P
PlayingMonster
Guest
Original poster
He raised his hands and grinned as Yun poked him and told him in no uncertain turns that he was going to the hospital in the morning. "Yes ma'am." He and his friends took second floor bedrooms. Andy grabbed his bags and disappeared. Alex grinned and made his way up to the bedroom. The others called their goodnights, and he closed the door. Getting his shirt off was painful. Getting undressed was painful, period. When he was down to only his underwear, he went to the mirror in the bathroom and stared in the mirror. The wound probably did need to be patched up better. It was painful to move his shoulder. He went back into the room and pulled on a loose fitting t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms, carefully climbing into bed. He stared at the ceiling, starting to be a bit overwhelmed. They had to face Edward and all of his henchmen. They had to try and talk god knows how many strangers into helping them. He could read minds and talk to people using telepathy and force people into doing things. Two weeks ago, his biggest worry had been getting his assignments turned in on time. Since then, he'd died, come back to life, been burned, been shot, and now he was lying in a stranger's bed. He fell asleep feeling uneasy.
He opened his eyes. The light was still filtering into the room, casting eerie shadows. The whole place was eerily quiet. He climbed out of bed, instinctively picking up his gun. It was cold to the touch, and he went out into the hall. Someone walked up behind him and he spin around, expecting to see one of the others. Instead, he saw a man, dressed in a dark suit. Alex looked up and noticed that he didn't have a face. The skin was perfectly smooth where the facial features should be. Alex drew his gun and fired. It disappeared into dust, but more kept coming. For every one he shot, five more would appear. It wasn't long before he was surrounded. One put a gun to his head. "All your friends are dead." Behind him, he saw the bodies of Sarah, Jake, Andy, Yun, her brothers and her friends. The monster pulled the trigger, but the pain exploded in his shoulder.
He bolted upright in his bed, scrambling for his gun. Pain exploded in his shoulder and he yelled out, doubling over. He grabbed his gun with his good arm and swung it around, looking for the source of the pain. It took him a second or two to realise that he was still alone in the room, and that the pain had probably come from ripping a stitch. It looked like it was almost morning, but he couldn't tell for sure. He pulled down the neck of his shirt, looking at the wound. Yep, he'd ripped at least one stitch in his nightmare. He didn't know if he'd been thrashing around or if it was just the force of sitting up, but he didn't care either. Every time he blinked, he saw their dead bodies. He leaned his head on his good hand, taking deep breaths. His painkillers were in his bag across the room, and his shoulder was in too much pain to even consider moving. The painkillers that had weakened the pain had long worn off, and now it was like he'd been shot all over again,
He opened his eyes. The light was still filtering into the room, casting eerie shadows. The whole place was eerily quiet. He climbed out of bed, instinctively picking up his gun. It was cold to the touch, and he went out into the hall. Someone walked up behind him and he spin around, expecting to see one of the others. Instead, he saw a man, dressed in a dark suit. Alex looked up and noticed that he didn't have a face. The skin was perfectly smooth where the facial features should be. Alex drew his gun and fired. It disappeared into dust, but more kept coming. For every one he shot, five more would appear. It wasn't long before he was surrounded. One put a gun to his head. "All your friends are dead." Behind him, he saw the bodies of Sarah, Jake, Andy, Yun, her brothers and her friends. The monster pulled the trigger, but the pain exploded in his shoulder.
He bolted upright in his bed, scrambling for his gun. Pain exploded in his shoulder and he yelled out, doubling over. He grabbed his gun with his good arm and swung it around, looking for the source of the pain. It took him a second or two to realise that he was still alone in the room, and that the pain had probably come from ripping a stitch. It looked like it was almost morning, but he couldn't tell for sure. He pulled down the neck of his shirt, looking at the wound. Yep, he'd ripped at least one stitch in his nightmare. He didn't know if he'd been thrashing around or if it was just the force of sitting up, but he didn't care either. Every time he blinked, he saw their dead bodies. He leaned his head on his good hand, taking deep breaths. His painkillers were in his bag across the room, and his shoulder was in too much pain to even consider moving. The painkillers that had weakened the pain had long worn off, and now it was like he'd been shot all over again,