The DOOM Chronicles

Chapter 03: Not Alone

He was in Hell.

Watts slowly opened his eyes to a world of stone and metal and the flickering light of naked flames. Where was he? What had happened?

How had he gotten here?

Trying to put the pieces together, Watts surmised that he'd been strung up, hanging by his wrists from a ceiling. Everything about this strange place surrounding him was pervasive, assaulting all of his senses. He was in some kind of chamber, the walls made of ugly green brick supported and outlined by rusty steel girders. Directly ahead of him, he could see a sort of metal grille made of black iron. It was difficult to tell what lay behind it. The floor was made of the same ugly green brick and was splashed with red-brown stains.

Blood.

Old blood.

The air reeked of a thousand awful odors. He could smell slowly rotting meat that had been left out in the sun for a few days, he smelled blood and roadkill and vomit and urine and shit, all of it mixed together and leaving him gagging.

It was so thick on the air he could taste it.

Looking down, Watts suddenly realized he'd been stripped naked. It was uncomfortably warm in the chamber and he was already sweating.

He tested the bonds, old metal wrist binders that held his arms together, hanging from a chain. Although it looked old and worn, it seemed fairly strong. Fear was strong within him. Distantly, he could hear screaming.

It never seemed to stop.

Somewhere behind him, there was the sound of a huge door creaking open, the squeal of hinges painful in its clarity. He tried to look over his shoulder, to see, but he couldn't. He was somehow prevented.

Something snuffled and snorted, an altogether animal sound that reached down into the deepest, basest parts of his soul and awoke something primal. Terror turned his veins to ice. Heavy, meaty footfalls began waddling closer to him.

It was getting closer.

Closer.

Something sliced into his back and he screamed.

* * *

Watts gasped awake.

He sat straight up, looking around his darkened, cramped apartment. His heart thundered in his chest as he swept the entire area with his gaze, trying to determine if he was alone or not. The apartment seemed clear, but he could hardly see in the darkness of the bathroom and the closet. Swallowing his fear, reminding himself that he was a Marine for Christ's sake, he got up, marched over to the wall and slapped the light button. He screwed up his eyes against the sudden invasion of brilliant white light.

He stepped into his closet. Nothing.

He stepped into his bathroom. Nothing there, either.

As he returned to his bedroom, his eyes fell to his bed and he realized that he truly was alone. Fletcher was gone.

His alarm suddenly blared to life.

"Shit!" he snapped, his heart reawakening with a vengeance, threatening to crack open his ribcage and break out of his chest.

Stalking over to his nightstand, he hit the kill button and stood there blinking several times in the sudden silence, trying to get his mind in order. It was harder than normal, but being a soldier meant being quick on your feet. It was oh six hundred, and he had to grab a shower and breakfast before reporting to Hades Squad.

As he moved to gather a fresh uniform and prepared to shave and shower, he thought about yesterday. After sex and another shower, he and Fletcher had pretty much spent the day together. They'd swung by the infirmary and he'd picked up the Insomnium, (she was right, it had some weird long name he'd never remember), but he'd never taken them, he realized. The slim white bottle was still sitting near his sink.