Red Angel

Title: RED ANGEL
Author: Chaosdreamer (dreamerchaos)
Beta: None. *reels away in terror* Run for your lives!
Warning: Slash, gore, and horror. Contains alternate ending. Rating - R.
Pairing: Pyramid Head/James.
Disclaimer: Silent Hill is owned and copyrighted by others beside myself. I'm only playing with the boys.
Author's Note: Takes place after the Nightmare version of the Hospital. Around the time that James finally enters the prison.
Summary: Sometimes no matter how far or how hard you run… the demon is still one step behind you.


************


Tremors left him breathless. Shock flooding limbs and senses.

Too much… There was too much blood spilling out. Hands shaking, he pressed down over the worse of his wounds, hoping that pressure would hinder further blood from escaping. He fumbled, too many times. The flesh around gaping lacerations was too slick to maintain a fixed position. No matter his repeated efforts, more blood crept between red- coated fingers and around makeshift compresses.

Internal bleeding was a likely possibility. Simply shifting from one foot to the other elicited a slithering burn within his vitals. James gagged, choking around bubbles of blood that poured between his lips. His lungs shuddered containing excess phlegm and blood, constricted sacs fighting for another gulp of air.

The flashlight flickered in vain, lens cracked from the last encounter with a demon lurking in wait within the hallway. Typically slow moving, most demons were easily avoided provided by the radio's popping warnings. This time, however, James had not gotten away unscathed. Much to his horror, James had learned the hard way that a Patient demon wasn't stumbling or awkward. They possessed proficient skills for waiting and ambushing, and used other methods besides acid to bring down prey. The demon took its pound of flesh, leaping at an opportunity that James' folly so generously provided, considering his fatal underestimation of the seemingly slow and insipid creature.


The demon had caught the man by surprise. The muzzle of his gun turned towards the onrushing shadow contrasting with the hall's darkness like oil greasing water. Before any bullets could be fired, its slimed bulky body slammed into James. James felt ribs crack when his back met with the wall, sandwiched between hard stone and an overly broad chest thickened by numerous massive ribs.

He realized that the demon's skin was not smooth and covered with harmless slime. Rather, the shiny skin masked the ridged shark-tooth shaped scales that dragged down cloth and flesh, splitting whatever came in contact. Toothed-skin snagged into James' dragging fresh crimson jagged lines down his body. The innocuous slime proved itself just as deadly. Any piece of clothing that came in contact immediately began to hiss, followed by slim tendrils of smoke unfurling into the air. Ridged flesh dug deeper, free access for acidic ooze to saturate open wounds and blister, sputtering hisses when black tar met crimson. Agonized screams shattered throughout the hall, clothes and skin burning, tearing under the force of the demon's attack.

His hand had squeezed, finger constricting and firing two useless shots wasting precious bullets that buried deep into the wall across from him. The loud gunfire and recoil of the gun startled the demon long enough for James to tear himself free, leaving pieces of his jacket and ripped skin hanging in strips off the demon's body.

An ungodly howl nipped at his heels as he half-stumbled, half-ran further. Air whistled through his lungs, burning hot. The wounds were catching up with him. He was forced to brace himself unsteadily along the wall as he fled, palm dragging a thin wet beam of crimson across the stone surface.

Knees quaking and knocking together he finally found a rusty metal door, gasping with relief as it fell open beneath his uncoordinated weight. He fell through the doorway, coughing from the reckless stumble. On hands and knees, he laboriously pulled himself through, legs barely able to hold any weight. Heart thudding hard and fast within his chest, quickened when he heard a low sharp shuffling slowly drawing closer from the direction he had fled.

After what felt like hours but only lasting several seconds James pulled himself in far enough that he could twist around and push, slamming the door shut, throwing his last bit of strength forward to push with hands and feet.

The heavy metal door slammed shut just as soon as a heavy shadow rose up in front of the entrance leading into the scarcely lit hallway. The beast howled from the other side, door thudding rhythmically within its frame as the demon threw itself against the barrier shielding its prey.

James had successfully managed to escape, but his actions of twisting around and slamming the door shut brought with them another fierce wave of agony. His ribs screamed from the angle he had turned his body, limbs tingling, numb from fast decreasing blood flow. He curled in a fetal position, face inches from the steadily thumping door. Sweat beaded his forehead, teeth chattering as he hunkering down to wait for the massive swarm of dotted lights to filter from his gaze.

His arms wrapped carefully around his waist, already coated with a thick film of blood just visible beneath the broad tears throughout his jacket. Both arms were, quite literally, shredded, and his stomach rolled when he made out the twitched red muscle peeked out between ragged lips of flesh. He had expected the blood pouring down his arms to feel ice-cold, but instead found his mangled flesh feeling singed from the hot blood streaming down to collect across the floor.

But the wounds on his limbs paled to the thick open wound snaking across his abdomen. Each shaky breath caused his gore-painted shirt to stick itself flat across the gaping slash's mouth, each shuddering intake actually sucking the damp red cloth in between the edges and into the cavernous wound. His hands fumbled uselessly to keep the wound pushed closed, red snaking lines of blood seeping between clenched fingers.

James moaned softly, lifting his head while the line of his neck trembled greatly through every ounce of effort to move. Slowly, millimeter by millimeter James managed to turn around without causing too much blood to drain. With his back facing the door, he scanned the corridor laid out before him. He recognizing the long line of cells laid out on two levels directly to his right, the uneven, rust-red and black wall opposite.

The Prison Cell Corridor… but which one, exactly? The one further north, or the one to the south? He couldn't remember how far he had run. Too many times his vision and concentration swam while he tried recalling where exactly he was within the Prison.

Groping for the flashlight, he felt a sense of great relief to find that there was enough light available for him to see several feet in front of him. James made further effort to keep damp fingers from tarnishing the damaged lens, specks of blood marring the trembling path of soft gold light.

No truly visible signs that allowed any chance for determining which corridor he'd found shelter.

James allowed his head to drop, exhausted, bracing a majority of weight upon an undamaged shoulder to keep off the filthy coated ground as much as possible. 'This is too much…' He groaned, 'I managed to get away, but at the cost of being so badly injured that there's not a chance I can reload my gun with the state that my arms are in, let alone reach for a first aid kit.'

Worse than that, the only other exit out of the corridor was at the other end of the long walkway, almost one hundred feet of walking before he would reach the other door. It would be suicide to backtrack. The other door was his only option.

And there was no possible way he could crawl, let alone walk that distance.

'Think, think, think…' He twitched the beam of light towards the floor, finding nothing that could possibly help him any further; resolutely turning the flashlight off in order to conserve the batteries. 'Think, James. Think. You can't possibly stay here. Besides it not being safe, you'll bleed to death.'

But there too lay another problem. There were no benefits in staying where he was, and at the same time nothing promising outside of his impromptu shelter. He couldn't backtrack, since it was impossible to find his way back out of the Prison following the odd twisted path that had first led him here. His only option would be to continue on forward…

Continue forward towards WHAT, exactly, was his greatest concern.

Low, heavy breathing proceeding hollow footsteps some fifty feet in front of him interrupted his rumination.

Shit. Taking a risk James immediately switched the flashlight back on again, waving beam left to right as he quickly assessed what had startled him.

There was absolutely nothing visible, and yet the wavering breathing and invisible unsteady footsteps continued to approach, closer with each awkward step.

'Not this again,' He remembered experiencing the same event the last time he had entered this corridor. Whatever this…this thing was, it had followed his every move during his explorations inside the open cells. What on earth was it? Some sort of poltergeist, perhaps?

This time, however, there was no hesitation; the invisible presence continued closer. Before it had remained several feet away and back, and now…now it apparently had nothing to fear, or its curiosity outweighed characteristic hesitation.

What could he do? James carefully eased himself up partially, nearly losing his balance as he pushed up onto his knees facing the oncoming presence. 'Getting too close.' It was nearly within arm's reach. How could he fight something that he couldn't see?

*CRACK*

How could he fight something that he couldn't see, but struck him?

James' world spun, reeling as the sudden impact across his face sent him sprawling, head and shoulder meeting the ground with an echoing crack. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, ribs certainly broken by now. Blood pooled beneath split bottom lip, an uneven cut across the arch of his cheek.

No time to register the full event, another strike came. This time, lifting him off the ground, into the air and effortlessly sending him halfway down the corridor. James bounced once and rolled several feet until he came to a stop. Bloody smears mark the floor, evidence signifying his flight and impact with the ground.

More blood erupted from nose and mouth, arms shaking uncontrollably as James attempted to push himself to his feet. 'Stupid mistake. Stupid…stupid to think that I was safe…'

The corridor shook as the invisible attacker rushed him, puffs of dust rising from the floor signaling the fall of each step. An invisible foot crashing into his chest, lifting him up to smash against the door. James' body bounced off, and met with another brutal sidelong attack that threw him to the side, meeting headfirst with metal rungs of a cell.

His vision was painted red, blood blinding him as it poured free from various cuts opened across face and forehead. Bruised legs crumbled, and James desperately clutched at the bars in hopes of not falling onto the floor.

This was going to kill him.

Invisible hands fell hard onto his shoulders, ripping him away and hurling him once again through the air. An audible crack, something hard shifting inside James' body. Another broken? It was hard to tell. Everything hurt, leaving it impossible to distinguish one pain from another.

He didn't budge, not daring to even think of attempting to regain his feet. His right hand lay useless tucked against his chest while the wrist throbbed, more than likely broken. He curled fetal around his stomach and shielded the widening wound with his other arm.

A startled gasp switched into a pained shout, brutal hands catching clumps of hair grasping a large handful and ripping him up to his knees. Eyes watered, James hissing around the stinging pain and rough, forced position causing more wounds to break open.

Then he heard it. A monotonous stream of fierce, angry whispers, too many to possibly follow.

"…alive…why…too warm, it's burning…ALIVE…"

"hate…hate…life…it's too cold here…''

"bleeding and yet is still burning…"

"Die…die…die…die…die…DIE…DIE"

"Kill the lost sheep…"

"Kill it…"

"Kill it…"

"BREAK IT!"

Broad iron bands encased flesh, tightening over his throat. He cringed, eyes wide with grief, choking, unable to breathe. "GGgghhkkt." He couldn't gain traction, boots slipping through blood. James' legs kicked out feebly, loss of blood leaving too little fight available to possibly save him.

Hands beat weakly, passing where hands resolutely continued squeezing air and life away, not breaking the unmoving weight. Black blobs slid across his eyes, leviathans swallowing scratched rusting walls, the ceiling looming stories above. Soon finally, a merciful wave, a rolling darkness stole the meager light…and then he knew nothing.

Sirens rolled out, rumble chasing after him as he fell away.

************

'My arms…they're too heavy.'

'I can't move my legs.'

James' return shattered the darkness, abrupt and ungentle. It felt as if someone had thrown him into a lake of ice. He arched violently, sucking in a deep draught of air and ended up wheezing like an old man due to heaving aggressively, desperate and sucking down too deep of breaths.

He needed to slow down. Pacing, steadying aching lungs, James patiently continued until managing to stifle dry hacking coughs.

His violent awakening coupled with a severe coughing fit sapped what little strength remained in him. He fell back, body lying limp on top of the bed.

'……'

'…Bed? Wh--What is this?……where…Where am I?'

Shuttered lids opened a slightly, pupils immediately ablaze. "Hahh!" James' eyes burned, slamming shut as the sun's bright light cut through the barred locked window mounted into the wall beside the low bed. The beams of white gold illuminated his surroundings, the meager belongings and pictures scattered on shelves and a short desk, and squat sink and toilet tucked into an opposite corner. The narrow room was painted soft white and dove gray, a metal door with a tiny reinforced glass viewing window positioned at face level. It wasn't necessary to peer close to see that the door was also locked. A trembling horizontal milky thread glittered against tile beneath the door, barely half an inch thick. Wavered constantly as numerous feet passed by and shadows filled the small viewing window.

James attempted to sit up, but was forced to stop as sealed restraints jerked him back. 'My hands…' Wrists bound flat, and both ankles also prisoner. The wide straps of the cuffs dug into his skin when he instinctively struggled to break loose. Hyperventilating, the bonds no comfort and not providing explanation for his position. He roughly rocked forward futilely against the bands that held him down.

The thin beam of light under the door rippled with shadows, pair of feet paused before his door. Keys jangled loudly on the opposite side, the lock turning quick as the door was pushed all the way open.

The large man entered cautiously as if expecting someone to leap out from behind the door. James stared warily at the orderly dressed in an ironed-down white shirt and gray pants and white sneakers. A nametag across the left breast identified the man as 'Ethan D.'

'Ethan' approaching, closer and carefully inspecting the straps around James' wrists and ankles. Ethan sighed in disappointment, frustration evident -- not aware of the wide skeptical eyes staring at him. "Why do you do this, Mr. Sunderland? You cut your wrists again."

James followed the direction of his gaze, blinking owlishly at the thin bands of blood staining the cuffs. Head whipping up and down, left to right, James inspected every inch of his body. He was dressed in a full white outfit, expecting but finding no traces of blood dying his clothing. "I…my stomach isn't torn open…and my arms…" He lifted his limbs as far as they could reach, staring in awe at the unmarred, pale white skin that matched the clean scrubs.

Ethan crouched down beside the edge of the bed, checking the damage to James' hands. "You're all right. The only injuries are the ones you left." He soothed the blond strapped down, coaxing him to relax. "You have to learn to remain calm. We only do this to keep you safe from inflicting harm on yourself."

James swallowed, not understanding, staring at the other man as if he were speaking a foreign language. "But…the blood. I was injured. I…what am I doing here? What is this place…" His chest began to rise and fall fast, pupils dilating. He bucked once more against the restraints. "What am I doing here?!"

"Mr. Sunderland --"

"Tell me who you are? Why am I tied down like this?"

Ethan unsnapped the radio from his belt, not breaking eye contact. "Station, request assistance in Room 224. Patient is having an attack." He spoke rapidly, followed by a confusing list of numbers and medical terms, his fingers taking James' pulse and leaning over to peer into the blonde's frantic eyes. "James, you need to calm down. Don't do this. Don't do this. Just remain calm."

"Where am I! How did I end up here? Where are they hiding?"

"Who? Who is hiding?"

"Them! Those demons!"

"God damn it." Ethan spat pushing back and hastily stepping out of the way as several other aides rushed inside. "Call Doctor Wright. Tell him James Sunderland is having another episode. And make sure he's sedated with the proper dosage this time!" He ordered.

James reared away from the aide that approached holding a full syringe, teeth bared like a wild animal. "No! No! You can't do this to me. This isn't right! I don't belong here!"

He fought so aggressively that another aide was forced to hold him down for the sedative to be administered, strangers urging him to calm down and relax. James' body trembled violently from confusion and adrenaline, whispering constantly, "This is a nightmare. It's another nightmare."

The sedative worked fast, James feeling his eyes roll back and body fall into the thin mattress's waiting arms. A shadow slid over the gray ceiling, the darkness once against stealing him away until he couldn't and didn't want to stay awake any longer.

************

"And he was just beginning to show some improvement." An unknown voice said, disheartened.

"I don't understand how this could have happened! There was no warning. He hasn't had an attack in days! What on earth could have possibly set him off? He was sleeping, and the guards assured me that the security cameras noted no obvious signs of dreaming, let alone suffering through night terrors."

A heavy sigh. "This regression is troubling. His prognosis was poor to begin with, but this set back may cost all of our efforts."

"…Perhaps we should reconsider…about the drugs. The sedatives can only work so long--"

"Don't finish that sentence." The second speaker warned darkly. "We both know what happened when we introduced anti-psychotics. Or perhaps you would like to ruminate about how Mr. Sunderland suffered through violent delusions so great in fact that he attacked YOU, believing that you were some demon?"

"…I…I haven't forgotten."

A small hum of assurance. "We will simply have to start again from stage one. Keep him sedated and place him under twenty-four-hour suicide watch! Over the next few weeks, we'll begin regular therapy sessions once more. Hopefully THIS time we will determine what exactly set our dear patient off."


************
Some Time Later
************

I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming.

Go away. Disappear.

No. Not again. Not him again.

"It-it-it's you."

"……"

"Stay away! Just leave me alone! You're not real! The doctors told me that you're just a figment of my imagination!"

James jumped when the other chuckled in dark amusement.

"ARE YOU AFRAID?" The other asked, approaching further.

"…y-yes."

"YOU SHOULD BE."

"…Are you going to kill me?"

"NO. I'M GOING TO DO MUCH WORSE."

"O-oh?"

"I WON'T KILL YOU."

"Stop! Stop. I don't want to hear this--"

"I WON'T KILL YOU."

"I'LL STAIN YOUR FLESH AND SOUL…BIND YOU WITH SHACKLES…WITH MY OWN HANDS."

"AND THEN…YOU'LL BELONG ONLY TO ME. IN YOUR EYES I WILL REPRESENT THE DARK ABYSS. I WILL BECOME…"

"What? What will you become?"

Silence.

"Tell me!"

"I WILL…"

"What? What will you do?"

"I WILL BECOME…"

James gasped, shuddering as slick, bloodstained latex gloves traced the arch of his face and jaw.

"I WILL BECOME EVERYTHING YOU LOVE AND HATE."


************

As he did every morning and every night, each time he awoke from a restless sleep, James greeted the world with his forlorn, agonized screams. "Don't take it! Don't take away everything." Screaming the same words over and over again.


************


"James. Please stop holding everything in. Tell me about the dreams you've been having."

James sighed, elbows resting on his knees, burying his face between slim, shaking hands. Doctor Wright waited patiently for the other man to continue. The older doctor, salt and pepper hair combed smooth and with few bangs hanging above his eyes, held a slim pad of paper, pen paused and held steady halfway down the flat sheet.

He was willingly to wait as long as James deemed to remain still and silent. Sitting upright in the high chair, across from James, the blond patient constantly tested all efforts of assurance and therapy, using any and all methods of resisting Wright's coaxing to relax and recline back into the folds of the long leather chair.

Doctor Wright frowned, momentarily deep in thought. 'James isn't eating again.' He noted conscious of the loose waist of James' pants, riding down low beneath his navel. The blonde's thin gray sweat pants, white sweater, and thin white sneakers were a sharp contrast within the large dark chair he sat, and the dark blocked numbers and letters JS00179 sewn into the breast of the sweater.

"Dreams?" James murmured, echoing the doctor. Hollow words, no emotion tingeing his words. He huddled further down, hunkering until he was situated in a tight coiled ball filled trembling energy close to spilling out. "I don't have dreams. Everything…it's all a continuous nightmare." He whispered, shaking hands betraying his dread.

"You are still traumatized after what happened to your late wife--"

"Traumatized." The blonde hissed, blue eyes glaring between his fingers at the doctor. "Traumatized!"

'This is a first,' Doctor Wright observed, remotely thankful to induce some sort of emotional expression.

Just as abruptly as he outburst had formed, James quickly deflated staring back at the doctor. "Traumatized." He whispered, sounding out the word as if it held some inner secret he yearned to explore. "I'm not traumatized. I'm guilty. I'm a worthless piece of meat. I killed her. I killed Mary. I suffocated her using a hospital pillow! I'm a murderer. I…I murdered my own wife."

"No. No, don't start down this path again." Doctor Wright interjected. "We've been through this before, remember? I've explained the circumstance for you arriving here at my facility. The courts released you of responsibility. You were under a great deal of stress. Your wife was nearly dead, body dying on the inside from that horrible disease. She begged you to kill her. Repeatedly begged to die, plying for you to kill her, all of this over a span of six months.

"When the nurses found you, after…after you suffocated Mary Sunderland, you didn't respond to any of their summons. You didn't respond to any of the questions and commands that the police asked. For several weeks, James, you were no more than an empty shell.

"When you finally awoke, you had to be physically restrained after you tried to take your own life." Doctor Wright swallowed, the notes about James' suicide attempt memorized…about how the man attempted to tear out his own eyes, cutting his wrists open with his own teeth…digging at his flesh as if to bleed out illusive poison. " You had a psychotic break and showed little recovery from the frequent episodes that followed. You persisted, waking every other day screaming about demons and a town scattered inside fog and buildings littered with bodies. The state ruled that you were not competent to face trial.

"And that's why you are here at this facility. We wish to expose the meaning behind these nightmares and determine why you react so violently to them. When you woke up several weeks ago after one of your episodes, you surprised all of us by demanding to know why you were at the facility. Do you remember? We had to sedate you, and it took days to calm you down. And still, you would not tell us about the specifics that had caused you to have such a violent attack. The psychotic episode came as a shock since your last one was almost a week prior. Afterwards all you talk about are your dreams of demons and an abandoned town.

"James, I want to help you. But in order for me to help you, you have to want to help yourself. You have to trust me. You have to talk to me."

His patient sneered in bitter contempt -- aimed at the doctor, or directed inward? -- Laughing sharply, disgusted. He knew the doctor's trivial attempts to soothe him would merit nothing. "You don't believe me. When I tell you everything that I dream -- even the things that I see that you tell me aren't there! Everything that I see in this hospital -- out on the trails, in the courtyard, in my room --"

"James." Doctor Wright shushed James, trying to coax him down, sensing the rising agitation. "I've been with you during several of these episodes. There was nothing near you. There were no demons."

James moaned in despair, twisting his fingers through long strands of hair. "I'm not lying. I'm not. Why…why am I the only one that can see them? You--" He looked back at Doctor Wright, blue eyes pleading. "You can't hear them either, can you? The things they say…the things they promise…"

"I can't see or hear them because nothing was there."

James looked away obviously frustrated that the doctor, apparently, continued to remain blind when faced with the knowledge of demons that followed and haunted his patient. He focused his gaze downward, vision dulling, tracing the forest green carpet's thick weave and spirals.

Doctor Wright sighed, massaging the throbbing headache between his eyes. They were getting nowhere. "I think that's enough for today." He set pen and paper down on the small table positioned near his left elbow, fingers finding the private intercom line. Pushing down the third button from the left, he summoned the man waiting outside. "Samuel, would you please escort James to his room? Our session is over now."

The heavy wood door opened, a uniformed aide stepping through the threshold. Short military styled black hair, wide shoulders, and dark eyes. Standard qualities for all aides: hard and solid as a mountain, and with a rumbling voice to match.

"Ready to go, James?" Samuel asked, maintaining his distance, allowing James to take his time to approach. Most aides working in the facility knew that it was better left as the patients' decision for accepting and to handle close proximity with another human being.

"Yeah." James whispered, physically and emotionally drained from the session. A dense pain settled within his gut, crude barbs of agony throbbing resulting from persistently examining old memories and repeating nightmares. Talking about his 'problems' wasn't helping anyone.

"I will see you again at the same time on Friday." Doctor Wright instructed, and accepted the blonde's wordless nod of affirmation.

Samuel waited until James walked out in front of him before closing the entrance into Doctor Wright's private office.

Doctor Wright's head fell back, releasing a frustrated sigh, rubbing small circles against his temples to soothe a spreading headache. There was little that could be done to handle James' nightmares and hallucinations since the patient did not respond with any pharmaceutical treatment. In fact, James Sunderland had been pulled off any available drugs after responding negatively towards each pill or liquid drug he was forced to consume, too many episodes of vomiting and muscle spasms outweighing the benefits of medication. Worse, the patient had suffered from an alarmingly barrage of further hallucinations, accompanied repeated vomiting until he was admitted into the emergency room due to dehydration and ulcers. Just last week Sunderland had been rushed to a nearby hospital, suffering from a near-fatal seizure, the facility unable to handle their patient's rattling lungs and rising temperature, nor the fierce convulsions that had wracked his body. That event had been the last straw, convincing Wright that Sunderland's condition could not be treated by casually shoving pills down his throat.

'I've never had a patient who responded so aggressively against all possible measures of medical treatment.' He wondered, half-heartedly reading the notes on the paper tablet. 'If I didn't know better, I would think that James was purposely finding some method of resisting the treatments.'

In any case, somehow James Sunderland's body continued throwing off any treatment that the facility could provide. The hallucinations and fits persisted to torment the man. Wright was beginning to run out of ideas about how he could offer his James any aid for his ailment.

The question that needed to be answered was not simply how to treat his patient's ailment…but what exactly was wrong with James Sunderland in the first place?


************


After subtle questioning, careful avoiding the unwavering eyes of guards and doctors, James eventually pieced together the short history of his new 'home'.

The large facility sat on privately owned land, the closest neighboring town over twenty miles away. The heart of the entire property contained almost the entire population of patients in one building with rooms spread over six floors. Patients Ward, housing nearly two hundred current residents. And none escaped the Station's electronic eyes. Station's security cameras monitored patients' rooms, and the equipment was fastidiously maintained and observed under the careful hands of moderately paid guards.

Patients Ward lay perpendicular with its sister building, second structure much smaller in comparison. Visiting Hall, Offices, Cafeteria, were separate sectors designated inside the main three-story complex, the House. Every single building and trimmed lawns formed a vast rectangle visible for miles, isolated within a surrounding of metal fences and rising brick walls: The Rose Cross Psychological Hospital. [1]

Other buildings assigned to authorized-personnel and clinical psychologists were reserved for animal research, pharmacology, psychotherapy, and behavioral studies and modification. Only the Patients Ward and the House connected, inside the fortress of other buildings. Directly in the middle of the spread complexes and intertwined with manicured trails lay a dense beautiful courtyard where the patients were allowed out on good behavior to enjoy clear skies and breathe in the fragrant air.

Although beautiful, it was no holiday vacation. Patients unwilling to comply with stringent rules faced lockdown in their rooms, and depending on their behavior, were allowed no admittance in the Visiting Hall to see their families. If a patient proved too aggressive or exhibited signs of possible tendencies for suicide, personnel began every measure of protecting the patient from him or herself. Therapy offered treatment for a small number of the residents. Restraints, anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, and sedatives were most frequent remedies.

The facility's goal was to heal their wards' minds and bodies.

Success depended on whether patients had the capacity to heal, or whether any such desires remained.

Many figured that every new day held nothing of particular interest. Nothing changed, so why show any desire to prove otherwise? The food tasted the same, their rooms were still graced by itchy laundered sheets and flat pillow. Short scratched desk and the toilet and sink that occasionally backed up. Every day they woke up in the same room, a gray slate holding miniscule reminders of their old lives.

Some days it seemed better to forget everything and everyone they loved…if only to be free from the pain of longing for something beyond their grasp.

Sometimes the mind would give up, men and women losing snatches of fond memories and familiar faces steadily grew hazy, before long finally fading away.

Handfuls of patients couldn't remember their own names.

Those were the lucky ones.

Fewer did remember, and what else they remembered…

Made them truly wish they were insane.


************


James proved unresisting, stepping into the sanctuary of his room without any ill action or words. "Try to take it easy tonight, all right?" Samuel encouraged, flicking the light switch and providing a pool of light to brighten the small quarters.

James' shoulders relaxed instantly, smiling in relief now that the dim room was quickly illuminated. All personnel had learned about James Sunderland's neurotic fear of dark environments.

Easing James onto the bed and underneath freshly laundered blankets, Samuel continued to speak calmly while he refastened the restraints around James' ankles and wrists, "The light will remain on, just like it has for the past few nights. There is no one or nothing else in here; and there will be no one or anything else until tomorrow morning when we come around to wake you. Okay?" He asked.

The question forced James to lift his eyes from his silent intense observation of the straps tightened around his wrists, bottom lip squeezed tight beneath dull canines. "Y-Yeah. Okay."

Once the straps had been sealed, Samuel lightly patted the top of James' fisted right hand, carefully tugging away twisted hands gripping the bed's cover sheet. "One step at a time, James. Soon you may even be able to remain off the restraints. As long as you don't try to repeat past mistakes…" He trailed off, notably looking down at the ridged scars decorating James' inner wrists.

"…I guess." James whispered half-heartedly.

Making sure that the blankets were tucked in firmly was the last necessary step Samuel took before slowly beginning his retreat out of the room. Backing out carefully, he swung the heavy door shut. James couldn't resist the rippling shudder after catching the echo of the locking bolt sliding home.

His chest rose and fell quick, seamlessly. Panting brokenly, he clenched his eyes shut, focusing inward. 'It's okay. Just remember what Doctor Wright said. It's all bad dreams and lies. The things I see and hear aren't really there.'

Heavy long breaths followed as he repeated the mantra in attempts to calm his rising anxiety. After several minutes, he began to notice that his heartbeat wasn't thudding nearly as fast as it had been, and his breathing was starting to calm and shorten by increments.

James released a shaky breath, managing a brief, relieved smile.

His eyes flickered up and to the right when the light suddenly blinked, dim golden light faltering out of focus before quickly returning. The episode repeated again, and James' eyes darted towards adjacent corners, cautiously watching the rising shadows seeping their way through the narrow cracks in the walls.

He whined softly catching sight of one particular shadow lengthening, steadily growing taller while widening to devour a large section of the flat uneven surface and eating away along the edges of the circle of light blinking across walls, floor, and ceiling.

James squeezed his eyes shut, throwing himself helplessly against the cruel binding keeping him prisoner. "Please…not again…" He panted, legs sliding useless in his efforts to push away from the groping shadows.

Unseen but unmistakable, James didn't desire to bare witness to the thick slices of rust and oil seeping through and around the metal door's frame, painting a hasty macabre canvas that continued inch by inch. A familiar low steady rising roar of twisting metal and sirens started soft, building in pitch.

With a final vain effort for existence, the light flickered nova-bright, pushing every ounce of power. An invisible hand struck the single bulb causing glass and metal shards to grace the floor. The shadows sprung, snapping forward and swallowed the entire room.


************


One of the blue uniformed guards sitting in a metal chair within the glass chamber of the Station leaned forward, peering at one of the many small security camera screens. Jeffry frowned, tapping the screen. A wave of static chattered fiercely from his harsh treatment of delicate equipment, visibility of the room extremely poor.

In one of the rooms…Jeffry quickly read the stenciled label at the corner of the screen…Room 224…something really weird was going on. What the hell??-- "Hey, Robson!" He interrupted his companion's 'in depth' reading.

"What is it?" Robson snapped, reluctantly folding shut his Playboy magazine and setting it down on the desk.

"Something's wrong with Room 224's camera."

"What?! You've got to be kidding, I just got done dealing with the first floor's cameras yesterday!" Robson hissed in fury and exasperation, pushing off his chair and moving to stand beside Jeffry. "What's the problem?" He asked, leaning close.

Jeffry pointed out the disturbance. "There! Right there! Do you see that?" He waited, and caught the same phenomenon…a wave of matted gray rolled across the security camera's screen, proceeding with a heavy, almost oily roll of black slashed across with wavering lines of static. "What's doing that?"

"God damn it." Robson groaned. "That's the room on suicide watch." Rising to his feet, Robson quickly strode through the lone open door, juggling a heavy ring of keys as he ran down the long sparsely lit hallway never minding the lights dimming and flickering up and down his path. "Keep an eye on the screens! I'll be right back after I make sure our guest isn't trying to kill himself!"

'Shit!' It took a moment for Jeffry to realize Robson's intentions. "Wait a minute, is it safe for you to go in there alone?!" Jeffry yelped, jumping up from his seat and dashing to the doorway. In dismay, he realized that Robson was too far away to hear him, nearly towards the end of the hall. "Jeeeezz…." He whined with impatience, returning to his seat and flopping gracelessly down.

He leaned his head back, peering up and dully observing the lights sputtering on and off high above. "Damn it…I hope the power doesn't go out. I hate it when it does that."


************


Doctor Wright erased the last two sentences of notes, frowning while he considered every last erratic scribbling along the crumbled sheets of paper spread out across the wood desk. While he preferred taking notes by hand during all sessions with his patients, the process of officially recording his observations and speculations were a hassle.

Admitting defeat, he rolled his last sheet of paper into a neat ball, tossing it towards a dangerously overflowing metal bin. Resolutely he began once more, pulling a clean sheet of paper onto his writing pad. Hopefully he would be able to finish all necessary paperwork and leave within the next hour.

The sharp end of his pencil touched the sheet and a violent fist shook the room, throwing Wright against the desk. His breath 'whooshed' out of his chest from the abrupt motion, paper and pens scattering. He winced as an expensive lamp crashed to the floor.

'What's this…is it an earthquake?' Pushing his chair back from the mess toppling off the desk, Doctor Wright rose to his feet while trembling hands reached for the lopsided intercom. "Station…Station, what's going on?"

The intercom burped back static and nonsense sounds, the line hissing loudly.

"Damn it." Wright shut the useless equipment off, leaving it and purposely striding towards his office door determined to seek out the guards at the Station and determine what the hell was going on.

The moment when his hand encircled the door handle, Doctor Wright jerked in fright. Behind him the intercom suddenly switched back on…no one else in the office remaining to press the intercom switch.

"…kekekekekekekekekekekekekekekekekekekekeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…!!"

The hair running down the back of his neck rose, shivers racing down his spine from the low snatches of rattling laughter breaking through the drone of static.

"WELCOME THE MAN OF THE HOUR…" Thick, rolling voices sang in delight, taunting the shivering man.

"WELCOME…WELCOME…" A child's voice sang.

"THE DOCTOR…IS IN…" Oily laughter cut in.

'This is some sort of sick joke…' Wright swore, shoving the door handle down and thrusting the door open.

He rushed out into the hallway, and gasped in surprise and pain as his feet slid out from underneath him. "Aaah!" Wright crashed hard onto his back, legs tangled and hands slicking the ground.

"Fuck!" He snapped, the back of his skull ringing from such sharp impact with the floor. His left hand rose to feel if there were any cuts, but he stopped when seeing a dark viscous smear coating palm and fingers. Wright retched loudly as he detected a foul horrendous odor originating from the solution.

'What the hell is this…' All attempts to wipe away the thick film only stained his pant leg and hand further. He reared back realizing that he was sitting in the middle of the noxious fluid coating the floor, using the wall to pull himself onto his feet. Once on his feet Wright had opportunity to view the skewed state of the hallways. "Oh my god." A whisper, barely breaking the veil of silence that had caused the room to appear frozen in time and space.

The windows and doors were blackened, rotting within their frames, glass panes broken and sleek shards hanging by thin uneven sections. Cracks, mold, and dust painted every stretch of wall, while long thin strands of -- of ooze or slime! -- Slow drips down from long cracks in the ceiling. Wright leaned back to avoid a thick stream plopped to the floor near his foot. He swallowed dryly, warily maneuvering down the hallway stepping carefully through the thick puddles and layers of red and black viscous muck.

Minutes later after rounding a sharp corner Wright came close to running face-first into a red pus-filled bulbous structure leeching to its host, a wide section of the wall. He didn't dare to contemplate the alien mass, and his thoughts were quickly backed when the mass shuddered once before beginning to inhale, then exhale, shivering like a set of human lungs.

'A twisted joke. This is insane…some sort of sick joke!' He repeated, circling the foreign bulk before continuing towards the Station. Hopefully SOMEONE would be willing to explain who decided to play such a profane hoax. And, hopefully, the guards were already pulling themselves off their lazy asses and checking on the damn patients!


************


"Jeeezzz --" Jeffry hung onto the table for dear life as another tremor struck causing the entire Station to jump, shaking the foundation of the entire Ward. Two more security cameras broke and cracked the table, falling onto the floor to join their deceased brothers and sisters. "…eeeeeezzuuuss!!" Jeffry clung tight, the entire Station rocking while the hallway swayed left and right, lights exploding and sending down a shower of burning glass. In a ripple, one at a time, more lights came down, pitching the hall and station into darkness. "Shit! Shit, shit!"

His six sense suddenly shrieked in warning screaming 'DANGER!', and Jeffry dove for makeshift shelter beneath the bouncing table a split second before every single glass wall of the chamber imploded, a whirlwind of deadly crystalline knives spinning throughout the crumbling Station. He hunkered down, shielding both head and face, his screams accompanying the howl of flying missiles of glass and tearing wind as each started cleaving the Station into pieces. "ROBSON! Robson, where the hell are ya'?! We've got problems up here!"


************


Robson's arms windmilled, desperately trying to stay on his feet. He bounced from one side of the hallway to the other, ground literally rolling like a vengeful river. Only a couple of lights remained intact -- but not for long if this kept up.

If this kept up, the entire facility might come down right atop their heads!

'Screw this!' No time to worry about the worst possibilities. Robson had a job to do. He needed to check on Room 224, and then he would get back to Station. Half-running, and half-tumbling down the remainder of the chaotic hallway he counted every single door he passes.

220…221…222…223…224!!

Finally! Juggling the key ring, he dragged fingertips through the twisted mess until finding the right key. Punching it into the door lock, Robson slid the key in, a loud click and turn, the smooth slide of the bolt marking success.

To his utter surprise the door certainly unlocked, but refused to budge. Even when he threw his full weight against metal, all that he gained was a bruised shoulder. "Damn it!" Robson knelt down, checking under door searching for any possible obstruction.

His eyes were momentarily blinded, blazed by hot white light flashing up and across the edges of the stuck metal frame, flaring like lightning. When his fingers dared an approach towards the cracks filtering the light, he jerked flesh coming back with rising blisters.

Left with no other options, then. Ripping the radio from his belt, Robson started shouting orders for all available personnel, requesting assistance. "Station! Main Desk! I need assistance at Room 224. Possible suicide attempt in progress! Request immediate assistance!"

"…gckt…rrrrttt…*pop* *pop* *pop* *pop*…"

"Station! Main Desk!" The line rattled, popping mad with static.

"……hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiissssssssssssss………"

Every line that Robson switched onto offered no available assistance or further response.

Useless as it may be, he continued a relentless attack, throwing himself against the door again and again. "Come…on…come…on…!" Gasping, resorting to petulantly kicking at the immovable barrier.

Stalling, regaining his breath Robson froze with an ear pressed against the door but barely making out the sound of erratic, faint whimpers coming from within Room 224.

Robson sighed. One good note, at least. The patient was still alive and breathing.

His momentary relief chilled instantly. "…NO!!" The frightened occupant screamed from inside. "NO! No! You're not real! You're not! Get away! No! Stop, sto--" The pleas sharply cut off, replaced by constant reports of metal dragging against concrete followed by low despaired cries.

'What is going on in there? Is he having another attack?' Jerking towards the single viewing window, using a hand as a visor his eyes strained to make out any visible shapes while intense white light continued repeatedly attempting to blind every effort.

Desk…toilet and sink…bed…bed!

'………'

"What the hell--" Robson gasped, horrified.

The window above the bed leaked smoke, pane of glass a flat burning star. The perimeter of the window pitted, paint and plaster sloughed away by scorching heat. Just visible past the ebb and flow of burning white suns, burning chandeliers of lights blinding hot, the patient was still secured to the bed. However…

However…

Another figure hovering atop them man. Lithe, coal black leaned across Sunderland, straddling and pressing the strapped blond down. Raven hair flowed down a wide back and bare shoulders, flowing across the --

'Butcher's apron, my god, it's a damn butcher's apron…'

-- While bed sheets snaked around tangled limbs captured under heavy black boots. Broad hand encased in latex twisted the patient's head to the side, fingers lining Sunderland's temple and jaw. The blonde's mouth twisted, eyes sealed shut and hands fisted, tugging fruitlessly against his restraints. Trapped legs kicked outward to ease pressure and weight on top of him, thighs spread open, rocking uncontrollably and opposite with the figure's other hand sliding under the waist of Sunderland's scrubs -- cupping the center between his legs.

Sunderland cried out, mouth flying open but words stifled as the figure shot forward to stitch their lips tightly together. Chin arched, the patient moved while his partner dominated, tasted him while playing Sunderland's body as if it were a well-tuned instrument.

For a moment, the time it took to blink, a hazy image overlapped the blonde's aggressor. Robson shook his head, in hopes of dispelling the image. In that brief flash, the black figure appeared to don a massive, impossibly heavy red helmet shaped in a pyramid.

"Get off him!" Robson shouted, banging his fist against door hoping to interrupt the attack. "Get off of him, you sick twisted fuck!"

Robson succeeded in drawing the man's attention.

He wondered if it had been worth it.

The raven-haired man reared back, mouths separating…revealing an inhuman long serpentine tongue stretching between, and languorously licked the seam of Sunderland's lips; purposefully laving the arch of the trapped man's throat flicking back to delve inside its owner's mouth.

"………." Stunned, incapable of voicing his horror and nausea Robson stood rigid while the…creature…turned to face the doorway. Alabaster skin shone graced by the window's burning light, luminous white eyes and pupils of blue fire meeting the guard's bewildered gaze. Drinking in the guard's gaze, he bared a wide crocodile grin.

Teeth that appeared dipped in obsidian glass flashed, grinding together like nails against chalkboard. Jaws separated, gapping open wide as the figure turned further until directly facing level with the guard opposite of the sealed door.

Not aware of what was coming, Robson froze, pitiful fly snared tight in the spider's web, recognizing slick weaving serpent tongue as it rolled, coiling in the mouth's deep recesses.

The long appendage struck with cobra speed stretching an impossible twenty feet. Flying swift as mercury, sharp as a knife, it split air. The viewing window offered no defense when the sinewy muscle shot through tearing a gapping hole through the window.

*SHUNK*

Muscle cleaved flesh, bucket of blood splashing the walls. Tongue puncturing Robson's throat, easily cracking his spine as it tore a path onward destroying tissue and bone, impaling the guard.

Long red tongue rippled, wiggling obscenely within its meaty scabbard. Robson choked, little blood bubbles painting a mouth flopping open and shut. He shuddered like a puppet cut from gossamer strings, arms and legs performing a dance of death. The appendage easily lifted him up, up, several inches. Raindrops of blood to add to a spreading pool gracing the floor.

Ripping back, a cracking whip, tongue slipped loose with wet suction pulling wobbling sticky streams of crimson elixir. Released, it abandoned Robson and let him crumble, head cracking concrete and glazed eyes tilted towards the ceiling.

Snapping backwards spraying Robson's blood everywhere, the dripping red appendage seamlessly recoiled without cutting open along jagged metal circling the fissured viewing window. Compressing and sliding home, returning to an appropriate length to fit properly -- pausing to catch stray droplets of fresh blood dotting the raven-haired man's lips before completely disappeared.


"I TIRE OF PLAYING WITH TRASH." His voice rumbled, and others of his kind moaned in subservience and terror.


He turned around, meeting James once more. A pleasant, accomplished smile graced his lips, fingers tracing the blonde's upturned face. Dilated eyes met his, lips trembling beneath gloved fingertips.


"I AM CONTENT." Others, not visible, sighed with relief.


He frowned, leaning back, head tilted…considering…tasting the air around him, ranged senses sweeping rampant throughout the facility. Hunting and finding the humans locked in their cages, and the few wandering the hallways in search of sanctuary. "HOWEVER…"


They shuddered, waiting, listening for what would come next.


Heavy silence, until finally he continued. "HOWEVER…MORE TRASH…MORE FILTH REMAINS. I DO NOT HAVE PATIENCE FOR ANY OF THEM."


Waiting, jostling together. Given the privilege of using the Dark One's eyes to find and count the weak, trembling humans huddling within the facility's closing walls. Their mouths watered.

They hungered.

Waiting for their dark God…

…The Red Pyramid Head…

…Waiting for his direction.


His command rose, filling their blood and driving their fury to maddening heights. "FIND THEM." He roared, tolerating no quarrel. "FIND EVERY LAST ONE. TAKE YOUR FILL, FEED ON THEIR TERROR. LEAVE NO WITNESSES."

"THE DOOR IS OPEN. COME FORWARD INTO THIS WORLD. TAKE THEM ALL. WHEN THE DOOR SWINGS SHUT, THEN WE WILL RETURN HOME. BACK TO OUR SWEET RUBY PARADISE."

A sharp leer filled with satisfaction followed an unending roar of euphoric howls, the Door opening. Leading savage hellhounds forward, guiding them down the path towards their prize.


'AND SO IT ENDS HERE.' Pyramid Head sighed, rolling his shoulders in attempt to relieve the constant itch, the prickling brush of humanity tainted by madness and despair surging past walls and nearby rooms.

Ahhhhhhh…the taste of it. Humanity. Rich with hot, boiling life. Too easy to grind fragile bones down to dust, and drink from the red fountain pumping throughout fragile trembling hearts. Such seduction, how cruelly it tormented him. He breathed it in, finding it intoxicating…a drug, dangerous, blinding his senses. Dangerous to allow one's self to become so distracted.

'EXHILARATING AS IT MAY BE, I AM NOT A VAPID FOOL CARELESS ENOUGH TO ALLOW MYSELF TO DROWN WITHIN ITS SWEET WORDS AND PROMISE.' With no effort, he listened, locating and grasping the taunting, teasing nuisances, twisting, surreptitiously conjured hands rending the annoying insects into miniscule pieces. He had other, more important matters to attend…and far more entertaining and alluring distractions.

'ISN'T THAT RIGHT, JAMES?' He ran his hands up and down, mapping long trails through James' hair, motion tugging the blonde's head back baring the pale sweat damp arch of his trembling throat. Bending down, running teeth across a tempting opportunity to bite and rend until gouts of blood flowed. Instead, simply nipping down hard causing small crescents to indent flesh, mouthing the shuddering vibration that traveled below his lips. James cried out softly assaulted by confusion and terror. 'RIGHT, JAMES? RIGHT…' He chuckled darkly, 'MY BROTHER. MY TWIN. MY SWEET, LONELY SHIVERING WHITE CANDLE. SO SMALL AND PALE, BUT HOW BRILLIANTLY YOU BURN. BURN ME TO CINDER. KEEP ME WARM. MAKE ME FEEL ALIVE.

'YOU'LL MAKE ME WHOLE…INDULGE ME…FEAR ME…LOVE ME…

'AND BECAUSE OF THAT, BECAUSE OF THOSE PRECIOUS CEASELESS GIFTS, I WILL NEVER SET YOU FREE.'


************


"ROBSON!" Jeffry shouted, hunkered down inside the skeleton of the Station. Tables and cameras were overturned, his boots crunching thick layers of glass. "ROBSON!"

The tornado and earthquake that had shaken the facility, nearly sending it crashing to its knees, finally ended several minutes ago. A single uncovered light somehow escaped the devastation, lighting the guard inside a flickering gold halo. The rest of the hall's lights had not survived.

During this, Robson hadn't returned to the Station or anywhere in sight, even when Jeffry hailed him over the hand-held radio.

All that greeted his loud summons were the hum of patients crying, shouting curses or ridiculous pleas to be let out.

"No one leaves!" Jeffry barked, trying to silence their constant babble and questions. "The doors remain shut! Best thing for any of you to do is get comfy and settle down for the night."

"Come on, man!" A patient nearly five rooms down sniveled. "None of the lights are working! This is cruel and unusual punishment!"

"Why isn't anyone coming to check on us?" Another patient, by the sound of the voice, female, shouted. "How long are we going to be stuck here?"

"SETTLE DOWN!" Jeffry roared, finally reaching the end of his patience. The residents instantly subdued, momentarily quelled by the guard's temper. "If I hear one more word out of ANY of you --" He let the warning trail off, leaving them to determine if the threat was worth transgressing.

Seconds passed. "H-H-Hey…" A voice quivered. The patient from the five room down once again. His voice rose, panicked. "H-hey! HEY!!"

"God damn it, you little shit! For once listen!" Jeffry growled, rising with fists clenched.

"HEY! Who is that? WHO IS THAT?!" His voice cracked in alarm.

"What's the problem?" Jeffry couldn't help but moan, wishing for a muzzle to slap onto the nutcase.

"A shadow." Another patient whispered, voice low but managing to carry. "It's a shadow. It's moving."

'And now they're jumping at shadows.' Great, and now he had to deal with hysterical patients.

Where the hell was Robson?!

"What is that?" Third room's occupant whined.

"SHUT UP! I can't figure that out if none of you won't quiet down." Jeffry ordered.

Few of the patients continued to mutter privately, but remained passive long enough for Jeffry to listen and catch low shuffling footsteps. Low, rattling wheezing bubbled out from the dark tunneled hallway. Vaguely he could make out a rough outline of a figure sluggishly wobbling towards the Station.

"Robson?" Shit, was the other guard okay? Did he get injured or something during the freaky episode responsible for all the damage?

Upon hearing Jeffry's voice the figure instantly froze. Features and body remained shadowed, but still close enough that Jeffry could see a head tilt to the side. Staring at the guard as if curious, wondering.

'Something's not right…' He couldn't shake the feeling that something was horribly, terribly wrong.

The female patient moaned low, voice trembling. "T-Th-That's no-not him…it-it's no-not him…"

"Can you see him?" Jeffry remained steady, refusing to turn his gaze away from the shadowed figure. "Hey! Tell me, can you see him? If so, tell me who it is."

"…aaa…aaahhh…AAA..AAAHHH! What is it? What is it!" The woman began screaming, barely pausing to breathe. Incoherent and not heeding his calls while the other residents fed off her terror and started screaming in unison.

"Calm down, everyone calm down! There's nothing to be afraid of!"

Suddenly the figure's head snapped to tilt towards the opposite side of his neck…spine bending over forty-five degrees flopping over a broad shoulder, hanging over, broken.

'He…did he just snap his own neck…?' Jeffry couldn't envision that being possible.

The figure lolled, leaning crookedly before rearing straight, neck snapping up and spine cracking loudly back into alignment. "kekekekekekekekekekekekekekekekek…" The stranger keened with insidious laughter, shoulders rattling with mirth.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god." Jeffry whispered, stumbling backwards until pressed flat against the remainder of the broken-down wall.

With overemphasized gesticulation, the figure crouched down, bones creaking, crackling as he flattened himself until stretched hands and feet touched the floor. Belly touching linoleum, limbs spread out in the fashion of an extremely large reptile. His back rippled while head and neck shuddering about in an epileptic fit.

'A man can't do that…' Jeffry babbled, hyperventilating as his brain refused to truly acknowledge what he was witnessing. 'A man…a man can't move like that…'

Unfortunately, he was proven correct. Powered by hellish ferocity and unwavering intent the shadowed figure scuttled towards him, moving in a blur too fast for the naked eye to follow. It covered over half the hallway's length before Jeffry could realize the distance separated.

When it leapt for him, easily hurdling over the Station's half wall and through the shattered glass window Jeffry was faced with the figure's unconcealed face as it broke the halo of light. Falling upon him, its weight bore Jeffry down swiftly, a lion striking a gazelle. Thick legs banded with muscle encircled his waist, trapping both arms. Two hands gripped the guard's shoulders, fingers digging deep until they hooked bone, snaring the guard tight and binding the man to him, refusing to let go.

His screams met with a long, rumbling shriek as its head dove burying sharp teeth and cracking Jeffry's skull open like an egg.


************


'Finally!' Doctor Wright was relieved when the quakes eventually ended allowing him to stand upright and not necessary to lean against filth encrusted walls. The walls pulsed, deep pits releasing steady floods of red and brown excrement. He shuddered, edging away from many more red bulbous growths now covering both walls and ceiling. It felt as if he were traveling within a living, breathing organism.

'Not much further.' He urged himself on. Not much longer and he would be at the Station.

The further along he had traveled, the worse the halls had become. More nightmarish and far more disgusting every step bringing him dangerously close to vomiting as he took in everything.

But strangely, just when he thought it could couldn't possibly be any worse, as he approached the last corridor leading to the Station, the vile labyrinth suddenly ended, cut off by some unseen barrier a third of the way down the last leg of his journey.

Quite obviously he was shocked at finding the Patients Ward and Station in far better condition then the rest of the facility, albeit without power save for the station several feet away from him. The Station had suffered a fair amount of damage, but thankfully remained standing.

He walked cautiously, glass glittering beneath the soles of his shoes. Walking blind with only the Station's pinpoint of light to guide him.

"Robson? Jeffry? Are all the patients safe and secure?"

Neither guard responded.

Closer to the Station, he realized that one guard was propped up in a metal chair, uniformed back facing the doorway. Recognizing the sandy hair, Wright barked, "Jeffry! Jeffry, for god's sake, don't just sit there!" Stepping in through the Station's doorway, he was beyond furious when finding tables and the security console overturned. Expensive equipment lay strewn all over the floor, and Jeffry simply remained seated. "Jeffry! Get off your ass and check on the patients!"

A hard sharp jerk turned the chair far sufficiently for Wright to face Jeffry.

The guard didn't gaze back…problem being Jeffry had no face left.

From bottom jaw to forehead every bone, muscle, and cartilage were stripped away. Through the gruesome canyon carved into the dead man's forehead Wright could see handfuls of pulpy tissue glistening, stray pieces left after a majority had been scooped out.

The guard's limbs hung broken, swaying beside the chair. Sluggish currents of blood threaded between his fingers, dripping down to intermingle with glass shards and tiny lumps of pink meat.

Wright clapped a hand over his mouth and quickly swallowed numerous times, eyes stinging while acid burned inside his throat. He threw himself back, toppling out of the Station and away leaving the body where it sat propped up. Broken marionette left abandoned having grown dull and tiresome.

There was no way to contact the police or any other posts in the Hospital. Jeffry's radio sat silent smashed into two separate chunks. Not a single phone had been set up on this floor…and Wright didn't have the stomach for the journey back to his office to see if any other phone lines were working.

'Patients. Check on the patients.' If one of the patients had gotten out during the earthquake, that would explain Jeffry's death. But such violence! No patient that he was aware showed such aggressive tendencies or enough capability to tear a man's face off.

What if…What if one of the patients had indeed killed Jeffry, and perhaps Robson as well?

'Oh god.' The guards…their keys for the rooms! The killer could enter any room in the Ward, and none of the patients would be able to manage an escape. 'Out…Get every one out.'

Sprinting further down the pitch-black hall, Wright's stomach fell as he passed room by room, each door askew, hanging off their hinges. Inside, wood slivers that had once been a desk were scattered across the floor, porcelain fixtures crumbling and doused with water. Metal bed frame lay in twisted scraps, mattress haphazardly strewn, skin shredded by long jagged strips.

It appears that the keys had not been required for gaining access to the trapped residents.

Were there survivors?

Several rooms, although visibility was murky, bore signs of fresh coats of blood painting the walls. Across the floor broad pools glistened, catching stray moonlight through the room's small bedside window.

Ahead, metal clanged briefly within Room 221. Rough, heaving breaths accompany, dense weight repeatedly smashing against interior walls. Moist gurgles raged. A low wavering snarl echoed.

Wright carefully approached striving to remain silent while traversing the hall, stepping over the room's bowed door torn free its frame and left stretching outside Room 221's entryway.

Inside the room, two shadows converged violently; largest shadow crouched above one much smaller trapped against the ground. The snared figure jerked convulsively limbs floundering meanwhile its attacker shook his head sharply, eliciting wet snaps and pops.

Moonlight illuminated the room in iridescent light, defining the two forms grappling.

Shock numbing him Wright reeled, weight catching against the doorjamb while he helplessly watched.

A large humanoid beast pinned a butchered patient, mouth snapping up and down as it dug further into the lacerated belly. Starved gulps, dragging slurps filled the room. The demon's hands clenching the body tightly by both shoulders, cracked ribcage exposed and fractured collarbones puncturing out raw flesh due to the creature's gross power. The man's face oozed copious blood and flakes of cartilage, cheekbones crushed, cracked jaws hanging lopsided.

'His face…it's been mutilated just like Jeffry's…'

The creature licked torn flesh leisurely, lapping up steady ribbons of blood. Wide mouth yawned open, thin lips revealed massive teeth and gray gums. Burning white eyes half-shuttered with ecstasy. Body corded with slabs of muscle, black as pitch. Matted ruby-red mane hung down its back, blending with the fluid soaking the walls and floor.

Jet black shoulders undulated, the fiend rearing back with its meaty prize. Loops of entrails were snagged between jaws, thick pink and gray intestines glistening between ivory fangs. Throwing head back gnashing teeth ferociously, gulping the meat down. Foot by foot of intestine disappeared, throat rippling to slide every scrap. Wright's hands covered his mouth, eyes stinging from the burn of rising acid, abhorred while shredded innards slapping bile and filthy bits down the demon's face and torso.

Suddenly it halted, remaining meat dangling between lips. Slowly, painfully slow neck rotated -- continued rotating until vertebra snapped. Its head turned, finally stopped only now ninety degrees from its prior position. Slit glowing eyes leered, gored lips quivering. A rattling hiss spit in Wright's face, rancid air exhaled by the demon.

Its hands snapped open, casually releasing its meal, abnormally elongated scythed talons replacing fingers, slipping from deep gouges covering the shoulders. Rising deliberately to stand, three feet taller than Wright, head snapping around into place with a dull crack. Entire body spun to face Doctor Wright, mouth slack and releasing remaining flesh that plopped onto the floor.

Facing off, the creature peered at the doctor. Catching Wright's gaze, still focused on the victim splayed upon the floor, the beast peered back and forth between both bodies. Glancing back at Wright, lips spread wide in a sneer. Never breaking eye contact, it raised bloody talons to its lips, carefully slipping free a long serpentine tongue and idly washed the congealed fluids coating, sticking each claw together. Soon clean and gleaming the curved weapons clacked together like dry bones.

Spreading both feet wide, crouching low, the arms expanded to touch the walls. When its mouth opened, bared wide and an ear-splitting shriek burst forth. Wright recoiled, cries echoing as his eardrums began to bleed.

Tactic working, the beast used the distraction and leapt for the man. Wright screamed hysterically, powerful legs coiling around his waist and hands punching forward, braced on both shoulders. The force of impact threw them out of the room and against the wall. Wright's ribs cracked each row down.

'Too fast--'

Teeth snapped, barely missing his face. He attempted to duck down, strips of his cheek torn away, the second strike much closer.

Third time was the charm. Its mouth buried deep in his throat, snagging the jugular. With a firm situated grip, it bore Wright to the floor, riding the bleeding human.

Wright's hands beat futilely bouncing off shoulders and temple. It snarled, annoyed. Ripping sideways, taking flesh, baring wet twitching muscle.

Blood loss paralyzed Wright's senses moments before hands sliced open from throat to groin, sunk deep inside his torso clawing forward to grasp vitals and begin wrenching them loose.


************


"Don't kill them!" James listened, prisoner, unremitting roar of screaming patients arising from every floor of the Ward. "Tell them to stop going after those people! Make those things stop. They'll listen to you!"

The Dark One leaning above merely blinked, face curious, entranced by the human's imploring cries. Acting as if James' was screaming in a foreign tongue.

"You can do that! Don't pretend to not know what I'm talking about." James bucked, not succeeding in tossing the other off him. Tiring, physically and emotionally chilled by the nightmare rising around him, James dared a suicidal act, "Or maybe -- maybe you can't stop them."

The other froze. Hands slid up, closing firmly around James' throat. A silent warning.

"I…If you can't control them…" He swallowed, the hands not too tight, but possible to change by treading further into dangerous waters. "Then does that mean that you might possibly fear those things?"

One sharp squeeze, eliciting a coughing fit as he struggled under their weight. "It's not like…you have anything to gain from the people locked in their rooms like cattle…" He gasped, sinking away from burning eyes and bared teeth. "You're Him, right? The…the Red Pyramid. What do you have to afraid of? Not some cowering, begging, fumbling humans…"

He stopped, unable to breathe. Not by the hands still encasing his throat, but from thick miasma exuded by Red Pyramid, the demon's presence actually scorching the interior walls. Miasma cooked air, burning hot nearly blistering James' throat as he struggled for fresh oxygen.


************


'YOU LITTLE…CALLOUS, DARING FOOL. I'M ASTONISHED, JAMES.' The blonde's challenge did not amuse him. Fear then, James…

He would show James what true fear was…how true fear tasted.

Unstoppable, and ruthless, the Red Pyramid arched back, face upturned towards the heavens. Eyes blazed seething blue flames, tongues of fire streaking down corners and lids, fury capable of scorching the wings of angels.

Searching, ripping down halls and stairways he found the hellhounds one by one counting as he roared past. None escaped him. They froze instantly, sensing the brush of the Dark One.

The beasts devoured few, merely running rampant -- striking blind and wasting tender meat. Leaving pieces of their victims tossed around rooms like broken toys.

Useless…completely, utterly…useless!

'MINDLESS DOGS!' He snarled. The beasts cringed, sensing their error; fearing for their very lives. 'I SAID TO ELIMINATE THEM. HOW WAS MY COMMAND INFERRED AS TEARING THE HUMANS APART AND SMEARING THEIR FILTH ALL OVER THE WALLS?!'

'DISAPPOINTING.'

The Red Pyramid offered no mercy.

A loud explosive pop centered within their torsos. As one, the hellhounds shrieked, black fire detonating, eating them from the inside. Cracks tore open skin, tongues of flame shooting free. They stumbled, falling, burning alive. Mad with pain tearing at their flesh, blood failing to douse the flames.

Flesh crumbled down to dust, bones blackening into cinders. The fire left no survivors. No witnesses.


************

Death did not come swiftly. Distantly James listened to their fading howls. As lengthy cries faded, the room became far less stifling. The heavy miasma remained, but a pocket of oxygen opened over them. Air washed into his lungs in one sudden swoop. His chest heaved, swallowing greedily.

Objective fulfilled, the Red Pyramid's hands slid free. James shuddered, fearful, aware of what power lay alive and waiting, mere inches away. Fingers brushed down his jaw line, continuing down his throat, and down, following an invisible line down his chest to lay over James' heart. The muscle thrummed sharp and fast, reacting to the pressure opposite the thin cage of bone.

Quick, and all too easy to push until bone shatter, piercing beating heart. The Red Pyramid knew this. James knew as well. Fear made him stiffen. Fingertips drummed once, twice, tapping softly over the racing muscle.

James felt foolish for daring the Red Pyramid; feeling thankful to live through his dare.

Firm digits clasped trim jaw, tilting James' face until pale blue eyes met flame. Meanwhile a violent storm suffocated the room, black fog poisoning the air. Fixtures and walls began next level of decay, pieces slithering off like old dead skin.


************


"THE TIME HAS COME. THIS GAME IS DONE. THE DOOR IS CLOSING.

"TIME TO GO HOME, JAMES."


************


James stiffened. The air felt wrong, smelled sharp and bitter. Something was coming. "What--"

The storm cloud exploded, a raging cyclone tearing open the deteriorating room. James wished his hands were free to shield his face, screaming as ricocheting debris and shadows spun a fraction of an inch away. The Red Pyramid crouched silent, impervious to the noise and dancing chaos. Every single piece appeared to purposely swerve around and away from him.

Within seconds, everything had begun spinning too quickly to follow. Before he could begin any sort of opposition or evasion the world around him collapsed within itself…into darkness…and then…


************
Channel 7 News Station
************

"Authorities have been unwilling to comment about the sudden mass disappearances from the Rose Cross Psychiatric Hospital outside Ashfield County. Over thirty-seven patients, seven guards, and one doctor have been reported missing. Police are asking residents of Ashfield County for any information of their whereabouts.

"Authorities suspect foul play on a massive scale. Sources provided this station with details of the crime scene.

"Numerous buildings are in ruins with large sections completely destroyed. On multiple floors, patients' wards were decimated, many rooms bearing grisly remains signifying their occupant's demise. Several areas were covered with more remains. However, nearby were suspicious marks that sources indicated as being a result of kerosene or other flammable material.

"It is too early to tell whether arson is involved or exactly how many people were involved in this brutal attack. Police have been unable to access the security system in the facility due to lost equipment and damaged recordings."

"In other new, South Ashfield Heights found a small surprise in one of their apartments. The superintendent was forced to enter the room after numerous complaints of a man and woman frequently shouting and sounds of an infant crying--"


************


His head was killing him.

…Shit. Forget his head. His entire body felt like one massive bruise.

He was cold…and lying on concrete…? Why was he laid out on the floor? Did he fall off the bed?

No. No, the restraints should have kept him on the bed.

James hissed, eyes fluttering open. He couldn't see hardly anything. Metal clanged echoing, cathedral bells pounding inside his skull, too loud for his painfully ringing head. He groaned aloud, wincing as sharp bits of rust dug into his cheek. Grit and filth slid beneath his palms as he rolled over onto his stomach.

The motion proved to be his undoing. He was startled by an immense wave of pain that rolled through him. Eyes slammed shut, focusing to keep from passing out from sheer agony. Coughing, tasting blood across his lips.

"ah…Ahgh.." Coughing several more times until blood ran down his chin, his ribs feeling like jagged knives piercing his lungs any moment he breathed. Blood seeped down, too much… James wiped the blood off, smearing a thick streak across the sleeve of his green jacket.

Jacket?

He had been wearing hospital issued sweat pants and shirt…he was sure that he had.

"What is this?" He ran his hands up and down both arms. Slowly categorizing every article of clothing, after a couple of minutes, his stomach began filling with cold dread.

Green jacket. Small flashlight. Gray shirt. Blue jeans. Boots.

Gun. Ammo.

Open wounds stung, warning his sharp moves. It hurt too much to continue checking every single pocket.

It can't be…


************


James' world spun, reeling as the sudden impact across his face sent him sprawling, head and shoulder meeting the ground with an echoing crack. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, ribs certainly broken by now. Blood pooled beneath split bottom lip, a wavering cut across the arch of his cheek.

Before he had time to register the full event, another strike came. This time, lifting him into the air and effortlessly throwing him halfway down the corridor. James bounced once and rolled several feet until he came to a stop. A bloody smear lay as evidence along the ground, signifying his flight and impact with the ground.

More blood erupted from nose and mouth, arms shaking uncontrollably as James attempted to push himself to his feet. 'Stupid mistake. Stupid…stupid to think that I was safe…'

The corridor shook as the invisible attack rushed him, puffs of dust rising from the floor signaling the fall of each step. What felt like an invisible foot crashing into his chest, lifting him up, smashing against the door. James' body bounced off, and met with another brutal attack that threw him to the side, met headfirst with metal rungs of a cell.

His vision was painted red, blood blinding him as it poured free from various cuts opened across his face and forehead. His legs crumbled, and James desperately clutched at the bars in hopes of not falling onto the floor.

This was going to kill him.


************


He collapsed, finally able to remember. Everything coming back -- everything that he wished to forget.

It was so cruel. Fate was too cruel to do this to him.

From one nightmare to another and back. What a sick joke.

Forsaking the danger, James howled, broken completely down and crushed by the turn of events. "Why this?" He demanded, scream blasting metal cells and ringing towards the ceiling. "It's not enough to simply kill me? Why don't you make it easier and just end this!!"

Quickly spent, he fell forward on hands and knees. Head spinning, woozy from the change in position. Dimly he observed dry layers of blood beneath his hands, stains more than likely remnants of his explosive encounter with his invisible attacker. Fresh droplets of blood dotted the dried patches, weeping from his damaged form.

He was going to bleed to death. Fast.

If he could only reach the medical kit, perhaps there was a chance…

Every second that passed left him increasingly dizzy, body growing increasingly heavy to keep propped up on quaking arms and legs. Too tired and not willing to struggle in a useless battle he dropped back down to the floor. "I give up." He whispered. Admitting defeated. "I give up."

When hearing the heavy tread of determined footsteps James' eyes slid closed anticipating the conceivable outcome, already bearing fresh scars from the last violent encounter.

The steps continued down the hall until pausing to stand and wait in front of him. Time passed, James waiting for the first strike to fall --

-- Met with nothing.

Remaining prone and silent, James kept his head down. Quaking shoulders betrayed him, heeding the other's slow even breathing.

A large fist clutched his jacket's collar, pulling up sharply. James' knees were scrapped as he kicked out instinctively bucking hard to be let free.

His throat arched painfully under the power of another hand. James went limp waiting on a heartless twist that would swiftly snap his neck. Both boots dangled in midair, swaying awkwardly on account of his vain struggles.

'Make it quick.' He prayed. 'That's all I ask. I rather it be over quickly.'

Second hand upon his neck slid to cup the back of his skull, providing better angle. The touch was firm but strangely gentle. Such an irregular manner of treatment compelled his eyes open.

James jerked, yet remained ensnared. "You!!" Surprise intermixed with horror. "You shouldn't be here!"

Laughable to think that the Red Pyramid was forbidden from realm or place.

'What does he plan to do?' Little space separated both males. The demon's size noticeably contrast with the shorter, slimmer blonde man. The red helmet loomed over him, James' chin pressed firm against Pyramid Head's chest, face tucked under the helmet's dark hollow.

Before realizing any motion the hand holding James up by his jacket slid and encircled his waist, effortlessly hugging him off the ground as if he weighed no more than a wet kitten. Startled by such a quick shift of hands, the blonde's palms caught his shoulders to brace himself. He flushed when realizing his actions, hands snapping back from warm firm flesh as if physically burned.

Pulled exceedingly tight James rose, lifted and held closer to the helmet's bottom opening. Spellbound he watched powerless, Pyramid Head's chin and mouth somewhat visible, as his snakelike tongue uncurled, sliding out.


The raven-haired man reared back, mouths separating…revealing a inhuman long serpentine tongue stretching between, languorously licked the seam of Sunderland's lips, laving the arch of his throat before flicking back to delve inside its owner's mouth.


James gasped, remembering. Before in the ward, in his room…

"N-No…" He clamped lips and jaw shut, twisting away. The tip slid across, teasing the seam of his lips. Mouth moistened with each searching brush, but remained stubbornly sealed.

Spirit rebelled, but the flesh was weak. Tired of patiently waiting and endeavoring, Pyramid Head's tongue slid inward, gaining enough advantage and spread lips and jaw wide open.

Pressing further onward the demon's tongue slid past; James choked feeling it breech and slip down his throat. Gag reflex stifled by the wide length pushing on; his eyes stung, long appendage growing longer the deeper it went. It had to be nearly reaching his stomach!

Reaching its destination, the tip looped and coiled. James could barely feel it, but a significant ball of pressure settled deeply buried inside his torso. Whatever it was, echoed like a heartbeat. Repeating again, visibly rocking the man. 'Oh god!' Was it alive?!

James' hands struck Pyramid Head's shoulders, trying to push loose. The 'seed' split, stretching black threads that wound its way in every direction. Cancerous spread succeeded by a nitrogen burn, searing blood and vitals.

Burning alive from the inside.


************


'IT IS NEARLY COMPLETED. ONCE FINISHED, THERE WILL BE NO ESCAPE.' Prey could do nothing except struggle fruitlessly against the inevitable.

Surrender was inescapable...but how sweet it would taste.


************

Tendrils could go no further; not an inch of James' body left unmapped. The seed acted, unprecedented in its intent.

In one instant, his vision lost focus. Pyramid Head, the hall, cells, the world unraveling into gossamer strands of color and sound. The next instant, everything snapped back, jumbled and unspoiled.

Stronger than an atomic bomb, an explosion that tore apart stars and created new worlds.


************

The vermilion bead planted inside had taken root, finally. Within hours, the venom would begin. In twelve hours, James would only remember his name and the Red Pyramid's. Three days from now and the world outside Silent Hill would become a faded flat dream tucked and locked inside a forgotten box of memories. All that existed was this town and place, and the memories that had begun the day James first walked down the forest's beaten path.

Fear and exhaustion proved harder to extinguish, the Dark One too deeply ingrained. James remembered him…Remembered everything.

James hiccuped, flinching as fingers softly dragged down his cheeks, chasing rolling trails of tears. Leaving the arch of his cheek stained with pink raindrops, graced by red beads falling from the other's damp gloved hand.

'YOU WERE AMUSING. YOU MANAGED TO RUN SO FAR, AND FOR SO LONG. BUT IN THE END, EVERY PATH LED TO ME. AND HOW LONG I HAVE WAITED FOR YOU. CHASED YOU DOWN, WHILE YOU RAN LIKE A FRIGHTENED LITTLE RABBIT.'

James' eyes rolled back, body falling limp. Holding tight, fastened arms refusing to release their prize. "MY TWIN. LITTLE LIGHT." Mouths meshed, tongues intertwined as he sought sweet pleasure. "YOU'RE MINE. ALL MINE."

'YET YOU STILL FIGHT.' An instinctive futile resistance. The man's eyes flew wide, kicking his legs futilely, pinned by the hands upon his torso and shoulder. A low moan of terror swiftly muffled by the prolonged shredding of his shirt and jacket. His human heart beat like a drum underneath the fragile cage of ribs, beneath pale skin glowing luminously painted with sweat and shafts of moonlight.

The wanton display made him purr. All his -- Only his. 'A CANVAS THAT ONLY I CAN PAINT. WITH THESE HANDS.' These scarred wide hands. James' chest hitched, flowing beneath his palms. 'PAINT WITH HANDS, FINGERS, MOUTH, AND TONGUE. AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN --' A sharp whine escaped James as hands clenched tight upon his hips, groaning as bruises began to seep from under the twisting fingers.

Too soon, he tired, exhausting an already weakened body. Overlooking the wounds crisscrossing his flesh were fading, leaving no scars; but blood was far more difficult to replenish, and his mutinous struggles only wore him down further until trying to move a single limb felt like trying to push a large boulder bare-handed.

Once James' struggles eased, then he relaxed his grip. His tongue rose up slipping from slack mouth, returning to its owner's. As gratifying as it was to manhandle the slighter male, he wished for his companion to be more coherent and avid participator.

The Prison had served its purpose, a maze to lead James into his cage, cornered. Nothing else of importance remained. Now it was time to move on.

A moment needed to gather the man up. It was necessary to arrange James' limbs as if he were a doll, too weak and groggy to offer resistance or compliance. There would be time for the latter.

He grinned marginally, relishing the promise.

Swinging the limp man up and around, he curled an arm beneath knees and the other encircled slim shoulders. James' head dropped back over his forearm, gold hair swinging gently and neck precisely arched. Heat coiled, filling his blood, taking in long slopes of pale mending flesh. He could count every bone pressed up against him, knowing how easily bones could crack and break… he could snap the man like a twig.

Humans were so unlike demons, though vastly intriguing. Human's died easily, suffering and dying trauma that would only leave a demon somewhat lightheaded -- They were frail, like delicate crystal, safer locked up in a china cabinet -- And too foolish for their own good, daring and pushing boundaries until ending six feet under. Humanity offered very few surprises, and less amusement. They grew tiresome quickly, rare individuals providing entertainment because of their eccentricities. Sometimes not worth the effort to hunt, no matter how sweet their blood and flesh tasted.

And yet their flaws were counterbalanced by an unavoidable allure. Each human different from another, individual masterpiece of inner strength and unveiled weakness. Once in a while, a single human would show promise, temptation. Their names would be burned into memory -- James Sunderland. Possessing something, nameless but incapable of ignoring. Priceless, beauty matched by their fragile forms. Dangerous to touch carelessly, easily broken… nevertheless containing massive potential…Powerful…Corruptible.

Oh, the possibilities.

"I CAN DO ANYTHING, AND I WILL DO EVERYTHING. I WILL MAKE YOU MY SLAVE. I WILL MAKE YOU A DEVIL. I WILL MAKE YOU A RED ANGEL…FOR ME…FOR YOUR GOD."

The Executioner now possessed his Twin…Light bowed before his Dark God. The Heavens and the Abyss will tremble.

Red Paradise laughed, elated thunder clapping, swallowing the World.


************
END
************

Author's note: Rawr! No sequel! Nada! Nicht! Non! Nein! Don't make me starting screaming and bawling like a baby. I excel at sniveling.
Another writer, with my permission, can offer interest and consider the writing of a sequel. Too many SH fics are going on right now for me to be writing ANOTHER sequel.

Author's note2:
[1] I made it up! No ill will is meant. I did not want this facility to possibly appear similar to ANY facility currently residing in the United States. I hoped to make it a somewhat realistic idea, a decent figment of my imagination within my Silent Hill fic.