The rain outside was letting up, but it was still cold. Flynn could feel it every time someone opened the door. He had paused to take another sip, the eyes of his listeners enraptured upon him. He had to admit he liked the attention. Respect, maybe.
"My brain was doing backflips at what the demon had said. It was not the first time I had heard that." Flynn gently stroked the rim of the shot glass with his forefinger. He felt his throat clinch. "Errol used to say that whenever he killed. He'd say that exact damn thing, every time. It was like, his trademark." He lifted two fingers to the bartender. "Heads up, nuthead."
The ugly guy piped in, "Errol? You're not talking about the monster, are you?"
Flynn looked at him in the eyes, his grip on his glass now concrete. He looked away as he continued, "I met him during a 2 week training school." Flynn laughed softly in remembrance. "There we were, running around in fake armor, waving plastic paint ball guns at each other in the blistering heat, with ex SEALs and marshalls and bounty hunters and shit like that for teachers. Errol loved it. He was merciless on the 'badguys.' Anyone who had him as a partner won the exercise. And he said the same thing every time he got someone. Pretty soon everyone else started copying him. It was like a running joke for us."
The bartender gave Flynn another drink, but stayed near enough to listen.
"We went to Mars together, ready to kick some ass. When things got out of control, he was gone. Last I saw him, he was cussing and swearing to kill every demon his damn self. And then he was…gone." He took a sip and winced at the strength. "We didn't even have time to look for him. By then, well I had a job to do."
(----------------------------)
All thoughts of the connection between my old buddy and this monster were replaced by the apprehension of facing the building. It was newly made on the outside, unlike most of the old human structures the demons usually dishonored. So this place must have been made by and for the demons.
Fucking great.
Holding my shotgun tight and nudging Errol to attention, I opened the door. I wished I didn't. it was a room made of flesh. I just stood there, hand over my nose and mouth, gaping. Walls lined with muscles glued into long, flat strips, oozing blood. The floor firm from the intricate grid of bones with dark red flesh holding them together. The hides of many, many people stretched to cover the ceiling. The skin glowed from the lights installed behind it.
"O God, the smell!" Errol hissed behind me. I was used by then to the smell of blood and raw meat strewn all over the place. But monsters don't smell like people.
"I thought you'd love it," I said, walking to a metal table. There was a form on it…
Errol grabbed my shoulder and pulled me to face him. "What the Hell do you mean by that?" he snarled.
I gave him a confused look and tried to shrug out of his grip. I couldn't. "Well, come on, man. You're a demon, for Christ's sakes. I mean, you eat this shit!" I gestured at the mess with my free arm.
He slapped me. And not any sissy slap or even a pissed-girlfriend slap. This one almost broke my neck. I tumbled to the floor, my metal attachments making hollow clatterings.
"O Jesus!" I hissed when I could. His claws had dug deep into my cheek and the pain set my face on fire. For a moment I couldn't even breathe. I clambored back to my feet, raising my hands in defense when he reached his fist behind his head. "Sorry! Shit! What's your problem?"
"Don't you DARE compare me with those…ass wipes! I know I've changed, Flynn. I…I don't know how, but I know I didn't turn into no godamn…damn demon!" He gradually lost his fury and shrunk with a sort of misery.
He called me Flynn. Man, that was more of a shocker than the slap. Things were starting to make sense in my mind, and I did not like it. My blood pumped a little harder as I grabbed him by the arm and took him to the table. I had to shove the body off it and use my sleeve to wipe it clean of blood.
"Look. Look at yourself!" I said, shoving his face near the metal surface.
His pretty mug stared back at him, and I felt his neck muscles tense under my hand. "No. No."
"'Fraid so, Joe," I said quietly, still holding him. With my free hand, I supported my face. This was not what I needed, to babysit a monster with a serious identity crisis. "Come on, Errol. You've stared long enough." I let go, and he leaned on the table, staring out.
"It's happened. It has finally happened." He looked all zoned out. Talking to himself, it seemed.
I leaned down and put a hand on his shoulder. "What's happened, Errol?"
He looked at me, and his human like eyes were misty. "We're losing. Every human left is either dead or, changing. Pretty soon, there'll be no one left."
"No, no, dude. Look, a human can't just turn into an imp. I've seen old buddies and sergeants turn into zombies or corpses, but nothing else. It's not possible."
"So then what about me? Are you saying I have always been…" he pointed savagely at the metal. "This?" His thick fists dug into my collar. "I have memories, Flynn! A name, a past, I am a human!"
I pushed him away. "Then why do you look like this?"
He just stared at me, chest heaving.
A door far off slammed. I pumped my shotgun and slammed myself against the wall, trying not to retch at the squishy sound of my back hitting soft flesh and blood. I pulled Errol next to me and demanded his silence. Another door opened, and into our macabre laboratory entered two tough zombies, one dragging a body behind them. We watched them flop it onto the same table another body had been on, and I was able to recognize it.
I knew her! She was the girl loved to show Errol up in training. She, the chick went back to the barracks with hardly a speck on her, while Errol went back bathed in blue paint. The only guy in the class she would torture so badly.
She moaned as she awoke and then screamed at the faces she saw. One held her arms down while the other dragged a buzz saw across one of her thighs. I gritted my teeth as I struggled to load my gun quietly, with the girl's wet, burbling screeches in the background. I felt Errol about to jump.
"No!" I snarled under my breath. "We're not ready, they'll kill us!"
"Ah, fuck you!" he said and he jumped at the zombies.
His claws ripped the face off one before it could even react and sliced open the throat of the other. The faceless zombie dug at Errol's face, and Errol bit the guy's fingers off. He jumped in the air when the other zombie aimed his pistol at him, and as Errol began to land, he spun. His spinning toe claws popped one zombie's eyes, and a fist landed into the already decimated face of the other. Once they were down, Errol was able to rip them to pieces.
This all happened in a few seconds while I stood, hunched against the wall. Then I had to watch, sick, as Errol tried to awaken a dead girl soaked in her own blood. Finally I was able to pull him away. But not before a few scratches at my armor, of course.
"Come on, we gotta find that key card, and get the Hell out of this place," I said as soothingly as I could.
In a dead voice, he said, "Just to go somewhere just as terrible."
I bit down hard. "Eventually we're going to get to the bottom of this, and the asshole in charge is going to get a real ass kicking."
"You'll die long before you ever get that far," Errol chuckled, with no humor in his gravelly voice.
The spiral staircase thankfully was not as organic as the room we left. We huffed and puffed our way up there and I found a nice alcove for us to sit in. While he muttered to himself, I dug out an MRE for us to share. With 3,000 calories in the whole package of GI tasties, I figured we'd be satisfied sharing. I admit now that I deliberately hid the skittles for myself, though.
"Come on, eat this. Just like old times," I tried to joke, handing him a thick pound cake.
After I felt comfortable that he was relaxed, if not depressed, I asked my burning question. "How did you know my name, Errol?"
Munching, he looked at me and frowned slightly. Then he looked down, and frowned harder. As if he remembered how he looked. "I'm remembering, Flynn. Who you are. How we got here in the first place. Margarette." Here he stopped, voice trembling.
I leaned closer. "Good, good. And how about how you got to look like this?"
"I'm not sure, but it's starting to come to me now. I don't know, because this seems more like a dream than a memory, but…" he trailed off, staring at his claws, smothered in blood as they were.
I shook his shoulder. "Tell me. Anything you remember, dream or not."
He shivered. "I'll try."