He had to help or he needed help, he wasn't sure which one. Someone needed help, right? Or was it him? Who was screaming?
Was it him?
This blasted spaceship. Stephen leaned against one of the walls, a greasy, stained hospital corridor. He squinted, knowing this couldn't be real, yet...it had to be. No, it wasn't--it was a spaceship, he was in a spaceship, and something bad had happened. Of course something bad would happen when he gets to go on a mission, gets to go into space--which in any other case, would be extremely awesome. He had a feeling he was trapped in some kind of horrific sci fi movie, except that it was, you know, real. And he knew how those movies turned out too, practically everybody died.
He glanced down at the yellow, aging linoleum floor. Blood was splattered on it. Fresh, too. And the smell...stench, really. Like death. Someone was yelling.
People.
Doctors. They were rushing someone on a stretcher to the OR. Frantic footsteps, yelling, the waving of clipboards, worried faces.
Christine.
"Christine!"
Stephen raced forwards, following the trail of blood. "Christine, wait! I can help!"
She wasn't looking at him, though, like he wasn't even there. Her face was contorted in incredible worry, as she looked down at the patient. Who was the patient? Stephen ran faster, trying to catch up to them to see if he could assist.
...
The patient was him.
Bloodied, bruised, his hands mangled...mangled beyond all reason, beyond help, beyond hope...blood everywhere, so much of it--
The sound of a car crashing echoed through the halls and without warning, a sports car--his car!?--smashed through the dirty, stained walls and he dove out of the way only just in time.
There was a terrific rending noise like the whole world was getting torn in two, and Stephen shut his eyes--he was shoved to the side by crashing walls, though they didn't really sound like walls. They sort of sounded like wet meat. Schlup, slurp. He peeked an eye open, the car embedded in the ceiling and the wall where it had 'landed', but instead a break in the drywall and concrete, it looked like someone had smashed into a butcher shop. Goo and unidentified flesh dripped from the hole in the celing, splashing on him. He was a doctor, he wasn't afraid of this, but...it was certainly disgusting. And it didn't make any sense. There was something horribly wrong...this couldn't be real. This was a dream! It had to be!
"Christine!" he ran towards where they had gone down the hallway, minding the destruction from the strange appearance of the car, and dripping meat. They could have gotten hurt--
--there were bodies everywhere. Injured horribly. He immediately set to action, but there were too many--too many, he couldn't save them all. He wasn't an ER doctor, this wasn't his specialty, he couldn't--no, Christine--he ran over to her side, where she was hurt beyond what anyone could scarcely bear.
"Christine! Christine, stay with me," he reached over to check her pulse. She had to be dead. There was no way she could survive with that much damage--this wasn't real. He was dreaming. Wake up, Stephen! Fight this!
"Stephen..." she mumbled, looking up at him with eyes that had someone turned white, like she was dead already. "You let me down. Like you always have. I shouldn't be surprised."
"No. I'm here, I can save you--I'm the best, I can save you--"
"It's your fault," tears spilled from those dead eyes. "You...all I wanted was to help you. And you were so cruel. How could you be so mean, Stephen?!"
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...I was horrible to you, Christine, I wanted you to forgive me but--"
"I could never forgive you," she said, her voice small and fading. "I want you to live with the pain that you caused me. Because no one cares for you, Stephen. I was the last one. You have...no...one. No one at all."
He felt a cold chill grab at his soul and not let go. She was right...this didn't make any sense but she was right...if he couldn't get out of this mad landscape...who would miss him? Who would even realize he was gone? Wong? Mordo hated him too...the Ancient One was dead...and Christine surely didn't...
He was alone.
And no one would care when he died.
Stephen sat down suddenly, roughly.
No one had cared that he died.
Suddenly, horrific-looking wounds appeared on his chest, where Dormammu had stabbed him with shards of rock. More wounds appeared where he'd shot him full of holes with some kind of light. They weren't bleeding, they were just sort of there...maybe real, maybe not. He couldn't really feel anything at the moment, he was so cold. The feeling of all those moments...of dying echoing louder and louder in his mind.
No, this wasn't real! This wasn't real, fight it--
He'd did it to save the world, but did they care? Did they know? What was the point of doing all this if no one knew? Wasn't that what he cared about, his name getting known? Recognition? His name on procedures? Well he saved the whole world and they wouldn't know!? He went through all this horror and were they even grateful?
They didn't even care that he'd lost his hands. He looked down at his hands, for some reason his gloves weren't there anymore. Had he taken them off? He couldn't remember. But the scars were..growing. Writhing, like snakes. They opened up, like they'd been torn open, revealing the bones and metal pins inside.
Stephen just stared dully.
His hands. Useless.
Just like him.
Useless.
Unloved, unwanted.
The imagery disappeared on his person, turning into smoke and drifting away into the ceiling. He wasn't actually injured, and his hands were quite fine. But he just sat there, staring numbly at them.
What was the point of fighting back against this place when it was...quite right about everything?
B. One of My Turns
Stephen was a stubborn man, and frightfully optimistic in the face of certain defeat.
The fact that he succumbed was an equally frightening thought, and despite the black grip that was now cemented around his heart, he was still fighting. He'd done something...terrible, he'd...despaired.
Maybe because they were right. He didn't deserve a second chance. He was unloved and unwanted anyway. Might as well stay here, where he belonged.
No--that wasn't right! That was...there was a mission, he had to get back...find the others...right?
Stephen stumbled through the hallway, it was reminiscent of some kind of industrial area now, but every so often there was something odd about the walls. Like it was living...like it was part of an organ...he was a Doctor, he should help...but there was no helping whatever this was...
...might as well just stay here where he belonged--
--no! Where was this all coming from? He'd despaired, yes, but didn't mean he was down and out for the count. He'd made a mistake, and this whole thing was probably a dream anyway...though in his experience, it really, really probably wasn't. Regardless, he had to find the others, he needed help--
--he was getting really tired all of a sudden. He leaned against the weirdly warm steel wall, a part of it shiny like a mirror besides being covered in barnacle-like rusty growths. For some reason he caught a reflection of himself in the glass--
--his eyes were red. Like, actually glowing red. And black streaks were curling round the side of his cheeks...no, wait, what was that? He reached a trembling hand up to his cheekbones when suddenly bone just...spurted out of his skin. Ripped right out.
"HUUAHHHHHGHHHH--"
He pressed his hands to the mirror-like surface, trying to get a closer look. Like a knife, the other cheekbone did the same thing. Blood dripped slowly from the eruption. What the--suddenly pain, emanating from his whole face, his mouth on fire, he couldn't see, couldn't think--just pain and something warm where blood dripped from whatever was going on. He could feel it though, pushing past his nose, his mouth--was it bone? He could see it--something bone-like and white, like a beak was erupting from his entire face, or his face was sort of melting into it. It just kept growing and growing, until he caught sight of himself in the mirror.
He almost laughed, it was so absurd--he looked like a ridiculous bird, like a bird-skull had simply replaced his face...wait, he'd seen something like this before. Plague doctor mask?
At least the pain had ebbed. Blood dripped from where the bone 'mask' was connected to the rest of his head, which was fairly normal, right up to his scalp, his hair, sweaty and disheveled, sticking to it.
He seemed like he had a clearer mind now, the shock of this all had really brought him back to himself. They were on a spaceship...something had happened, something had tricked him into despairing, and he had to get out of here. He needed help!
"Is there anybody out there!?" he yelled, making a run for it down the hallway.
His hands began to ache something fierce, even moreso than they usually did.
"I need help! Somebody!?" his hands--his gloves were long gone, somewhere--were starting to--his fingers were melding together. No...no, stop, not his hands! There was nothing he could do...he could only watch helplessly as his fingers melted together, hardening into some kind of bone-like structure, like a spike at the end. It was growing, too, becoming more narrow, and scythe like.
"Stop it! You have to stop! Whoever's doing this...please, we can work this out! What do you want? There's got to be something that you want..." Stephen couldn't figure out what the point of all of this was. Just to torture them? He stared at the horrific-looking scythes that were now where his hands were supposed to be, extending at least three feet out. Despite the madness, he chortled out of sheer absurdity.
"I mean...I could save money on shaving, but not like this..."
C. Comfortably Numb
Help came too late, probably. Or maybe it just wasn't enough.
He couldn't really remember.
It all felt like a dream. And this was reality.
No matter how much he tried...he couldn't free himself from the black grip on his heart. It was like sinking into quicksand.
And the quicksand had eaten him whole.
*****
A golden circle appeared and a skinny, scythe-like arm shot out of it, swiping at anything it assumed was still alive. And then, it shot back into the circle, disappearing completely.
Oh, teleportation had its uses when he wanted to hunt his prey. It was so easy to sneak up on them. A golden circle appears, a quick swipe, and it was all over.
On the rare occasion he felt like exerting himself, he'd make an appearance. Golden circle, and then...WHUMP.
A bony creature, like some enormous skeletal bird. Glowing red eyes were the only sign of life in that bird-skull face, like two rubies lost to the night.
He had some kind of body, covered in a black cloak, but one could see the skittering bone legs underneath. At least seven of them, even as he had a general bird's shape, there was a spidery-sort of undercarriage to the creature.
Tik-tik-tik-tik scurried the legs in the darkness.
Doctor Strange (TW: Lots and lots of body horror, medical imagery, gore, car crash)
Help.
He had to help or he needed help, he wasn't sure which one. Someone needed help, right? Or was it him? Who was screaming?
Was it him?
This blasted spaceship. Stephen leaned against one of the walls, a greasy, stained hospital corridor. He squinted, knowing this couldn't be real, yet...it had to be. No, it wasn't--it was a spaceship, he was in a spaceship, and something bad had happened. Of course something bad would happen when he gets to go on a mission, gets to go into space--which in any other case, would be extremely awesome. He had a feeling he was trapped in some kind of horrific sci fi movie, except that it was, you know, real. And he knew how those movies turned out too, practically everybody died.
He glanced down at the yellow, aging linoleum floor. Blood was splattered on it. Fresh, too. And the smell...stench, really. Like death. Someone was yelling.
People.
Doctors. They were rushing someone on a stretcher to the OR. Frantic footsteps, yelling, the waving of clipboards, worried faces.
Christine.
"Christine!"
Stephen raced forwards, following the trail of blood. "Christine, wait! I can help!"
She wasn't looking at him, though, like he wasn't even there. Her face was contorted in incredible worry, as she looked down at the patient. Who was the patient? Stephen ran faster, trying to catch up to them to see if he could assist.
...
The patient was him.
Bloodied, bruised, his hands mangled...mangled beyond all reason, beyond help, beyond hope...blood everywhere, so much of it--
The sound of a car crashing echoed through the halls and without warning, a sports car--his car!?--smashed through the dirty, stained walls and he dove out of the way only just in time.
There was a terrific rending noise like the whole world was getting torn in two, and Stephen shut his eyes--he was shoved to the side by crashing walls, though they didn't really sound like walls. They sort of sounded like wet meat. Schlup, slurp. He peeked an eye open, the car embedded in the ceiling and the wall where it had 'landed', but instead a break in the drywall and concrete, it looked like someone had smashed into a butcher shop. Goo and unidentified flesh dripped from the hole in the celing, splashing on him. He was a doctor, he wasn't afraid of this, but...it was certainly disgusting. And it didn't make any sense. There was something horribly wrong...this couldn't be real. This was a dream! It had to be!
"Christine!" he ran towards where they had gone down the hallway, minding the destruction from the strange appearance of the car, and dripping meat. They could have gotten hurt--
--there were bodies everywhere. Injured horribly. He immediately set to action, but there were too many--too many, he couldn't save them all. He wasn't an ER doctor, this wasn't his specialty, he couldn't--no, Christine--he ran over to her side, where she was hurt beyond what anyone could scarcely bear.
"Christine! Christine, stay with me," he reached over to check her pulse. She had to be dead. There was no way she could survive with that much damage--this wasn't real. He was dreaming. Wake up, Stephen! Fight this!
"Stephen..." she mumbled, looking up at him with eyes that had someone turned white, like she was dead already. "You let me down. Like you always have. I shouldn't be surprised."
"No. I'm here, I can save you--I'm the best, I can save you--"
"It's your fault," tears spilled from those dead eyes. "You...all I wanted was to help you. And you were so cruel. How could you be so mean, Stephen?!"
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...I was horrible to you, Christine, I wanted you to forgive me but--"
"I could never forgive you," she said, her voice small and fading. "I want you to live with the pain that you caused me. Because no one cares for you, Stephen. I was the last one. You have...no...one. No one at all."
He felt a cold chill grab at his soul and not let go. She was right...this didn't make any sense but she was right...if he couldn't get out of this mad landscape...who would miss him? Who would even realize he was gone? Wong? Mordo hated him too...the Ancient One was dead...and Christine surely didn't...
He was alone.
And no one would care when he died.
Stephen sat down suddenly, roughly.
No one had cared that he died.
Suddenly, horrific-looking wounds appeared on his chest, where Dormammu had stabbed him with shards of rock. More wounds appeared where he'd shot him full of holes with some kind of light. They weren't bleeding, they were just sort of there...maybe real, maybe not. He couldn't really feel anything at the moment, he was so cold. The feeling of all those moments...of dying echoing louder and louder in his mind.
No, this wasn't real! This wasn't real, fight it--
He'd did it to save the world, but did they care? Did they know? What was the point of doing all this if no one knew? Wasn't that what he cared about, his name getting known? Recognition? His name on procedures? Well he saved the whole world and they wouldn't know!? He went through all this horror and were they even grateful?
They didn't even care that he'd lost his hands. He looked down at his hands, for some reason his gloves weren't there anymore. Had he taken them off? He couldn't remember. But the scars were..growing. Writhing, like snakes. They opened up, like they'd been torn open, revealing the bones and metal pins inside.
Stephen just stared dully.
His hands. Useless.
Just like him.
Useless.
Unloved, unwanted.
The imagery disappeared on his person, turning into smoke and drifting away into the ceiling. He wasn't actually injured, and his hands were quite fine. But he just sat there, staring numbly at them.
What was the point of fighting back against this place when it was...quite right about everything?
B. One of My Turns
Stephen was a stubborn man, and frightfully optimistic in the face of certain defeat.
The fact that he succumbed was an equally frightening thought, and despite the black grip that was now cemented around his heart, he was still fighting. He'd done something...terrible, he'd...despaired.
Maybe because they were right. He didn't deserve a second chance. He was unloved and unwanted anyway. Might as well stay here, where he belonged.
No--that wasn't right! That was...there was a mission, he had to get back...find the others...right?
Stephen stumbled through the hallway, it was reminiscent of some kind of industrial area now, but every so often there was something odd about the walls. Like it was living...like it was part of an organ...he was a Doctor, he should help...but there was no helping whatever this was...
...might as well just stay here where he belonged--
--no! Where was this all coming from? He'd despaired, yes, but didn't mean he was down and out for the count. He'd made a mistake, and this whole thing was probably a dream anyway...though in his experience, it really, really probably wasn't. Regardless, he had to find the others, he needed help--
--he was getting really tired all of a sudden. He leaned against the weirdly warm steel wall, a part of it shiny like a mirror besides being covered in barnacle-like rusty growths. For some reason he caught a reflection of himself in the glass--
--his eyes were red. Like, actually glowing red. And black streaks were curling round the side of his cheeks...no, wait, what was that? He reached a trembling hand up to his cheekbones when suddenly bone just...spurted out of his skin. Ripped right out.
"HUUAHHHHHGHHHH--"
He pressed his hands to the mirror-like surface, trying to get a closer look. Like a knife, the other cheekbone did the same thing. Blood dripped slowly from the eruption. What the--suddenly pain, emanating from his whole face, his mouth on fire, he couldn't see, couldn't think--just pain and something warm where blood dripped from whatever was going on. He could feel it though, pushing past his nose, his mouth--was it bone? He could see it--something bone-like and white, like a beak was erupting from his entire face, or his face was sort of melting into it. It just kept growing and growing, until he caught sight of himself in the mirror.
He almost laughed, it was so absurd--he looked like a ridiculous bird, like a bird-skull had simply replaced his face...wait, he'd seen something like this before. Plague doctor mask?
At least the pain had ebbed. Blood dripped from where the bone 'mask' was connected to the rest of his head, which was fairly normal, right up to his scalp, his hair, sweaty and disheveled, sticking to it.
He seemed like he had a clearer mind now, the shock of this all had really brought him back to himself. They were on a spaceship...something had happened, something had tricked him into despairing, and he had to get out of here. He needed help!
"Is there anybody out there!?" he yelled, making a run for it down the hallway.
His hands began to ache something fierce, even moreso than they usually did.
"I need help! Somebody!?" his hands--his gloves were long gone, somewhere--were starting to--his fingers were melding together. No...no, stop, not his hands! There was nothing he could do...he could only watch helplessly as his fingers melted together, hardening into some kind of bone-like structure, like a spike at the end. It was growing, too, becoming more narrow, and scythe like.
"Stop it! You have to stop! Whoever's doing this...please, we can work this out! What do you want? There's got to be something that you want..." Stephen couldn't figure out what the point of all of this was. Just to torture them? He stared at the horrific-looking scythes that were now where his hands were supposed to be, extending at least three feet out. Despite the madness, he chortled out of sheer absurdity.
"I mean...I could save money on shaving, but not like this..."
C. Comfortably Numb
Help came too late, probably. Or maybe it just wasn't enough.
He couldn't really remember.
It all felt like a dream. And this was reality.
No matter how much he tried...he couldn't free himself from the black grip on his heart. It was like sinking into quicksand.
And the quicksand had eaten him whole.
*****
A golden circle appeared and a skinny, scythe-like arm shot out of it, swiping at anything it assumed was still alive. And then, it shot back into the circle, disappearing completely.
Oh, teleportation had its uses when he wanted to hunt his prey. It was so easy to sneak up on them. A golden circle appears, a quick swipe, and it was all over.
On the rare occasion he felt like exerting himself, he'd make an appearance. Golden circle, and then...WHUMP.
A bony creature, like some enormous skeletal bird. Glowing red eyes were the only sign of life in that bird-skull face, like two rubies lost to the night.
He had some kind of body, covered in a black cloak, but one could see the skittering bone legs underneath. At least seven of them, even as he had a general bird's shape, there was a spidery-sort of undercarriage to the creature.
Tik-tik-tik-tik scurried the legs in the darkness.
Often the last sound a person could hear.
(OOC: Titles belong to Pink Floyd.)