"I have a bad feeling about this."
"Could you be any more of a cliche?" she scoffs, extending her hands mockingly. "I have a bad feeling about this." With a dramatic roll of her eyes, she gestures broadly at their desolate surroundings. "Zombies are shambling around like they own the place. Cobra has carved out their territory across most of North America, and you're concerned about this..." Her voice trails off as she spins on her heel, motioning to the crumbling ruins around them. "...is this what triggers your anxiety?"
"You don't have to be such an asshole about it," he mutters under his breath, letting his frustration weigh him down as he skulks away from her.
The pair finds themselves standing amid the skeletal remains of what was once Las Vegas, a once-vibrant city now reduced to a ghost of its former self. The relentless midday sun beat down on them, casting long shadows across the desolation that lay before them. They had survived the blistering heat of the desert, fought off ravenous zombie hordes, navigated through equally dangerous Cobra patrols, and outsmarted the frantic, crazy-eyed survivors who roamed the wastes. Now, they stood before the legendary Mirage Hotel and Casino ruins, a monument to excess that had long fallen from grace.
The relentless desert sands had reclaimed the property bit by bit, creeping insidiously up the sides of the once-glorious facade, blanketing the lavish pools and foundations that had been the envy of tourists from around the world. The azure waters that once glistened under the sun were gone, leaving behind only a barren stretch of sand marred by the detritus of the Strip blown in by the scorching winds. The window frames stood hollow, long since stripped of their glass, leaving jagged edges that caught the light like sharp teeth in the mouths of innumerable monsters. The air was heavy with silence, broken only by the occasional whisper of the wind as it rustled through the debris.
"How do you know he's even here?" he asked, scanning the Mirage for any sign of life.
"I don't," she answered tersely, her attention fixed on the darkened windows above. "It's all just rumors. Why? You got somewhere else to be?"
"You really are an ass," came his bitter response.
"Learned from the best," she shot back, a smirk on her lips.
With an exasperated eye roll, he returned to surveying the dilapidated hotel looming before them. Their witty banter faded into an awkward silence. They both understood that their playful back-and-forth was a thin veil to mask the gnawing fear that had festered inside them every step of the way here.
Each step they had taken to reach this forsaken place was more than a mere journey; it had been a desperate quest, one rooted in uncertainty and driven by a faint glimmer of hope hidden deep within the ruins they now faced.
Rumors surrounding the enigmatic occupants of The Mirage swirled with the kind of fervor that only captivating legends can inspire. Whispers in dimly lit corners of nearby establishments hinted at an array of illustrious figures, each more fantastical than the last. Some claimed the renowned illusionist David Copperfield had taken residence. Others insisted that the quirky Piff the Magic Dragon and his trusted sidekick, Piffles, were the true masters of the domain. Yet more asserted that the revered Sorcerer Supreme, Doctor Strange, was weaving intricate spells behind the shimmering veil of The Mirage.
Despite countless theories, there was one detail that everyone seemed to agree on: The Mirage served as the sanctuary for a high-level magic user of extraordinary skill, someone whose presence commanded both awe and suspicion. Rumors ran rampant that this mysterious individual possessed the fabled and feared Necronomicon, the ancient cursed Book of the Dead, a tome said to hold knowledge of the arcane that could open portals to other dimensions or unleash unspeakable horrors upon the world.
Now, as they stood at the threshold of the darkened den of sorcery, the shadowy domain of an unknown wizard, they hoped beyond hope to find the Necronomicon and use it to end the reign of the undead.
"Well, I guess it's time," and with that, she stepped forward.
"Shit," he mumbled under his breath. "Wait up," he huffed, quickening his pace to catch up to her as they stepped into the unknown.
"I think I see a way in over there," she said, pointing to a jagged opening. They headed toward the beckoning darkness.
As they approached, they took out their flashlights. Before them loomed a doorway, its glass shattered and scattered into a million glittering shards mixed with the sand encroaching on the space. The sun had long since abandoned the space, leaving only the chilling grip of night. Inside, a thick blanket of blackness enveloped them. The once vibrant casino had transformed into oppressive stillness. It was a stark contrast to the laughter of tourists, the lights and sounds of slot machines, and the clinking of chips that had once filled the air. No tourists were here now, no hopeful gamblers risking their fortunes in this desecrated hollow.
The pair shared one last apprehensive glance at the world outside. They stepped into the stygian abyss with an unspoken understanding, surrendering to the cool, dank air that wrapped around them like a shroud. The darkness swallowed them whole, the meager beams of their flashlights fighting to illuminate the murky depths, revealing swirling motes of dust and decay that danced languidly in the light beams.
The only sound was their ragged breaths and the soft crunch of their footsteps, each echoing ominously in the hollow space and sending shivers down their spines. As they swept their flashlights across the forlorn interior, the remnants of The Mirage told their story. Tables lay overturned, chips strewn like fallen leaves across the mold-ridden carpet. Slot machines, now battered relics, lay askew, their electronic innards spilling out.
Amidst the debris and detritus were the skeletal remains of those drawn to the casino's promises of winning big. A siren's song that led them only to their demise. Long ago, they had become ensnared in its intoxicating allure. Their bones littered the ground, silent witnesses to the tragic fate of those unable to resist the seductive pull of chance.
Stepping carefully to avoid disrupting the last resting place of so many desperate souls, they picked their way across the casino floor. The pair finally found what they were looking for. She tapped him on the shoulder, nodding to a closed door. The sign said, "Stairs."
"Time to go up," he said, the sound of his whispered voice echoing in the cavernous space, surprising them both.
As they approached the steel fire door, she readied herself, expecting the door to be stuck after being closed for so long. She leaned her shoulder into the cold metal. With a shove, the door swung open with an exaggerated whoosh, causing her to stumble forward and crash unceremoniously to the floor. He couldn't help himself; a chuckle escaped as he watched her sprawled on the floor. "Are you okay?" he asked, offering a hand to help her.
She waved him off with a hint of annoyance, pushing herself up from the ground with a low grunt. "I'm fine," she replied, brushing dust from her worn jeans. Once standing, she cast her flashlight beam up the staircase, revealing its vertigo-inducing height. The Mirage towered above them, a menacing 31 stories stretching into the darkness, hiding untold terrors.
"Close the door," she instructed, still fixated on the staircase above. She could sense him moving to obey her order, though her eyes never left the meek circle of light cast by her flashlight. She could see only up to the first five stories. Impenetrable darkness loomed above that. The silence surrounding them felt crushing and oppressive, unlike anything they'd ever encountered in their travels.
In every other building they had explored, there had been at least some ambient noise—water sporadically dripping from pipes, small creatures scurrying across the floors, and the haunting wind fluttering through cracks. Even the dreaded sounds of the undead had filled the air, reminding them of their chilling presence. But here in the Mirage, the all-consuming silence was unsettling. With the heavy door shut behind them, sealing them into the vast, empty stairwell, the absence of sound transformed into an unnerving presence, amplifying their anxiety.
They stood, peering up into the unknown. He reached for her hand. She flinched at his touch but didn't pull away. His fingers intertwined with hers. He gave three quick squeezes, a silent signal between them. He could make out the slight smile on her face before she turned to him, her face serious.
"You ready for this?" She asked, letting go of his hand and unholstering her pistol.
"Let's do it," he replied. He swung his small PCC from his back, the weapon feeling reassuringly solid in his grip as he pointed its muzzle up into the unwelcoming gloom.
As they began their ascent, they were surprised by the state of the stairway, which stood in sharp contrast to the decay that characterized so much of the outside world. The steel steps held fast to the concrete walls. With each echoing step, they paused to hold their breath, listening intently for any hint of danger lurking in the shadows—waiting ghouls perhaps, prowling just within earshot. But as they climbed higher into the unknown, all that greeted them was the echo of their footsteps.
The exertion of the climb soon caused beads of sweat to form on their brows. Thin rivulets traced paths down their foreheads and soaked their Churchill brought by the stagnant, frigid air. Rivulets formed. Time seemed to drag its feet while standing still. After what felt like 45 of the longest minutes of their life, they finally reached the 31st floor.
They exchanged weary, drenched, cold glances; she pulled out her water bottle and downed the last precious sip. He did the same. They knew full well that whatever awaited them on the other side of the door, they would not get out of the desert without precious water. She tucked away her flashlight, gripping her pistol firmly in her right hand, and reached for the door handle with her left, her heart pounding against her chest. He raised his PCC, keeping his light steady. They looked at one another, a silent plan forming. They nodded in unison. Three. Two. One. With a swift motion, she flung the door open wide, and he stepped out past the doorframe, clearing left and right as she followed closely behind him, pistol raised.
Before them stretched a long hallway, bathed in a ghostly dim yellow light that filtered through the open doors on either side of the hall, casting long shadows that danced mockingly on the weathered walls of the empty corridor. She rested her left hand on his shoulder, and together, they advanced cautiously, pausing at the first door on their left.
He leaned closer, peering through the gaping maw of the open doorway. A sudden wave of dread washed over him as his eyes fell upon the occupants in the room. The undead filled the space, their lifeless forms standing in unsettling stillness. Their vacant yellow eyes fixed on some distant point far outside the glassless window. The sight stole the breath from his lungs, and his heart sank as the cold grip of fear embraced him.
Remarkably, despite the horror unfolding before him, he managed to remain silent and on his feet. Gathering his resolve, he carefully retreated from the doorway. He motioned for his partner to follow him back to the safety of the stairwell, his wide eyes urging caution and silence.
They returned cautiously, retracing their steps while the shadows seemed to follow them. Upon entering the darkness of the stairs, he pressed the switch on his flashlight, the small beam cutting through the inky blackness yet offering little comfort. "The room... it's packed with zombies," he whispered, fear dripping from his words.
"What do you mean packed?" her heart raced at the words.
"I mean, wall to fuckin' wall zed."
"Fuck," she breathed, the seriousness of their predicament began to settle on the two survivors.
"What are we gonna do?"
She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "It's crazy. Abso-fuckin'-lutely crazy, but I say we go for it. We have to find a way through."
The color drained from his face, leaving him ashen and wide-eyed. His voice betrayed him as he opened his mouth to protest, and nothing came out.
Taking his silence as agreement, she turned and opened the door to the corridor once more. As she went to step out, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. He lifted the PCC and took the lead.
As they edged closer to the room brimming with the undead, they held their breath, carefully choosing each step. In two swift strides, he passed the doorway, and she followed quickly behind.
The next room presented the same nightmare: a horrifying assemblage of zombies stood stone-still, their rotting forms staring into the distance. Each successive room of the once-opulent hotel was similarly overrun, sending their blood pressure through the roof.
With several rooms behind them, they cautiously approached a corner, peeking around and showing more open doors to rooms that they assumed were filled with undead. At the end of the hallway stood a set of double doors. What set them apart was that they were closed.
They covered the long distance of the hall and, to their horror, confirmed that each room was packed with undead. As they approached the double doors, they were overcome with ominous dread.
There was no turning back. Either they would find who and what they were searching for behind these doors or die in the desert if the zombies didn't take them first.
She placed her hand steadily on the door handle, swallowing back the vomit, fighting to escape her. He raised his PCC and gave a nod.
The handle turned silently. Not knowing what lay beyond, she carefully opened the door, allowing him to enter before following.
The room was unnaturally dark despite the hundreds of floating candles burning inside. The glass of the windows was somehow still in place, covered by a deep-colored fabric. Altars covered in animal bones and ancient tomes were placed haphazardly around the room. Archaic graffiti and images depicting age-old demons and the ravenous undead covered every space not obscured by unfamiliar writing.
They lowered their weapons as they stood, transfixed in a state of slack-jawed awe. Their eyes roamed the bizarre scene, absorbing every unsettling detail.
Finally, their gaze was drawn to a dark throne looming majestically at the room's far end. With the flickering candlelight casting unpredictable shadows, it appeared to writhe and shift as though alive.
They froze, their minds screaming in fear as the realization set in: it wasn't merely an illusion. This throne, towering nearly to the ceiling of the penthouse suite, was pulsating with the movement of the undead.
More terrifying still was the figure that seemed to materialize out of thin air, perched atop the throne with an air of menacing authority. His head was shrouded in long, greasy strands of disheveled hair that obscured his features. Yet, even through the curtain of his unkempt locks, two glowing red eyes emerged, piercing the darkness and filling their souls with dread. The malevolent gaze seemed to assess them as if weighing their worth, or lack thereof, before the judgment of this dark sentinel.
Without a sound, the pair slowly released their grip on their firearms, letting them clatter to the floor. As they fell to their knees, their bodies trembled. They threw their heads back, their eyes wide and unblinking, tears streaming down their cheeks, as an anguished scream rose within them, choked and silent, tearing through the air like a haunting echo.
It was as if their very souls were being ripped from their bodies.
They became trapped in an eternal hell.
Their forms became shriveled shells of their former selves.
What remained slowly dragged themselves to the base of the throne, forcing their way in.
The conjurer atop the throne peered down as the creatures fought to take their place.
His hair parted, and for a moment, a scar shaped like a lightning bolt glinted in the gloomy candlelight.
Then he was gone.
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