damned_institute | Nightshift 43: File Room 1

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lunge

Nightshift 43: File Room 1

[From here]

The moment he was in, Lunge pressed the door at his back closed and let loose a slow, deep sigh into the stuffy silence of the room. His shoulder twinged a little from the effort of breaking the lock- apparently, he was beginning to get too old for these things, whether he liked it or not. While retirement was still a long way off there was certainly no way he would have been able to handle an armed guard.

After a brief pause he clicked his flashlight back on, scattering shadows at his feet and then up the the ceiling as he carefully examined the room. The room was small, windowless and deceivingly nondescript, with a faint smell of gathering dust and old paper. The back wall gleamed, lined with carefully maintained rows of filing cabinets like metallic grey soldiers standing to attention. A to C, D to F, G to H... he moved away from the door to brush his fingertips across the labels.

There. 'J'. Putting the radio- switched off before leaving the main hallway, now switched on again with the volume down low- on top of the appropriate cabinet, he pulled on the drawer. No joy. It was locked, although as with the door he could feel the lock grating with age. With enough force it would open up. The biro in his back pocket would suffice, if not as a lockpick than as a small battering ram.

Lunge flexed a hand around his torch. There was always the chance the pen would break before the lock, but he always had the flashlight to finish off with. Gentle but persistent, he jammed the narrow end of the pen into the lock and forced it up an down, stopping occasionally to do a wary sweep of the room with the flashlight before continuing. Getting caught off guard now would be the worst possible thing to happen.

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The chattering came from a distance at first, the creatures seeming to be arguing amongst themselves as to who would be the first one to go after the prey that had come into their den. In the end, the fight seemed to resolve itself, and the three creatures began to move. They stayed at a distance at first, long claws tapping against the floor.

Lunge froze the second he heard it. The sound of garbled voices succeeded by the steady tapping of something dense on tile, deceptively faint at first but most definitely in the same room. Someone- or, God forbid he have the imagination for it, something- was nearby.

Slowly, he drew the pen out (somewhat mangled from the lock) and placed it on top of the cabinet. Only when he had both hands free did he allow himself to turn, back to the cabinet, and point his flashlight into the chattering shadows.

The footsteps retreated for just a moment, the chattering growing louder and more angry as they did. It was as if they were angered by the light, and had drawn back only to rethink their plan. They had no intention of retreating, of course.

As if on cue, the tapping footsteps began again, this time being careful to avoid the illumination - for the most part. A single long claw caught the light, and it glinted like the side of a blade in the darkness.

The flashlight beam did little more than chase whatever it was out there even further out of his field of vision. But there it was again, that chattering sound, nearer this time and more agitated. And now he could tell that it was most definitely not human. But if it wasn’t human, just what was it? Certainly Lunge couldn’t think of any animal that would make that kind of noise- not one that demented.

Finally the light caught something, and Lunge found his eyes following the smooth line of a long, scythed talon.

It occurred to him that every muscle in his body had tightened. Teeth gritted, he brought the beam high up to reveal the claw’s owner. There are no such things as monsters. They are but products of the mind. “Tis the eye of childhood than fears a painted devil”.

The light ran up the lead necrit's body, finally shining on its sharp teeth, which were bared in a gesture that almost resembled a grin. It made another chattering noise, louder and higher-pitched - a call to action, if nothing else. When it did, the other two came out of the shadows, and their teeth were bared just as widely.

The first slashed out with its long claws, hoping that the man's tension would make him easier to strike down.

From razor claws up to mottled grey flesh, glistening and pale, and to a gash of sharpened teeth bared to him below staring yellow eyes; the light revealed all. Lunge stood, transfixed by the sight before him. Neither human nor animal.

It slowly dawned on him that not fearing a painted devil only held true if the devils were indeed painted.

Then the spell was broken as the creature let out a high-pitched chittering and to his horror two more appeared at its side before, suddenly, it leapt forward, swiping its claws. With a gasp Lunge staggered backwards, narrowly avoiding having his stomach ripped open. So narrowly that when he looked down the hem of his shirt had been neatly sliced in two.

They existed. And they could kill. Keeping light on his toes he backed up even further, eyes flickering from the creatures to his surroundings in search of a weapon or an escape route of some sort. All he had was his flashlight, but if he struck one of them too hard and it shorted out...

There was a bone-chilling chittering noise that almost sounded like a malicious cackle from the lead necrit - while it was true that its attack hadn't hit as well as it would have liked, that was enough to startle its prey. Startled prey was easier to catch, after all, and it was pleased with that development.

The two on its sides began to slowly move forward, making sure to stay out of the light. Occasionally one of them would slash out, claws barely held back from brushing at Lunge's legs.

Something in the back of Lunge's mind vaguely registered that the creatures were quasi-sentient in some way, but understanding alone wouldn't save him now. A silver tongue was wasted here- they couldn't be reasoned with and they wouldn't stop for anything but easier prey. It was a thought that chilled him. There hadn't been many situations he hadn't been able to handle with a quick word or a quick shot from his revolver. Now he lacked both.

The two at the back crept forward, claws slicing forward threateningly and just barely skimming his legs. His mind raced as he realised that he was running out of floor to back onto. They were holding back. Why? To keep out of the light? Yes, but there was something more- were they waiting for a signal?

Lunge's eyes fell onto the central creature. The leader. Would dispatching it throw the others into confusion? His theories usually developed with time and research, blossoming with hours of careful thought. Now, there was only time to do.

The flashlight jerked upwards suddenly, trying to hit their leader straight into its face as he darted around the side of a cabinet beside him. Goading it, trying to coax it forward. The cabinet would be heavy, but if he just could get it to fall...

The leader necrit gave a loud screeching noise as the flashlight connected with its face, making it bite at its own lips. Worse than that was the effect of the light. It was effectively blinded, and it slashed out wildly with its claws, trying to hit something - anything to make the light stop. The other two leaned in a bit, trying to judge what to do.

They moved fast out of the way once the cabinet began rocking, though. They were willing to obey their leader, but only so far - once it got dangerous, they wanted no part of it.

If the frantic sound of claws skittering across tile and the leader's sheer blind panic weren't encouragement enough for Lunge, that the other two retreated so quickly at the first sign of danger was the final push he needed. Testing complete. Begin program.

Giving a grunt of effort, he summoned all the strength he was capable of and shoved the cabinet forward with all of his might. At the same time the hand holding the flashlight gave out from effort, sending the only source of light in the room clattering to the floor as the cabinet connected with the floor with a colossal crash.

The light shorted out, plunging the room into total darkness before Lunge could check the results of his handiwork. He dropped to his knees, cursing silently as his fingers desperately searched for the torch.

There was one last loud, high-pitched noise - it wasn't quite a scream - as the cabinet fell on top of the lead necrit. The other two didn't stay long after the first one fell, their talons scraping at the tile as they moved off into the distance. They knew when they were beat, and didn't want the same thing to happen to them. With that, and a few last angry chitters, they were gone, off into the shadows.

In the darkness he heard the rattle of claws scuffling the floor, backed by a chattering that sounded almost... angry? Hurriedly he snatched up the flashlight and, with a few taps against the palm of his hand, the room was once again flooded with flickering light. They were gone.

Lunge let out a slow breath and stood up. Most of the damage seemed to have gone to his uniform- he couldn't, however, say the same for the creature crushed into the floor before him. He winced slightly, feeling a painful tug in his shoulder. Had he pulled a muscle? That was going to sing like a canary in the morning. Perhaps he was getting too old for this.

For a moment he simply leant back against the wall, processing what had just happened while he got his breath back and his muscles stopped aching. His hand twitched. So. His initial judgment had been correct; whatever these things were (They're monsters), they hunted in small 'packs' headed by a lead creature (Lead monster, Heinrich). Removing the lead threw them into disorganisation and confusion, thus forcing a retreat. They were sentient at least to the degree that they could create and communicate competent patterns of attack ('They', Inspector? Don't be so ambiguous). As for their physiology...

His face didn't change but the man grimaced internally. There was only one way to find that. Mindful of the tug in his shoulder, he pressed up against the side of the cabinet and pushed hard. He had just enough strength left to topple it sideways, drawers to the side, to reveal what lay beneath. A reek of something like blood and mangled flesh hit him as he directed his light onto the corpse, free hand taking detailed notes on the parts that he could still distinguish. But even now that he had a better view he couldn’t begin to fathom what animal the damn thing was (Monster. Say it, Heinrich). Eyes for the darkness, claws for the kill; all he could say was that he was looking at the remains of a skilled nocturnal predator.

There was nothing more he could learn from the creature. Lunge reverted back to his primary assignment. The fall had loosened the cabinet’s drawers enough for the inspector to yank the appropriate one open and dig out the ‘J’ files.

There. ‘Jung, Otto’. He tucked the file under one arm and scanned the room again. The radio lay a few feet away, cracked from impact but just about functional with a little fiddling here and there. He was just about ready to leave, even if he had a few extra aches and pains to show for it.

But he’d had a narrow escape. The flashlight beam lingered on the creature for what was perhaps a moment too long. A very narrow escape indeed.

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Nightshift 43: File Room 1

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