Orange-Box-Artistes

Alyx. So last night I found myself in this tall, kinda old fashioned bulding, running up the bright staircase with my shotgun. The dark figures were chasing us, there was maybe six or eight of them. Luckily, we overran them quite a bit! Alyx was showing up here and there, she didn't look like she really need my help, shooting down these guys from the distance. The staircase was painted dim yellow shades and was really neat and clean. No banister, opened. No signs of destruction of war of any kind. I looked down the stairs and as I thought it's better to hurry up than to focus on shooting the enemies, I rushed  even more, but then,

WARNING: THIS FIC CONTAINS GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS, BLOOD, SWEARING AND CHARACTER DEATH. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. THE ORIGINAL CONCEPT EBLONGS TO FLYGONPIRATE, WHO I HAD WRITTEN THIS FOR - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Hellish Torture   Pain.   That's what the BLU Scout felt as his cloudy eyes slowly inched open, the inky darkness inching open slowly with tints of crimson. He couldn't remember what had happened exactly; the last thing that he recalled was going around the grounds of the base on one of his power runs and then blackness.   The pain came back