It would suck if someone was already in the room when Dusty entered

[Dr Adjective]

"That's what that fucking was!"

The outburst probably came as something of a surprise, but Esther had been trying to figure out what it was about the view that was bothering her ever since she first looked out of the window. It hadn't won the duel for her attention with Dusty and his gun, but it had certainly still been ongoing.

"Been trying to work out what was wrong with that thing this whole time. Why'd they make a Lenin statue with only one eye? It barely even rhymes with Odin."

Okay sure the joke was a stretch. But she thought it was funny.

Part of her wanted to head back out and have a look. Curiosity had always been a powerful drive for Esther. There was always more to know, more to understand. But she also didn't want to surrender her newfound shelter, sub-standard as it might be, either. Dusty'd be plenty able to just point his gun at the door and tell her to fuck off, heck, that's practically how she'd greeted him in the first place. So she suppressed the desire to find out why they'd made the Soviet founding father a cyclops for the time being, and turned her mind to the more pressing matter of surviving the frozen hellhole.

"So anyway. You wanted to what, set up in here like a sniper nest and wait the whole thing out? 'cause I'm up for that."

[Polybius]

Dusty felt a pit in his stomach, and not just because he hadn't eaten all day. The eye had been there, both Dusty and Esther had noticed it, and he didn't think they were suffering from some Mandela Effect bullshit. A fucking piece of marble had disappeared without damaging the other marble around it. It seemed impossible - so it had to be some more Janus-Hayes bullshit. Could it hurt him? Whatever it was? He didn't even know what it was. Shit. Shit...

He turned back to Esther, her last few words piercing his brooding. Had she just said... oh. Oh.

"Uh. Yeah. That's what I was planning." he sputtered. "You're okay with that?"

Dusty had been certain that she would kick him out at some point soon. It'd be dumb to trust a guy like him. Not that he would actually try to hurt her... but it'd be dumb to assume he wouldn't. Maybe she wasn't as smart as he'd thought.

Or maybe she was luring him into a trap.

Haha.

"Yeah. Um, I'm up for camping out here. This is the best position to be in, right?"

[Dr Adjective]

He seemed surprised at her willingness to cooperate. Even as socially illiterate as she was, Esther could figure that cue out: between that and his assuming that the two of them would be considering killing each other, he was even more paranoid than she was. Which was fair, really. She'd gotten carried away having someone she actually felt like she could talk to for the first time in ages, but the truth was still right there, only one of them could go home... assuming the corporate ghouls were even telling the truth about that.

"Yeah, like."

Her reasoning was pretty simple, at the end of the day.

"I'm more scared of their big monsters than I am of your gun. I'm probably gonna die here anyway, right? So if you just shoot me and get it over quick, you're probably doing me a favour, yeah?"

She gestured broadly, faintly aware that she was still holding a gun in one hand. At least her trigger discipline was good.

"And like, same for you right? Why would I shoot you anyway? I can't hold two guns at once."

Esther slouched against the wall. Even in the inclosed space keeping their body heat nearby, the cold was really starting to get to her. She kept her gun hand loose, hugged her left arm across her torso in a vain attempt to contain more warmth inside her overcoat.

"So, like, if we're somehow the last two left, and the cunts aren't lying about letting one person go? Guess we cross that bridge then and there, right? 'til then I'd rather have the help," she paused, before awkwardly adding, "and the company."

[Polybius]

"Uh, yeah."

Dusty's eyes darted to the gun as it moved through the air. Then back to Esther's face. He didn't want to seem to nervous. One more quick glance back at the gun. Yeah.

There was undeniable logic to what Esther was saying. Still, Dusty didn't quite believe that she was as comfortable as she was letting on. She had to have been at least a little threatened by him, right? It'd be almost insulting if she wasn't. ...Well, even if she was telling the whole truth, he doubted she'd stay so relaxed all the way to the final two. The human mind wasn't built to endure under this sort of pressure. Ester could change her mind at any minute. He still had to watch out for her. But for now...

"Yeah, we've got a deal." he smiled. Dusty wouldn't let his guard down.

...


That night, Dusty snored as he curled up in a fetal position on the couch, his rifle propped against the wall.

[Dr Adjective]

The awkwardness remained strong for a while, but over the course of an uneventful day, it started to wane. Esther started to feel more comfortable, less guarded. Like maybe she actually could trust this Dusty guy, at least for the time being. He seemed nice, not like someone who'd be willing to murder her for a very slight increased chance of survival, like she'd be safe in his company for at least the foreseeable future.

Like maybe she'd made a friend for the first time in years?

No, that would be silly. He was an ally, sure, but friend seemed a little premature.

-

When night rolled around, the girl felt secure enough not to barricade herself in the tiny bedroom, just close the door and keep her gun close to hand. If there were a threat, it seemed much more likely to be one she'd want to be mobile for than fortified. For all she knew, someone could've been given explosives, or a flamethrower, or there could be a monster that could go just go through walls or something. Nah, better to be ready to bug out at a moment's notice rather than stand some very limited ground. She was so ready. If anything made a sound, she'd be bolt upright, gun raised, primed to throw about 20 rounds per second through that flimsy door and into whoever or whatever was stupid enough to be standing behind it.

So ready. So ready that she couldn't fucking sleep. She'd taken off her overcoat and gotten under the covers, but even with the arctic chill warding off moths or whatever else might have eaten at them, they were still ridiculously thin and useless at keeping heat in or cold out. What were the Russian families out here made of, actual ice? So even swaddled up as tight as she could get, fully dressed and then some, Esther could not stay warm. And even if she could her imagination was overactive coming up with threats and responses to threats, overanalysing every sound that blew in on the frosty wind, labbing out scenarios where Dusty might suddenly decide to turn on her. She had a really nice gun and mostly untouched supplies, after all. A second pair of hands holding that gun for him may be useful, but a second stomach working through the food supplies might be a bigger threat than any other in the long term. Other reasons came to mind, but didn't bear thinking about.

Ultimately, the maddening boredom got to her. Esther rose, muttering various profanities under her breath, tossed the useless sheet aside and set about gathering her necessities. Overcoat. Duffel bag. Gun. Spare ammo. Flashlight. Esther dumped the rest of her assigned kit on the bed, cursing again as she realised what the sleeping bag was (and how much warmer she could've been this whole time if she'd remebered having fucking woken up in he damn thing in the first place), then stuffed the things she'd deemed essential back inside.

With the well-practiced grace of someone used to sneaking around, unable to sleep whilst others did, Esther crept through the main room. She kept close to the walls as much as possible, her footfalls slow, deliberate, gentle. The floor still creaked, of course it still creaked, but she was optimistic that Dusty wouldn't stir. Wasn't much louder or less white-noise-y than the wind outside. The door was the only real worry: Esther couldn't remember if the hinges had been loud or not. Mercifully, it was the latter, and she exited the tiny apartment with minimal further noise. Outside, she took somewhat less care over how loud she was, concerning herself more with staying alert, checking corners gun-first, and being less visible as well as less audible.

At length, the young woman found herself heading up onto the roof. Feeling the chill of the wind uninterrupted, she quickly tugged the flaps of her hat closer around her ears and secured them together under her chin. Why had she come up here again? Partly the reasoning was a desire to see if any of the machinery was in any sort of working order. Did Esther have the slightest idea what an air conditioning unit even looked like, let alone how to operate one? Of course not. But she wanted to keep her mind active. Maybe she could press buttons for a while until the cold and the mental effort made her miss being in bed, then this time she could use the big ol' sleeping bag and actually get comfortable. Except there didn't seem to be anything of interest up top at all. Sure there was machinery, but to her layman's eyes it all seemed worthless. Neglected, rusted from months of snow and sea air, it sure seemed inoperable. She didn't even bother going in for a closer look.

Well. Shit.

At least the view was kind of nice. By the light of the moon and stars, Severny Norin looked almost pretty. A stark kind of beauty, really. Esther could see what the planners had been going for, the cozy togetherness of the bunched up apartments, the central statue of Lenin bringing it all together, the clear line of sight to the docks and power plant. It was functional, but charming in its way. She drifted towards the edge of the roof, running a hand along the railing to test if it would take her weight before using it to ease herself down to sit on the ledge. Firstly, it was cold. Of course it was cold. Duh. How did Esther forget to put her gloves back on, to go outside? Stupid. Secondly, and more importantly, ouch, it had a mean jagged edge to it. Shit. A barely perceptible line, short and thin, met Esther's gaze as she checked the damage. Then deep red began seeping out.

What if any of the monsters were like, sharks or something? Tracking by blood?

Panic began to sink in.

Not immediate, a deep, slow panic.

Her breathing quickened, her pupils dilated. She cast her eyes frantically across the frigid landscape again, looking for that hellbeast from the video or whatever friends it might have.

Nothing.

She dug through her bag. No first aid kit. She'd dumped it on her bed. Her gloves had filtered to the bottom too. She shoved her hands into them. The warmth was welcome, though the rough material against even a tiny open wound was unpleasant.

Wait. What was that sound?

Esther fumbled for her gun.

Zipped up her bag, threw it back over her shoulder. Hustled back to the stairway.

Had she even heard anything? Maybe it had been all in her head.

Back on the top floor, sheltered from the wind and with lines of sight restricted again, Esther slumped against a wall and took deep breaths. What had that thing on the internet said? Square breaths? In, beat, out, beat, repeat. It calmed her just a little. But so much for getting to sleep now. There was no way Esther was going to get comfortable enough for sleep for the foreseeable future, not now that she'd convinced herself she heard something moving, plus there was the dull pain emanating from her palm. She hadn't been injured in a really long time, Esther couldn't really remember how long it was supposed to keep hurting. Even so, she started trudging back towards where she'd left Dusty. And her stuff. Maybe she could put something on the cut. Esther wasn't sure, she had no idea how to dress a wound besides sticking an adhesive bandage on it and hoping for the best. Maybe Dusty would know in the morning.

[Help_U]

It climbed.

The outside of the structure was mostly smooth, but with ledges spaced at regular intervals. On its journey to scout outside of its burrow, the Chimera knew it must find higher vantage point to view its domain from.

Its drive to know this new prey was overwhelming, but it was beginning to comprehend the danger they posed. It had still not taken time to mend the contusion left by the projectile it was struck with-

rocket.

-the rocket it was struck with. It wasn't prepared for dormancy just yet.

So it climbed, jumping from ledge to ledge. By the time it had reached the fourth ledge, it was struck by a conspicuous smell.

The wolf-nose of the Chimera drew in the air.

Blood.

It peered over the open windowsill, and into the building.

Unable to resist, the Chimera clambered inside.

[Dr Adjective]

In the still of the night, between the occasional dull roars of wind outside, Esther could hear her ponderous footfall. She wasn’t in much of a hurry, and the low thud of her steps against the worn flooring was oddly pleasant. Predictable, in its way. She could set the rhythm, and she could know precisely when her foot would land next.

Thud. Pause. Thud thud. Thud.

Maybe it was childish. But she was low on sleep and even lower than usual on serotonin, so the small joy was one she chose to embrace. Little silver linings. Maybe she’d find out something she had in common with Dusty tomorrow, and their day of constant vigilance in a dingy krushchevka apartment might be a bit more tolerable for the conversation.

Thud, thud. Thud, pause. Thud. Pau-thud.

Esther’s eyes shot first to her legs. To her one foot hovering above the floor. Then she whirled about, gun raised. Someone else was here with here.

Or something else.

In her free time, the misanthropic young woman had played a fair few horror video games. They never really got to her. She couldn’t quite suspend disbelief, quite stop seeing the deliberate hand behind the tension and the scares. She’d gotten good at reading rising action, prediction when the dread was presumed to be too heavy and a jumpscare would shatter it and kick in the adrenaline.

There was a human hand behind this too, ultimately.

But not a firm one.

More importantly: Esther saw nothing. She thought of the flashlight shoved in her pocket. Thought better of pointing a luminous golden cone directly back to herself. She began to backpedal, slowly, softly. Tried to focus her hearing, her smell, anything that might tell her more than her eyes could report from the partially-starlit gloom.

Smell. Surely her gloves didn’t deaden the telltale aroma, the dry, sweet, ferric tang of even a few drops of blood.

Esther could swear in that moment that even she smelled it.

Assuming her wild assumption about shark senses was even true. Fuck. She was inside her own head, getting wrapped up in details, not focusing. She willed herself to pay attention, to gather as much awareness as her fatigued mind could muster and train it on the far end of the hallway.

A few seconds more and she might not have heard the faint squeak of unloved metal, the sound of a door being gingerly eased open, so soft it might’ve been the wind and an open window. The notion of a door triggered a thought in Esther’s mind.

Dusty.

If her paranoia was leading her true, then she was fucked. That part wasn’t even much of a question in amongst the resurgent panic in Esther’s consciousness. She simply accepted it as a maxim. The nightmare hellbeast had been in the neighbourhood and had a powerful hankering for blood. But she could at least do something good with her last minute or two.

If memory served - and given the circumstances, that was in serious doubt - then Esther was not far from the room she and the boy had holed up in. If she ran past, she’d place Dusty behind the beast and with a clear path to the stairs. Not a strong chance but an extant one: Esther’s mind was working at high speed, establishing possibilities rather than probabilities. Dusty wasn’t injured, and she had its attention. There was a shot.

Except, she hadn’t even definitively seen the damned thing yet, had she?

Well fuck it. If it could track her by scent, as by now she simply assumed must be true, a little light would barely help it compared to how much it might benefit her. The girl fumbled for her flashlight, awkward work for gloves and pockets.

Click.

New information flooded her eyes. A door gently swaying with residual momentum stood out most.

Wait.

Was that…

”DUSTY!!”

Even as she screeched out the boy’s name, it was drowned out by the ear-shattering blast of some ten-or-so Tokarev rounds erupting from her firearm.

The shots mostly decorated the walls, and Esther cursed her stupidity and her pained wrist even as she turned tail and ran. Stupid stupid stupid! What was she, a Hollywood cowboy, firing one-handed from the hip? She’d practiced, gotten good at shooting, learned the proper technique, all for a moment passingly similar to this. Only to panic and throw it all out?

Turning back, this time the diminutive human took a proper grip of the gun’s drum magazine and aimed for what she could now clearly see was a hulking mass of unnatural muscle bearing down on her. She squeezed the trigger for perhaps half a second, again the submachine gun bucked in her grip and belched lead down the hallway.

No time to look and see if it worked. Just run some more. Create distance. Give Dusty the chance she surely didn’t have.

She swung the butt of her gun wildly at the door she hoped he was sleeping behind. Hoped he was sleeping lightly. The slam of wood on wood was quieter than the noisy report of Papasha, but every little helped.

”DUSTYWAKEUPFUCKINGRUN!”

Her lungs were already protesting from the abrupt sprint. Yelling dried her breath up faster still. For a third time, Esther spun about and brought up the gun. She supposed, somewhere in the back of her mind, she’d probably dried up a third of the drum mag already. About forty bullets left to expend.

Her eyes narrowed as she took aim.

Obviously Esther Ježek wasn’t ready to die. Obviously she didn’t want to. But amid the tiredness, the adrenaline, the sense of making a worthwhile sacrifice, there was a certain sort of peace with the notion. Her life hadn’t been so great a thing for almost a decade. At least it might end well. She was about as ready as she would likely ever be.

So her trigger finger began to contract once again.

[Polybius]

"So, um, it's nice to be here tonight and I was-"

They all stared blankly at him. The people sitting at the tables below the stage, waiters holding trays of drinks, even the people way back at the bar.

"I was- I'm Dusty. Dusty James. Haha."

More silence. Dusty had done this routine dozens of times before. He'd never had trouble with the memorization and repetition. But tonight, he couldn't remember a single word. Why had he gotten on stage?

"Um- well," the microphone slipped from his hands and hit the stage with a crack. It rolled over the edge and on to the floor. Nobody made a move to pick it up. Dusty considered asking someone to retrieve it for him, but he was afraid to talk to any of the audience members directly. It wasn't like he needed it. He could have heard a pin drop in this room.

He had to improvise. Just make something up, run out the clock. He had five- no ten? He had some amount of minutes left in his set.

"Anyone here ever been to Russia?" No reactions. "It's cold as hell here- there. I mean. And everyone has rifles everywhere. Wait, is that right? No... but- but the monsters! They..."

Wait, why was he here? Where was he? This wasn't- something was wrong. He wasn't-

Oh wait! He remembered the joke!

"What happens when you give a loser nerd a sniper rifle and tell him he has to survive against monsters?"

What was the punchline, again...?

"DUSTY!!" the audience screamed.

"I'M TRYING TO REMEMBER THE PUNCHLINE!!" he screamed back.

”DUSTYWAKEUPFUCKINGRUN!”

He jolted up and turned to the sound. Dusty was in complete darkness. The world gradually came into focus. The scratchy couch he was sitting on, the outline of the rifle against the wall, the pounding of the door.

Gunfire.

He rolled off the couch and hit the floor, covering his head. Dusty knew this could happen, but he wasn't ready. They were under attack. They'd kill Esther, then come in and kill him. Someone, or something, was going to kill Esther. Then it would come in and kill him. Dusty couldn't let that happen. He pushed himself up and grabbed the gun. Held it just like she'd told him. No time for doubt. He stumbled to the door, pushing through it with his should.

[Help_U]

This human had the same strange ability as the other it encountered the previous day. The same tool. An appendage that was not their own, that could reach out at great distance.

The sound of the not-appendage ripped through the air and sent the Chimera scattering to the right, and to the left again. It wasn't fast enough. Nothing could be fast enough.

Yet it didn't knock it askew like the previous one had. Instead, the small projectile ripped an uneven path through its haunch, and then back out again. Pain receptors fired, only as long as they had to, before the Chimera stopped them.

It was long enough to evoke a hiss in the creature, felid and reptilian in equal measure.

Chimera brought itself low to the ground, and scrabbled forward quickly. It could not outpace the claws of the not-appendage, but it could outpace its owner. Digging its claws into the aged wooden boards of the floor, it prepared to pounce.

The wall to the creature's right opened, as it launched itself through the air, two sets of claws at the ready. Another human stepped out, as it was in mid-air.

To the surprise of both parties, they collided and rolled to a stop only a short distance from the Chimera's initial prey, a tangled mass of limbs and confusion.

The other creature struggled to free itself; in response, Chimera bit down on the nearest part of him that it could find.

[Dr Adjective]

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Esther was reminded of New Vegas’ Nightstalkers, hybrid coyote-rattlesnakes with an unpleasant rattling, hissing growl and frankly annoying resistance to most weapons. She’d soon gotten in the habit of gimmicking them by standing somewhere only accessible by jumping and then carefully drawing them in by standing near enough the edge for their pathfinding to say she could be attacked: shoot, step back, repeat.

Sadly of course, in real life, she couldn’t simply tank a charging monstrosity to the face with a mere augh noise and some red effects on the screen, then trial and error her way to success.

Nope, Esther Ježek was dead, her body just hadn’t caught up with that reality yet.

The creature bore down on her, made ready to pounce.

She steeled herself for the impact, the pain.

Esther closed her eyes.

She squeezed the trigger.

Bullets burst through the air once more, echoing painfully in the stillness of the enclosed space. The girl released her grip on the trigger, some instinctive part of her brain having decided that she’d empty the last of the magazine into her target at point blank range.

She’d been surviving for as long as she could really remember: tonight, for just a few seconds, Esther Ježek would live.



Only, a strange thing happened. Esther didn’t die. She didn’t feel the unimaginable agony of monstrous claws rending her fragile little body apart, she didn’t feel her arms on autopilot unloading her last measure of spite into the hideous beast upon her.

No. Her eyes snapped open to the sight of the Chimaera upon someone else’s writhing body, awkwardly repositioning, like it certainly hadn’t planned to collide with him first. Dusty.

Fuck.

”Get the FUCK off him!”

No, Esther hadn’t been ready to die before. At peace with it on some level, at best. But having settled on that as her fate, choosing to do what little she could to spare Dusty from sharing it, only to be robbed of her heroic end at the last moment? By her own short-sighted decision to wake the boy in the first place? She was almost angry not to be dying right then.

Angry at herself most of all.

So she quit backpedalling and advanced. Levelled her gun at the Chimaera and let fly with everything left in the clip. Screeched her fury, her spite, her vicious, killing intent over the roar of gunfire. On some small level she was still doing it to protect Dusty, some more human, caring level. But in truth, in that moment? Mostly she just hated, and it was easy to project that hate onto the monster in front of her.

”FUCK! YOU! CUNT!! Get the FUCK off and DIE!”

[Polybius]

Dusty turned to see Esther with her eyes shut. Gun at the the ready. A deafening explosion. A pain in his abdomen. Then the force of being hit by a truck, thrown to the ground, bones snapping. Was he still dreaming?

The part of Dusty's brain that was awake, the part of him that was still desperate to survive, forced him to bear the pain and try to twist his way out from whatever was holding him. He was being pinned down. Craning his neck, dusty saw long claws jabbed into his stomach, connected to a gargantuan mass of white hair. The odor did as much to wake him up as the fear and pain had. The pungent mix of sweat, dirt, and blood overpowered his senses and set him to start flailing wildly. He tried to push the thing off him, to crawl away. He screamed.

He saw beady eyes glittering in the darkness. Hot, disgusting air hit his face as it opened its mouth. Wider and wider. What animal had that many teeth?

Come on, Dusty. This was what you amounted to? This? What was that punchline, again?

The jaws snapped shut.

P018: Dustin James - DECEASED

[Help_U]

The human's fragile skull snap and burst between the Chimera's teeth, but it had no time to taste the new perceptions it would offer.

A burst of sound, fire, and pain forced the Chimera to loosen its bite, the body slumping to the floor in front of it. It felt heat and cold in equal measure lance into its thick hide, and scrambled backwards instinctively. Its claws scraped across the floor, tearing splinters up as it forced itself further and further backwards. The sharp pain intensified, as iridescent red blood spilled from its torso onto the floor before it.

It shrieked, the inhuman wail echoing through the hallway, just barely audible over the burst of gunfire. Only barely regaining its footing, the Chimera turned and bolted back towards the window, partially bursting through the window frame as it hurled itself from the building.

((Chimera continued in Man Proposes, God Disposes))

[Dr Adjective]

There was a dull click as Esther ejected the drum magazine.

A weak grunt of impotent anger as she hurled it down the corridor after the retreating beast.

An anticlimactic thud as it hit the floor a scant few meters away.


-


It took some time.

But the adrenaline abated.

Esther was still shaking. Her shoulders rose and fell, her breath clouded the air in front of her face. But it was slowing. Her lungs burned from exertion and screaming alike, her legs felt like jelly, her arms sore from absorbing recoil. And moreover, she felt sick. Deeply nauseated.

Because before her on the ground was a sight unlike any she'd seen before. Nothing could've prepared her for the grisly scene. Though the beast had fled, its blood remained, glistening like otherworldly oil in the fingers of pale moonlight where it hadn't mixed with Dusty's. And then there was Dusty. Esther had a fairly colourful vocabulary, but she could summon no adequate words for the remains of the poor boy's head. Tears beaded up in her eyes, and despite it all, a bitter part of her mind chided her for thinking this was a sensible place to make a new friend. That she should've expected the worst. Ultimately the best description she could muster was ruin, and that she stuck with. It blunted the horror of what she'd seen, what she couldn't bear to look on any longer.

Instead, she turned her back, steadied herself against the wall with one outstretched hand, and heaved. Nothing emerged for several tries, then finally a watery bile splattered onto the floor at Esther's feet. It occurred to her that she'd only eaten once since waking up, and who knew how long it had been since she last ate before that? Another few weak retches, and then at last she mustered the strength to move on. To step gingerly around the still-expanding pool of blood and head back into the room its erstwhile owner had emerged from. Though she had no stomach to eat anything any time soon, Esther knew she'd need to take stock of her supplies, get some much-needed rest, and move on to a new, safer hiding place before long.

She'd need to retrieve Dusty's gun from his corpse, too.

Fucking wonderful.

[Esther Ježek hasn't slept in years, but she'll try.]