L'Hopital

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Nerve gas, a hospital, and a hostage.

Written in an hour.

Submitted: December 29, 2011

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Submitted: December 29, 2011

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A dark figure dropped to the ground in a crouch. Black gloves replaced the ceiling tile. The figure crept the hallway silently.

The hospital filled with gas. The white-gowned patients choked as they hurried out, dirty wet footprints in the grass, thick vile swamp green mist clouding their vision.

“Hostage!”

A terrific shout. The heat signature showed two red figures huddled in the room down the hall. The hall was pale and ghastly gray, and queer green tiles shone like glass on the floor.

He stepped in the corridor. He glimpsed a face of sheer terror: a middle-aged doctor in white robes, mouthing a permanent scream. Suddenly, shots.

The wall was riddled with holes. Three perfect, glistening gaping blank black spaces where blank wall had been. He heard the gun reloading.

In a flash, he angled in a crouch into the room. He felt the polished black cylinder in his hand. He shot the lights, fluorescents shattering like plastic explosives. For an immortal moment, framed in the blast, a pale woman with hair like the sun and gray mourning eyes - pressed a barrel to the doctor’s temple.

The doctor leapt and bolted past in green-grey haze. She looked up at him with contracted eyes.

“Nerve gas.”

A crisp crack! rent the air. She looked up at him, clutching her bloody thigh. She convulsed involuntarily, rivers of clear sweat draining down her face. He took her by her hair and struck her face into the green glass wall until her features were a bloody mess on the emerald and gray tinted divider.

Something silvery flashed in the dim light in her hand, and coughing, she pierced his bicep through.

She felt her teeth crack as he elbowed her in agony. Roaring in a dim room. Filling with filthy smoke and mixing with the green haze it was a clinical vision of hell. He savaged the knife away and reached for her. She felt his hands and blushed deep red. He caught her across the mouth and tasted blood on her face. She looked at him with liquid grey eyes. Her face between his hands was pale and very sweaty and pearly white splotched and speckled with dark blue and red bruises. He kissed her tenderly. He felt her convulse and shudder as she exhaled pale green.

"Sorry."

"It's - okay." she said finally. "Just a ... job."

She wiped dark blood from her mouth and looked away. He took her hand and wiped it on his shirt.

Staccato footsteps. She looked at him.

He dug into her injured thigh, slicing shivering skin and taut muscle. She screamed and clawed. He dug out dark metal.

"Lovely."

He looked into her eyes. Her pupils were forest-coloured and dilated and very small. Something bothered him.

More footsteps.

He brought the knife to her face. Her eyes widened. He made a small, surgical motion, and dropped a small watery white sphere into a clear plastic bag.

"Souvenir."

He watched dark black blood drip between her fingers. She held the left side of her face.

“You...you didn't..."

He held her trembling hand away from her face.

"It's - it's just a j-job," she said.

"And when I'm paid, I always see it through." He forced her into the silhouetted vents. He watched her exhale pale green air. She began urinating involuntarily, clear yellow liquid pooling on the floor. He looked away.

The doorway darkened. A mass of swine-snouted black-goggled agents cradling black death. The man got up slowly and walked past them.


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