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Ultraviolet

Doom 3 Bathroom Scene +

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Part of this was something I wrote in my English class a few days ago. We were given "as I entered the bathroom" to start with, and Doom 3 immediately popped into my head. I originally didn't write much, so I just now got around to finishing it up. Enjoy... please. Constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated.

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As I entered the bathroom, the darkness itself seemed to shift. I convinced myself not to be concerned, though, because the darkness was simply concealing the familiar objects I had seen in this bathroom just two hours ago. I shrugged off the worry and approached the urinal, intending to relieve myself so I could be fully alert during my escape from this facility.

Luckily, I realized that there was only one, static emergency light in this room, and that the shifting darkness I noticed was not possible. I looked again, this time noticing something six feet away and three feet off the ground: slowly, slightly swaying, eight pointy, polished surfaces reflecting the soft glow of the emergency light over the entrance.

With this realization came the smell of blood. People I had talked to before had said that they never been able to smell blood, but I always picked up on something when blood had been let nearby.

I said to myself, rolling my eyes, "Hell, I'm just imagin--" My monologue was cut short when my rolling eyes' field of view passed over a severed human head, that of one of the scientists who routinely passed my post, peeking out from under the wall of the nearest stall.

"Oh shit..." I mumbled to no-one in particular. Apparently realizing that I was becoming aware that something was in here with me, the black void that I thought was moving when I entered revealed itself as a glossy, round object, with the eight chrome points jutting out near its underside.

The still-unidentified object swayed gently for a brief moment, then pushed forward, close enough to the light to reveal that it posessed broad nostrils on a blunt nose and bleeding, pink gums, but no eyes to be seen.

The creature further opened its mouth, accompanying the action with a loud, half-rumbling, half-gurgling sound, and the stench of decay. Did that bastard just belch at me? What the hell kind of mind-game is this?

I started to wonder how I had managed to be so cool-headed about this situation. Why hadn't I run? The answer jolted from my subconscious mind to my conscious mind: All along, somehow, I knew the creature was waiting for me to run. I am being hunted -- albeit from six feet away. I am being treated as a toy. Prey.

Three spots on the creature's head began to glow. I percieved this as a show of hostility, a sign of impatience on the part of the creature. The shock started to wear off, and I felt its "eyes" boring into me, tightening my every muscle. My body started to beg my mind to let me run, and my mind quickly capitulated.

I leapt toward the nearest stall and threw myself with all my might over its nearest wall, the creature crashing into the wall just as I made it over. I landed with a thick squishing sound. Looking down, I saw that I was now standing in the smashed face of the aforementioned scientist's head. I jerked my foot out of his now gaping jaw and placed both of my feet on the toilet, first out of respect for the dead, and then due to the realization that the creature could easily pull me under the wall if I left my feet there.

I peeked over the wall, seeing the creature scratching at it, trying to climb it. I pushed myself up and stood with my right foot on the door of the stall and my left foot on the wall that the creature was scratching. Nervously, I jerked my sidearm from the tac(tical)-holster strapped to my outer-thigh. Before I even knew what I was doing, five rounds had been propelled from the muzzle of the weapon.

I could no longer hear the creature scratching, could no longer feel it banging on the door. Two of the three lights in the creature's head were slowly dimming, the demonic life-force bleeding out of them, and one had disappeared, replaced by a cavernous hole, going all the way through the head.

I calmly lowered myself and approached the urinal again, intending to complete the task I had come to accomplish.

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Too bad the indents don't show.

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FIVE rounds to kill a pinky? Doesn't sound like THE pinky to me.

Oh well, small things department aside, I actually think this small story thingie is extremely well-detailed and well written.
Good work.
No complaints apart from the five bullet part.

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They say that a work of art is complete not when there is nothing left to add, but nothing left to take away. I didn't want to be too verbose, but I may have. However, I didn't want to compromise the atmosphere.

Just an afterthought I thought I should post.

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Very cool. I'd have thought 5 rounds to the head would be enough to kill the pinky, if it were a real thing, and if you hit it in the right places.

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AirRaid said:

Very cool. I'd have thought 5 rounds to the head would be enough to kill the pinky, if it were a real thing, and if you hit it in the right places.

With that solid, natural plating that it wears over its eyes? I doubt it.
Oh well.

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Thing is, if ONE well-placed round won't do it, then no number of rounds of the same type will.

I wonder if this was too descriptive to fit within all the grammar-newbies' attention spans. :P

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dsm said:

FIVE rounds to kill a pinky? Doesn't sound like THE pinky to me.

Oh well, small things department aside, I actually think this small story thingie is extremely well-detailed and well written.
Good work.
No complaints apart from the five bullet part.


...a friggin' Magnum, maybe?

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