Here's my author's note! But don't worry: If you're a skimmer, just read the bold!

So... I've been terribly addicted to CoD: Black Ops lately... Specifically Zombies. I play it way too much. Of course, after a certain amount of hours spent playing this game and getting to know the characters, I wanted to write a fanfiction. I will shamelessly state that this involves the whole cliche: Girl randomly transports to Kino der Toten, gets implicated in everything, etc.

I want to explore the character dynamics and that sort of thing, but a girl from the future will be included in the story, because I think it will be a fun scenario to write about and justify. Besides: One sassy girl plus four sassy men? Yes. So much yes. But, if you're not into this premise, please don't read.

That being said: I hope you stick around, because I'm a pretty decent writer, and I have an interesting story to tell!

I love all the "guys," but I'm particularly fascinated by Edward Richtofen (because really, who isn't?). He's so complex. At first, I thought: "Damn, this evil Nazi doctor is insane! What's wrong with him?" I just let him be crazy without trying to figure out why. Then I discovered his backstory (aka the backstory of the entire Zombies storyline). It was super intense and honestly (spoiler?) depressing.

I really want to examine Doctor Richtofen most of all, so... if you're interested, please keep reading.

ANYWAY! On with the show!

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Between Dream and Reality
Zwischen Traum und Wirklichkeit

CHAPTER ONE

At the Edge of the Abyss
Am rand des abgrunds

I knew something was wrong the minute the room became silent.

The jet-engine whirring of my Xbox had stopped. So did my heart. I mashed the home button, staring at my TV. Nothing. Mashed it again. Still nothing. I closed my eyes, feeling my heart pound behind my ears. This can't be happening. I'd had my wheezing first-generation 360 for years now; it hadn't bailed on me once. But when I opened my eyes and cautioned a glance at the power button, my heart dropped.

Gamer's worst nightmare: Red ring of death.

I blinked, my eyes dry and bloodshot from three straight hours of killing zombies. Maybe I was hallucinating. If I could still hear their undead screams, maybe this was all in my head too. So I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the blood pulse in my temples. Come on, I thought. Don't give out on me now. We just got to level 28.

I opened my eyes.

Yep, my Xbox was dead. I gulped down a thick swallow of regret, standing up off the couch.

Well, shit.

I stood there, staring at my worthless old console that would never wheeze again. I sighed. Then I knelt down to pry my Black Ops disc from its dying grasp.

My fingers touched the silver eject button, and I hissed in pain. It shocked me!

I jerked away from the console. Oh hell no. Insult to injury? Really?

I flexed my hand, popping the tip of my fried index finger into my mouth. I needed to think.

How do I rescue my game? That shit was not cheap. No way I'm leaving it in my trashed Xbox. But how do I avoid the electric death throes? I frowned, reaching for the power cord instead. No power, no pain.

My hand had barely touched it when the wave of energy rippled over me, shocking me senseless. White light blinded me. My whole body tingled, and streams of electric blue static energy snaked around me, tangling over my skin. I realized I couldn't feel my fingers anymore.

Then I blacked out.

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Tank Dempsey lit a cigarette, expertly puffing it to life.

"Ey, can I have one of those?"

Tank chuckled, turning to his companion. He flicked out a fresh cig. A dirty gloved hand accepted it, lifting it to a chapped mouth with a split, bloody bottom lip. Yellow teeth grinned out, along with a gravelly ruski voice. "Light?"

Dempsey delivered.

Nikolai Belinski puffed a long drag, closing his eyes. He grunted approval, breathing out a thick stream of smoke. "Ahhh," he sighed. Dempsey grinned, a cloud of smoke trickling slowly from his nose. "Maybe I share vodka with you later," Nikolai continued, glancing at Tank. "Maybe."

Tank rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he drawled. He held an impressive weapon, which he checked every few minutes, as thought it might vanish.

"That's some sturdy equipment," Nikolai noted, nudging Dempsey in the ribs. Then he brandished his gun, altogether broader and more dangerous looking. "Mine's bigger," he growled, winking.

Tank rolled his eyes again and finished his cigarette, stamping the butt into the ground. "Come on, comrade; let's go find the others."

It was marginally warmer inside the theater. Dempsey could tell by the puddles of water that formed in the corners of the room, where the ceiling caved in. They weren't frozen.

Every board creaked; the carpet was molding. Sickening rusty blood smears stained windowsills and doorframes. Nikolai and Dempsey paid little attention to this graphic detail as they made their way to the stage, walking with deliberate purpose. Both of them checked every corner as they passed, craning their necks to make sure they didn't miss anything.

Nikolai, still sucking on his cigarette, stepped through the backstage door and checked both sides before nodding for Tank to follow. The two of them walked through, immediately deafened by loud electrical sounds. To their right, a giant machine crackled with energy. There was a tall man hunched beside it, fiddling with something.

"Hey doc," grumbled Dempsey. "When are you gonna be finished? We're rotting over here."

A harsh voice echoed through the space. "You should be no stranger to that, Dempshey." Richtofen stopped fiddling with the massive contraption, turning to face Tank. A look of pure loathing embittered his long, sharp features. "Perhaps that's vhy my patients like you so much. You have something in common."

Nikolai laughed, then choked on a gulp of smoke. He threw his cigarette to the floor and stomped on it.

"The well-run group is not a battlefield of egos," murmured a stern voice from the middle of the stage. Takeo Masaki was perched on a fallen speaker, looking at his feet. His eyes were cast in shadow.

Dr. Richtofen chuckled. "Good luck making Dempshey understand. He's too stupid." He turned back to the teleporter and fiddled some more.

Tank groaned, hefting his weapon over his shoulder. "Fine. I'm not gonna stick around here and wait. Maybe I can find some stray maggotbags to fill with lead." He walked past the doctor and jumped off the stage, starting down the debris-littered aisle.

Everyone was quiet.

"I'm hungry," growled Nikolai.

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Tank wandered around the theater lobby, peeking through boarded up windows and scanning his eyes over the stairwells. Nothing. Not even one filthy zombie. Bored and crestfallen, he walked to the staircase to pop a squat. That was when he heard it. Something moaned in the corner of the room.

He jerked to his feet, senses on alert. His eyes moved toward the sound, and he noticed something stirring behind the old concession stand. He approached slowly. What was the shit-sack doing down there? He frowned. Something wasn't right.

He caught his breath, holding it as he edged closer to the ruined concession stand. He peered over it. There was a body huddled in between the counter and the pop machine. If he didn't know any better, he'd think it was hiding. But they never hid. They weren't smart enough to do that.

He inched closer, to get a better look.

It was wearing a dress.

"What the hell…"

He glanced back toward the stage, then at the body. It groaned and rolled over.

"Holy shit," he gasped. It was a girl. He stepped behind the counter and knelt down, squatting next to her.

She was covered in moldy dust and paint chips, as though she'd been rolling around on the floor. Her dark hair was gray with crud. So were the elbows of her long-sleeved dress, and the knees of her thick black stockings. As he knelt there staring at her, she coughed, gasping for breath. Breathing was always a good sign, especially when the next dead thing might gnaw off your shin.

He slipped a grimy hand underneath her head, grimacing at the contrast between her clean, dusty skin and his filthy, bloody fingernails. "Hey," he murmured, nudging her shoulder with his other hand. "Hey, you alive?"

She groaned. "Ugh," she grunted, rousing. She lifted her hands to her temples, rubbing her face. Then she curled up off the floor, leaning back to sit on her heels. Her boots squeaked against the floor. She wiped the dust from her face and opened her eyes, blinking a few times to focus.

At first, she just stared.

Then she frowned at him. "Who…?"

She didn't finish. She'd looked past him, distracted by the room around them. A worry line creased between her eyebrows, and she stared out at the lobby, taking everything in. Her mouth slowly gaped open.

She turned back to Dempsey, then the middle of the room. Her eyes unfocused and she shivered.

"Oh my god," she moaned, running a hand through her hair. "I have got to stop playing this game."

Dempsey frowned at her. "Game? What game?" He grabbed her shoulder, serious as a heart attack, and she lifted wide eyes to meet his. "Listen. I don't have time for games, and believe me baby, you don't either."

She stared at him. "What do you mean?" she asked. She looked utterly lost, and slightly annoyed.

Dempsey groaned, frustrated. "Do you know where you are?" he growled.

Her brow furrowed. "Yeah…?"

"Then you know there's no time to play games. So stop playin' whatever you're playing."

She blinked. "But… That's what this is, right? A game. It's a videogame." She groaned. "I'm dreaming about a videogame..."

Dempsey stared at her like she'd grown an extra limb. He cleared his throat. "Uh, look. I don't know if you hit your head or something, but … I have no idea what you're talking about. And I don't have time to find out." He stood up, offering her a hand. She stared at it.

He set his jaw against the anger boiling up inside of him. "For the love of God, take my fucking hand," he growled. She immediately grabbed it and he pulled her to her feet. "Come with me," he grumbled. "I'm not happy about doing this, but…" he trailed off, talking more to himself than to her. She just followed, staring at him like he was a ghost.

They started toward the door to the theater. She was craning her neck to look at everything they passed. She touched the piles of crap under the stairs, the doorframe, even the first chair she saw in the theater.

"Come on," he hissed. She jerked back toward him, tearing her eyes away from the ceiling.

He sighed. Leave it to him to find the first living person they'd seen in ages, and have her turn out to be messed up in the head. As much as he hated the thought of it, there was only one person he could think of that might be able to help.

"Hey, doc," he shouted, halfway down the aisle.

The man in question was still on stage next to the teleporter, which was no longer rippling with electric energy.
His back was to them, and he stiffened at the sound of Tank's voice.

"Leave. Me. ALONE," he yelled.

Tank groaned. "Calm down, crazy," he grumbled. He turned to look at the girl by his side, who was now staring at the teleporter. Her eyes looked like they might fall out of her head. He sighed. "I really need your help, Richtofen," he said loudly.

The doctor was frozen in place.

"Vhat did you say?" he asked, his voice low and deadly.

Tank clenched his jaw. "I said, I really need your help," he repeated. His voice was strained.

Edward Richtofen stood up, straightening to his full height. Then he turned slowly around to face them.

"Und vhy vould you…"

But he'd found the answer to his question before he finished asking it. She was staring at him with terror.

"Interesting," he murmured.

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Alright, well... That's chapter one!
Hope you enjoyed it... please let me know what you think!
I'm totally open to suggestions and advice. Always. And I will respond to reviewers!

I'd love to read your reviews! Stay sexy my loves! c: