(This is completely unedited, sometimes you just need to write The Character going through the horrors on the clock. Might also be awkward cause initially I wasnât going to use names other than Elliotâs and then changed my mind when it got too long.)
Elliot no longer returned to the lab in his nightmares. He hadnât for a couple weeks now which would have been welcome if he wasnât somewhere worse.
Elliotâs claws clicked against the wooden floor of the lighthouse, and the retched scent of salt water filled his nose. There were no oceans on Mars, and even lakes and rivers were uncommon within the city limits. Few Halcyon residents knew how to swim. So he had gone to the lighthouse.
The contents of the lighthouse in dreams varied. Tonight the room was empty. A small round room with nothing but a door down, a door up, and a window overlooking the ocean. Outside the window Elliot could see the ocean crashing against the rocks below, rising higher than they ought to and louder than they should be. Elliot could almost feel the spray if water on his fur.
On the beach something washed up. A person. With his grey trench coat, soaked, stained, torn. He was face down, unmoving. A black hat washed up next to him. Elliot fought against the knowledge he was dead. He couldnât be. Heâd get up and appear out of no where and act like nothing happened much to Elliotâs annoyance.
Elliot turned to find the door to outside gone. The window went next. And the only place left to go was up.
The stairs felt longer than they should, circling around and around and around. Elliot was growing tired. Despite the empty stairs everything felt loud. The waves, the pulsing of the mechanism on his back, and somewhere far upstairs the faint sound of crying.
The crying wasnât loud, just someone struggling to breathe, gasping, the occasional word escaping. Elliot couldnât make it out even as he approached the door. He opened without hesitation knowing itâs the only way out.
âWhatâs the point of any of this? Weâre all going to die,â she said under her breath. âWe canât stop him.â
She sat on her knees in the middle of the room, the flannel, normally wrapped around her waist, draped over her shoulders. Her bangs fell in front of her face. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the walls.
Elliot stood by the door, almost reaching a hand out, before pulling back. He wanted nothing more than to tell her itâs going to be alright. That no one else will be hurt or killed. But he was a horrible liar.
So Elliot did the only thing he could think to help, kneeling in front of her and pulling her into a hug. If nothing else maybe he could make her feel less alone.
âItâs not fair!â She screamed. âEverything is fucked! Weâre all fucked, and I canât do anything! Whatâs the point if even the fucking Firelights canât do shit!â
âWe- we can-â Elliotâs voice was beginning to crack. He wanted to cry too. But he couldnât. Everything continued to get louder and louder. Another voice filled his ears. The ghost that had begged him to kill them, to set them free. The screaming continued, the heavy footsteps in the walls. The screams of the people they couldnât save.
The voices became one, begging to die, asking to be killed. Elliot hugged her tighter, too tight. She started glowing. The heat of her glow snapped him back and he let go. The voices stopped.
Elliot closed his eyes and shook his head. What was he doing, he had to get out of this place. This isnât real. When he opened his eyes he wanted to throw up.
A hand was pierced through Lexiâs face. Scaly, clawed, blood covered. And Dead Space stood behind her. âYou really think you stand a chance? You know the deal. You donât have to die.â
Elliot felt clawing in his chest, pushing him forward, screaming at him to run. He ran past him to the door, slamming it shut behind him and running as fast as his legs could move, falling to all fours, and forcing himself to get to the top. He had to get out.
As Elliot ran upwards a familiar sound. The faint sound of a click. Every few minutes. Click. He recoiled at every click, the clawing in his chest getting harder to resist. Harder to not let go, to just fall away into dream, to just give control away. Just for a minute. Just for-
Elliotâs vision went dark. He relished in the momentary relief. Not having to think, to act. She could take care of him for a moment.
The next room, the same circular room as all the others. Two doors, one window. But this time the floor was covered in blood. Limbs were scattered around the room, chunks of flesh, shards of bone. The taste and smell of blood overwhelmed him. He could feel bits of flesh and bone stuck between his teeth. And at the other end of the room Ellen stood there unscathed. Her clothes were torn and ripped up, but otherwise she looked fine. They had some of their finger growing back, a scab turning into unharmed skin. Between them, in front of the window stood Andrea Doppel, untouched, a clocked in his hand. âI can fix this. You wonât lose control anymore. You wonât hurt them again. You wonât die.â
âNo, no, no! Shut up, shut the fuck up!â Elliot growled. âIâm not going back! You canât make me!â He covered his ears. Digging his claws into his skin. He would never hurt Ellen. Though he wasnât always himself.
Keep going keep going keep going.
Elliot forced himself across the blood covered floor to the next door. He was at the top. The taste of blood was gone. His fur no longer stained red. And before him the flame. He eagerly reached towards it. He just wanted to be home, safe, with his friends. He burned, the flames engulfing him, he screamed.
Elliot was back in his room. Cold air filled the room. He was okay, curled up on his bed. He could smell the apartment, his friends were there, safe, alive. Lexi was surely safe in her mansion.
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