I'm tired. 5k words later and I'm still not done, so here's a sneak peek at my latest one-shot.
Fandom: Left 4 Dead
Characters: Male Hunter/Male OC
Warnings: None
From an open window, a hot disk burned low over the rooftops. The sky was empty and rust-brown, and the buildings simmered under its unrelenting heat. Fragments of sunlight crept along the floor, rolling over candy wrappers and broken bottles. A bottle captured the light, flung it across the room, and hit a closed eyelid.
The eyelid squinted. The creature rolled over and groaned, lying an arm over its eyes to block the sun. Then its stomach gurgled, the sound muffled beneath the hoodie.
Stirring, the creature blinked awake and arched its back, the spine tight and cat-like. Bones popped as its arms extended. The claw-tips dragged across the sofa, tracing the marks from yesterday morning. It was a floral print sofa, torn in one spot and mottled with mold in another, but still better than the floor. It'd been sleeping in a tight ball all day. Waiting for night. And despite appearing vaguely boyish, the creature slid onto the floor and straightened on all fours.
Garbage bumped against its hands as it crawled to the back of the room. Scattered newspapers that read: "INFECTION CRISIS IMMINENT" and "STAY INDOORS", but the Hunter walked right over them. Lifting its head, it came face-to-face with an old CRT monitor. The glass was shattered, revealing an empty, square-shaped hole. Black as night. One hand rummaged around inside, brushing aside glass pieces. There was a collection of trinkets—nickels, necklaces, bracelets, a tooth—and a silver dollar. Serrated claws closed around it, delicately, pulling the dollar into view.
The coin was smooth against its thumb. Perfectly round. The face on the coin reminded it of a place from long ago, but the memories were smeary; like an oil painting left out in the rain.
Pressing the coin to its forehead, the creature closed its eyes and leaned into the coolness. It couldn't remember why it did this—why it did most things. Its eyes snapped open, and glanced at the shiny dollar now flat in its palm. One dark, claw-tipped finger gently grazed it. The face on the coin was unfamiliar again. Maybe it would remember tomorrow—again.
With a growl, the figure stuffed the coin in its pocket and headed for the balcony. The Seattle Space Needle was jutting into the horizon, long and black in the scatters of light. Pupils shrank, rejecting the violent stabs of sunlight. It turned its head to the great city below. It was twenty stories up. A fall like this would kill any person—or worse, leave them alive but broken.
The creature's stomach cramped, and then a rush of hot drool wetted its lips. It hadn't eaten in four sunsets. It would die in five.
Without hesitation, the creature swung over the edge and vanished.
. . .
A strong wind rolled through an old shirt, twisting and unfurling it, like an old flag. Claws glinted in the dim moonlight. They snapped around the shirt and pulled it from the balcony. It brought the shirt to its face, inhaled long and slow, and exhaled with a loose growl. Prey things usually had a smell to them. This one was too old.
It crouched low to the balcony. Then, in a blur of claws and grey skin, it launched across the night sky. A flying shadow. It slammed into the road with a hard thump, rolled on its feet, and froze in the middle of the road. Then it dragged another long inhale through its nostrils, tasting the medley of smells. Damp asphalt, bitter garbage, rotting buildings… and…
The breath caught in its lungs. The creature stepped off the street and onto the sidewalk, eyes grazing over a full-length window display. It'd been shattered and ransacked, leaving nothing but garbage and bubbled graffiti.
Twenty years ago, the sidewalks were brightly lit by neon lights and flashing signs. High heels clicked, footsteps echoed, and those annoying tones from flip-phones rang in the air. She had pulled on his arm and smiled at the rows of pretty perfume bottles and the slightly-suggestive mannequin posing with arms in the air. She did her best puppy-face impression. "Once I get this new job, we can have anything we want," he told her. She believed it.
Now the windows gaped, black and empty. And a rusted car lay in the parking lot, half-submerged in a black puddle. Something in the creature's chest knotted, and the corners of its eyes stung. It grabbed the coin—shaking violently—and ran a thumb over the coins' face. Over and over until the memory smeared again.
It looked away.
To escape the memory, it stepped off the curb, claws clicking on the street. That strong garbage smell came back stronger, more overwhelming. The smell was oozing from a trash can.
The creature, oddly calm now, crept toward the can and knocked it sideways. The can bounced off the ground, clanging loud enough to send a murder of crows spilling overhead. The creature flinched at the sound, grunted, then turned its sights on the garbage spilling out. Its stomach cramped fiercely, a shallow pit with teeth of its own—always hungry, screaming, begging. It made things easy to forget. It leaned headfirst into the can, nosing around like a stray animal. Hungry. Please. Not caring what it found, just wanting the pain to stop. Plastic dented between its teeth, and as the creature tipped its head back, worn enamel glinted in the dull light. Yellow and rotten.
Something rotten touched its tongue. Brows drawn tight, the creature's nose wrinkled and its head shook, but it kept going. Its teeth broke the plastic into small-enough pieces; then it swallowed, grimacing. The plastic would make its stomach tight and full for a day or two, then the hunger came begging again. Like the memories—it always came back.
SHATTER!
The sound was miles away.
The sound rattled from miles away, but its ears amplified the sound; made it echo long and hard; like a thunderclap to its senses. Adrenaline pumped through its black veins; thick cortisol leeched into muscles, muscles quivering into action. The creature flung toward the sky; the wind whistled in its teeth and hood, sent the hood falling back. Icy fingers of wind ran through its scalp and sent a chill careening down its spine. The city stretched far and wide beneath.
Gravity held its breath, and for a heartbeat, the creature was completely untouchable. It wasn't a victim of hunger or pain; it was free—it was flying.
Its hair flipped up and its clothes billowed, and suddenly gravity was clawing it back to the ground. Arms and legs twisted midair, reorienting itself, before landing on a balcony. Hard.
The hinges rattled with the force of its landing. The creature gasped and held onto the railing, willing itself to steady, to calm down. Jumping was getting harder every night—worse with every sunset without food. Its body was agitated, overheating with hunger. Muscles twitched and pulled at random, as if urging it to move in every direction at once. Its body was overactive in ways it couldn't understand.
Leaning over the edge, Pike Place Market was worse than the rest of Seattle. The streets were half-submerged in thick black water, and the tops of cars peered like mini oases. The giant red "PUBLIC MARKET" sign had fallen years ago; now it was a communal bird nest.
It waited. It wanted food, needed food, breathed food, needed—
CRACK!
Again.
There.
Toward the end of Pike Place, where the street swelled up and out of the water.
The creature's body violently rattled, muscles tight, eyes fixed on the street. Strings of froth spiraled down, shaking, breaking apart as they fell. The creature tipped over the edge and swung down like a shot. The wind shrieked past.
The creature hit the road on all fours, half-landing in the water. Its arrival sent water sloshing over the back of its legs and spine. Cold droplets nipped its skin. It snarled and shook one foot at a time, flinging water every which way like a wet dog. With its body shaking—from hunger, and now the cold—it glared daggers at the water. Teeth bared, the creature snarled and clawed at the water. When the ripples cleared, only a wobbly reflection stared back.
It paused. Slowly tilted its head.
Prominent cheekbones pressed through thin skin, and its hungry eyes were cupped within bony eye sockets. It hooked a finger in its mouth and pulled its lips back. Grinding the teeth together, it noticed the teeth looked worn—aged, as if exposed to the rain for a hundred years. Its tongue rubbed against a molar where a piece of plastic was. That'd been stuck chafing its gums for many sunsets.
It leaned forward, scrutinizing itself in closer detail. The look-alike followed along.
Too thin. Too grey. And its teeth were useless for hunting. It was weak, like prey.
Another set of eyes watched.
Slowly, it turned; dragging its eyes from the water to the road, and then up and around.
Short fingernails, blunt teeth, and soft eyes—a man.
Prey.
The man was crouched close enough to touch. He had black bags smudged under his eyes, and his skin was pale, colorless. Almost sickly. But somehow he was firm, large, and didn't shake like a diseased animal. He was the healthiest, biggest prey the creature had ever seen.
The cigarette flared in his lips, and he readjusted it with two pointed fingers. Unbothered.
