DEFCOИ: Rewritten

Defensive Measures

A/N: I had a fuckin' HUGE swig of Nyquil because explosive diarrhea and vomiting is awesome. So bear in mind when I posted this chapter, I was under the influence of it, and I passed out on the keyboard right after doing it. Also, I am sorry for the small chapter, but I needed to put in a slight bit of foreshadowing and remind you that this fic is not dead. BTW, I loved Amnesia.

"Fuck... this MRE tastes like shit."

Sam chomped loudly on the bland and quite frankly, terrible food that he had found stored in the kitchen. A couple hours ago, Sam had finished the defenses and barricades set-up on the various weak-points of the structure, along with hoarding the weapon closet that was hidden quite hastily. Now with an MP7 resting on the table, and a opened MRE container, he was ready to meet, or reintroduce himself to the Mi6 Agent that he had tied up nicely aboard the coffee table. As Sam bit into another spoonful of the goop, he shuddered slightly, not liking what his taste buds were relaying back to him. The audible groaning of the agent came to his ears, and he gazed over at the struggling man.

"Hey, hey! You'll break the table, not to mention your own table!"

The man quit his physical protest and looked down toward his hands, which were bound to the table legs. The glass beneath him creaked and he could hear something crack.

"Now, I'll introduce myself. I am Sam. Now you."

Silence.

"Ah. the silent treatment. Nevermind, I already know who you are. Mr.Wright, was it?"

The man stared back with inhuman hate.

"We are actually on the same side here, and you should be thankful I haven't left you out there."

This finally sparked something, "What? Who's out there? Who are you working with, Yank?! You must be a defector!"

"First, let me tell you that what lies out there is by FAR, a worse fate than being tied to a table. I was working with the United States Government, CIA more specifically, when my mission took a sudden turn for the worst and I awoke in the middle of the damn woods." Sam growled at the last bit.

"There are things out there that exist in the realm of mythology, and not just that, but some asshole decided that adding a wee bit of vampires would be an excellent idea. You incapacitated one of them with a neat little hole to the brain."

"Incapacitated from a gunshot to the brain?" He said, still not accepting what was being handed down to him.

"Yep. I threw the little fucker down the basement, after I relocated all of the supplies of course. Did you know that the basement managed to find itself underground as well? It was surprising."

Suddenly, banging drew away the attention of both of the men, and they could see from the dining room, that the door beside the kitchen was shaking and rattling, however, was held back by some boards that had been installed on the walls.

"Now, in order to survive the night approaching, I need to trust you with a firearm."

"You mean MY firearms!"

Sam grinned.

"Yep."

Sam looked at his watch (the one he took from the bedside table of the bedroom ) and stared at in confusion.

"Hey, would you mind checking the time... oh, you're tied down. Nevermind, I'll have a peep at your watch." Sam said in a manic cheerfulness.

Upon seeing the time, Sam's face paled, and he retreated backwards. His breathing became erratic, and his hands tightened on the MP7 within his hand. The wind outside began howling viciously, and the house groaned against the wind. Sam darted over to the windows, and peeked through the boards.

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"Jesus Christ..."

Sam leapt toward the door, and the banging on the basement door increased.

"Sam! What the fuck is happening?!"

Sam did not reply, instead rushing up the stairs, where more banging followed. Suddenly, the sound of glass breaking filled the house. Groans were given by the boards on the doors and windows, and Brandon saw little stubs emerging from the spaces in between the boards.

A muffled voice yelled from above, "FUCKING MONSTERS!", and was followed by the sound of rapid discharges from the MP7. Then, the sound of wood shattering came again from above, followed by rapid thumps down the stairwell. What Brandon saw was nearly unrecognizable. An equine creature that was given a horn, and bloody bat-wings had emerged from its back. The creature tumbled down the stair case, little holes littering it. More movement from upstairs. Rapid banging and thumping. Glass breaking.

'What the hell is going on?!'

The lifeless form of the purple unicorn with wings suddenly reanimated, and as it was about to stand up from its position, Sam crashed down onto it, smashing it and gaining cracks and snaps from the thing. Sam stumbled about, then with an axe, approached Brandon really quickly, the lust for blood evident upon his face. Brandon flinched and shut his eyes, awaiting the death from his own axe. However, the table legs beneath him gave way, sending him into the floor. His back screamed in anger, and a sharp pain made itself known in his shoulder as a piece of glass was embedded into it. He opened his eyes and he saw the form of his L22A1 Bullpup. He looked up at Sam, and saw that there was fear and panic set upon his face.

"They're here."