Brendon slowly came to.
He blinked, but he remained in complete darkness. The sensation of the V.R. headset clung to his temples. He peeled it away slowly and squinted against the dim fluorescent lighting high above. He was disoriented. With great effort, he pulled off the device, a grimace twisting his face. Next, he pawed at the oxygen mask and clumsily pulled it over his head.
All of a sudden, pain shot through him, sharp and jarring, radiating from his ribs down to his leg. He touched his face, fingers brushing against skin that felt swollen and sore. His cheek, tender under his fingertips.
He looked down. Brendon noticed a grey walking cast around his left leg. He certainly looked and felt like he'd been in a car wreck. He shifted slightly, intending to get off the trolley. But the moment he moved, a stab of pain lanced through his ribs. He clenched his teeth, trying to suppress a groan. He needed to stay quiet.
As he steadied himself, he took in his surroundings. He was somewhere in the middle of the warehouse. In each direction, lines of trolleys held patients wearing V.R. sets and oxygen masks. There must have been hundreds. He looked around and saw the gantry over his left shoulder. The familiar site helped anchor his position in the vast room.
His gaze drifted to the next pod, and his heart quickened. There she was, Grace. She lay motionless, her VR headset still in place. A wave of mixed emotions flooded over him. As far as he knew, he had just spent nearly three years with her, building a life together, raising a family in the serene surroundings of a perfect seaside idyll. Had he been an idiot to give that up? Could he not have accepted it for what it was, played along? He dropped his head and shook the thought out.
He dropped down from the trolley and hobbled over to her side.
He leaned closer, his hand trembling slightly as he reached out to gently stroke her face. His fingertips brushed against her skin, her real skin, tracing the contours he had longed to touch for real.
He knew the answer.
It had been a false make-believe life that she had trapped him in. She was determined to live it her way no matter what the cost. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision. He wanted to pull her from the depths and bring her back to him the way he remembered her being, but that person was gone forever. For now, he simply gazed at her, lost in the moment, feeling the old connection between them barely still alive.
High above on the gantry, a door burst open.
Vincent stormed into the dimly lit space, his imposing silhouette framed against the harsh fluorescent lights. The heavy thud of his boots echoed through the chamber as he leant on the railings and scanned the room. His single eye narrowing when it landed on Brendon.
Brendon's heart jumped.
Panic surged through him, but his leg throbbed in pain. Whoever patched him up obviously didn't bother with painkillers. He glanced around, desperate to gauge his options. The rows of trolleys seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions.
He clearly couldn't outrun Vincent, not with his leg the way it was, but he equally couldn't just stand there and wait for him to pick him up.
He squared his shoulders and made a bold decision.
Offense was his only option.
Brendon turned on his heel, pushing through the pain, and tried to bolt for the gantry staircase at the corner of the massive room. Each step sent fresh jolts through his injured leg, but the rush fueled his movements now. Vincent watched him from his perch.
Brendon was underneath the gantry now with a clear run towards the stairs free from Vincent's monocular gaze. He could hear Vincent's footsteps picking up speed on the metal grates, growing louder above him. The sound bounced off the walls. Brendon glanced up and back, catching sight of Vincent barreling towards the top of the staircase.
Brendon gritted his teeth, forcing himself to push through the agony. He quickened his pace, the world around him blurred into a haze. The back of the staircase loomed closer as he hobbled along, leg protesting with every stride.
He reached the back of the staircase, and stood underneath it. Vincent arrived at the top breathless and frantic. Brendon watched as he seamlessly transitioned from a sprint into a fast descent down. The metal steps reverberated under the punishment as he pounded down them at a terrific speed.
His shadow eclipsed Brendon as he watched the soles of his boots above him make their way down until the backs of his ankles were on the step right in front of his eyes. Then with all his focus and strength he could garner, he reached out and grabbed one of Vincent's ankles through the space between the metal stairs. He yanked back on the leg with all his might, pinning it to the step.
Like a tree that had just been felled, Vincent fell headlong into the air space in front of him. His speed and momentum meant he didn't have much time to cry out before his head smashed into the edge of the last step, hard. The rest of his body crumpled on top of itself like a dropped rag doll.
He laid there at the base of the stairs. His body unmoving in an unnatural-looking heap. Just a shallow groan emanating from his lungs.
Brendon seized the opportunity, his heart raced as he spotted a nearby fire extinguisher mounted on the wall. He lunged for it, heaving the heavy metal cylinder off its brackets. Losing traction momentarily on his left leg.
With a newly formed sense of determination, he hobbled toward the prostrate Vincent with the focused aim of ensuring his total decommission. Each step sent even larger jolts of pain through his leg. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he raised the extinguisher high above his head, ready to bring it crashing down.
But just as he swung, Vincent stirred, groaned as consciousness seeped back into him. In an instant, he realized the imminent threat, and rolled aside, narrowly dodging the base of the gas cylinder. The extinguisher clanged loudly against the floor. Brendon let it bounce away and roll to the side. Unable to counter its kinetic energy.
In an instant, Vincent sprang, electricity now surging through him. A gash in his forehead free flowing blood. He lunged at Brendon, grabbing him by the collar of his hospital gown and yanking him down with force.
Brendon stumbled, struggling to maintain his balance as they both tumbled to the ground. They grappled fiercely, both men fighting for dominance, their breaths mingling with exertion.
Vincent's muscles flexed as he overpowered Brendon, forcing him onto his back. The cold, hard floor pressed against Brendon's spine, and he grunted, trying to twist free.
"Fuck you!" Brendon shouted defiantly, straining against Vincent's weight. But the security guard's grip tightened, as a steely resolve began to grow behind his one cold blue eye.
Brendon's heart raced as he felt the heat of Vincent's body above him, the man's breath heavy and ragged. The struggle intensified, their limbs entwined in a chaotic dance for power. Brendon fought back with every ounce of strength, ignoring every signal of pain coming from his battered body. His mind now firmly in survival mode, but Vincent held him firmly in place. His strength an unyielding weight pushing down.
Vincent leaned closer, his voice a low growl. "You think you can take me down so easily?" he said, wiping blood from his eye.
Brendon's resolve flickered. He needed to break free, but the weight pressing down on him felt insurmountable. Each movement felt heavier than the last, his leg throbbing with pain, and Vincent's grip only tightened. In that moment, the fight hung in the balance, each second stretched into an eternity.
Vincent moved with precision and pulled out his sidearm from its holster. The metallic click as Vincent took the weapon off safe echoed around the metal walls. Brendon, now in a blind panic at the sight of the Glock 9, lunged forward, grabbing Vincent's wrist with both hands. He pushed with all his strength, desperate to prevent the gun from leveling onto him.
"Get off!" Vincent growled, his voice low and menacing. He used his free arm to knock Brendon's grip away, sending one of Brendon's hands flying off. Pain shot through Brendon's shoulder, but he couldn't afford to back down.
"No!" Brendon yelled in a long exhale.
Vincent began to level the gun, his solitary cold blue eye narrowing as he tried to aim at Brendon's head. The dark metal of the matt black barrel moving slowly into position, and for a brief moment, time seemed to freeze. Fear surged through Brendon; this was it. If he did nothing, he was dead.
In a flash, Brendon's gaze darted to Vincent's shirt pocket. A glimmer of hope sparked in his mind. He reached in and fished out the silver metal ballpoint pen. With a swift flick, he reoriented it in his hand.
Vincent's single eye bulged as he watched, mesmerized by this display of dexterity under pressure. With a burst of anger, Brendon jabbed the pen with all his might into Vincent's pronounced eyeball.
The point sank deep in, and Vincent screamed, a raw, visceral noise that reverberated through the warehouse. He recoiled, pain radiating from him as he instinctively pulled away from Brendon, but kept the gun firmly in his grip.
Now free, Brendon struggled to his feet, heart pounding, while Vincent rolled back, clutching his eye, blood now streaming down his face. The pen still embedded in the socket, protruding from between his fingers. He staggered to his feet, his breath coming in ragged gasps now, as he waved his gun in the rough direction he thought Brendon was.
Brendon started to scramble away, desperately searching for cover. His heart raced as he did his best to leopard crawl to the edge of the staircase, the plastic cast giving poor grip on the smooth floor. He glanced back to gauge Vincent's movements. Each inch felt like a monumental effort, but survival propelled him onward. He needed to get around to the other side of the staircase to put a barrier between him and the blind gunman.
"Where are you, you fuck?" Vincent yelled, his voice filled with rage and agony. Spit flying from his bloodied lips. He strained to compose himself, still dazed from the sudden turn in his fortunes.
As Brendon shuffled on the ground, the sound of his cast caught Vincent's attention. With a furious shout, Vincent began to fire wildly, his shots echoing through the chamber. Bullets ricocheted off the walls, the noise deafening.
Brendon curled himself instinctively into the fetal position. Some of the shots missed him by inches, others by tens of feet. He looked up to see blood seeping from a head wound to a patient lying on a gurney close by. Their V.R. headset was shredded to pieces.
Vincent, fueled by pain, rage and adrenaline, fired again. This time, the bullet struck one of the O2 tanks under a nearby trolley.
A hiss was then followed by a loud bang, and the tank exploded in a brilliant flash of fire, flames licking hungrily at the surrounding area. Fire spread quickly to several of the other trolleys, engulfing the patients within them too.
Brendon stared in shock.
Horror etched itself across his features. The inferno danced wildly, casting flickering shadows across the warehouse. He staggered to his feet, shaking off his initial paralysis of fear. He had to move.
At that moment, Dorian burst through the main door onto the gantry. "Fuck!" He expelled as he watched the chaos to his right, just as the fire detonated another O2 tank sending another massive fireball further into the room.
Vincent stumbled.
Now completely disoriented.
No longer clutching his eye, he held his pistol in both hands, attempting to pick up any sound that might indicate Brendon's location. He swayed slightly, his back turned to Brendon, the pain and confusion causing him to lose all focus.
Brendon seized the opportunity.
Moving as quickly and as quietly as possible, he slipped around the back of Vincent, his heart pounding in his chest. The chaos of the exploding O2 tanks and the ensuing fire provided a cover of noise he could exploit. He could feel his senses sharpening as he went on the offensive.
He spotted the discarded fire extinguisher lying nearby. In one fluid motion, he bent down, snatched it up, and swung it wildly at Vincent's head. The gargantuan effort strained his battered body even further. A scream of pain unconsciously emanated from his mouth as he swung like an Olympian.
The metal canister connected with a sickening twang square on Vincent's temple, knocking the pen out of his eye with a bloody spurt. Vincent's body crumpled to the ground, while his gun slid away. The weapon skidded across the slick floor, out of reach of either of them. Brendon paused for a brief moment, panting heavily, taking stock of what he had just done. He let his muscles recover just enough to move again.
The fire roared intensely behind him.
He surveyed the scene. Its flames licked hungrily at the surroundings. If he didn't move now, he'd be boxed in. Then he caught sight of Dorian at the top of the stairs, his expression blank but urgent.
Suddenly, another O2 tank exploded just below the gantry, sending a shockwave through the entire room. Dorian was thrown to the ground, and Brendon took cover behind the stairs.
The fire spread rapidly, engulfing more and more trolleys. The air grew thick with smoke, and the acrid scent of burning flesh. Nausea began to fill Brendon's head, but his survival mode wouldn't allow him to pass out.
He dropped to the floor, instinctively trying to shield himself from the onslaught of flames and debris. The world around him transformed into a hellscape of chaos and pain. The quiet fizzles of burning breathing tubes and foam mattresses acted as silent screams for the incapacitated victims.
He could feel the heat creeping closer, the flames danced at the edges of his vision, and he fought to steady his breath. Every instinct screamed at him to go to Grace and pull her out, but he knew he wouldn't make it.
Dorian paced down the stairs. The building's fire alarm blared, piercing through the din of destruction. Suddenly, sprinklers activated, sending a cold deluge cascading over the scene, drenching everything.
Rage flared in Dorian's chest as he caught sight of Brendon, who was struggling to maintain his footing on the now wet floor, at the foot of the stairs. The fire's glow cast an ominous light on Dorian's face, illuminating the fury across his features.
"You think you can just…" Dorian began, his voice thick with anger as he strode towards Brendon.
Brendon's eyes fixed on Vincent's fallen gun. Holding on to the back wall for support, he pushed himself upright with great effort. More pain, but he was becoming numb to it by now, determination driving him forward. He hobbled towards the weapon, his heart pounding as he somehow vaulted over Vincent's body. He inadvertently kicked the weapon on landing and the gun slid further away from him. Brendon lunged for it like a newborn giraffe, fingers wrapped around its grip.
With a quick, violent motion, he turned and pointed it at Dorian, staggering to keep balance. When the barrel of the gun steadied, Brendon aimed directly at Dorian's chest.
Dorian halted abruptly, his eyes widening as the realisation sank in. For a moment, the chaos around them faded into the background, the flickering flames and rushing water forgotten. The two men locked gazes, the air thick with tension.
Time stretched out as they stood there, each measuring the other's resolve. Dorian's brow furrowed, and a hint of surprise flickered across his face, overshadowed by an undercurrent of disbelief. Slowly, Dorian raised his arms, palms open, facing Brendon. Water streamed down his body, soaking through his clothes.
"Brendon, put the gun down," he said, his voice steady despite the tumult. The sprinklers continued to drench them both, a steady rhythm providing a soundtrack to the drama.
Brendon tracked Dorian's movements with the gun.
"I know what you've been doing," Brendon stated, his voice loud over the cacophony of the sprinklers. He tightened his grip on the gun. He somehow felt natural holding it. He knew what he was doing.
Dorian paused, his brow furrowed.
"Why did you do this to Grace?" Brendon demanded, eyes narrowing. "How could you do that to her? How could you do that to us!"
Dorian's expression hardened. "Grace came to me after she left her mother's," he said, shouting over the noise, voice steady. "She'd been away for a few weeks and then just turned up on my doorstep. She was in a bad way, Brendon."
Brendon felt his heart lurch. "Bad way? What are you talking about?"
"She didn't know what to do or where to go," Dorian continued, brushing off Brendon's incredulity. "She came to me for help."
"Help? You?" Brendon scoffed. "This isn't help, Dorian! You're…"
"Lost," Dorian interrupted, almost pleadingly. "That's what she was! Just like all these people." He gestured broadly to the chaos behind him. "They're having the time of their lives."
Brendon felt a rush of rage well up in him. "Time of their lives? You're chopping them up!"
"For the first time in their miserable lives," Dorian replied, voice unwavering, "they're doing something useful. They're helping other people."
Brendon stared at him, anger still boiling beneath his skin as Dorian's words sank in. How could someone twist compassion into this?
Dorian's voice cut through the chaos, firm and unwavering, as he faced Brendon.
"I gave her what she needed," Dorian declared, his expression resolute. "What she wanted. Look, I've known you most of my life. I love Grace. Do you think I would do anything to her that I thought would harm her or cause her pain?"
Brendon felt a wave of confusion wash over him. "What are you talking about?" He brought his other hand up to the gun, now cupping the grip firmly with both, uncertainty gnawing at him.
Dorian took a step closer, his hands still raised in a placating gesture. "Grace hadn't been happy for years. She came to me talking all kinds of crazy things about how she didn't want to live anymore, how she just wanted to end it, Brendon. How she couldn't take you trying to help her anymore. How you were suffocating her." Dorian paused, letting his words sink in. "This place…it made her happier than she'd been in a long time."
"Happy?" Brendon scoffed, shock etched across his face. "You call this happiness? You're lying to yourself. That is a computer game, and you are a butcher!"
"I'm not lying," Dorian pressed on. "She didn't want to leave. She felt alive here in ways she hadn't in ages. I would have pulled her out if she asked me to, but she doesn't want to leave. You've seen her in there."
Brendon's heart raced at the implication that Grace had chosen this life over him. "But she didn't ask you! You should've…"
"She knew the score from the start," Dorian interrupted, frustration lacing his tone. "Grace came to me for help. When I told her about this place, she understood what it offered…an escape from reality."
Brendon faltered, processing Dorian's words as they echoed in his mind like some kind of sinister mantra. "You think this is an escape? You think it's better than living?"
"Better for her," Dorian countered. "You don't know what she was going through when she left you. She was lost and broken, you couldn't see it."
"And you think trapping her here fixed that?" Brendon shot back, each word dripping with contempt.
"I helped her," Dorian replied earnestly, his voice steady despite the turmoil around them. His eyes bore into Brendon's with a fierce intensity.
"Helped her?" Brendon spat, anger boiling over at the insinuation that any of this could be considered help.
Dorian held his ground, refusing to back down under the weight of Brendon's fury. "Yes! She asked me not to tell you because she wanted space. She didn't want you coming after her, Brendon."
Despite the relentless downpour from the sprinklers, more explosions rocked the warehouse. Each blast echoed like thunder, a cacophony of chaos that swallowed the air.
Using the distraction to his advantage, Dorian lunged. Brendon barely had time to react before Dorian's body collided with him, sending them both crashing to the ground. The gun slipped from Brendon's grasp as they fell, clattering across the slick floor. His head hit the ground hard.
In the chaotic tumble, Brendon's finger accidentally squeezed the trigger. A deafening shot rang out, reverberating through the chamber like a death knell. The bullet struck another O2 tank nearby with a shattering explosion that sent shards of metal flying in a wave of flames.
Brendon and Dorian were propelled backward by the force of the blast, slamming against the cold concrete wall. The world spun wildly as Brendon felt consciousness slipping away, darkness encroaching on his vision.
He drifted in and out of awareness, disjointed fragments of reality flickering like a faulty hologram. Through his hazy sight, he caught glimpses of Dorian staggering to his feet amidst the wreckage. Dorian's figure swayed precariously; he looked dazed but alive.
The sounds and visions of chaos faded in and out of view for some time. Brendon could hear muffled echoes and see blurry figures as blue flashing lights pierced through the smoke-filled air, illuminating the twisted metal and scattered debris. Brendon's heart raced at the sight. Help was on its way, but would it come in time?
A firefighter emerged from the shadows, their silhouette outlined by flickering lights and swirling smoke. The figure moved with purpose toward Brendon, cutting through chaos like a beacon in darkness.
"Stay with me!" a voice called out, distant yet urgent.
Brendon tried to focus on that voice, fighting against the pull of darkness, trying to stay awake. He wanted to respond but found his mouth felt heavy and unresponsive. As he blinked slowly against an overwhelming wave of fatigue, reality blurred again.
The firefighter drew closer, reaching for him with steady hands. Brendon felt their grip tightening around him like a lifeline thrown into turbulent waters.
But before he could grasp what was happening or utter a word, everything faded away into nothingness as he succumbed completely to oblivion.