DEFCOИ: Rewritten

Supernatural-er

Do you know what dying feels like? Everything around you starts to fade, and you become numb. A coldness envelopes you, and you are left with a multitude of emotions that you would not normally feel. But dying is only physical, right? No. No, because to really die is to have the entire mental structure collapse in on itself. Some men die with dignity, with honor. Those men are not my victims. Horror floods their veins at the whisper of my name and at the 'inhumanity' of my acts. The strongest of men cower like small children when I am present. My victims know Death, will know Pain, Despair. However, my victims are left physically unharmed. Why? The most amazing, astounding performance the human mind can display, is the one of self-destruction.

-Markus Gernt

(SAMAEL as dubbed by the Central Intelligence Agency.)

Date: 4TH DAY SINCE ARRIVAL

Time: 14:23 HOURS

Location: 20 CLICKS FROM THE CRASH SITE

Objective: FIND NOCTURNE

Sam trudged through the forest, and he knew he was lost. Perhaps it was the fact that he could no longer see any hints of civilization, or maybe it was the fact he could no longer pinpoint the frame of reference for the cardinal directions. Or it was just the fact he was fucking lost. His stomach ached in protest, but he pushed onward despite the pain of hunger. Fatigue was fighting his effort, however, and it was becoming harder to go further. Sam took deep breaths, and it was getting harder to focus. A quiet snap resonated at his 7 o'clock, and he pretended not to notice it. In actuality, he gripped his wooden weapon tighter, splinters piercing the contracting flesh.

SNAP

'One of those fuckers is behind me...'

Step...

Step...

Step...

SNAP

Sam spun around with his makeshift club and whacked an orange figure into the shade of the surrounding trees. He detected more movement around him, and he sprinted for the nearest light source. The damn trees were making spotting the tangos difficult, and he wouldn't let himself get caught with his pants 'round his ankles. He found a small clearing and the sun shone brightly down onto it. He barreled into the middle and kept a defensive stance. The orange pony who he had already familiarized himself with flew into the sun, propelled by some newly acquired black, leathery wings. As soon as she touched the rays of the sun, smoke rose from her body and she pulled back into the darkness.

He could see her glowing cat-like eyes glaring at him, and he promptly gave her the universal 'fuck-off' gesture. She pulled back, and as Sam was going to sit down and relax, he could see hundreds of those eyes stare at him from the blackness.

"OH FUCK ME!"

Sam began to panic, and he looked up at the orb of light in the sky, attempting to formulate a plan. He began to panic, and the fatigue that had plagued him came in full force, knocking him straight out of the realm of the awake.

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Sam's hand gripped the chilled metal rail, his gloves providing no shelter for his already cold hands. Puffs of hot air condensed ahead of him, and the dark night sky surrounded him. The snow fell onto the rooftop gently, the flakes landing and sticking together, forming the blanket of white around the city. The breeze blew through, and Sam could feel hot tears falling from his face. His phone sat on the railing, seemingly watching him. A crowd had gathered in the street below, all staring up at him with curiosity, which then turned to fright. He took off his jacket and placed his feet on the ledge over the railing. He looked up at the moonlit clouds, then back to the orange-lit streets of London.

He could hear the maintenance door on the roof open, and shut from the wind. The cold current bit at his exposed arms and neck. The tears were freely falling, and he recounted the events prior to this moment. David trying to stop him, Omar trying to stop him... Ashley. He cried openly, and his face twisted in sadness. A voice called out from behind him, the voice of Ashley.

"Sam! Don't do it! Please!" She cried out.

He looked back at her, her once beautiful face smeared by mascara. Her golden locks hung limply on her face. Inside, Sam felt a pang of guilt for having done this to her. He looked at the lights of the city, then back down to the street.

"Please! Come back inside! You need to calm down!"

He turned toward her, and despite the overwhelming cold, he kept alert.

"I CAN'T DAMN IT! WHY CAN'T YOU SEE THAT!? I LOST MY PARENTS ASH! I LOST MY FAMILY! I LOST YOU, TOO!" He screamed, then turned back to the ledge.

"I tried to keep it inside, but the longer I held in, the more damage it did to me. I loved you! I still love you!" He shouted off, tears still falling. He looked down at the people below, and he took a deep breath.

"If you love me, then you'll get down from there!"

"You were all I had left Ash."

He let go of the rail, plummeting from the ledge.

Sam stared in shame as he watched himself fall. He looked at the prone form of Ashley as she stood, rooted to the spot where he had fallen. She disappeared in the black fog, and Sam now found himself staring at his own body as it lain in the middle of the road, paramedics rushing to move him. He remembered this day. The day his entire world changed.

"Is this the burden you carry? The one you hold so close to yourself?"

He shook his head.

Sam turned around and saw a human woman, one with a similar color scheme to the one he identified as Nocturne.

"Nocturne? Why are you rooting through my head?" He asked in a somewhat angry tone. Hopefully, memories of his laptop and bottles of hand-lotion did not appear to her.

She walked over to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. He felt the reality around him disappear, the cold night becoming nothing. He was now standing on the moon, watching a familiar being cry endlessly in space. He wanted to reach out to her, to comfort her, but he had no physical form. He looked down at himself, and found nothing to be there. As he looked back up, he could see Princess Celestia imprisoning her in the large marble cube, and he was stricken by several images of another Alicorn, one that was hiding a terrible secret. Her fangs slipped over her lip, and she sunk them into her prey. These images were thrown away by the touch of another presence, and he found Nocturne standing beside him once again.

"You are not alone, Sam. But you must remember, the only way to move on is to learn, not to forget. I will make you learn."

Images of a battle between Celestia and another black pony rushed his mind, then the feeling of loneliness. He tried to reach back out to her, but he could feel himself being taken away from her memory.

Date: 4TH DAY SINCE ARRIVAL

Time: UNKNOWN

Location: UNKNOWN

Objective: UNKNOWN

Sam bolted upright, but immediately regretted this, a burning pain spreading across his chest. He silently cursed to himself, then looked around. He was now in some sort of living room. There was dim light pouring in from the windows, and he could see that he was tied down. Again. He looked around, and after listening for a bit on whether there had been someone else in the house, he swore freely, and struggled against his bonds. The ropes around his wrists left broken skin where they had been tied, and blood was exposed against the rope. The strong strands had held together, and it proved futile to resist them. The table he had been tied on was pretty durable.

He gave up, and laid back. A noise broke his relaxation, and he tried to roll off the table. He managed to get on the ground... by flipping the table onto himself. The heavy oak held him down, and he now realized something.

'I need to think more often.'

His chest was aflame with pain, and he looked up, fearing what danger could lie ahead of him. He brought his eyes up from the dusty floor, and across the room of wooden furniture and paintings, he saw something that made his soul curl up in a ball and cry. There, in the doorway, was the little monster from the carriage. A menacing grin. Pointy teeth. Red bow. Ah yes, this certainly was the little hellion.

"FUCK OFF!" Sam tried to say, but it came out more as: "PHAK UFF!"

The little demon was coming closer, and soon it would be upon him.

"Mmm... mah sister was talkin' 'bout you, a big blood bag. Ah'm wondering how you'll taste." She said as she licked her lips.

As the little monster leapt into the air, a loud BANG raped Sam's ear-drums, and the monster was now in front of his face, her eyes boring into his. Above her face, in the center of her forehead, there was a hole. As Sam gazed through it, he could see a man holding a handgun. The barrel was pointing at him through the hole, and Sam tried to back-up, but he was still weighted down by the table.

The man came closer to him, bending down to meet his height. Sam could see his features clearly now, and the man seemed to be in his mid-thirties. He was wearing a suit that had several blood-smears and stains on it, his tie done up in a bandanna. Underneath his eyes, there were streaks of black, most likely made with mud. His face was narrow and elongated, and he had a stubble coming in. His eyes were bloodshot, and his pants too had been tattered, however, he still had a two other shirts. His black hair was combed back, and his shoe laces had been untied. A golden, though broken, watch rested on his wrist.

The man looked at him, his brows furrowing and his blue eyes staring at him in examination.

"Are you real?" He said quietly, nearing a whisper. The gun had been set down on the floor.

"What?"

"I SAID ARE YOU REAL!?" The man yelled at the top of his lungs, redirecting the handgun to the middle of Sam's head.

"Shit, shit! Yes! Yes I'm real god damn it!" Sam said, reasoning that he himself did not want to join the fate of the twisted vampire child.

The man then grinned, shooting upward, an insane flare in his eyes. He put the pistol back at his side, then bellowed:

"THEN WELCOME TO MY HUMBLE ABODE, FELLOW MAN!" He began laughing to himself.

However, this sporadic change of emotion returned, as he now looked extremely hostile. He set the handgun against Sam's forehead once more.

"We shouldn't let this one live!" He hissed to himself. Sam identified his accent as a Received Pronunciation, or more commonly known, a British accent.

"No! He is different!" He begged... himself?

"HE WILL BETRAY YOU!" His other self yelled at himself...?

"NO HE WILL NOT!" He bellowed back at himsel-Holy shit, this guy's a looney.

"Schizophrenia!" Sam blurted out randomly, the man turning to him, both of his consciousnesses staring at him in confusion.

"Ah, I forgot to introduce myself! I am Brandon Wright, MI6 operative extraordinaire! At your service!" He said with a bow, then turned his back on Sam and began talking to himself again. He set the gun upon the counter, now fairly disturbing.

"Brandon Wright works for no one!"

"Brandon Wright is me! Me! Not you."

"No, 'tis me!"

"You!"

"Me?!"

"Me!"

"You!"

He began to throw blows at his own body, and had failed to notice that in his insane, unstable behavior, he had knocked a knife off of the table over toward Sam. The knife had slid ever so graciously, jabbing itself into Sam's cheek. Though it had hurt like a bitch, Sam managed to free himself in an unrealistic display of Hollywood acrobatics. Sam managed to roll the heavy set table off of him, then cautiously stood up. His gaze moved to the gun on the counter, and beside them there was a small orange bottle of little white pills.

He tiptoed to the two items on the counter, and he found that the man had stuffed some of his own shirts and cloths into the dish-washer, and pots and pans that had been arranged around the room in an awkward manner. Sam grabbed a white-collar shirt, and he grabbed some jeans that were a little too tight for his tastes, but he looked proper now, not like some bum that had been set-on fire, then crashed out of the ceiling. He found some Caterpillar boots, and donned them without socks, all while this unstable man beat himself in the living room.

He contemplated whether or not he should pacify the threat, or end it. Pills, or gun. He didn't see himself as a bad guy, and he often chose to be morally aligned, so he took both the pills and the gun. He slipped the gun into the pocket of his... the man's jeans, then popped open the lid to the orange bottle. He spotted the man panting, lying on the ground in exhaustion. However, this did not stop the verbal attacks at his alter-ego.

Sam knelt down to the man, and as much as he wanted to cut his wrists open with a knife, he popped the pills into the man's mouth. The man thrashed about wildly, but a hard punch to the jaw and the pills were gone. Sam watched as the guy lapsed into unconsciousness, then walked around the house, searching for things that might be of use. However, before he could get going, the little devil that had 'died' earlier was up and kicking, so to speak. Nonetheless, it still made Sam scream like a bitch, then bust a cap in that bitch's ass.

"Fucking self-reviving mythological bitch ass pony vampire horses." Sam muttered, still not fully comprehending the true nature of how fucked he was.

The howls and calls of the undead horde drew closer...