Chapter 30 - Shattered Reflections
Alex got back to his feet, breathing heavily as the world around him turned and twisted. He knew had been through these sorts of hellish transformations before, first in Shepherd's Glen, then Silent Hill: rusty walls, dried blood smeared along the walls, and rows of corroded metal.
That was his nightmare. His own Otherworld. He was used to that.
But something was here wrong. Something else had seeped into this space as well. It had cut through anything family to him.
The rusty, bloody metal floor beneath Alex's feet crunched, as shards of glass jutted out at angles along the walls, floor, and ceiling. The air itself now felt sharper, colder, sort of like a cold wind slicing through his cheeks.
Alex's stomach twisted as it dawned on him.
"This wasn't just my nightmare."
He turned, tightening his grip on the knife. A few feet away, the Enforcer himself rose to his feet, rolling his shoulders. Unlike Alex, he didn't seem too rattled. If anything, he looked familiar with it.
The Enforcer cracked his neck and fingers, then ran a hand over his crimson helmet and adjusted it, tilting his head slightly as he took in the surroundings.
"Ahh..." Almost delighted. "Looks like our nightmares don't like playing alone."
Alex swallowed hard as he glanced around again. It was a fusion of their worlds, as though two worlds had collided violently. Rusty prison bars twisted into jagged, splintered mirrors that reflected nothing but darkness. The blood that smeared the walls dripped, pooling onto the floor, and the crimson liquid slipped between cracks.
And the broken glass…
It was everywhere.
Some of the shards floated in the air, suspended like something broken beyond repair. Others jutted out from the walls and the reflections within them were distorted and wrong.
Alex caught a glimpse of himself, but in some of them, his face was not his own. In others, his reflection twisted in ways that made his stomach churn, as if the shards were pulling from something deeper than just his physical body.
The Enforcer took a slow step forward, heavy boots crunching against the broken glass.
"You're used to blood," he murmured, gesturing vaguely to Alex's surroundings. "Used to the filth, the rot." He gave a humorless chuckle. "But this?" He gestured to the freezing, glass expanse around them. "This ain't yours, pup."
Alex's grip tightened on his knife. "Then what the hell is it?"
The Enforcer turned slightly, gazing at the broken mirrors as if seeing something Alex couldn't. For the first time, the man's eyes looked… distant. Almost haunting.
Then, in a flash, he was back to grinning through his skull mask.
"My own Otherworld," the Enforcer said. "Welcome."
Alex felt something stir in his gut. This town, Silent Hill thrived on torment, on the personal hells of its victims. If this was the Enforcer's own Otherworld bleeding onto his…
"Just what the hell had this man been through?"
The Enforcer's machete scraped against a shard of glass as he turned back to Alex, his stance shifting, his excitement returning. "Enough talk, pup!" he growled. "Let's see who this world breaks first."
Alex barely had time to react before the Enforcer lunged at him again, and the nightmare around them seemed to shift with him, as though the Otherworld itself was watching, waiting to see who would fall first.
The two clashed violently, blades scraping against each other, sparks flying as steel met steel. Alex gritted his teeth, muscles straining as he fought to hold his ground against the Enforcer's brute strength. They were locked together in a clinch, each trying to outmaneuver, outmuscle, or overpower the other.
Their boots crunched against broken glass as they pushed and struggled for control. Alex could feel the Enforcer's sheer brute force pressing down on him, the man's grip was like a vice, but he refused to be overpowered. He dug in, his knife shaking as he pushed back with everything he had.
Then, between gritted teeth, Alex barked, "What's your obsession with broken glass then, huh?"
The Enforcer froze for just a moment, a fraction of a second, but then let out a deep, almost delighted laugh. It wasn't just amusement. It was something else, something far more twisted, like a man savoring the memories of something truly, and utterly depraved.
"Like a scalpel dulled on the jawbones of a dozen men," the Enforcer spoke, his breath heavy, pale eyes gleaming behind the mask. His tone took on an almost reverent quality as if speaking from scripture. "To peel the skin back from a pinned, kicking, screaming man." His fingers twitched against Alex's wrist, tightening the grip. "Joy! A chorus of angels!"
Alex's stomach churned. His breath caught in his throat. "This guy-"
"You twisted sick fuck!" he roared as fury exploded from his chest.
Alex ripped himself free from the clinch, twisting his body and driving his knee into the Enforcer's ribs. The impact sent the larger man stumbling back a few feet. Glass crunching beneath his boots.
But The Enforcer didn't fall, he didn't even seem fazed. He only let out a chuckle, rolling his shoulders like he was warming up, shifting his grip on his machete. He was enjoying this.
Alex panted, heart hammering in his chest, his skin crawling from what he had just heard.
This wasn't just another enemy soldier. This wasn't just some war criminal.
The Enforcer wasn't just a broken man. He was something else entirely.
And for the first time since this nightmare had begun, Alex felt the cold grip of something he hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge until now.
Fear.
The Enforcer tilted his head, still grinning beneath that mask.
"Now we're talking', pup," he purred.
Then he came at Alex again, and the Otherworld shifted with him.
Alex barely had time to react before the Enforcer lunged again. His boot came up in a brutal, calculated arc, striking Alex square in the chest. The impact sent Alex flying backward, his body crashing through a jagged sheet of broken glass.
Pain flared instantly as a sharp piece sliced into his arm. He hit the rusted metal floor with a grunt, the sting of the wound sent agony through his nerves.
He groaned, rolling onto his side, and cradling his hand over the wound. Blood dripped from his arm, mixing with the rust beneath him. His body ached all over. He had fought hard men before back in the Middle East, dangerous men. But this wasn't like anything he had experienced. The Enforcer wasn't just stronger. He was playing with him.
Alex forced himself up. "I can't beat him in a straight fight."
He had always been a scrapper, having had his share of fights with other boys as a kid. But brute force wasn't going to win this battle. The Enforcer was too strong. If Alex kept trying to meet him head-on, he'd be another body in this godforsaken place.
"So don't fight fair." Alex thought to himself.
The thought had clicked in his mind. He had to be smarter. Faster. If the Enforcer was expecting a brutal, close-up brawl, then Alex needed to shift the game in his favor. Set a trap, and Strike when he doesn't expect it.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Alex staggered to his feet and ducked behind a rusted pipe, pressing himself against the corroded metal. He forced his breathing to slow, gripping his knife tightly. His hand was slick with his blood, but he ignored it, focusing on what could come next.
The Enforcer's boots crunched over glass and rust somewhere nearby. Alex could hear the slow, confident steps, hear the way the man took his time.
"I hope you're not running, Shepherd," the Enforcer taunted, his voice echoing through the warped hall. "That's not very manly of you."
Alex didn't move a muscle and didn't breathe.
"C'mon now," the Enforcer continued with amusement. "You had all that fire a second ago. What happened?" He shifted his tone to something more, dangerous. "You afraid of dying?"
Alex ignored him, staying focused on the fight to come.
"Let him get closer." Alex thought. "Let him think I'm scared. Then strike."
He pressed his back against the cold metal pipe, waiting. He wasn't out of this fight yet. If the Enforcer wanted to play games…
Then Alex was going to make damn sure he lost.
Alex's grip on his knife tightened as he watched the Enforcer's boots crunch against the broken glass, drawing closer. Each slow step sent a shiver through his body. He forced himself to steady his breathing, to stay hidden, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Then, just as the Enforcer was about to pass, something else moved.
From the shadows of the hallway, a figure emerged, a grotesque, twitching thing clad in the remains of a nurse's uniform. The air around her seemed to pulse, her body jerking unnaturally with each step, the rusted metal pipe in her trembling hands clanking against the ground.
Alex froze. She wasn't here for him.
The Enforcer barely had time to turn before the demonic nurse lunged at him, swinging the pipe straight at his head.
CLANG!
The Enforcer's reaction was fast. He brought up his machete, knocking the pipe aside with a violent swipe. The twisted nurse twitched, undeterred, her gurgling breaths growing more erratic as she reeled back for another strike.
The Enforcer let out an irritated growl.
"Out of my fucking way!" he screamed.
With brutal efficiency, he seized the nurse by the throat with one hand, her frail, contorted body flailing as he hoisted her up. Her limbs spasmed violently, but the Enforcer didn't flinch. With a sharp, sickening snap, he twisted her neck, cutting her strange, garbled cry short.
He kicked the now limp body away with a disgusted grunt, sending her crumpling to the floor.
Alex, still hidden behind the pipe, swallowed hard. "Jesus."
Under his breath, he muttered, "Not even those nurses phase you."
The Enforcer stiffened at the sound of Alex's voice, then turned his head slightly, an unsettling grin creeping across his face.
"They look like nurses to you, kid?"
Alex blinked, catching his breath. "What?"
The Enforcer chuckled darkly, rolling his shoulders as he casually flicked his machete to rid it of whatever filth lingered from the encounter.
"You still don't get it, do you?" He turned fully now, locking eyes with Alex. "These things, this place, it's got a sense of humor."
Alex barely had time to process the Enforcer's words before steel met steel again, the ring of metal on metal echoed through the nightmare around them. His combat knife bounced off the Enforcer's machete with a sharp clang, the impact sending a jolt up Alex's arm. The force behind the Enforcer's swings was overwhelming. It felt less like fighting a man and more like trying to hold back an avalanche.
The Enforcer pressed forward, attacks were getting relentless. "Whatever god the Order worships," he said between swings, "has a little Otherworld tailor-made just for you."
Alex dodged another heavy strike, barely slipping out of the way as the machete carved deep into the rusted wall behind him. The impact sent shards of corroded metal scattering across the floor, but the Enforcer barely hesitated before yanking the blade free with a single pull.
"I never understood why anyone would worship a god of party tricks," the Enforcer continued, stepping forward with an eerie confidence, twirling his machete like this was all some kind of sick game to him. "Hell, at least those fish heads in New Innsmouth had real power behind them."
Alex's expression twisted in confusion as he steadied himself, gripping his knife tighter. "What the hell are you talking about?" Alex snapped back, ducking low and slashing towards the Enforcer's side. The Enforcer batted the knife away effortlessly.
"You're not with the Order?" Alex demanded, frustration creeping into his voice.
The Enforcer let out a harsh, laugh, his stance shifting as he circled Alex. "Hell no. I work with Holloway, but I ain't serving those religious nutjobs."
Alex's stomach twisted. Then why the hell was he helping her?
The Enforcer must have seen the question forming in his eyes because he smirked and rolled his shoulders. "Orders. Money. Fun. I like killing, and she has people to kill." He gestured lazily with his machete. "Why the hell else does a man do anything?"
Alex exhaled sharply. "He's not one of them. He's just... here. Doing this because he wants to. Because it entertains him." That realization chilled Alex's blood far more than the hellscape surrounding them.
The Enforcer chuckled. "C'mon, pup. You can ask all the questions you want after I put you down."
And with that, he lunged at Alex again.
The Enforcer moved like a predator, his attacks relentless, as he swung his machete with precision. Alex barely ducked under the strike, his knife flashing up in a desperate counter that the Enforcer effortlessly swatted aside.
"I know all about you, pup," the Enforcer sneered, pressing his advance forward. "Thought you could follow the family business in the Army. 'Rangers lead the way', right?"
Alex's heart pounded harder at the words, but he didn't let himself falter. He pivoted away. The Enforcer was toying with him, drawing this out, and savoring the moment.
"Could've been Force Recon myself," the Enforcer continued, his voice too casual, like this was some friendly bar conversation instead of a fight to the death. "If the Corps didn't catch on to my little… extracurricular activities."
Alex was disgusted again, stomach twisted at those words. He had met a few bad men before during his time in the service. Men who liked war far too much. But this guy? He wasn't just a soldier who had gone too far, he was something worse.
The Enforcer lashed out again, this time with his free hand. A left hook, quick and brutal.
Alex barely dodged, shifting to the side as the Enforcer's fist whistled past his face. He felt the air rush against his skin, the sheer force behind the blow enough to knock him out if it had connected.
"Since then," the Enforcer went on, "it's been leading Holloway's little battles. She fancies herself a warlord amongst cultists."
Alex steadied himself. "And you just follow orders, huh?" he spat, his anger bubbling to the surface. "You're just her attack dog?"
The Enforcer laughed.
"I don't follow orders, kid," he said. "I pick fights."
Alex and the Enforcer clashed over and over again, their battle shifting through the collision of their Otherworlds. Alex weaved between shards of broken glass jutting from the walls and floor, each misstep threatened to slice him open. The air here was cold, silent as if the glass absorbed sound itself.
The Enforcer, by contrast, fought his way through rusted halls, his boots crunching over corroded metal grates. The walls around him pulsed with an unseen, sickly heat, blood smeared along the surfaces as if the building itself had been wounded. Unlike Alex, he didn't seem to mind any of it. He moved through with ease like he had fought in places just like this before.
Alex ducked as the Enforcer swung his machete, the blade slicing through the air inches from his face. He twisted his body, barely avoiding a jagged glass shard jutting out from the floor. His lungs burned, his body aching from exhaustion, but he refused to stop moving.
The Enforcer, undeterred, laughed as he pursued, boots stomping through the shifting terrain. "Not bad, pup," he called. "I've seen Rangers run drills, but you? You might make this fun."
Alex ignored the taunt, darting through the maze of his Otherworld's corroded pipes and exposed, rusted beams. He knew he couldn't keep dodging forever. "I need to find an opening."
The Enforcer, however, wasn't making it easy. He moved with ease, sidestepping collapsing debris, even shoving aside a rusted prison cell door blocking his path. A sheet of corroded metal collapsed behind him with a loud clang, cutting off one of Alex's escape routes.
Alex's eyes flicked upward, tracking the environment. The walls didn't stay in one place. Paths twisted and reformed when they weren't looking. He had seen Silent Hill do this before, twisting reality itself to reflect the minds trapped within it.
Which meant…
"It's watching us."
Alex didn't have time to think about it. The Enforcer lunged again, this time forcing Alex to leap over a gaping hole where the floor had rotted away, landing hard on the other side. His knees buckled, but he kept moving, sprinting into another corridor of broken glass and shifting reflections.
The Enforcer slowed slightly, letting out an amused grunt as he followed at his own pace, machete in hand. "You think running through this hellscape is gonna save you?" he called after Alex. "You know what happens to people who run, don't you?"
Alex didn't answer. He ducked behind a rusted pillar, catching his breath, sweat dripping down his brow. He needed to think. He needed to turn this place against him.
Silent Hill had always been a battleground of the mind.
And maybe, just maybe… he could use that.
But Alex barely caught a glimpse of movement, small, just out of reach. Joshua.
His little brother stood just beyond, his back turned, his familiar striped shirt contrasted against the decay of the Otherworld.
"Josh!" Alex called out.
He barely had time to react before the Enforcer's machete came screaming toward his head. On pure instinct, Alex ducked, rolling away just as the blade slashed through the air where his neck had been. His body hit the rusted ground hard, but he didn't waste a second, he pushed off, dodging back before the Enforcer could capitalize.
The larger man let out a frustrated growl, turning sharply to track Alex's retreat.
But Alex wasn't looking at him anymore.
His eyes were locked onto the fading image of his little brother slipping through the corridor ahead. His breath caught in his throat. Joshua was here. He was real. Without thinking, Alex ran.
"Oh, you gotta be shitting me!" the Enforcer barked, his voice laced with both irritation and amusement as Alex broke away. He started to follow, but the environment shifted again, halls twisted, metal groaned, and jagged slabs of broken glass jutted from the ground, blocking his immediate path. The Otherworld itself was reacting.
Alex sprinted forward, weaving through the maze of shifting walls and crumbling debris. He saw flashes of Joshua's form darting ahead, turning corners just before Alex could reach him.
"Josh!" Alex shouted with desperation. "Josh, wait!"
The world bent around him, the air thick with rust and sorrow. The sound of his breathing was deafening in his ears, the pounding of his heart drowning out everything else.
He turned a corner, gone.
Joshua had vanished. Again.
Alex skidded to a stop, chest heaving, eyes darting wildly. He turned, searching the shadows, the flickering reflections in the glass.
Nothing.
Alex's fingers curled into fists as frustration and despair crashed over him in waves. "No, not again. Not this time."
And then, a slow, deliberate set of footsteps. Clapping.
Alex turned, body tensing, as the Enforcer emerged from the shifting ruins of the corridor behind him. The man tilted his head, his machete slung casually over his shoulder.
"Well, that was cute," the Enforcer mused. "Gotta hand it to ya, Shepherd, you run real fast when you're chasing' ghosts."
Alex's blood boiled. He raised his knife again, forcing himself back into a fighting stance, but inside, his mind raced. Joshua had been there. He had seen him.
But had he?
Or was Silent Hill playing with him again?
Alex gritted his teeth, as anger fueled him, and lunged forward, swinging his knife in a fierce counterattack. The Enforcer met him, their blades clashing as they locked together once again, pushing against each other with brute force.
"That ghost was my brother!" Alex snarled, pressing forward with all his strength.
The Enforcer scoffed, his grip steady, then let out a short, amused laugh. "Brother?" he repeated mockingly. "I had one of those once too."
Alex's glare burned into him, but the Enforcer continued as if this fight was nothing more than a passing conversation.
"The little dumb bastard killed himself drinking… hell, was it turpentine or kerosene?" The Enforcer let out a thoughtful hum as he shifted his stance, pushing Alex back slightly. "I never could remember. Guess it doesn't matter much, he sure as hell ain't around now."
Alex's stomach twisted, but the Enforcer wasn't done.
"Took quite the lickin' for that one," the Enforcer added. "Guess somebody had to pay for it, right?"
Alex felt himself falter for just a fraction of a second. The way the Enforcer spoke, so casually, like the death of his brother was nothing more than a bad memory, just another footnote in his sad, miserable existence, just made Alex rage.
"Aww, that hit a nerve, huh?" The Enforcer taunted, his grin widening as he noticed. "What? You thought you were the only one haunted by family?"
"Shut up," Alex growled, shoving hard, breaking the clinch as he prepared for the next attack.
"Now this is gettin' fun."
The Enforcer stalked forward, machete glinting under the eerie, flickering light of the twisted Otherworld. Alex, still catching his breath, tightened his grip on his knife, preparing for the inevitable next attack.
But then, something shifted again.
The air grew thick with another unnatural presence. From the corners, figures began to emerge, shambling, twitching things that reeked of rot and malice. The first to appear were the nurses, their distorted, jerking movements looked and felt unnatural. With their rusty scalpels and pipes clutched tightly in twitching fingers. Their faceless heads tilted toward the two men, sensing the fresh blood in the air.
And then came the dogs, more fleshless, snarling creatures, their claws scraping against the corroded metal floor.
The Enforcer stopped as he let out a long, irritated sigh. "Ah, shit, son."
More of the creatures emerged from the shifting darkness, surrounding them, drawn by the scent of battle, by the raw violence in the air. The nurses let out unnatural, garbled gasps, their movements erratic. The dogs growled low and deep, hunger evident in their eyeless faces.
The Enforcer glanced between them and Alex, his shoulders sagging slightly, his amusement giving way to mild disappointment. He clicked his tongue. "Looks like we're cuttin' this short."
Alex barely had time to process what was happening before the Enforcer took a step back, not in retreat, but in indifference.
"You have fun with that," the Enforcer said with a lazy wave of his machete. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, stepping through their colliding nightmares like they meant nothing to him.
Alex's eyes widened. "What the hell?"
The creatures didn't even seem to register the Enforcer as a target. The moment he turned his back, it was as if he had ceased to exist.
Alex had seen Silent Hill bind itself to those trapped within it. The town twisted reality to punish people, to hold them here in its grip. But the Enforcer?
He wasn't bound. He came and went as he pleased.
Before Alex could even call after him, the dogs lunged. He had no time to wonder what it meant.
All he could do now… was survive.
James Sunderland sat on the cold cot. His body still ached from the torture he had endured. Every breath he took sent pain through his ribs. His leg was still stiff, wrapped tightly in bandages where Elisabeth Gillespie had done her best to mend both the stab wound and the deeper damage from the drill The Enforcer had used on him.
His eye, or rather, what was left of it, still throbbed, but at least the bleeding had stopped. The gauze pressed against his ruined socket felt too tight, but he wasn't about to complain. Not when he was still alive.
Deputy Wheeler sat across from him, leaning against the wall with his injuries bound as well as possible. His face was swollen, bruises dark against his skin, but at least the bleeding had stopped. Elisabeth had done a damn good job, all things considered.
Angela remained quiet in the corner, lying on a separate cot. Her arms were loosely wrapped in fresh bandages where old scars and new bruises mixed. The nose had been plugged with gauze to prevent further nose bleeds. Her gaze flickered between James and Wheeler every so often, as if checking to make sure they were still there.
None of them spoke for a while.
The only sound was the occasional noise of cultists outside.
Finally, James let out a slow, pained breath. "That doctor… she knew what she was doing."
Wheeler grunted, rubbing his temples. "Yeah, well, guess even they need someone to keep people breathing long enough to suffer more."
Angela didn't say anything, but her fingers rubbed against the thin sheet draped over her.
James flexed his hands, testing his strength. It wasn't much, but he felt better. That was something.
Elisabeth had done her job well. She could've left them to rot, patched up just enough to stay alive and nothing more. But no, she had gone beyond that. But Why?
James wasn't sure, but one thing was clear, she wasn't like Holloway or her pet monster.
"What do you think she's planning?" Wheeler finally asked, wincing as he shifted to sit up straighter. "She didn't have to help us like this."
James exhaled slowly, staring at the cracked ceiling. "No. She didn't."
Angela's voice came, quiet but sharp. "Does it even matter?"
The two men looked at her. She kept her eyes down, her fingers still twitching.
"She still works for them," Angela murmured. "Still here with them."
James didn't argue, but she wasn't wrong. Even good intentions didn't matter much in a place like this.
But deep in his gut, James felt something.
Maybe, just maybe, that Elisabeth Gillespie was another crack in the Order's foundation.
And they could use every damn crack they could get.
Angela curled up in the corner of the cot, pulling her knees to her chest. Her fingers clutched the thin sheet draped over her as if it could shield her from everything that had happened. Her face was turned away, but James could see the way her shoulders trembled, the way her breath hitched slightly, uneven and exhausted.
"I just want to go home," she whispered, barely loud enough for them to hear. "Go home, take care of my cats… take a long, hot shower… and never think about this place again."
James's heart twisted. He knew that feeling all too well. That desperate longing to wake up and find out it had all been a nightmare. To go back to something normal, even if normal was just feeding the cats and pretending the past didn't exist.
He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to sit up despite the sharp pain in his ribs. His body screamed for rest, but resting wasn't an option, not here. He turned towards Angela.
"We're all going home after this."
Angela didn't respond. Maybe she didn't believe him. Maybe she was still angry with James for his part in dragging her back into all of this.
But James sure as hell wanted to believe in himself.
Wheeler, sitting nearby, nodded, his expression grim. "Damn right, we all are." He winced as he adjusted his position, still sore from the beatings he'd taken, but his mind was already working. "But we can't just sit here waiting for it to happen. We need to find a way out. Get to a radio."
James raised an eyebrow. "A radio?"
Wheeler nodded. "If we can get our hands on one, we call the National Guard. Get 'em to come in full force, tear this damn place apart."
James let out a breath. "And what's stopping Holloway from intercepting that signal before it goes out?"
Wheeler ran a hand over his bruised face, exhaling sharply. "Nothing, but it's worth a shot. If we can get through, we can bring real heat down on these bastards. Hell, they've got federal crimes stacked a mile high, cult activity, kidnappings, murder, terrorism. The National Guard won't ask questions, they'll just roll right on in."
James thought about it. It was risky sure. But it was a plan.
And right now, they needed a plan more than anything.
Angela hadn't moved, still curled up in her spot, still somewhere far away in her mind. James didn't press her. He just gave Wheeler a look and nodded.
"Alright," James muttered. "Let's find that radio."
The heavy metal door groaned open. James, Wheeler, and Angela all snapped their heads toward the entrance, their breath caught in their throats.
For a brief moment, James almost expected to see her, Elisabeth Gillespie, the only one in this nightmare who had shown them something close to kindness. She had come and gone, tending to their wounds with steady hands, almost compassionate compared to the cruelty of the Order.
Maybe it was her. Maybe they had a chance.
But then, a shadow filled the doorway.
Tall and broad. Him.
The light overhead gleamed off of his helmet, the dark visor obscuring the eyes of the monster who wore it. The Enforcer stepped inside, his movements were slow, and deliberate, like a predator taking its time.
James's stomach dropped.
"Oh, God."
Angela went rigid, curling tighter into herself. Wheeler tensed beside him, his muscles locked up as though preparing for another beating. James, despite the pain still pulsing through his broken ribs, forced himself to sit up, not daring to show weakness.
The Enforcer let out a low chuckle as he stepped fully inside, the door clicking shut behind him. He took a long, slow look around the room, his head tilted slightly as if assessing them.
Then he sighed, shaking his head. "Man…" His voice still tinged with amusement. "Ain't this a sorry sight?"
He stepped forward, his boots echoing too loudly in the suffocating silence.
James clenched his jaw. "Stay calm. Don't give him the satisfaction."
The Enforcer stopped a few feet away, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off an ache. He exhaled sharply. "Y'know, I just got out of a fight," he muttered, almost casually. "Real shame I had to cut it short."
His gloved fingers flexed at his sides. He wasn't holding a weapon. Not yet. But James knew better than to take that as mercy.
Angela made a small sound, something crossed between a breath and a whimper, but quickly bit it back.
The Enforcer's head turned slightly toward her.
James moved.
Shifting just enough to draw attention away from her.
The Enforcer's helmet snapped back to him.
James swallowed and forced out a smirk. "Don't tell me you came all this way just to gloat."
The Enforcer laughed, short and sharp. "Nah. If I wanted to gloat, I'd be bringin' you back in pieces."
Wheeler's hands curled into fists. James kept his expression neutral, but his mind was racing. "Why was he here? What did he want?"
The Enforcer let the silence hang for a moment before speaking again.
"See, I just had a thought." He took another step forward, looming over James now. "I already put one Shepherd through the wringer tonight." His head tilted. "Maybe it's time I break another one."
James's blood ran cold.
Alex.
Angela flinched.
The Enforcer just smiled.
The Enforcer threw his head back and let out a harsh, mocking laugh. He tapped a gloved finger against the fresh wound on his chest, a mark left by Alex in their fight.
"That little Army Ranger pup nephew of yours got me good," he mused, his tone almost… amused.
James clenched his jaw, his fingers twitching against the sheet of the cot. Alex fought him? That meant he was still alive. Still fighting.
But that didn't comfort him, not when the Enforcer was still standing there, laughing about it.
"Shame I haven't had the opportunity to take him out yet," the Enforcer continued, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "But… all in due time."
He let out another chuckle, like pure sadistic enjoyment.
Angela pressed herself further against the wall, trying to make herself smaller, as if she could disappear entirely. It was what she was used to, from the past, one she had hoped to leave behind nearly a decade ago. Wheeler had gone rigid, his eyes burning with rage, but he kept his mouth shut, knowing better than to provoke the man who enjoyed breaking people.
Then, without another word, the Enforcer pulled his handgun.
He held it lazily in his right hand, but the gesture was immediate.
"Alright," he began, stepping closer and gesturing toward the door with the barrel. "You're being moved."
None of them moved at first.
James could feel Wheeler tense beside him. He could see the way Angela shrank into herself, her eyes darting toward the floor, her hands tightening around the blanket.
The Enforcer exhaled sharply, patience wearing thin.
"Move. Now." He Ordered.
Still, they hesitated.
That was when he raised the gun directly at James's head.
"Unless," the Enforcer began, "you'd rather die here and now."
James locked eyes with him. For a split second, none of them moved, and The Enforcer's finger twitched over the trigger.
Then James exhaled slowly, forcing himself to swallow his anger, his fear, his everything.
And then, without a word, he pushed himself up from the cot. Wheeler followed, grim-faced, casting a glance at Angela, and she hesitated.
The Enforcer clicked the safety off and that got her moving.
He smirked, stepping back just enough to let them shuffle toward the door.
"Good choice."
But the room exploded into motion. As they stepped toward the door, Wheeler's fingers brushed against the scalpel sticking out of a nearby doctor's bag, Elisabeth's. She must've left it behind.
James barely had time to register everything that was happening before Wheeler lunged.
It was fast. A desperate, final gamble.
Wheeler surged forward, aiming straight for the Enforcer's throat. Desperate for One clean strike. Just One chance was all he needed.
But the Enforcer… was faster. He stepped aside. Like he had seen it coming. Like he had been waiting for it. Before Wheeler even had time to react, the Enforcer's gun snapped up.
BANG! The first shot hit Wheeler's left shoulder.
BANG! The second shot ripped into his right.
Wheeler staggered, his breath catching, he barely had time to register the pain before,
BANG!
The third bullet struck him between the eyes.
The impact snapped his head back, blood spraying across the floor, his body collapsing in an instant.
Just like that, it was over.
James stood frozen, heart hammering, his breath caught in his throat as Wheeler's body hit the cold, bloodstained floor.
Angela let out a strangled sound, covering her mouth, horrified.
The Enforcer exhaled sharply, lowering the gun, his amusement gone. His shoulders rose and fell with a slow, measured breath as he turned to James and Angela, voice cold and furious.
"Anyone else wanna play hero?"
James dropped to his knees beside Wheeler, instinct taking over. "No. No, no, no."
He reached out, gripping Wheeler's vest, shaking him. But there was nothing left, the light was gone from his eyes.
His friend was dead.
James's hands trembled. He clenched his jaw so hard it ached, rage, grief, and helplessness swirling into a black hole in his chest.
The Enforcer watched, tilting his head. "Didn't think so."
He waved the gun toward the door again. "Move."
James barely registered the command, but his body reacted before his mind could.
Slowly, numbly, he got to his feet. Angela, who was still in shock, followed.
As they walked past Wheeler's lifeless body, the Enforcer chuckled to himself, shaking his head.
"Damn shame," he muttered. "I liked that one."