Rating: T. Just to be safe, you know.
Disclaimer: I don't own Silent Hill or anything related to it.

The loud, grating sound of a metallic object colliding with a tile floor sent miniscule tremors through Brookhaven Hospital. The arrival of the Great One was noticed instantaneously and stray demons fell into the darkness, using whatever shadows they could find to conceal themselves from the approaching entity. From their haven, the lifeless cretins peered at the Great One, shivers tingling under their rotted flesh from the simple sight of the being. They studied said being and gawked at him; at everything about him. The gigantic red pyramid-shaped helmet, the bloodied butcher's apron, and the oversized knife held within the Great One's latex-gloved hand filled the small demons with a strong sense of terror, the kind of terror one feels when staring into the eyes of Death itself.

Deeper still, the demons shrank back into the shadows, fear rising in their bellies as the Great One passed. The firm tap of black boots, followed by the screaming of the Great Knife being dragged, lasted for only a few seconds before all was silent once more. Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to hours and the demons continued to hide in their stygian sanctuaries. Though the Great One was long gone, far away within the depths of the hospital, not a dead soul dared to move…

-

Pyramid Head scowled in the privacy of his helmet. His fingers curled tighter around the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white, and he desperately wanted to swing his malevolent weapon at something, preferably a living object that could scream from the pain and writhe in its agony. But, alas, he could not. Not at the moment. He had urgent business to attend to that involved a certain, foolish man who had implanted a sense of fury within the large demon.

The demon remembered clearly the day when the unfortunate human arrived in his domain: Silent Hill. At first, the fragile man wandered the streets, as if without a purpose. The man, James Sunderland, had a purpose, however. His dead wife, Mary, called to him, haunted his dreams, and beckoned the man to Silent Hill and James, blinded by the lies he told himself, foolishly obliged with Mary's wishes. He couldn't live without his precious wife. He couldn't live with himself.

Pyramid Head easily sensed James' intentions of finding Mary and would have nothing of it. In fact, it was Pyramid Head's duty to eliminate the lies; to eliminate Mary. The truth had to be revealed to James no matter what the cost. To live in an illusion is to not live at all, and the ruler of demons quickly destroyed all the lies plaguing James, wanting the man to wake up from his "death", review his sins, and receive the punishment accordingly. However, luck was not on Pyramid Head's side and a new threat made itself known. Maria, the last memory of Mary manifested, tempted James further into illusions and was a persistent annoyance. Pyramid Head had to repeatedly murder the wench, but promptly learned that she couldn't be rid of so easily. Neither gun nor sword, neither pipe nor spear, could permanently kill Mary's familiar. Even the pyramid-wielder's brute strength barely inflicted a death upon Maria that lasted more than two hours. But Pyramid Head knew the true weapon that could erase Mary and Maria once and for all, and that weapon happened to be James.

With tricks of his own, Pyramid Head shoved the truth, the truth of Mary's death, in James' face and forced the man out of the lies. Just when Pyramid Head thought he had succeeded, James slipped out of his grasp and relapsed, running back to his long-dead wife. The illusion took full control over the man and drove him to the point of insanity; he attempted suicide, driving his car into the depths of Toluca Lake.

Six months had passed since that fateful day. In the realm of Silent Hill, however, time did not exist the way it had for humans in the outside world; what may have been years to a man would have hardly passed as an hour to a demon. Pyramid Head was especially grateful for this dimensional lapse. He would have surely gone on a ruthless killing spree had he waited the full six months. The demon's anger was still fresh from James' suicidal attempt and he couldn't wait to get his hands on the foolish man. James had run from the truth for far too long and it was time for him to come back home.

Pyramid Head's Great Knife screeched in anguish as its master turned into a dark corridor. The lights above the demon had burned out ages ago and blood, dried and wet, splattered the walls crimson. An old rotted and peeling sign hung from the hospital ceiling, stating that the large demon was heading towards the male patients' dorms.

Pyramid Head knew he was headed in the right direction; a cackling noise familiar to his ears grew louder with every step down the dim hallway. As soon as the demon approached a door marked with the number "205", the insane laughing came to an abrupt halt. Pyramid Head grunted softly, knowing what lay in wait beyond said door and gripped the brass knob taut in his palm. With a quick flick of his wrist he wrenched the door open, almost ripping it off its hinges, and slammed it against the wall. The hospital shook from the impact and the demon hastily entered the room.

Inside rested a dirty gurney, covered in grime and home to many large insects, and a few empty and disheveled medicine cabinets lined the walls. Against the northern wall stood a figure and Pyramid Head instantly recognized it. The being had a slim, flexible build and it wore a heavily stitched robe. Intricately detailed tattoos marked the demon's shoulders and its face was masked by an overlaying piece of flesh. Occasionally, said demon would twitch and tick uncontrollably, as if resisting a painful temptation.

"VALTIEL," barked Pyramid Head, acknowledging the other with a firm, dominating voice.

Valtiel chuckled softly and bowed his head sarcastically. "Great One," he replied, a hint of disgust showing through the demon's words. His left shoulder clenched and flexed briefly before he spoke again. "You've sensed it, too?"

Pyramid Head grumbled something unintelligible as he carelessly tossed his sword aside, resulting in a thunderous crash. With swift steps, the larger demon quickly made his way to Valtiel's side. His pyramid-shaped helmet faced away from the other as a sign of obvious distaste. Pyramid Head despised the smaller demon with a passion and if he could have his way, Valtiel would be drawn and quartered and hung up on a meat hook in some butcher's freezer; fodder for whatever scavengers decided to feast on him. But Pyramid Head needed the faceless being; his plan would be considered useless without the cackling menace.

"HE'S AWAKE," stated the Great One blandly.

Valtiel nodded in affirmation. He reached an arm above his head casually, his fingers playing with the rusted metal of a wheel-shaped valve that protruded from the wall, the tool that could change the very meaning of "Silent Hill". "So, I'm guessing that you're wanting to pay your little pet a visit?"

Fingers cracked in agitation at Valtiel's laid-back tone, but Pyramid Head kept his calm. "OF COURSE," he growled. "HE WON'T COME WILLINGLY. THIS IS THE ONLY WAY."

"That's true." Valtiel nodded once more before wrapping both of his hands around the valve. With extreme care, the valve began to turn, groaning in protest all the while. It turned in a complete 360 degree motion and it did so another time before it was released. Valtiel stepped away from the valve and wall, marveling at his newest creation, a dimensional tear that could immediately transport a being to another world. The dimensional tear, a dark, stygian whirlpool that clung to the wall, shimmered maliciously in the shadowy room.

Pyramid Head remained still, unimpressed by Valtiel's attempt at a brilliant portal. A low rumbling sound emanated from the beast's throat and his fists clenched, the latex gloves tearing slightly. His patience was running out. "ENOUGH OF THESE GAMES," bellowed the pyramid-wielding demon. He slammed his fist into the wall, leaving a permanent dent for all to see as a result of his impatience.

A soft sigh was heard somewhere behind Valtiel's mask, possibly a sigh of disappointment, and the smaller demon turned back to his wheel-shaped valve. He grumbled something slightly inaudible, probably a minor curse, and continued to make the portal to Pyramid Head's liking. With his right hand, he twisted the valve a few inches clockwise. The dimensional tear responded by darkening in color and it discarded its elaborate sheen. Valtiel's shoulders drooped, his neck erupting into a slight spasm lasting only a moment, and his hand fell from the wheel. He turned his head back to Pyramid Head and nodded, giving the Great One a silent "okay" to pass through.

With a freakish amount of grace and agility, Pyramid Head eagerly made his way towards the portal. He kicked off with his back foot and vanished into the depths of the tear, the darkness enveloping and devouring him whole.

Valtiel waited in silence for a minute or so once the oversized red pyramid disappeared into the separate world the portal offered. His face stretched and ripped, revealing a wicked smile as his playful nature birthed a twisted idea. With just as much grace and speed (perhaps more) as the Great One, Valtiel leapt into the portal, cackling all the while…

-

"Dr… --kins… Dr. Wilkins."

"Yeah?"

"Here are the results from Mr. Sunderland's CAT scans. It seems he's improving."

"Ah. Very interesting. Here, hook him up to IV #028. That should speed up his recovery process."

-beep beep-

"… Doctor… Did he just…?"

"It was just a miniscule fluctuation of his heart, that's all."

"No… Dr. Wilkins, look at Mr. Sunderland. He's moving. He's waking up!"

"… Wha--?"

James stared into the pitch black darkness behind his eyelids, enjoying the tranquility and privacy it offered. His fingers cracked and clenched unwittingly and James groaned, the stiffness of his body giving him great pain. He could hear two voices bickering back and forth, but he paid no attention to them. Instead, he concentrated on the voices coming from inside of him.

'Where am I?'

'It's so dark…'

'Am I dead?'

'No…'

'I'm alive.'

'But really, where am I?'

'Who am I?'

"Mr. Sunderland…" He heard a female's soft voice far off in the distance.

'That's right. I'm James. James Sunderland.'

"Wake up. Now." A man's voice. Demanding and firm.

'Wake up…?' James frowned inwardly. 'Aren't I awake already?'

"Christ…" The man sighed in agitation. "Don't make me slap you awake, you little--"

"Doctor!" The girl sounded appalled.

"Well, what do you propose we do, huh? What do you have in mind that could wake him up, Mary?"

Mary. Mary. That name sounded familiar, too familiar to the unconscious James.

A burst of white light blinded James suddenly, stealing away all the shadowy sleep that held the man captive. Every nerve and muscle in his body twitched back to life and sprang into action, catching up on months' worth of work. With a slight buzzing sensation, conscious thoughts sprang forth and forced the dusty cogs of James' mind back into motion. As the darkness began to melt away, James felt his eyes open up to the world around him, tossing him back into reality.

"Nnh…," James moaned as blurry images and colors flooded his vision and the light burned his dilated pupils, not used to such brightness. The muscles in his arm contracted as his hand automatically reached up to shield his blue eyes from the light. "Unh…" He allowed a few seconds to pass before he lowered his hand back to his side. His eyes took a moment or so to focus on his surroundings. The man could faintly make out two figures hovering over him and they slowly became crisp and clear in appearance.

On James' left was an older man with a grumpy, sour visage and his lips had contorted themselves into a frown. He had long brown hair that barely brushed against the shoulders of his white doctor's jacket and his eyes, blue in color (which James found peculiar), stared intently at James. Next to the doctor was a small woman, possibly just out of college. She had a slim figure, covered by a pink nurse outfit, and her face was pretty and easy on the eyes. Chestnut, brown hair curled around her jaw line and her brown eyes twinkled and sparkled in the light. Her rosy lips were twisted into a frown as well, though not as prominent as the doctor's. She was the first to speak.

"Are you awake, Mr. Sunderland?"

James scrunched up his face, his lips pursing slightly, as he took a second or two to comprehend her words. Slowly, he nodded his head. "I… I think so." The words came out hoarse and weak due to the dryness of his aching throat. While inadvertently rubbing the palm of his hand against his neck, hoping to dull the pain of simply breathing and swallowing, his eyes began to wander. "Where am I?" he asked, noticing how his surroundings weren't the least bit familiar.

The doctor ("Dr. Wilkins", his nametag read) leaned his elbow on the bed James lay upon. "You're in a hospital," he stated matter-of-factly.

Running his fingers through his blonde hair, which was in dire need of a wash, James frowned. The doctor's words proved true as he began to analyze the room further. He was surrounded on four sides by walls of pure white. On said walls rested a few pictures and medical charts which the average person would find complex and useless. Straight across from the hospital bed in which James rested were a few black leather chairs, possibly where guests or relatives would sit and chit-chat with the patient. By the looks of it, James hadn't had any visitors for a long time; the chairs were coated by a small layer of dust. Turning his attention back to the doctor and young nurse, James felt another question burn at the back of his mind. "What… What happened?" he muttered, unable to recall anything of significance about why he had been admitted into a hospital.

Both doctor and nurse scratched at their chins and fiddled their thumbs, glancing at each other to see who would go first. The nurse seemed to have the upper hand in this little battle, considering how Dr. Wilkins grumbled something unintelligible and folded his arms across his chest in aggravation. The doctor turned his gaze towards James and granted him his answer. "You've been in a coma for six months."

James could almost feel his jaw drop and his eyes widened in shock. "S-six months?! You're kidding me!" he yelled, springing into a seated position and staring in awe at the doctor.

Dr. Wilkins raised his palm to silence James. "We don't know all the details," he stated honestly, "but I'll tell you what we at the hospital do know.

"Around six months ago, the hospital got an emergency call. Someone had called, saying that they had seen a blonde-haired man floating, face down and unconscious, near the shore of Toluca Lake. The caller also continued to say that they had dragged the man back onto dry land and had properly administered mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. We proceeded to send an ambulance to retrieve the man and he was brought here, to the one and only medicinal establishment in this quaint little town of Silent Hill, Brookhaven Hospital."

James flinched inwardly at the two words: Silent Hill. He had heard them somewhere else before, but he was unsure where. Shrugging off the nagging sensation within him, James continued to listen to Dr. Wilkins' story.

"We tried our best to bring this man back to consciousness, but he resisted. Days turned to weeks and weeks into months, and still we waited, hoping that he would one day wake up." The doctor grinned slightly. "And now, six months later, the man has finally come back to reality. That's pretty much what happened. There are still many things we don't know, such as how you, Mr. Sunderland, ended up in the lake in the first place."

When the doctor gave James an inquisitive stare, the blonde man could only respond with a shrug. "I don't remember…" James sat in silence for a few seconds, turning over some thoughts in his mind. "Nope… nothing," he confirmed when the thoughts promised no results.

The doctor and nurse both frowned at this and James saw Dr. Wilkins pull a clipboard from his white jacket and scribble a few words down on it. "Can you remember anything that happened before today?" he asked, the doctor's blue eyes shimmering curiously.

James raised a brow and delved back into his thoughts once more. "Not really. I still remember things like where I live and who my parents are and stuff like that, but I don't know how or why I'm in this town."

Dr. Wilkins tapped the capped end of his ballpoint pen against his chin pensively. "What is your last memory before things begin to go blank?"

"Erm…" James fidgeted with his hands as he attempted to recall the event. "I was suffering from a vicious migraine and I had decided to go to bed. When I was under the covers, I pulled out something… a picture, that's right… from underneath my pillow. I remember looking at it and this horrible, sad, depressing feeling overcame me. Then that's where my memory stops."

The nurse's visage displayed a clear sense of curiosity as she piped up suddenly. "What was the picture of?" she asked innocently.

Dr. Wilkins scoffed at the nurse's words. "I believe what was in the picture is completely irrelevant, Mary."

James froze. A cold sweat took hold of his whole body, goosebumps spreading across his skin and his spine twitching and shivering. His blue eyes widened as far as they could. Shock and realization had struck the blonde a painful blow. Now he knew why the nurse's name, Mary, was so familiar.

The doctor and nurse both watched in horror as James broke down into tears, soft sobs escaping from his throat. "Th-the picture…," he began, a hiccup hindering his speech for a split second. "It… it was a picture of my dead wife… Mary." Memories of Mary flooded his thoughts at that instant and he failed at suppressing a moan of despair. Her sweet smile, their wedding, the day when he found out that his beloved had obtained an incurable disease, the many days he spent at her bedside, her death… The memories wrenched and tore at James' fragile heart and the man thought he'd die at any moment from the guilt and loneliness afflicting him.

Dr. Wilkins sprang into action, gripping both of James' shoulders in each palm, and he shook the blonde. "Get a hold of yourself!" the doctor demanded, fearing that James would 'lose it' and perhaps even fall back into the coma.

As the last vision of Mary faded away into the recesses of his mind, James' cries softened and he eventually quieted down. He reached up to brush off the doctor's hands from him and he sighed. "… I'm sorry," James whispered, wiping away the burning tears with the back of his hand. "I lost myself there for a moment."

"It's understandable…," said the nurse sympathetically.

James smiled weakly at the nurse's – no, Ms. Mary's – kind attempt at empathy, but he knew in his heart that his pain wasn't the least bit understandable. He sniffled slightly, and gripped the thin sheets of his hospital bed. His eyes still stung from the tears he had shed from his recent mourning, and he probably wished that he hadn't remembered his dead wife at all.

He turned his blue eyes, brighter than normal and slightly bloodshot, toward Dr. Wilkins. He saw the doctor jot down a few more notes on his clipboard, pause to nibble at the butt end of his pen, and then scribble a few more lines before the clipboard was set on a nearby table. The doctor's fingers meshed together and he rested his hands in his lap, his lips melting into thin lines as he did some last-minute ponderings. "James," he said suddenly, catching the blonde's full attention. "God, I hate having to do this, but it looks like you need one…"

James furrowed his brow. "Need what?" he asked, wanting yet not wanting to hear the doctor's reply.

Dr. Wilkins smirked sheepishly and scratched at his long brown hair. "Er, a psychiatrist. With the problems you have, you'll need one."

"W-what?!" James was baffled and outraged by the doctor's sudden prescription. "What problems?" He hissed out the last word with a strong sense of hate.

Raising his hand, palm up just as he had done before, he silenced James. He gave the blonde man a stern glare, a glare saying wordlessly, If you interrupt me one more time, I'm going to rip your tongue out and shove it right up where the sun don't shine. James decided it best to comply and he immediately closed his mouth before he could add another hasty protest. The doctor cleared his throat before continuing.

"I'm prescribing you a psychiatrist because you have some problems, though minor, that I'd like for you to get checked out and situated." Dr. Wilkins pulled the clipboard back into his grasp and he looked it over briskly. "With what you've told us, it's safe to assume that you have a small case of amnesia. However, no matter how minute it may be, an illness is an illness and we'll need to try our best to cure it. Also, it looks as though your wife's death has traumatized you a bit and it would be unhealthy to let you remain in such a…" The doctor stopped, thinking of the right word. "…dreadful state. Along with this trauma, it's possible for you to attain neurosis and your mind'll become even more screwed up than it already is."

James scrunched up his face in agitation, obviously disagreeing with the doctor's judgment, but what good would it do for James to argue? Dr. Wilkins was a stubborn individual and James thought that it would only be a waste of his breath to persuade the doctor out of the whole "psychiatrist" idea. Biting at his lower lip to keep himself silent, the blonde man nodded his head, the motion stiff and contradictory to his beliefs.

Dr. Wilkins smiled, half of his mouth contracting into a small grin, and he rested a large hand upon James' shoulder. "I'm glad you understand," he said, and James almost swore that the doctor had just brow-beaten him. The doctor let out a loud exhale and bent backwards a few degrees, resulting in a few cracks of his spine. He quickly returned his body back into good posture and nodded at the nurse, affirming that their business with James was done. At least for today.

Turning back to James, the doctor decided to fill the blonde man in on some details of his new agenda. "All right," Dr. Wilkins began, crossing his arms and watching James with a serious eye. "There are a few little rules that you should be aware of – that you should follow. First of all…" The doctor looked behind him, motioning towards a door in the back of the room. "The restroom's right over there. Don't be a retard and not use it. Bathrooms are there for a reason, so if you have to go…go."

James frowned, unable to laugh at the doctor's dark sense of humor. The doctor must have had some bad experiences with patients lacking the necessary potty-trained abilities.

"Second, you will not sleep tonight. I repeat, you will not sleep. After waking from a coma, patients are required to stay awake for twenty-four hours straight so as not to risk a second coma, or perhaps further brain damage." Dr. Wilkins looked down at his watch, tilting the plastic screen of it at an angle so the hands could be read. "You are to stay completely awake from 11:31 PM, the exact time as of now, to 11:31 PM tomorrow." The doctor noticed the shocked expression on James' face and chuckled. "Don't worry, we have methods for keeping patients awake. We've got you covered," he assured the worried blonde. "Mary!" barked the doctor, requiring the nurse's assistance.

"Y-yes, sir?" Mary replied, having just been woken up from what looked like a pleasant daydream.

"Let's get Mr. Sunderland some coffee, the good stuff, and I'll get his television set up…" The brown-haired doctor became flustered as his eyes twitched and wobbled in their sockets, desperately searching for something. A curse flew from the doctor's lips as he ran to the far end of the room and looked above and below some small cabinets. "Jesus! Where the heck did that remote go?!" he yelled, demanding an answer.

Oh boy, thought James as he watched the doctor scurry about the room, a panic attack ready to take the medic hostage if the remote wasn't found. This is going to be a long twenty-four hours…

"Ah ha!" The victorious cry took both Mary and James by surprise when the doctor's search proved successful. Now waltzing back to his patient and assistant, remote at hand, Dr. Wilkins grinned widely. "Here you go," he said, passing the small electronic device from his thick, aged hand to James' much smaller and softer one. James held the controller in his palm, studying the many different buttons and numbers before selecting a large, red button in the upper right-hand corner to press down upon. The television standing on a nightstand directly to his left reacted instantly, the black screen exploding into a burst of white and black static. James winced as the loud, buzzing noise from the TV scraped against his eardrums in an unpleasant manner and the blonde pushed down on another button, this time numbered. There was no change whatsoever; the television continued to static and screech disturbingly.

Curse after curse could be heard from Dr. Wilkins as the furious doctor lunged at the television. "Oh no you don't…," he growled, fidgeting with some of the buttons and knobs directly on the box. When his effort at getting a decent reception failed, he began to shake and pound at the television with his fists.

"Doctor! Doctor!" hissed Mary, quickly making her way to her superior's side. Her fragile hands gripped the doctor's wrists and she pulled the raging man away from the confounded piece of technology. "Stop it!"

Dr. Wilkins snarled as he pushed a stray strand of his brown hair out of his face, an angry exhale escaping his lungs. He turned his angry leer away from the television and when it rested upon James, the doctor's gaze softened and his lips formed a sheepish smile. Sorry, I lost myself for a minute there, the look seemed to say and James immediately forgave the doctor for his sudden burst of violence.

Mary patted the doctor's bicep softly, comfortingly, and she smiled, relieved that no real damage was caused towards the electronic box. "I'll be sure to get a repairman up here right away," she assured, following through with her statement by rushing out the door and down the hall.

Thankfully, there was a repairman working in a room downstairs of the hospital and he and Mary made their way up to James' room in a matter of minutes. The man, dressed in pale blue coveralls, wandered over to the television and took a few seconds to examine it. The problem was quickly recognized and the repairman set to work, fiddling with wires and buttons. His reparations were swift and accurate and in about a half hour, the television screen was filled with vibrant colors, images, and sounds. With his job done, the repairman tipped his blue hat and exited the room. Mary and Dr. Wilkins followed soon after, but they had to remind James of the rules he was given prior to the television incident. James promised that he'd be sure to remain fully awake and, when asked by the doctor, to use the facilities when he needed to.

Now with the room all to himself, James slid into a comfortable position in his bed; two fluffy pillows cushioned his lower back and he huddled under the warmth of a comforter and sheets. He sighed happily as his body relaxed further. With the remote in his hand, the blonde man began to flip through the many channels cable provided. He skipped past sports events, soap operas, Spanish soap operas, and educational crap before settling on the cartoons. A smile passed across his face as the animated animals began to beat the living crap out of each other, in a non-violent way, with absurd objects. He remembered being a young child, getting up early in the morning just to see his favorite black and white 'toons on the television screen.

After an hour or two of watching waggish scuffles and arguments between comical characters, James felt his focus on the television swaying and his eyelids began to droop. Catching himself, the blonde slapped his cheeks lightly. "That's not good…," he muttered to himself, picking up the remote once more to find a channel that had some sort of action or suspense, anything that could keep him awake.

The cartoon characters on the television screen immediately dispersed into a split second of darkness but were, just as quickly, replaced by an image of a man covered in gore and blood. James chuckled to himself, his fingers curling around the plastic of the remote. A horror film. That was exactly what he needed.

By the looks of it, James could easily tell that he had missed a good thirty minutes of the movie. It was easy to pick up on, however, and James had already figured out the plotline after a few minutes of viewing the film. The movie was one of those older zombie-flicks: crappy graphics, bad make-up, and excessive use of blood. Along with all other films akin to the one James was currently viewing, the main story line involved a sudden rising of the dead and a town (or sometimes multiple towns, perhaps the world) plagued by their existence. There was a young man as the star, with a blonde female for a sidekick, and their mission was to find a way to destroy the zombies. James observed that the many fights between human and zombie were completely and utterly fake; he watched as a man lost his "arm" (which was a crudely-made replica built out of plastic) and a zombie had its "brains" blown out (probably just a glob of jelly). Everything about the horror film was pretty much cruddy, but James didn't mind. At least he was awake, now.

About an hour into the movie, James couldn't hold back his laughter as a woman got sliced in half, fake blood and body parts spilling onto the ground she stood upon. When he was able to break away from the poorly-made film, James turned his head to a nearby nightstand where an alarm clock rested. Squinting his eyes slightly, the blonde man analyzed the bright red digits; 3:47 AM, the clock read. James groaned, turning back to face the television. The night was passing incredibly slowly and he was afraid to figure out how he'd survive the other twenty or so hours. "Ugh," he grumbled, attempting to find some type of stimulation from the horror flick.

"Johnny! No! Don't do it!" cried a boisterous blonde female. Her golden locks flew around her face dramatically and her scream was too big for her face. She appeared to be yelling at a black-haired man who had already lunged for a nearby zombie.

"Take that, zombie scum!" the man cried, one hand digging into decayed flesh while the other stabbed a rusted knife into the thing's shoulder multiple times. A thick, green slime oozed from the zombie's wound and the creature moaned hoarsely, slowly falling to the cement below it. With an exaggerated "plop", the undead being collapsed, no longer moving and possibly dead (again). The man quickly spun around on his heels to look behind him and he saw a horde of zombies slowly stagger and wobble towards him, hands outstretched and mouths agape.

"Johnny!" screeched the girl again, slightly louder, as the camera did an unnecessary close-up of her face (which wasn't the least bit pleasant - covered in gore and all).

The black-haired man, Johnny, ignored the woman and focused on the badly made-up zombies approaching him. With his trusted knife at hand, the man zipped past the things and slashed in all directions, bodies, entrails, and green goop falling to the ground. The zombie army was easily defeated and the man stood his ground among the fallen enemies, sensing an even larger, more sinister foe nearby.

To his amazement (though his face showed no signs of emotion), another zombie appeared from behind a building. This was no ordinary zombie, however; this was one big mother. More than twice the size of its undead minions and twenty times uglier, the creature stepped awkwardly in the direction of Johnny.

Johnny attempted a shocked face, but being the bad actor he was, his visage remained the same while he screwed up his mouth into an unattractive "O". The camera shook slightly in hopes of creating an effect to mimic the vibrations of a large zombie's footsteps, and it did so poorly. "Gah-rooh!" howled the zombie, its jaw widening to the fullest with spit dribbling down its chin. "Aaaaaarrrrg!" replied Johnny, holding the handle of his knife tightly in his grasp as he rushed the thing. His knife swiftly neared the zombie's rotting flesh just as the creature swung its arm, directing the oversized limb toward the man's head. Both weapons were only a foot away. Inches. Centimeters.

A large burst of static took over the television screen at the instant of the Man vs. Zombie collision. James almost fell out of his bed from the sudden explosion of white and black pixels and the high shrieking sound that followed. "What in God's name --?!" he yelled, covering his ears with his palms to decrease the sound's volume. Didn't the television just get fixed five hours ago by that one repair-dude? thought James as he slowly inched his way over to the damaged electrical box. He winced as he removed his right hand from the side of his head to turn a few knobs and press a few buttons on the box. None of his efforts worked and he released an annoyed groan. "Crap. Where's that repairman when I need him?"

Just when James thought life couldn't get any worse, the hospital lights above him flickered a couple times before blowing out completely. The once bright room was fully enveloped in darkness, the only light available radiating from the white and black specs of static on the television screen. The blonde man felt his heart sink down to his stomach. Sweat droplets began to form beads along his forehead and a couple droplets slid along the bridge of his nose. "Crap," he said, his finger jamming at the power button to the television. "Crap, crap, crap, crap," he continued to say when the power button failed to work.

The air around James began to drop in temperature, the cold nipping at his skin and causing his flesh to rise in small goosebumps. As he messed with the television, he could faintly see his breath, escaping from his lips in a grey curl of mist. His fingers, now numb from the invisible icicles pricking at his skin, drew back from the electrical box's buttons to rest on his arms. With both hands on his biceps, he began to rapidly rub his palms against the flesh in an attempt to warm himself. "What the heck?" he whispered, lips tinted a slight blue.

Suddenly, James felt a presence, full of malice and anger, directly behind him. A large knot grew in his throat and his spine shivered fearfully from the ominous sensation. Gulping softly, the blonde man slowly twisted his neck, turning his head towards the presence. James cried out in shock and horror, tripping over his feet as he tried to escape from the being at the far side of the hospital room. The blonde man's body pressed up against the wall supporting his bed, and his hands scrabbled frantically for an escape. His blue eyes, wide with terror, stared at the creature.

Stepping out of the darkest shadows appeared a large demonic being. Heavy black boots, tapping firmly on the floor, were instantly revealed by the light from the television. A white butcher's apron licked at the being's calves and, further up on its body, its muscles could be clearly seen, stretching and flexing as it walked closer to James. Finally, the last of the being stepped into the lit part of the room and James barely suppressed a scream. The giant red pyramid helmet glinted softly in the dim light, possibly hiding a face underneath its impenetrable metal.

"Wh-who are you?!" cried James, his back pressing further into the wall.

The pyramid-wielding creature continued to approach James, its boots padding lightly against the floor. It quickly ate up the distance between itself and the human and in a matter of seconds, only a few inches separated the two. Their chests nearly met, but James was certain that the demon could hear his panicked heartbeat nonetheless. The creature raised a latex-gloved hand and placed it on James' jaw, causing the man's breath to hitch.

"You're… You're going to kill me, aren't you?" asked James fearfully, afraid that the hand would rip his jaw straight off its hinges at any moment. His eyes squeezed shut tightly, waiting for the pain to come. When a few minutes passed and no pain was felt, James risked a peek at the demon.

The being hadn't moved at all, its hand remained on his cheek and James could feel the latex gently caressing his flesh. A soft whimper escaped James' throat and he flinched when the pyramid-creature brought up another hand to rest it upon the blonde's other cheek. With both sides of his face cradled by the demon's touch, James couldn't help but notice the warmth pouring from the thing's palms.

"Who are you?" James asked again, his voice shaky and insecure. "Wha-what do you want?"

The blonde-haired man shrunk back in pain as the demon's nails suddenly dug into his skin. Small trickles of blood dripped along his jaw, and his mouth hung open in shock. The beast's hands began to squeeze James' head softly, only causing a slight amount of pain for the weak human. A groaning sound of grinding metal emanated from the pyramid-demon as a single, terrifying word echoed from under its helmet. "REMEMBER."

Remember? Remember what? James frowned, staring at the demon that had full control over whether he would live or die at any instant. This was the first time he had ever seen the creature; how the heck was he supposed to remember something that never even happened?

James guessed that the being had sensed his uncertainty and he felt the thick, hot hands against his flesh loosen their hold and slowly drop down to rest by his neck and collar bone. A tingling sensation caused James' body to shiver as the demon's fingertips slowly traced the bones and veins that lay underneath his skin. Fingers, covered by the thin latex, curled around James' neck and the demon's thumbs pressed into the crevice just above his collar; thick hands began to constrict with incredible strength.

With his air supply cut completely off from the demon's death grip, James' hands reached up to grab and scratch at the pyramid-wielder's arms to no avail. Gasping and sputtering noises erupted from his throat and his eyes rolled up into his head. "St…stop…," he begged, trying to tear the thing from his neck. The demon paid no heed to James' futile struggling and continued to choke the man.

The world began to swirl and fade around James and he felt lightheaded and incredibly dizzy. His flailing arms stopped their pitiful attempts and fell to his side, limp. James took one last look at the demon strangling him, at the crimson pyramid helmet, before his head lolled and hung loosely against his chest.

"REMEMBER…," he heard the demon say, the last thing he heard before the darkness overcame him.