Joseph walked down dark, deserted streets. The only illumination came from above, where a full moon almost too large to be natural hung in the sky, and occasionally from below, where small and fitful lanterns stood outside the doors or below the windows of houses. The only sounds were that of his own breathing and footsteps, both too loud for his liking, and the infrequent howling of beasts in the distance.

He had ignored his brother’s advice, throwing open the door to their home and following him into the night instead of barricading it and lighting their meagre supply of incense; it was foolish, he knew it was, but then so was his brother leaving in the first place and at least if they were together they could protect each other. Except it had taken him too long to come to that decision. It had been maybe only a minute or more before Joseph had decided to follow but that was long enough for his brother to disappear into the maze of Yharnam’s streets and now they were both lost, stuck outside on the night of the hunt with no one to protect them. In his hand he held a knife, something grabbed from the kitchen just before he left, but against the terrors that were out in force tonight it would be less than worthless; rather than try to fight it would be better to slit his own throat before the beasts reached him.

A thick fog had descended around Joseph at some point and he found his vision limited to only a few feet in any direction, the mist deep enough that he could barely see the buildings on either side of him. With the fog came a damp cold that seeped through his clothing and into his skin and chilled him to the bone, making him want to shiver and chatter his teeth. He pushed forward, moving more quickly now with a renewed sense of urgency, and the sound of his footfalls seemed muted and further away somehow; a small part of his brain made him aware of the fact that he hadn’t heard a howl in a while and rather than finding that reassuring he felt afraid, like the beasts had gone quiet because they had found new prey and were on the hunt.

Another sound reached him and Joseph froze in place, not daring to move a muscle and even holding his breath as he listened carefully to the noise. It was rhythmic; a single sound repeating at regular intervals, like something was being struck repeatedly in a slow pattern. It was violent and visceral; whatever it was that was being struck was being struck forcefully and with destructive intent. It brought to mind images of someone being beaten as it had the same dull note to it like whatever was being hit was soft and absorbed the impact.

Joseph took a single step towards the sound and the fog parted before him, as if in response to his movement, forming a clear tunnel between him and the source of the noise. It was a person, kneeling down and hunched over something on the ground; in their hand they held something, a club or a length of wood, and as Joseph watched the figure raised the object above their head slowly before bringing it down with force, producing the dull thudding noise that he had been hearing. They repeated this action repetitively, ceaselessly, as Joseph stood and watched.

Another step brought him closer, followed by another, until he was close enough to see what was on the ground. What he had first thought was a sack of some kind revealed itself to be a person, a body, a corpse, beaten bloody and then beaten some more until it hardly resembled a person at all. And yet Joseph had no difficulty recognising who it was; the clothing was familiar and the face, what was left of, even more so. His father’s lifeless eyes stared back at him, jostling every time the body was struck but always stopping to meet his again, as it pleading for help. While the person beating him…

“Jonathan?”

Joseph’s brother stopped, halting mid swing, before slowly standing and turning to face him. Upon seeing his face Joseph wanted to turn and run but found himself unable to, fear rooting him to the spot as his legs locked and his knees began to shake. The thing that looked like his brother stared at him with eyes like a wild animal, heavy breaths fogging in the cold night air as his hand squeezed the bloody length of wood tightly.

As the thing suddenly charged him Joseph was only able to let out a single strangled scream before it was on him.

****

Joseph awoke with a cry, shooting upright in his cot as his heart beat rapidly and he fought to control his breathing. The nightmare lingered in his mid, still able to picture the dark, foggy streets and the beast wearing his brother’s skin charging towards him. It took him a moment to realise where he was, or rather where he wasn’t. Rather than his own bed he was sat on a cot of some kind and rather than awaking in his own room he had awoken in some kind of clinic, surrounded by dozens of other cots and the sounds of anguish, misery and death.

And Messengers; a few of the little creatures hung off of the edge of Joseph’s bed, their deformed faces staring at him as they reached out to him with thin fingers. Joseph pulled back from them, shying away from their touch, but couldn’t muster the energy to be truly scared of the strange beings. They weren’t as scary as what he had just awoken from after all. [color=f7976a][b]“What… what’s going on?”[/b][/color]