, so he charged forth with a blind swing in the hopes to make some space. All he accomplished was being halted dead in his tracks by one of its large hands grabbing him by the neck and suspending him off the floor. Its long nails began to dig into his flesh as his breathing stuttered. His body was becoming numb to the pain. Mellow closed his eyes if only to avoid looking into the demonic stare of his aggressor. His arms went limp and the bonesaw slipped from his grip.
As soon as he had let go of the tool he was gently lowered to the ground and pulled back into the monster's warm embrace. The vibrating quickly returned leaving Mellow face first against its chest near where the heart should be. Instead of a heartbeat, or the lack of one like he expected, he could hear the clicking and whirring of a machine. His murmurs of confusion were met by it bringing its mouth down onto his head, teeth nestling into his hair, softly nibbling at his scalp. Soon following was a voice that, while significantly deeper and somehow glitchier than before, had haunted him for so long. Mellow's body froze up as it, he, spoke.
"SHHHH, Marshmallow. Your clown is here. Safe."
There was no way, no feasible logical explanation for the thing clinging to him so vehemently to be the clown. It couldn't be his clown. Nothing was making sense. Mellow was dead. He had slowly bled out in his office with a caved-in skull and ruptured chest. Then he was stuck in some kind of purgatory chased by his own peers before ending up in some random room in the arms of his partner who had left him. It was just too much. He could feel his head shake back and forth without control; the engineer was in complete total disbelief. But he had no time to dwell on it. The zombie, removing its arms from Mellow's side, instead gently cupped his face upward between two hands. It was taking great care to be soft with its nails. Mellow decided to risk it: to look upon the visage of this monster. If fate had planned such cruelty, he would look it dead on. Opening his eyes, he came face to face not with the metal mask of before, but instead the unmistakable visage of his once partner. His face was disfigured, in some ways partially unrecognizable, but it was certainly him. There was no more makeup or lips, and his jaw was absent of skin instead consisting of smoothed red muscle tissue. His teeth, especially canines, were sharp and far longer than his own mouth as the fangs overlapped. Still had his hair though.
His eyes, the glaring brightness tenderly dimmed, looked imploringly into Mellow's own. The sparkling intelligence and avid curiosity that always seemed to linger in each glance was still present. Even with Mellow's destroyed vision, it was obvious that somehow the monster clown in front of him was HIS monster clown. His clown's face beamed at the mutual recognition. The wave of emotions Mellow had long since buried since Tricky's disappearance threatened to break his rough facade as the clown trailed his nails along the engineer's cheeks and down his neck. Mellow knew he'd be tearing up if the agency hadn't stripped that from him.
"Hayyy~ Got your voicemaaaails, and here I thought IIIIIIII was the clingy one."
As Mellow was left spluttering, much to the concern and amusement of his partner, a third person suddenly made themselves known from the other side of the room. A man sporting a pair of glowing red goggles emerged from the darkness with what the engineer easily recognized as a data pad hooked up to his formerly lost engineer mask. The man, a doctor of some sort if the head mirror was anything to go off of, cleared his throat in an awkward gesture and began.
"Now that the extraction was a success, get the hell out of my house."
As he walked past and down into an adjacent hallway, he chucked the mask behind him. Mellow could hear the man's last words seemingly directed towards Tricky.
"And no more favors for you. I'm not a doctor, you damn clown."