Last Light Screenshot Short

Hey guys, ever since my laptop died I have not been able to work on my novel. So, in the meantime, while perusing Last Light screenshots, I decided to write a quick short story about a couple of them. Feel free to add to them, any and all creativity is welcome. I refrained from naming the two main characters as I wanted to allow some leverage to whoever, (if anyone) wants to continue the story. I will link to the two pictures, and then put up what I have of the short story. :wacko:

Screens:
http://s.wiiugo.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/metro4-600x378.jpg
http://xboxoz360.files.wordpress.com/2012/01/metro-last-light-screenshots-oxcgn-5.jpg

The Story:

The frost-bitten wind nipped and bit at the man's cheeks, but he pressed on. Trekking through a dead city that whined, whistled, and creaked at his presence, he snuck in between cars. Locked in a frozen traffic jam, he doubted these carcasses would ever budge again. He began to hear innumerable car horns wailing at one another, drifting on the icy wind. The shell of a bus rested at the forefront of the traffic, and the man felt as though it was the culprit of the highway of stopped vehicles.

The city pleaded with travelers, begging for redemption for it's role in the end of the world. No one listened to the city's cries, and it wept on. Picturing the final harrowing moments before the very end, the man envisioned a haunting spectacle of many warheads leaving their pods, correcting their trajectories, and ascending to the skies, black smoke billowing beneath them. The adjacent clouds caught a glimpse of orange hue as the nukes glided past.

The man wined beneath his filtered yet cracked gasmask, and when he came to, he was still in the lineup of cars. After changing the filter on his mask, the man ducked down, retrieving his slung rifle and creeping forward. His advancing was abruptly halted by the ear-piercing roars he felt would shatter his mask. He knew the feral scream... Demons.

Two of them were hunting together, soaring down the highway, prowling the area below. The man, upon hearing the beasts, slid behind the trunk of a nearby car. Although the man surged with adrenaline, his hands remained frozen beneath his gloves, and he feared that pulling the trigger would prove difficult. Not only that, but Demons were tough, ruthless beasts with a thick layer of skin covering their bony, agile structure. On another excursion to the surface, the man had witnessed a fellow stalker pepper a Demon with half a Pecheneg mag before it finally went down.

The man wasn't lucky enough to have a well-armed counterpart this time around, and he didn't have enough ammunition to take down one of the winged beasts. He had halved his ammunition by the time he left the last station on his journey, spending it on a vintage PSO-1 scope and it's installation, as well as two fresh filters. He only had two twenty round clips now, and it wasn't enough to get him out of the situation he had landed in. He also had three clips for his pistol, but smaller caliber ammunition was worth less than the rarer 9.39.

It was not the right time to be thinking about the currency rates down in the metro. On the surface, it meant the different between life and death. The man peered over the corner of the car, watching the hell-creatures scouting from the skies. They were aerial predators with no quarter as to what type of prey they would kill, so long as it could satiate their hunger.

Just when the man began to lose hope, a familiar sight and sound had filled his senses. The howl was one that he could relate to, he knew what it belonged to. The thin, malnourished beast skittered to the roof of the bus and moaned towards the sky. When more creatures didn't heed the call, the man assumed the howler was an outcast. It wasn't going to survive the attack, but he could use it as a chance to sneak into the relative safety of one of the ancient skyscrapers.

Just as he had hoped, the two flying beasts swooped down. Before the lesser creature had a chance to get off the roof, the winged horrors were on top of it, snatching it up and ascending to the air. Once there, the pair of Demons proceeded to growl at one another, clawing and biting at the helpless mutant locked in the deadly grasp of the talons. The man watched dark, ink-like blood pour from the sky, nearly solidifying in the cold before landing on the ground. The small howler was ripped apart, disemboweled by the blade-like claws.

Heavy breathing and a fit of the dry heaves made his gasmask fog up. When it finally cleared, he began to hustle to the nearest building. Looking up at the Demons, the howler had become unrecognizable bits of fur and flesh. The beasts were too invested in their kill to notice the man scurrying through cars. He made it up the steps and into the disheveled lobby. He knelt down, panting for breath as he slung the VSS Vintorez across his back, retrieving a journal and lighter.

His mission was clear. A naive, yet ambitious child had taken his fathers gasmask and gone to the surface, as he wanted to see the sky. That was four weeks ago. The man had warned the father of the threats above the metro: the Reich, mutants, weather, and radiation being among them, but the father persisted. He offered the man everything he had. The man had no choice but to accept the father's pleas. He used to be a stalker, heading to the surface to scavenge for the personal affects of the impoverished and downtrodden. If there was one person who knew Moscow inside and out, it was him. If there was one person who could survive on the surface, it was him. If there was one man capable of finding and returning the child, it was him.

As he flicked the lighter, sparking it to life in the empty, decrepit lobby; he heard a ghastly howl echo from the bowels of the building.

Something from within watched him closely, waiting to pounce.

 

(Thanks guys, I appreciate the feedback.)

The little boy sat and cried for hours on end. He couldn't have been more than seven years old, and he was completely lost. In his arms he clutched his small, ragged teddy bear. It's head dangled by one loose thread. The boy had been walking through an old, shelled home when the neck of the bear became caught on the back of a chair - ripping fatally as the boy kept walking. Once he noticed what had happened, he instantly collapsed to the floor in tears. Stuffing from the neck of the bear had fallen to the splintered floor. To the boy, it was the type of image that would resurface in his nightmares on restless nights to come. This was no ordinary bear.

The boy's father had given him the bear when he was younger, and the stuffed animal had always been with him since then. It was the symbolization of courage that inspired the boy. It was the bravery in the bear that allowed the boy to sleep on cold nights when the monsters seemed to be close. Scary stories told around hollow campfires within his station, depicting creatures that would sneak into the stations and snatch children out of their tents made the boy grasp the bear tighter at night. It was his hero, the one that would stay awake as he slept and ward off the beasts in the dark. It was his best friend, the closest thing in the metro he had to a friend. Without it, the boy was completely alone.

 

He could not remember exactly how long he had been on the surface, but his pack grew lighter and lighter as he replaced his filters just as his father had showed him. He only had a few left, and did not know what he would do from there. Was he close enough to the underworld to be able to make it there on the filters he had? He was unsure, and wish his best friend dead, he had cured himself of any and all yearn for exploration.

When the night grew close, he was sure the monsters would encroach on the perimeter of the unsafe house. Without his bear to protect him, he was sure that he would have to skip this night of sleep to stay alive. The boy would not have been able to get any sleep anyway. Every night he could hear the creatures moaning at the house from the street. The night prior he could hear ragged wheezing from the opposite side of the bedroom door.

Tonight, without his best friend around, the beasts would surely fear nothing.

 

The man drew his knife from the throat of the watcher. By the way it looked at him now, he felt it was once a man. It's teeth were rigid and mangled, placed haphazardly in it's agape maw. Drool spewed from it's mouth in a final gag. The man, careful not to get bitten, put his gloved hand over the mouth of the beast, muffling it's final moments.

He stood up and sheathed his blade. He was near the boy's location now, at least that is what a fellow stalker had told him upon passing. The boy traveled to the home his parents lived in before the war, and the man vaguely remembered searching for valuables there once before.

It was not going to be an easy trip back to the metro with a child in tow, as the nearest station was run by the Third Reich, who tended to shoot first, loot second, and ask no questions. On top of this, the man did not have nearly enough filters to keep two masks operational. Hell, he did not have enough to keep himself breathing. He was going to have to be adept in looting any fallen men he came across. He was destined to find this boy, as this particular child reminded the man of himself.

This is why the man had not yet turned back. His ever-decreasing amount of rations had begun to worry him, and the situation was not improving - he would be out of food soon. He had at first amounted for a three to five day excursion to the surface - it was now the ninth day. He was surprised he had any food left at all. As he walked, he began to see the house in the distance; the setting sun just behind illuminated it like a beacon in the dark and frozen tundra.

The man would make it there by nightfall.

 

I went on a writing spree today, I just want to get the rest of it typed and then we'll see what's up. I see your point though, perhaps I will ask Streff!

 

The moonlight splattered across the bedroom floor. The old and weak door defied time as the beast slammed against the adjacent side rhythmically. The boy screamed and his mask fogged up. He was on his final filter, and he had already gone through his empties, searching for spare breaths to prolong his youthful life by just a few seconds more.

The frosted hinges cracked and buckled, and the boy grasped his bear, preparing to join it. His ears perceived a violent howl, and he knew the door would break in the next few moments. The boy couldn't help but cry, as he braced himself for the end.

~~~

The man moved through the house. The watchers that came in the night had been following the boy for days. Most of the pack had been dispatched, and the man's rifle moved erratically in his hands as he scanned each room for the abominations. He could hear the commotion upstairs, and after taking two more beasts, he moved up the stairs to investigate.

It was the alpha, the man could tell by the black fur on it's back. The man took aim from the end of the hall and pulled the trigger, his burst making direct contact with the mutant. The dirty rounds went directly through the watcher, and through the door, splintering on impact.

The door pushed open and the beast fell into the room. the boy screamed in terror and wiped off his visor as the alpha scurried to it's feet and the man drew his blade. The monster raised it's body and let out a bellowing moan, never taking it's eyes away from the man. They both charged simultaneously, the alpha clawing and biting, the man aiming for the face, chest and throat as he thrust his blade forward with primal rage.