Deliver Us

Realease us . . . Hear us . . . Aid us . . . Help us.
 * * *
It started as a harmless game . . . a past time for millions around the world . . . but no longer. The game has ended.
and so have the gamers.
I know this is kind of long, but please read it. I really do appreciate the comments I have had so far. Thank You.
==Prologue==
The small hand full of you who read the old prologue will notice that I changed it. I thought it just wasnt fitting as the prolouge and I may put it in somewhere else. Enjoy the new one
A lone man sat slumped in a office chair, staring at a vibrant computer screen. He was in a dark room, lighted only by the blue glow of his display screen. The room was ringed with similar computers, but none of then were in use. They were all dark and dusty, having not seen work in weeks. The room was in much the same condition, old and underused, the walls comprising of shattered glass windows which looked out onto a huge warehouse. The huge area faded off into the darkness and was full of broken pieces of metal and garbage. No one was in sight, the place was empty of all life, except for the one man at his computer.
The man was not in an empty room though. Around him, some in chairs others in contorted positions on the ground, were the motionless bodies of ten other men. All dead.
Some seemed to have died right in the middle of there work, heads resting on their blood stained keyboards. Others lay on the ground, limbs entangled in their chair, as if they had tried to escape some unseen death that had in the end taken them. All of them stared emptily into the darkness with glazed over eyes. Blood stained the floor.
The man in the swivel chair staring at the computer, though, worked as if nothing was wrong. He sat hunched in his chair, his fingers moving rapidly. His eyes were dark and shallow, his face lean and unhealthy. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth. But he remained absorbed in his work, paying no heed to anything but the flashing screen. Occasionally he would cough blood on to his keyboard, other wise never stirring from his typing trance. Sweat beaded down his brow. This man was sick and dying.
Then something went thump in the darkness, and the man stopped typing. He did not take his head of the screen, but seemed to stop and listen. Silence pervaded, nothing sounded in the musty darkness. The man coughed and rubbed his eyes. He must have been imagining it. He resumed typing furiously, attention back on the computer. He would not have to do this much longer, he thought. It would all end . . . one way or another.
Something shot out of the darkness below the sick man, grabbing his arm. The man screamed in surprise, falling bacwards onto the hard ground. His head slammed against the cement floor, eyes blurring from the impact.
"Doctor . . ." a voice wheezed next to him. The man's eyes shot to his left and he yelled in horror. A body that had been laying on the ground next sat slumped up against a desk adjacent to his own. Its eye were clouded and blood seeped from their sockets. The Doctor sprang to his feet and backed into his desk in fear.
"I am no ghost, doctor." It said in a harsh, dry voice, "Do not fear me."
He turned his head towards the fearful man, "but I soon will be . . . I will finally depart this life . . . after suffering days of unspeakable pain." He barely mangaed to cough the words out of his throat.
The doctor stared at the gruesome shadow of a man, recognition dawning upon him. He knew the dried body that was once a man. A tear slid down his pale and shallow face.
"Micheal . . . " he croaked. He had not spoken aloud in days. "You are . . . alive." He rushed forwards and knelt beside the sad remains of a man.
Micheal coughed, "No . . . I am as good . . . as dead." he stared into the eyes of his friend.
"I barely have the will, the strength, to stay awake and speak . . . I have roused to plead with the last Operator, Dr. Phelps . . . you must succeed were we . . . failed." he quickly muttered in his dusty worn voice.
Another tear rolled down Phelps cheek, "It is to late Micheal, I am dying . . . just as the rest did."
Micheal grabbed Phelps hand tenderly, "We all die Doctor . . . We must only make our lives . . . worth the sacrifice."
he mumbled, "Keep them alive . . . as long as you can."
Phelps looked down at the floor, fatigue weighing down his limbs. His face was sad and tired.
"So many have died already," he whispered, "None will survive."
Micheal stared long at the tired doctor in-front of him.
"They must," he said as firmly as he could in his weak state, "Or you will have failed us all."
Phelps looked away from the ghostly glare, body shaking. And for the first time since this horrible thing started, he felt defeated. The stress that had been his life collapses upon his shoulders that very moment, breaking him. Tears fell from his dark cold eyes. He could not live like this much longer.
"Be strong . . . don't give up all that is left . . . don't give up . . . hope, doctor." Micheal said softly,"You . . . must seal . . . the chambers."
The doctor looked up at the dying man before him, face full of anguish, "No . . . No, I can't. It will surely destroy them."
"Did you not say . . . they would all die . . . anyway." Micheal coughed
Phelps scowled, "It doesn't matter, I will die soon and the the final lobby will fall with me."
"It is our last chance . . ." Micheal wheezed.
"It will never work, it is only prolonging the inevitable."
"It must work . . . or all will be destroyed . . . " Micheal's speech became slow and and slurred. He opened his mouth to speak again but nothing came. He coughed on last time then went still. Fresh blood dripped form the corner of his open mouth, and the feint light left in his eyes went out. His lifeless corpse resumed its empty stare into the dark computer room, finely giving up life.
"Micheal . . . Micheal . . ." Phelps grabbed the dead mans arms and shook him in frustration, "I wont do it Micheal . . . do you hear me Micheal." He yelled in anger, shaking the corpse. "LISTEN TO ME."
Micheal did not answer, he never would. He had finely passed on. Phelps fell back against his desk in surrender. He rubbed his aching head and red eyes. His strength was fading, fresh blood dripped from his mouth and nose. Life was leaving him.
He stood up slowly and sat back in his chair. Micheal's words rang in his head, throbbing in his thoughts. The end of every thing was near. The world would fall, and everything would be for naught. Nothing could stop it, Micheal was wrong , In the end, it would be the same result. Phelps looked up at the shining blue computer screen in front of him. At the corner of the screen there was a red button. It was small and almost unnoticeable, but in its entirety, it could save mankind. On it were two simple words . . . Seal Chambers.
Phelps stared at the words intensetly. He was the last one left . . . the only one who could change the world. The end would come someday, but he must try anything . . . anything that might work. Phelps opened a drawer on his desk and looked inside. A small handgun lay inside, covered in dust. Phelps hurriedly grabbed it and laid it on top of his old blood stained key board. He glanced back at Micheal's body, and frowned.
"Good bye . . . friend." he choked.
Phelps slowly clutched the gun in front of him and raised it to his head. He then grabbed the small computer mouse on his right and moved the cursor on the screen over the small red button. His hand shook and sweat fell down his forehead.
"For humanity," he whispered.
The mouse clicked.
A gun shot echoed through the empty room and Dr.Phelps collapsed onto his desk. A loud clang echoed far off in the abandoned warehouse, followed by many others one after another. A small warning beeped on the computer screen.
CHAMBERS HAVE CLOSED . . . CHAMBERS HAVE CLOSED . . . EXITS HAVE SEALED . . . CHAMBERS HAVE CLOSED
The end had begun. .
==Chapter 1==
Something faintly echoed in the long dark corridor. The small echo of a noise disturbed the once quite hallway, which looked as if it had been abandoned quickly and suddenly long ago. Chairs and tables lay broken on the floor, accompanied by trash and dirt. Items were strewn on the floor; glasses, books, cell phones. All dropped by someone with the desire to get far away as fast as possible from the horrible place that was the corridor. The architecture of which was daunting and threatening to behold, with had high vaulted ceilings, casting menacing shadows on the towering ceiling. The floor was very broad, with mirror image passage ways breaking off into misty darkness every hundred yards. Everything stretch off into darkness, with only the occasional grey light of a small windows high in the shadowy sky. Their seamed no visible ends, garbage and broken furniture items fading down the hall. The place was cold and foreboding, abandoned long ago and left to fall into ruin.
A ruin which had sat in silence for years. Though the air was still heavy with stillness and loneliness, the silence had been broken by a far thumbing. Barely audible at first, the sound grew, shattering the dead air out of it stupor of sound. The thudding and rustle of bodies could soon be distinguished, coming fast down the long corridor of dread. Soon out of the the darkness men began to emerge. They came quickly out of the hazy distance moving in stride and deliberately. They were all dressed like soldiers, with combat boots and green fatigues that were faded and torn in some places. The weary battered looking men held guns, Some of them with large machine rifles, others with small handguns. The guns looked old and terribly overused, much like the men clothes. They all had Kevlar vests and were loaded to the gills with grenades, bullets, and knives. They looked like a special forces team only seemingly older, dirtier, and much more worn out. They all seemed exhausted yet they marched ruthlessly, feet pounding the old garbage covered ground.
The cause for there tiring pace seemed to come from the man at the groups lead.He was dressed differently then all the others, having on a dark black suit and overcoat. His silhouette seemed to melt right into the darkness around him, his clothes being so black and untarnished. His face, though, was covered in grim and dirt, steely eyes fixed on the distant end of the huge corridor. He stood out from the rest not only in appearance but in manner. He walked steady and strait, eyes never wondering, his posture like an arrow. He showed no appearance of being tired or winded, looking more energized and determined. His company, on the other hand, were crouched and looked weary, eyes darting back and forth in a nervous fashion. Some held there guns in the ready position, as if expecting an attack.
They walked past the broken and destroyed sitting areas. They all ignored the disturbing sites, yet they seemed to try and distance themselves away from the chilling rubble left behind by people who had been here long before. One of the men, his glare glazed and deprived of rest, stumbled over a broken chairs blocking his path. The sound of wood breaking echoed through the dark hall. The group stopped sudenly. The man in the suit looked back at the soldiers who had stumbled behind him, who had now suddenly become alert.
"Silence," the leader spat. He eyed all the men then turned back around and continued forward.
The soldiers stared at each other uneasily, the clumsy one looking around embarrassingly. They continued onward.
They traveled down the dark hall for hours never speaking, just walking. Every now and again they would see a body laying among the debris, its dead, cold eyes staring at each of the men as they passed sending dark chills down their spines. The corridor remained unchanged though, seemingly the same stretch of hall they had been in hours ago. They walked down what seemed to be a living nightmare. A cold never ending hallway, full of the bodies of people who had come before. But the true root of the unspeakable fear digging into each of the men as they pushed forward was the silence.
It seemed to emit a sound of its own. Nothing stirred and nothing could be heard but the small footfalls of there company. It was a hall of nothingness. Nothing but unbeatable quietness. It was enough to drive any sane man into madness. But the grim man at the lead of this band of soldiers would not allow it to take his men. He would not be beaten by the world. He moved through the thick silence with a scowl, his eyes still fixed on the never ending blackness before him. He and his men would get to the end and defeat the horrors of this place.
The group continued, hour after hour. Never stopping, never slowing, lead by the grim mans unstoppable pace. The men in the pack became restless and tired. They continually looked around the hallway and fiddled with there guns. The silence and darkness could only be withstood for so long, the weak were beginning to break. They would not last much longer.
A gun fired at the rear of the crowd and all the men halted and spun around in surprise and fear. A man at the end of the group was firing his machine gun into one of the long dark hallways branching off to the side. He screamed and sprayed his deadly rain of bullets down the empty hall. He sounded scared and crazed. The man with the suit pushed through the soldiers in his company and ran to the man firing his gun. He quickly wrestled the weapon form his white shaking hands. The crazy man stared at his leader with fiery eyes. He yelled and jumped onto the grim man, fists flying.
They both fell to the ground, the crazy one beating on the suited man. He yelled and cursed as he flung his fist towards the man. The leader pushed the mad man of himself and stood up, nose bleeding. The other quickly stood back up and pulled out a large knife. He had finally broken, he had fallen to the silence. He would kill any now, and he planned to.He charged his leader knife raised, going for the heart. The man sidestepped his lunge, though, and grabbed his wrist. He quickly twisted his hand and the wrist cracked. The man dropped the knife and screamed, this time in pain. The leader then brought his other hand around and slammed his fist into the mad mans temple. He crumbled to the ground, unconscious.
The man in the suit kicked the knife away and turned to the rest of his men. They stood and stared with wide eyes and frightened faces at there fallen comrade. Too shocked to move.
He pushed back forward through his men to the front of the pack.
"Take care of him how you wish," he mumbled as he walked. A few men glanced at each other and rushed forward to the fallen soldier. The man in the suit turned back towards his men.
"Do not fall prey to the darkness . . ." he yelled, his voice echoing in the emptiness,". . . or you will die."
One of the soldier in the rear held up his pistol towards the unconscious man, and fired. The shot rang though the corridor and then was swallowed up in the darkness. Blood seeped from the back of the now dead mans head. The grim leader turned back around, returning his stare down the hallway and walked forward. The men looked at there dead soldier in arms with fear and surprise, but then reluctantly turned and followed the man in the suit. They knew what had to be done, now was no time to stop.
==Chapter 2 ==
To be Continued 
==Chapter 3==
To be Continued 
==Chapter 4==
To be Continued 
==Chapter 5==
To be Continued 
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Category:Stories
Category:CosmoW11