Silent Hill: The Dream Machine

by Elliot Bowers

This was inspired by all four Silent Hill games. Selena Millieux, an ambitious young woman, enters an alternate reality not yet under the fog-enshrouded wrath of her hometown's "God." Not yet...

9. CHAPTER NINE

Silent Hill: The Dream Machine

by Elliot Bowers

…

Chapter 9

…

The light of day cast brightness on everything: though it was a brightness made obscured by the wafting drifts of fog along the street… A patrol car was parked across the street from of the hospital as so a look out through the left side of the windshield gave a view of the entrance. Coming closer, one would see that the metallic gleam of this particular vehicle was being dulled and ruined with streaks of rust, the windshield slightly dusted with reddish grit. Yet those were just exterior signs of rust and trouble with the vehicle. There was no such trouble within this car's interior or with the engine, because its insides were protected by the appropriate components. There were strips of brass and electromechanical parts connected to the car's electrical system: a repellent to the contaminationThe cylindrical resonators mounted on the car's roofhad similar components.

"Beautiful… Tha-a-at's just beautiful," said the janitor in the driver's seat. Both he and the other janitor were in the proper uniform: of burgundy colored overalls and long-sleeved red work-shirt. He was staring through the windshield, out at the fog. "Look at that! It's three o'clock, full daylight. The fog is still strong here: hasn't been burned away yet!" He smiled a big smile. "The big Day's almost here!"

The other janitor smiled. "You don't have to tell me, buddy! Just look at these hands of mine! They got even better since last night!" He held up his hands close to the windshield as so the fog-filtered daylight could illuminate them better: showing more of the details. The details of his hands showed certain…changes. There were thick, hard lumps and bumps growing all inside the discolored, reddened skin. Worse still was how one hand seemed to be worse than the other. The left hand actually had clusters and lumps of tumors: with little knobby horns growing out of them and spouting gray hairs. The lumps on the right hand were smaller and softer. But likely, with time, both hands would come to develop the same condition. That would be because the growths would actually metastasize throughout the rest of his body. He was actually looking forward to it. "If you look really, re-e-eally close, you can see little things swimming under the skin, too! I think they're stronger, too. A lot stronger."

"Wa-hey! Congratulations to you!" cheered the janitor in the driver's seat, and he meant it. He actually did see very small things moving in the other guy's hands. "I'll tell you what… If it spreads up your hands, I bet Mr. Longhorn will personally congratulate you. Who knows, maybe you'll get to meet the catalyst, too!"

"Hah, I wish!" responded the other janitor. He lowered his hands. "But I don't care about those kinds of rewards. What matters to me is how it's gonna happen! It's almost here, too. Think about it… Eternal bliss. No more pain. No more hunger… Everything's going to be alright. I'm already feeling it. We all will. As the fog gets thicker and Mr. Longhorn keeps working with those wonderful guys with six arms… Ach!" He wretched, his eyes going wide. Suddenly, he was no longer so jovial. "Damn! Did you feel that? Something just happened. Hear it?"

"What, what?" asked the janitor in the driver's seat. "I don't…" R-r-r-rumble… "Never mind. I do hear it. Sounds like those big black motorcycles again!" Using those distorted hands of his, he flicked a switch on the dashboard. "That's okay, we'll just have to let the animals show them a good time!"

There was soon a deep sound of vibration from the car's roof as the cylindrical resonators mounted to the patrol car's roof began to hum and vibrate. Most of the sound it actually produced was beyond the range of human hearing. And it was that sound that was picked up by animals for at least six miles around. Simultaneously, the janitor in the driver's seat felt his blessed hands become pleasantly warm: as if they had become seductive organs of pleasure and a feeling of euphoria washed over him. So what if they were coming? Everything would be ju-u-ust fine…

The rumbling sound of the bikes suddenly became so intense that it washed out the vibrating hum of the resonators on the roof. Four great big motorcycles emerged from nearby, from the fog: with the riders on them riding with their left hands on left handlebars. All of them used their right to brandish their particular weapon…especially the dark biker of the nunchaku. This dark biker veered off the path of his comrades to make a ride-by pass at the patrol car, flailing his weapon downward… Wham-m-m!

There was then a squealing of tires as the dark biker of the weighted nunchaku did a u-turn to get back to the others. The deed was done. Now the resonators mounted atop the patrol car's roof had been crushed: just as the rest of the vehicle was just as flattened. This vehicle was crushed to such an extent that the top of the roof was now within feet of the ground. All four tires had popped. Of course the car's suspension was wrecked, along with the drive-train, the chassis, the frame, the interior…

Hell, it was as if an invisible grand fist struck from above to crush the vehicle as if it was an empty aluminum can of soda-pop! Except this particular hunk of hollowed metal once housed two human occupants and a great deal of automotive engineering. No doubt, the bodies of the two occupants probably now had the physical consistency of raspberry jam. And thus was the fate of those who dared to stand in the way of the four!

Other janitors parked nearby heard the motorcycles, heard the destructive ruckus of a car being crushed, and they were just now getting quickly out of their patrol cars, not even stopping to turn on their own resonators. They saw the bikers come out of nowhere in the fog. The fog itself was not enough to totally hide the massive destructive event. And therefore, the fog was no obstruction to their aim! So the other janitors hopped on out of their patrol cars and drew their handguns: aiming at the dark bikers that now rode in circles, brandishing their weapons.

Crack, crack-crack went the pistols, hard and sharp sounds in the soft and wafting fog. Crack, crack-crack! Yet nothing seemed to make the dark bikers even flinch. Crack! Crack! The janitors were sure that at least some of their shots must have hit those great big leather-clad big men on even bigger motorcycles. How could they miss? Yet there they were, still roaring around in circles…before they steered and went right towards the hospital front entrance. The big guy with the scythe leading the charge: the rest riding single-file. The double-doors to the hospital exploded inward, and they were in.

…

Kablam-m-m! "Eigh!" shrieked the female nurses, their slender hands covering their faces as they quickly ducked behind the reception counter. The front doors to this lobby seem to have exploded for no reason. The nurse didn't know or care why. All that mattered was that there was a very loud noise of destruction, a great deal of exploded violence, and what seemed like an indoor earthquake. They ducked under the counter and put their arms over their heads as the r-r-rumbling sound shook and took over everything. It was so loud and violent that the nurses felt themselves beginning to lose their hearing: a great big airful of gigantic noise that sounds like the end of the world!

The weapons-swinging figures on huge motorcycles ignored the nurses and turned left, the huge tires gripping the ceramic floor. Now their monstrous vehicles were quaking their way through the square hallway, making the corridor all full of noise and chaos. The four had ignored those nurses, yes. But they did not ignore those foolish obstacles that so happened to be human beings. Some janitors in red coveralls and workshirts stood right out in the middle of the way, drew their handguns and started shooting. Crack-crack, went their pistols: filling the hall with sharp gunshots. A few went on bended knee as so their comrades could fire over their heads. Some more janitors also came out into the hallway to add to the noisewith their own weapons.

It didn't work, of course. The foolish janitors in red coveralls were soon made as dead as roadkill pancakes: knocked down and squashed flat by the great big wheels of the bikes. Some were killed even before they could reach for their weapons. A few doctors in professional clothes and white coats began shouting. You can't come here! Their shouts were lost to the rumbling noise of the big bikes. Hopping up and down and gesticulating did nothing, either. Then the dark biker of the odd rifle took aim …

There was a frightfully intense flash, and those doctors in the way suddenly became blackened ash-statues right where they stood. These statues were blasted to pieces when the dark bikers continued on through. Someone farther down the hall had even wheeled out wheelchairs and hospital equipment on cards. Yet even these improvised barricades were obliterated: along with even more janitors and doctors.

There were elevator doors up ahead, a sealed one. A dark lead-metal plate had been screwed over the elevator buttons. Red chains were laced and woven over the elevator doors. It would seem, then, that whomever or whatever sealed the elevator did so to prevent any of the foolish locals from using it.

Too bad, the dark bikers were not locals: not from around here. So the seal on the elevator doors could not be for them! So they accelerated their great big motorcycles and proceeded to speed towards the door. This hallway became a vibrating blur as the gigantic vehicles rammed their way beyond elevator doors: which crumpled inward. All four went in…

And the hall…returned to silence. Gone was the sharp cracking sounds of pistols in this hard-floored long space. Gone was the gigantic quaking rumble of the massive vehicles that rampaged through the hallway. There was no longer all of that speed, noise and insane chaos shaking things up. Yet the damage was done, the chaos rendered. The proof of the dark bikers having been through here was strewn all about. Destroyed hospital equipment was along the hall, dead bodies on the floor, and all of it formed debris to line the way.

Yes they were gone, thank goodness: having gone into the elevator. No more people would be dying here. At least that was true for the time being. One of the florescent lights in the ceiling began to flicker as the elevator…at the end began to go down. They were gone, but their business was not yet finished.

…

This subterranean room…actually existed beneath the hospital itself: lit with bulbous-shaped lamps that gave off a blood-colored glow. It really was a glow as the lamps barely provided enough…light to see by, barely enough light to see the square shapes of engines built into the left-side wall: all of the walls covered with hammered metal plates. These plates were all jumbled and pounded together as if to block out radiation. Except that interpretation would be wrong: The plates were actually in place to keep the radiation in, keep it at a high concentration. It would help these engines run better and hotter even though the hospital above had plenty of blood and electricity with which to run things. Blood came through the pipes, and electricity came through the cables.

And the Deniers crawled along the floor, walls and ceilings as they continued their work by the glow of the dim, blood-colored lamps. Their human-like heads vibrated with activity as their multiple arms used tools. The engines needed constant adjustment and work if they were to work properly here. "Erg-ach! Arjac… Krek-latta!" squealed one of the Deniers, doing something with a rust-coated tool as blood and sparks spurted from a pipe connecting an engine to the ceiling. Four more deniers crawled over in the shadows to quickly attack the problem of leaking blood from the pipe.

Ding! Elevator doors quivered: doors that were supposed to have been covered over with huge lead metal plates. Somehow, the lead plates were gone. And somehow, something had arrived. As those doors slowly parted, bright golden light seared into this place from in there and cast everything in a sunlight-colored glow. Out came the four dark bikers, roaring on their gigantic motorcycles as they began to ride around in this room: riding in a clockwise circle. The one of the great scythe motored his way to the center: running over at least three Deniers as the other bikers destroyed and pillaged the rest of this nasty place.

"Elkric!" Things were going all wrong all of a sudden. That was too much light! And there was too much noise, too much to interfere with the continued operation of the engines here. Amidst this brightly illuminated chaos, the Deniers clearly knew that there was no winning here! "Oblama al alar-r-r!" grunted one of the surviving six-armed beings, one of them crawling along the wall. Those beings were setting their tools to use on one of the metal plates. Red-colored smoke began to billow out from behind there as they made progress. Then the dark biker of the scythe looked in their direction and made them stop-p-p. Those Deniers were dead so suddenly that their bodies were stopped in mid-motion.

The other dark bikers completed the destruction of this places. It was not long before the engines were chopped, smashed, blasted to pieces and generally obliterated. Even the pieces were wrecked and destroyed. The machines were now just as wrecked and ruined as the creatures that operated them, just as broken and just as dead. Stumps of amputated pipes projected from the walls where the machines had been installed, making for cylindrical holes that oozed red wet blood.

…

The discolored fog outside the hospital began to go away: the air being cleared and free. Though there was still fog elsewhere along the street, the immediate area round this building had clear and crisp air. Nurses blinked their eyes as they staggered out into the sunlight that shone brightly. "Thrice, they are punished!" screamed one of the dark bikers, a growling shout that made the nurses cringe and cower. They then heard the sound of those motorcycles rumbling off into the fog.

…

2.

…

At the estate, deep within the mansion, Samuel Longhorn was within the main seat of his grand office: seated at his mahogany wooden desk. He was dressed in a crumpled tuxedo and read buttoned-silk shirt, the bowtie askew and the black dress-jacket unbuttoned. Along with an empty bottle streaked with red, the top of the desk was covered with scattered papers and notes blotched with red stains. That was no surprise since the rest of the desk was becoming just as nasty to look at: the desktop smeared with a layer of urine-colored grease mixed with dark red blood, the blood peppered with bits of rust. Or maybe it was just that dried blood so happened to resemble rust. Ironically, the scattered and red-blotched papers atop the desk were the only clean things here. All the other miscellaneous materials atop the desk were immersed in the mess. There was a Geiger counter somewhere among the mess, except it was so thoroughly inundated with grime and rot that it was ruined: the dial-face blackened out as if burnt from within.

The desk was only the epicenter of what had happened to the rest of this office. The reddish, rust-powdered gunk of grease and rust covered everything in a thick layer. Bookshelves and cabinets were smeared and coated with greasiness and dried dark red. A shell-bodied thing the size of a mouse crawled out of a hole in the wall and skittered along the ceiling to disappear in through another wall, knowing that it did not belong here yet. Those paintings on the walls were so dirty that they began to resemble the sort of inkblots shown to the insane to check their minds: though these inkblots looked as if an equally insane man had his hand in the design. Of course the carpeted floor was similarly nasty: a once-soft silk carpet now stiff and soaked with the thick grime.

A trio of Deniers crawled out from underneath Samuel Longhorn's desk: crawling past his legs and around him. One of the things had brought a boxy red-plastic radio, except the device was modified as so the back was removed. Now its exposed insides had what looked like a slab of rotten meat jammed in, then lashed with several loops of rusty barbed wire and clock-springs. It was this mutilated device that one of the Deniers carried over to Mr. Longhorn's desk: held up in one of its six hands. Since the carpet was greasy, it was easy for them to crawl along it.

Clunk-k-k! That was the sound of the nasty little radio being slammed onto the desk by one of the Denier's hands as if to angrily present it to Mr. Longhorn. The man jerked and gave a start, his body twitching once in reaction to the sudden noise. But he did nothing else. His head lolled side-to-side. A line of drool oozed out of his mouth. Slowly, his eyes twisted in his head until they looked at that which was delivered. There was something about that radio now…

Click! Another one of the Deniers quickly turned on the little thing. Their heads began to vibrate as hissing static came out of the thing's speaker. Some little tendrils of smoke drifted out from the rotten flesh in the radio, but that was okay because the little red-plastic radio: now thoroughly altered: would work just fine. Just listen to it.

Bzzt! Hiss-s-s-s… "Hey-hey-y-y!" blared the radio, the radio announcer sounding quick, loud and enthusiastic as if everything was awesome. "It's another rockin', clockin' hour here on YSEC Radio: the last radio station in the world! At least this world! Everything here's looking really fine after those nice guys from that Other place fixed it up for us. Just look at that! The sky's a nice blood-red color, everyone's staggerin' along and looking a little different since being blessed. Best of all, the birds are showing their true colors. I always knew birds were supposed to look like that…. Hell, who needs native wildlife, anyway? Things are just looking better and better all the damned time! Ha-ha-ha… Get it; get it? Damned! Aah-ha-ha-ha… Ach! You'll have to excuse me, all you listeners out there in radio-land. I'm not fully blessed yet, so of course my voice is going to be just a little bit nasty every now and then. Not fully blessed, But I'm getting there, ha-ha-ha… Da-a-amn yeah!"

Uh-huh… Mr. Longhorn just dumbly nodded, his head lolling to the side. Sure, Mr. Radio-Man, you just say whatever you want. He just numbly and dumbly listened to everything the radio had to say. But somewhere at the back of his mind, back where he still retained some coherent sense of mind, he had the idea that something was very wrong.

"Speaking of wildlife, there's one w-w-w-wild party animal somewhere out there who really knows how to screw things up! The story goes a little something like this, folks! There was a really rich man who was given a whole great big b-b-bunch of responsibility. Those same great guys who fixed our world for us decided to give the rich man a co-starring role in making the world over. And if he played his cards right, ha-ha, he would've been pretty much made one of the most important human beings on the planet! Notice, I said human, because we all know who the real masters are! Yes indeed, all he had to do was make sure that those sweet engines were kept safe and that everybody respected the religion.

"You know what happened, then? What happens when you give a big rich man a whole bunch of responsibility he's never had before in his life? Uh-huh! That's right! He failed! Oh-h-h, ye-e-ah! Now the rich man's gonna have Hell to pay for screwing up! Everybody give a great big 'Hello' to…Samuel Longhorn!"

Uh-huh, nodded Mr. Longhorn… A section of the right-side wall opened up to reveal a little side-room perhaps the size of a walk-in closet: a grotesque closet. The walls were all painted black and spattered with blotches of brown: patches of dried blood. Hanging from the ceiling was an upside-down severed pig's head, wires going through the neck-stump and a lightbulb socket wired in the mouth. The light bulb was a glowing glass apple in there, providing illumination for the rest of the little room. It provided enough illumination to show that there was a figure hunched in the corner of this little side-room.

The figure was a doctor-thing, dressed in a once-white coat now smeared with oily black and fresh red. Its face was a sagging smear that resembled wax: except in this case, the "wax" was human flesh. It now stood up and began to stag-stag-stagger out of there. Thick-soled footwear made for clomping heavy footsteps. And it was carrying a black leather bag.

"So the rich guy screwed up, so what?" cheered the voice on the radio. "We can still use him! Isn't that right, Samuel?" Uh huh… "What do I mean by that? Never mind! Let's just wait for one of our good friends to make Mr. Longhorn into something useful. If not, at least we can use his body: because one of our little friends is going to take Mr. Samuel Longhorn for a ride!"

The doctor-things black carry-bag squirmed and wriggled. Something was in there. Then the doctor-thing dropped the black bag on the desk, grabbed Mr. Longhorn by the hair, and yanked the rich man's head forward. This now made him lean forward and face-down on the grimy desk, his jacket-covered back and the back of his neck now exposed. One grotesque hand still gripping Samuel's head, the other hand opened up the black bag and took out the creature within it.

It was something that resembled a rat-sized red slug. The lower part of its body was flat, and the top was a rounded-over hump. Except, this slug had a face. The mouth gaped open with lots of sharp little teeth, the little round eyes squinted black, and its mouth worked. It squirmed in anticipation as the doctor-thing placed it onto the back of Mr. Longhorn's neck. This slug-thing then flattened itself as so it could slide into the space between Mr. Longhorn's neck and the back of his collar. It worked its way under the clothes until it found a nice comfortable place on his upper-back…where it began to attach itself…

"Ach…" choked Mr. Longhorn. He choked, his head jerking once before his neck went limp. He limp-staggered to his feet, standing with back hunched forward and head down. The lump on his upper-back was clearly visible now, and a head poked out from the back of his collar: its two beady little eyes looking at the door out of this office as it guided Mr. Longhorn's body to walk towards it.

"There he goes, folks! It's been a ball, Mr. Longhorn. But we don't ne-e-e-ed you anymore! Don't feel bad. At least you've got your consolation prize. Now you're going to go out there and have talk with the Four Riders! Good luck, and don't forget to bring along a nice sturdy bludgeoning weapon. Not that it'll do you a lick of good, but try it anyway! This is YSEC radio, signing off! See you all some other time! And remember: Eklric, oblama, satyagraha-a-a!…"

…

Some time later, the figure of Samuel Longhorn: in a ruined tuxedo and with red stuff oozing from his drooling mouth: was gagging and staggering along a residential street. His vision was hazed over with a severe red, and a haze of fiery pain filled him from the neck-down. That didn't matter much as he could not even raise his head or straighten his back. Something was damned wrong with him. He didn't know what, though. Everything just hurt so damned much. It hurt even worse when he tried to stop walking: making the muscles in his legs hurt like burning chemically treated rubber bands that oozed acid. Suffice to say that it felt like torture.

He had the vague idea of making his way to the hospital. There he could maybe have one of the doctors surgically remove this damned thing on his back. The thing most likely had grown veins to connect to some of his organs. And the thing had long since attached itself to his spinal cord: which would probably explain a lot of things. Where the Hell did the Deniers get this back-riding creature, anyway? They didn't tell him about it. If they did, he would have found uses for them and done a better job. Now the little thing was using him. It wouldn't let him stop walking or reach back to yank it off. Any time he tried to move his arms up, there was that punishing feeling again.

So walk on he did, moving jerkily along. With every step, he fully expected to fall over and black out: fall to the road and not get up again. He tried to guide his own staggering over to the sidewalk only to feel that acid-burning rubber-bands feeling over his abdomen and even his neck: making his head jerk around a few times.

Oh, Hell! He'd never try that again! So stagger along the street it was, then. He made his weaving and wavy gravy walking progress back to the middle of the residential street. But he had a chance to get glimpses of the surrounding area when his head had been jerked around due to the neck spasms before he looked to the ground again. This was indeed a residential area, one of those rows of houses that were bordered by swaths of woods or bordering forests. It was just hard for him to recognize because he had his head down and there were no cars hereabouts.

No cars meant that the people of this street were gone… They were just as gone as the fog around here: which was not present. The fog, the people, their cars, they were all out of here… Cowards, he thought. They were foolish not to stay until the Day of the Descent. That was especially foolish since the Day was so damned soon and near! As soon as he made it to the hospital and had himself fixed up, he'd get back to his mansion and have Miss Gauche more intensely prepare the catalyst and the…engines…

As soon as he thought that, a twinge of pain-filled spasm yanked his upper back: making for a cracking sound as joints in the vertebrae were stressed. "Ach!" he exclaimed, a sound of pain. What, now the thing on his back could read his thoughts through the spinal cord? He didn't feel any mental connection to it. Or maybe the connection was a one-way sort of deal.

There was the sound of footsteps at his right: running steps. They had to be doctors or nurses, just had to be! He tensed himself and began walking towards…the…right. The pain! There was that feeling of acid-burning rubber bands up the back of his legs and all around his neck: making his head jerk and flap all over theplace. Hell, he didn't care! He was trying…to yell for help, though all that came out of his mouth was a bunch of gurgling…and choking sounds. He even managed to stop staggering. Those running footsteps were finally here. Good, it was help!

"What the Hell!" exclaimed a young woman's voice. "God… Look at that thing, Laura! It's another one of those zombies with something growing on its back! Let's kill it!" Oh God, no… They weren't doctors or nurses. "I'm not just running out of here without getting revenge! You! Ugly things like you are the reasons why this town got all screwed up! If you think we're just going to run away like everyone else and not look back, you're wrong!" The young woman's footsteps came closer, then the other. Since his head was still down, he just had a look at a pair of smooth legs extending down from a short jeans-skirt, straight thighs, with calves encased in black leather boots. The other girl was wearing tight jeans and sneakers. The one with the skirt had a fresh, shiny metal axes with metal handles and red-painted blades. Fire axes, they were called: the sorts of axes mounted in hospitals or police stations to hack down doors in case of emergency. The other one had an aluminum baseball bat, which he saw go raised up out of his line of sight.

Wham! "Ach!" he chokingly exclaimed as the metal bat came down. At least he knew where it went. Now his entire body tensed. "Look, hit the thing on its back! That's the zombies' weak-spot!" Wham! "See?"

The pretty young woman in the skirt, also the one with the axe, took a step forward. He didn't see the axe she had since his head was still down. Thank goodness he couldn't see it anymore: couldn't even control himself enough to look up. There was no getting away as something else hit him high up on his back where the thing was stuck. It must have been the axe, because now he felt himself falling to the street.

Now his view was sideways, his head turned to look at the girls. They've struck you, mentally cheered Samuel as he thought of the damage being rendered to the creature on his back: in his back. You should have let me control myself!

The girl in jeans-skirt and sleeveless shirt raised the axe she had, brought it down, and there was the chunk sound of something hitting him on the back. This time, it bit into his backbone: He was sure of it. He couldn't even feel the pain anymore. All there was now was a vague feeling of something tapping him on the back. It must have been the other girl: the one with the bat. The axe, the bat, it didn't matter what was hitting him now. He wad done. At least now he could lie here on the street and just die. Swish… Chunk!

"Eww! Gross!" screamed one of the girls. "Now it's like gushing gray slimy stuff all over the place! It doesn't even have real blood! " Wham! "Hey, Mr. Zombie, why the Hell aren't you dead yet? We hit your weak spot, like…a hundred times already!" The girl with the short skirt hiked it up nearly to her hips and raised her right foot, exposing a lot of her thighs in the process. "What, do we have to stomp you, too? O-o-okay…!" She then brought the heel of her right leather boot down onto the thing on Samuel's back.

It made his entire body arch as he lie here: seeing everything sideways. Nothing really hurt much anymore. That was especially true since the thing on his back was getting to be as dead as he was, soon enough. It was chopped and bludgeoned probably until it resembled road kill now. Thank you, girls, he wanted to say. You've removed quite a burden from off my back. That's literally true! Ha-ha-ha… For that, I'll love you until the end of the world.

But since death was closing over him, he could not say any of that aloud. As the girls walked away, he felt himself going down into the darkness all full of humming and noise rackety noises. Something was coming for him. Now he wasn't so sure he wanted to die. Then they would really be able to get him: getting him worse than they already had.

…

The rackety sound reached a crescendo as a glowing cloud of fog began to form around a nearby streetlamp. Though it was still noon, the overcast sky covered with iron-gray clouds, the streetlamp flick-flickered on… Whoomph! Something came down to land on both feet. It was the doctor-thing with the half-melted face. It staggered over to where Samuel Longhorn lie dead. Or perhaps it was "dead" in deliberate quotation marks. Death is a lie.

The doctor-thing bent over and reached for Samuel Longhorn: reached into his body. Then the doctor-thing gave a hard y-y-yank and pulled something out of the body, something invisible. There seemed to be nothing in its hands, nothing to be seen, but that great deal of nothing was hard to grip. That doctor-thing had taken something energetic.

And the thing was put in the doctor-thing's black leather bag: zipped shut. Wa-a-agh, wa-a-agh… A-a-aia-a-agh! Muffled and distorted screams came from in there, and the bag wriggled and squirmed all the more. The doctor-thing held the bag in its right claw-hand, then used it used its left arm and legs to climb its way back up the streetlamp. Then it shimmied along the neck of the streetlamp in getting over to the light fixture: into the crawling right up into the light fixture itself: taking the wriggling black bag and the muffled screams along with it.. Yes indeed, the doctor-thing had certainly taken something very, very precious from Samuel Longhorn's corpse.

…

3.

…

Lying on her back, Miss Gauche's long, dark-clad body was relaxed: her arms folded across her bosom and her eyes closed. This was within the mansion, a side-room with a golden doorknob and brass lock on the door. There was a bookcase, an armchair and a sofa for relaxed contemplation of miscellaneous religious texts. Except now, there was something else religious occurring here.

The figure of the woman was deathly still. Because her dress was spotlessly cleaned and always freshly dyed, the dark cloth was like that of a flowing cloth shadow. There was not a sound from her as she lie on the sofa: as if already in the grave. There was suddenly a…sharp inhaling of breath, and she opened her eyes: becoming oriented again to being in her body. A smile came to her lips, a smile that matched her inner thoughts. She knew what had just happened. Well, now there would no longer be that foolish man to be in the way: no more interference from a man. He was foolish in that he chose the entirely wrong way of dealing with those who were the source of blessing

Sinner, she thought as she pivoted herself sideways to lower her hard-shod feet to the floor: shoes as dark as her outfit. Sinner, yes. Samuel Longhorn was a sinner, and he was rightfully punished for it. Getting up off of the sofa, she walked over to the low table where her protective gold jewelry was laid out. There was a great deal of it now: six necklaces of varying lengths, some smaller loops, at least three in the form of thick-linked chains.

She unbuttoned her dress and slid out of it: standing naked save for her black shoes. Nothing had been worn beneath the clothing as it would have caused interference. Now she began putting on the jewelry: a chain fastened around her slim waist and above her hips, three circular medallions around her neck, two wrist-cuffs, and more. All of it was of the brightest, purest gold available. If she was to deal with the catalyst, it was necessary for her to wear protection. Now that the catalyst was being properly prepared and becoming stronger, such precautions were becoming all the more necessary.

When the woman was sure that her body was properly draped in gold jewelry, she reached down to take up the long black dress. Her pale, slim arms went into the black sleeves. She then fastened the dark buttons to close the bodice: up to her neck. Then she went to open the lounge door: walking out. Slight sounds of clinking jewelry sounded out with every step.

…

Up above, in her third-story prison bedroom, the pale-haired girl in black dress was sitting atop the tall wooden stool again herself illuminated by fog-diffused light shining through this bedroom window. Selena now almost resembled a life-sized doll atop a pedestal. Except, the "doll" was not at all a thing of happiness, not feeling happy. Out the window was a high-up view of the rear grounds of the estate: a mist-softened daytime view of the rear grounds.

Though she was physically trapped within here, the girl's mind was adrift in thought. Her mind wandered and wondered about her purpose in being here any more. More than once, she wondered about means of escape that did not involve burning her hands on the gold doorknob. No, not even wrapping her hands in spare clothing would do any good. She had tried using her mind to open the door: only to have her efforts bounce back at her and strike her with a sharp pain in the head. Even looking at the gleaming, sunlight-colored metal was enough to cause her an ache…

Given her current situation, was better for her to have "escaped" that town: a place overcome by the "blessing" of the town's god? She left Silent Hill with the full intention of not being blessed. She liked herself as she was. Little good it did her in the end, because now she was blessed: having become something else other than what she was. Now she resembled a young child. Her home was gone, no place of security and comfort. There was no safety, no security. Her life was changed and ruined, a life soon to be over. They were going to use her for a dark ceremony of invocation: a ceremony to bring on the Day of the Holy Descent.

Was it Holy, if it was going to be used for the sake of greed and power? They were going to use her to facilitate what happened in that other town. It would happen all over again. And since she had the power of the religion, it was probably her fault. She folded her hands in her lap: small child-hands.

Proportionate to the rest of her, even her hands were small. Whereas she was once tall and dark-haired, mature and elegant, now she was petite and pale-haired. Now she was "cute." Perhaps she deserved this for being so selfish. After all, she herself had used a ceremony for her own personal gain: invoking some power of God before all of this. Or it was for being so foolish. She should have known that the wrath of God could reach beyond merely the borders of one town. Even going a world away was not enough to escape the reach of the religion. She could go anywhere. She could try to take over someone else's life. But she had been found out. There was likely no real escape that lasted forever. Not even death was the way. If the Day of Descent was to happen and God was brought to this world, then this would be her end: an end she probably deserved. After all, if she had not invoked the power of God…

Someone was coming: measured footsteps on the carpeted hall outside. Given the severity of the presence, it had to be Miss Gauche. Click! The locking mechanisms within the gold doorknob made sharp metallic sounds as they were being disengaged. Then the door itself opened to reveal that tall woman in black again: her hair somehow even more red than before, even longer. Four maid-things shuffle-staggered in behind her, their red-veiled heads wagging side-to-side.

"Good afternoon, child," began the tall woman. She tilted her head to the side, almost sympathetically. "I take it that boredom and idleness must have certainly dulled your sensibilities by now, hmm? Merely having you occupy a room would simply be without purpose. You would then agree that something must be done…" She paused, again raising her head, the slight look of sympathy replaced with her typically severe expression. As if in correspondence to Miss Gauche's emotion, the four maid-things slowed their head-wagging. "Now come along, child. There is a great deal of religious instruction to be had. The grand Day itself is not terribly far off, and you must be of the proper mind-set. It would not do for you to not be in full agreement with what is to occur."

"I disagree with you," calmly responded Selena. Her voice was even, but her anger filled her mind with a red haze. She gave a glaring look to one of the maid-things, hatred in her soul as she gave a vicious thought. Swish… Wham! The maid-thing had been picked up and hurled against the left-side wall. It collapsed to the carpeted floor to lie twitching as dark oily fluids leaked out from its once-human ears.

Selena was glad to see that her strength was indeed building. Given the excellent results of one attack, why not try another? She turned her green-eyed gaze to another one of Miss Gauche's "assistants." Another angry thought, and the maid-thing was hurled out through the open bedroom door by that unseen presence. A low growl sounded in the air.

Then she looked at the third maid-thing, making it go up towards the ceiling as that unseen force gripped its collar-hidden neck: making the creature wriggle and choke. As Selena mentally held the creature up there, she contemplated further tactics. If Miss Gauche's protective jewelry protected against direct influences, then perhaps indirect means of attack would suffice. Now, she thought: making the maid-thing go flying at Miss Gauche…

But the maid-thing bounced in mid-air, rebounding off of an invisible barrier and dropped to the floor. Also, she felt a twinge of headache as her maliciousness bounced back. Oh, damn it! So Miss Gauche was even protected against that.

Yet how well was the woman protected? Did the barrier extend all around? Still feeling the slight headache from the rebound, Selena made some books, bookends and small objects come floating off of a bookshelf. There was a low grow-w-wl of sound up near the ceiling as the objects floated: circling Miss Gauche like a small, indoor flock of predatory birds. Perhaps…

"Oh, do stop this frivolous and undisciplined show of power!" berated the tall woman. She quickly swiped at the floating formation of objects, a clinking of jewelry. Some of the objects fell to the floor. "You insist upon trying to spite me with a blessed presence: to misuse your God-given power? Very well, then some punishment is in order." She pulled up her sleeves and began walking towards Selena: easily passing through some of the floating bric-a-brac.

There was nothing Selena could do when Miss Gauche slapped her across the face: making her tumble off of the stool and go sprawled on the carpeted floor. Over at the center of the bedroom, the floating objects were released from the hold of power: making them fall to the floor. The unseen presence snarled in anger and seemed ready to do something dark and terrible, but Selena was dazed and stunned, her head full of a low ringing sound from the blow and the proximity of so much of that metal.

"Now do you see the result of insolence?" voiced Miss Gauche. R-r-r-rgagh… She ignored the snarling sound that came from just behind her left shoulder. She knew that nothing could be done to her. Nothing that Selena did or summoned could harm anyone properly protected. "Insolence is met with punishment, a means of maintaining discipline. You have been an adherent to our religion since you were a child: since even before your past life. Why now bring up this resistance? God has many hands: seen and unseen: with which to reach out. You, of a blessed and once-forgotten race, are resisting the grace of God! To resist is to bring about pain upon yourself. And all that I ask of you now is to partake in some proper understanding. Will you do that?"

R-r-rach! The growl in the air was slightly louder this time! That small group of objects floated again, and some of them were slammed against the wall. A wardrobe-closet rocked back and forth… Even ceiling rattled. The edges of Selena's power seethed with impatience… But she calmly answered, "I shall partake in the instruction."

"That is splendid!" cheered Miss Gauche. The maid-things that had been tossed had gotten to their feet and staggered over to stand behind the woman: far behind. They could feel the presence in the air. "Do get up and follow me. I have an excellent selection of key texts in mind. You should find them especially fascinating. It will be little compared to the glory to be had on the Day, but it is something nevertheless."

…

Out of the bedroom, they walked out through the hall that led to the grand staircase. Selena had not seen the rest of this massive house in the days she had been here. Being imprisoned within one bedroom: as large as the bedroom was: had restricted her idea of the scale of this place. As she followed Miss Gauche down the broad staircase and down to the floor of the grand front-hall, she was again reminded of the mansion's size. This seemed to be a place more suitable to housing small giants rather than ordinary people. Or maybe, her sense of scale was probably off because of her child-sized stature. It was also an effort to follow the woman down these stairs. If she could not affect Miss Gauche directly, perhaps she could have affected her skirt just as she continued her walk down this oh-so-long staircase? The fall would be wonderful. She imagined Miss Gauche's arms flailing and long black dress flapping as she went thump-thump-thumpity-thump-thump…a-a-all the way down the grand staircase…

No, that would not work. Miss Gauche was too thoroughly protected…as Selena had found out again and again. As it was, she was even feeling the edges of a headache from even being so close to the woman down these stairs. A grand staircase, this seemed more like an indoor mountain! How could Miss Gauche live within the luxuries of this place: this house of grandiose wealth and prosperity: and still remain pious to the religion? Was it not noted in the sacred texts that riches were but numbers in a book? It was perhaps this reason that golden jewelry or even silver repelled sacred things: even Selena's influences.

At some point, they finally made it down these stairs: standing on the wide tiled floor. Miss Gauche then led the way to a side-room to the right of the staircase and held open the door. "Forever dawdling! Is that what you wish to be known upon the Day of the Holy Descent? The Princess Dawdler? Or perhaps more discipline is in order, hmm?" Selena quickly complied, bowing her head and quickly passing through the side-door.

In here was a surprisingly bare and austere room. There was no carpeting on the floor, which was smooth and of black-and-white tiles. Though scrubbed, the white tiling looked pitted with age. And the four walls were made of bare brick, against which was one small book-shelf: and a square frame in which hung a selection of gold and platinum-red chains of varying sizes. Next to it was a chalk-board. The ceiling here was made of red-colored perforated tiles, a single florescent light-fixture shining down on this hard, cold place. Why, it resembled a small classroom: right here in the mansion. Was it not for the display of various chains against one of the walls, it would have likely been part of any institution of higher learning. The chains… She could only imagine what those were for: her eyes focused on them.

"Be seated," said Miss Gauche crisply. She closed the door and turned to see the child primly seated at the desk. "As mature as you believe yourself to be, having matured as a woman in your past life, such must now be forgotten," she said as she walked over to the chalkboard, jewelry clinking beneath her long black dress. "Forget your previous self. Forget your previous body! You surrendered yourself when you partook in a voluntary transition." Selena's lips parted and eyes widened. "Ah! How did I come to know of this, you wish to ask? They told it to me. After all, they are fully aware of any and all transitions: major uses of God's power. Therefore, when you utilized God's power in order to leave your world, they were well aware of what you wanted to do: and what you could do."

They let me escape, thought Selena, her eyes slowly going away from Miss Gauche. She looked down at the desk as a feeling of cold bitterness and betrayal filled her. They allowed her to use a furnace to "escape" Silent Hill. She believed that what she had done was an act of rebellion. Except it was not. All of this time, it was all in step with what wanted..

"Long ago, after the beginning, God descended for a time and was able to bring about wonderful things for the people," said Miss Gauche, as if Selena had never heard any of it before. "Before God came, the people lived in languor and suffering. There was a great deal of nothing but existence: bare and aching existence. God came and brought about so much for us! God divided night and day, brought about rules and order. Existence became ordered and proper. The people were being prepared for paradise when God…became exhausted before She could create Paradise.

"Yet where did the energy of God go? Did it merely disappear? When God's incarnation crumbled to dust from exhaustion, where did Her energy ultimately go? Scientists know that energy does not merely disappear in this world. It merely dissipates. And who is to say that a disproportionately large concentration of that energy was not dissipated to some of the people, a chosen group? I refer to such as your people: blessed by God and still retaining of power!"

"My people have our own power! God be damned!" shouted Selena before she realized it. It was it was not just herself speaking. "We have our own abilities. We did not need God to grant it. And it was God that utilized our power to do what She chose to do. Oh, but then what you call 'God' did not have the power we have. Perhaps that was what destroyed God."

"You blasphemous, wayward child!" shrieked Miss Gauche, her face becoming as red as her hair. Slap! Selena's head was rocked to the side, but she did not fall away from the desk. Miss Gauche then angrily strode over to that selection of chains as Selena: head still ringing from the pain of the blow: made one of the books on the bookshelf float over to where she sat. She then opened the religious text open to somewhere in the middle, where God's exhaustion was described.

When her eyesight cleared, she was able to read the text. Indeed, her interpretation of the text did not seem too far of a larger truth behind the basic "truth." God descended from the heavens. Then God was able to bring about the blessings described by Miss Gauche. Night and day were soon divided. The people were living in the bliss and wonder of a presence that brought about such wondrous changes to their lives. This text in fact referred to the acts of God as "blessings." But this text said nothing of where God drew power to perform these acts. Yet there was more to "God" than what was blindly followed by the likes of Miss Gauche. Selena followed her religion, but she was not so foolish as to literally believe all the texts at face value.

"What are you doing now?" yelled Miss Gauche. "No matter, you must be disciplined against partaking in blasphemy." She took hold of one of Selena's hands and roughly looped a gold chain…around the wrist… It was pain! Selena felt that now too-familiar kind of pain again: the pain of exposure to gold: as it traveled up her wrist. The pain spread throughout her body and went to her head. It was so much suffering that she felt as if her nose and ears would ooze blood. She was vaguely aware of feeling her own body tremble and weaken…

The chain…was taken off. Selena sucked in a breath and pulled her pained wrist close to her abdomen. Something dribbled from her eyes, nose and ears. She used her uninjured wrist to dab at her nose. It was not something so disgusting as mucous that came out. No, it was blood: her blood. Except… She saw that her blood was not red. It was a substance of another color… Of course not. She only looked human. Inside, she was…something else: something blessed.

Miss Gauche still held the gold chain she had used on one of Selena's wrists. "In addition to being a dawdler, you seek to be a blasphemer as well. We shall continue our lessons. And this time, perhaps this time there will be no need for further discipline. After all, your people may have been favored by God's presence. Yet God saw fit to have a means of controlling your kind as necessary, just as she disciplined your kin into serving the greater good of this world: the most important world of all."

…

4.

…

Darkness all around, this factory in the downtown area was obscured with strong fog: the kind of fog with streaks of brown floating within it. Globes of light interrupted the fog, illuminating parts of the tall gritty structure. Six massive smokestacks on top crowned the building, sending up reddish smoke to the darkness above. The globes of light themselves came from man-sized dirty light-fixtures that had been strung along the third floor of this building. They, the lights, were suspended from the lattice-work of rusty barbed wiring around the building, their electrical cables intertwined with the barbed wire and insulated with wrapped strips of dried skin. Darkened windows farther down were either blacked out or were so thick with a crusty and hardened layer of dried grease. Lower still, here on ground level, there were great big holes knocked through the walls: through which there were wide rusty pipes and electrical cables put through and connecting the building to the ground. These pipes going into the ground were as wide and round as very fat men, as if corpses lubricated with blood and grease could be pumped through. And given the heavy, powerful sounds of the engines within the building, that possibility didn't seem too damned unlikely.

This was not originally a factory: was actually a clothing and wholesale goods warehouse. But the animals had changed that. Now it really was a factory again, a factory dominated by things the architects would not have expected: not in a million years. And since all the other engines in town were wrecked, this facility had to work double-time to make up for the loss in production: the engines inside churning and thrumming, pipes that were gush-pumping stuff into the ground while those six smokestacks way up there steadily billowing fluffs of reddish smoke.

R-r-r-rumble... That was not the sound of the engines within the factory. That sound was actually from elsewhere: the sound of an earthquake in the air. It was making for a heavy bass-tone shaking that vibrated everything. The wide round metal pipes in the ground began shaking in sympathetic vibration. Those grimed-over windows did the same. And the noise was getting louder, coming closer…

The front entrance to the huge building parted. With the doors opened, all kinds of heavy engine and motor sounds came from in there, thrumming sounds interspaced with an occasional buzz of intense voltage or the clank of something else. These were sounds from the darkness: the rhythmic churning sounds and steady sounds of production. Except, sounds were not the only thing to come out of the entrance.

Blood workers came waddling on out: a haphazard group of squat, muscular creature-men in coveralls: their heads covered with grimy sack-cloth and tied with strips of dried flesh. They were hobbling more so than usual because of what they were carrying: weapons. These weapons resembled sections of polished pipe with odd lumps in the metal. Clearly, the blood workers were going to do something more than work in the altered factory.

As Deniers hung out of open windows and crawled along the walls of the building, the blood workers were getting ready to do battle: getting behind chunks of junk and mounds of dirt that oozed something dark and oily. Three of the Deniers crawled along the building's outside, getting over to one of the light fixtures, then adjusted some of the man-sized light fixtures to shine light down on the front-area: making for a sort of spotlight on the ground at the front entrance.

The spotlighting effect made for a view of the four big figures. They were now striding towards the front entrance. Walking shoulder-to-shoulder, all of them were huge and strong, looking eight feet tall and probably just as wide: still dressed in their outfit of dark leather jackets and jeans to fit their mighty bodies, gigantic boots on their massive feet. All of them had their appropriate weapons clutched in their huge hands: the odd rifle, the great knife, the nunchaku, and the scythe. They were obviously here for three reasons: crush, kill, and destroy.

Well, the blood workers weren't going to have any of that! "Erg-ach!" grunted one of them, standing up on a grimy mound of oily dirt and aiming his lumpy pipe-weapon thing. There was a burst of blue light from the front end of the pipe, and then the four bikers were engulfed in a glowing red haze: a sort of fire. Except, the fire stayed put. And the dark bikers continued to walk on. The attack did not even seem to break their stride.

"Saty-a-a-agraha-a-a!" squealed another one of the muscular midgets with sack-cloth over his head. This one stood up and took aim with its lumpy pipe-weapon: firing just as his distorted comrade had done. And yet again, the dark bikers were engulfed in that glowing red haze. "Woodle-e-e-e doo! Oblamah, elkric!" That had to do something!

No, it did not. Not even multiple attacks from their weapons could stop the dark bikers. Those four just moved on, kept walking. The dark biker of the great knife shrugged and readjusted his hold on the broad bladed weapon. But that was the extent of the trouble it caused them, not even irritation. "Migosh," growled the blood worker. It then growled again, repeating the sentiment. "Mi-gosh… Mi-gosh… Mi-gosh…"

"Mi-gosh! Mi-gosh! Mi-gosh! Mi-gosh…!" chanted another few of the short muscular men-creatures. They raised their black-polished pipe-weapons to the darkness above: also raising their voices. Mi-gosh, mi-gosh, mi-gosh, mi-gosh…! At this point, the dark bikers stopped their stride and stood with feet apart, a dark look in their eyes as the spotlights from the building shone down on them. Mi-gosh, mi-gosh, mi-gosh, continued the chant from the blood workers. One of them became a bit too enthusiastic and stood on top of his greasy mound of sheltering dirt, waving gigantic muscular arms in the air to the beat of the chant. "Mi-gosh, mi-gosh, mi-i-i-i-gosh…"

There was a beat of silence. "Mi-i-i-i-gosh!" squealed the blood worker now standing atop one of the greasy mounds of factory dirt. In the silence following the chanting, he turned his pipe-weapon around to face his own chest. He pressed the trigger. There was a blue burst from the business end of the pipe-weapon, the glowing red haze covered him… And then he dissolved into a reddish mist. The weapon clattered to the mound, tumbling down the mound, before tumbling to the ground. This reddish haze began to drift back towards the factory: being sucked in.

Something happened when the reddish haze was swallowed by the darkness of the factory. High above, one of the smokestacks gushed a burst of red flame. There were then some extra sounds coming out of the darkened factory entranceway: noises that were louder than those of the engines in there. These were rackety clanking sounds mixed with grunting and squealing. The rackety clanking sounds became rhythmic and louder. It was the sound of something approaching: something huge and mechanical.

Something huge began to stagger-walk out of the factory on all six of its stilt-like rusty pole-legs: fully unfolding them when it was outside. Now it was at least eighteen feet tall, a grotesque and distorted beast of meat and metal: a bastard conglomeration of rusty metal framework and exposed muscle tissue. All six legs were attached to a central circular body of red rusty metal illuminated by the light fixtures of the factory. Riding on the thing's back was one of those purple-furred ape things, except its head was covered with a dirty sack smeared with fresh red blood and streaks of motor oil. Its lower body was waist-deep in the meat of the beast-machine's back, and its paw-hands were on the square rusty metal box: controlling the thing. A twitch of the controls, and a dozen black tentacles burst out from the beast-machine's underbelly.

These things wriggled about and seemed to have minds of their own, dripping drops of liquid that made spattering hiss sounds wherever they touched the ground. There were some rackety-clanking sounds, and the ape-thing was walking over to where the four bikers stood together. The gigantic beast-machine was fully intent on doing something dark and terrible to these blasphemers who dared interfere with the great works!

The biker of the great knife strode forward and raised the gigantic blade up behind his back. A heavy whoosh sounded out as the gigantic blade tore through the air: ravaging the air itself as it cut. And when the gigantic blade completed its arc, three of the beast-machine's rusty pole-legs were snapped clean in half. There was a disappointed and angry growling sound from the ape-thing piloting the beast-machine as the grotesque vehicle slammed onto its left side: sending up a plume of dirt lit by the spotlights.

Click! Click-click! "Roogh!" The ape-thing struggled with the controls, trying to make something happen. As it continued to do so, the dark biker of the odd rifle took aim with his trademark weapon. There was a flash of intensely bright light. This was followed by a thunderous boom of sound: a thunderclap. It seemed like a sound from an orifice of Hell itself.

And when the smoke cleared, the core-body of the beast-machine was…gone. Along with it, the ape-thing had also been obliterated. The remaining stilt-legs collapsed and clattered to the ground. It may as well not have been complete at all.

There would be no more fighting from that thing, not any damned more! "Elkric, oblamah!" squealed one of the blood workers. Then all of the blood workers dropped their pipe-weapons and made a run for the factory entrance. Some of them began to make grunting and squealing noises when they made it in as they tried to clo-o-ose the huge factory doors. The four bikers were coming. They were hoping to keep them from coming in.

Nothing would stop the four dark bikers, however. Nothing in the world could do so. The doors were not even half-closed when the dark bikers walked into there: going into the darkness. There were then sounds of obliteration and wreckage as they went to work. Engines were wrecked. Support structures were smashed and split. The odd rifle boomed out, making for more sounds of thunder and flashes of light.

The damage was soon becoming apparent. Those steady thrumming sounds of the motors and engines within the factory became erratic. And the smokestacks above began to sputter, vomiting gouts of flame instead of steady reddish smoke. The pipes that steadily gush-pumped stuff into the ground gurgled as the flow was interrupted. Bzzt, flick-flicker… That was the sound of the light fixtures suspended on the outside of this building: the fixtures on the lattice-work of rusty barbed wire. The six-armed Deniers up there tried doing things to the light fixtures while others tried scrambling up to the roof of this factory-building.

There was a flash of light in there, followed by a booming burst. All the dark windows on all three floors exploded outward with spraying glass and pieces of machinery. Whole chunks of concrete flew outward as well, making some of the Deniers fall off of the building and to the ground: wriggling with broken limbs and backs. The structure itself began to glow red at first, becoming yellow, heating up…

Then it was gone. The whole building had been destroyed. The smokestacks, the pipes, all of the light fixtures, all of it was no longer there any more. A few Deniers were using all six of their arms to scramble away from where the building once stood, their bodies streaked with dark oily fluid from flying shrapnel wounds. These things were getting the Hell away from here. They had no particular desire to face the dark bikers: especially since there were no more engines here for the deniers to operate anymore.

When the Deniers were far away enough, some of them began to vomit, making for oily puddles in the ground. The puddles were so dark, so deep, that they almost seemed like…holes… The aspect of the puddles being holes was reaffirmed when the Deniers used their six arms to pull themselves down into them, squishing their way through mush, going…beyond and into the oily darkness…

…

In the Other world, one of the rust-metal hallways became full of sound: a siren wailing throughout and sounding out its warning. This siren was loud enough to shake the rusted grating that formed the ceiling, also quaking the metal doors set in the walls: walls made of metal plates. One of the doors shook more than the others before it sque-e-ealed open on its tortured hinges. Out came the Deniers, scrambling along the floors and ceiling as they got away from the door. The door then slammed shut, and a seal of rust formed over the doorknob.

The siren continued its blaring, wailing sound. Beyond the plate-metal walls and beneath the gritty floors, the Machinery rattled and shook in agitation. The Machinery had felt the destruction of so many engines, felt the pain…. The pa-a-a-i-i-n! And it was none too pleased with the Deniers that came scrambling back. The Deniers would have to be punished.

Clank-k-k! A gigantic steel wall slammed down on one end of the hall: crushing one of the last Deniers in. Clank-k-k! Another metal wall came down on the other end of this hall. Click! Click-click! There were multiple clicking sounds as all the other doors locked by themselves. There would be no escaping here.

The Deniers were smart creatures. They knew what was going to happen to them. But it didn't mean that they couldn't try to escape. As they scrambled madly about, their heads vibrating and arms moving, the hall began to heat up with a flood of intense radiation. It was radiation so intense that even the stale, dead air began to waver. Light flickered. The skin of the Deniers first begin to bubble: before becoming charred. They burst into flames and their flesh began to peel off of their bones: heads madly vibrating as they began to burn.

It was over quickly. When it was, the Deniers resembled big blackened sausages with arm-stumps. Their arms had been burnt away. Clank! Clank! The entrapping walls came up, sliding back into the ceiling. Then one of the side-doors opened. Not that the Deniers were in any shape to take advantage of the fact, but the doors, the ends of the hall, every which way was open again.

They would not be going anywhere, though! Out of the opened door stomped a shub-gubbler: its gigantic metal head atop a human-shaped body. Its body was dressed in a greasy doctor's labcoat and pants, both of which must have been clean-white at least a few hundred years ago. The metal head squeaked open, drooling something smelly and oily.

Cl-clomp! "Rwoogh agog!"exclaimed the shub-gubbler, doing a slight hop of glee upon seeing the corpses. Then it enthusiastically staggered along this hallway. It bent over and used its hands to bodily pick up one of the blackened, roasted corpses of a Denier. The entire body of the Denier was able to fit in the gigantic metal mouth of the shub-gubbler, and then it was chewed. When that Denier was swallowed, this shub-gubbler happily staggered over to another one of the Deniers on the gritty floor. It repeated the process, putting the roasted Denier in its huge maw, chewing and swallowing the creature. One of the Deniers was still bleeding dark fluids, somehow alive enough to try and crawl away on its charred arm-stumps. It seemed alive though, then again, nothing in this place was really dead here, either. Because death was a lie.

Death may have been a lie, but there were things worse than just having one's body die! It was trying to get away, its head wriggling like mad as the shub-gubbler reached down with big lumpy hands to scoop up the radiation-fried creature. The shub-gubbler then opened its gigantic metal maw, put the Denier inside, then bit down. It ate that Denier; it ate them a-a-all.

The meal done, the being's great big belly bulged at the buttons of the lab-coat as it staggered away. Bu-u-urp! Oh yes, it was quite a meal. And Deniers had the tastiest bodies of all. It was not often that a shub-gibbler had the opportunity to eat them. Happy it was, and happy it always would be in performing its job. It was now walking towards the stairwell to take it down at least six floors to where it would excrete the remains of the Deniers into an open port of the Machinery.