00:26 UTC, 18th of December, 2016. | Seattle, The Maxwell Hotel.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!"
They weren't the most eloquent words ever said, but they were definitely the most fitting. His phone buzzed idly to itself in his pocket as he just stared out of the window, watching. He saw them flying past. Them. The devils. They were killing people in the street, tearing off the tops of cars and crashing through windows in the opposing building. He saw glass topple down from the top floor all the way down to the pavement, seeing the light reflecting off of each little shard before it soundlessly hit the ground. That should've been his wakeup call. He saw a a mass of blacked wings and pointed bone way too late. It crashed through the window of his hotel room, and for a moment, everything slowed down with the adrenaline. He heard his own breath against the soundtrack of screeches, screams and the cacophany of car alarms that permeated Seattle. It was the perfect impetus to get him to sprint out of the room, and slam the door behind him as he, for once, decidedly took the stairs down. The sound of skin sliiiiiding against the handrailing, and the echoes of shoes slamming against the steps was all he focused on, skipping a couple of stairs at a time. He heard screaming throughout the building, and he only then realized just how much he was shaking, and how cut up his hands were from the shattered glass, slashed skin, and blood dripping freely onto the floor.
Another scream brought him back to Earth. It came from a floor, maybe two up. He doubled his pace down, chest heaving as if his heart was going to break through his chest. Second floor. The door to the rooms was propped open by a dead body. An actual dead body. It was that girl. Amber, the one who he was talking to at the hotel bar. She called him cute, and funny, and probably had a bit too much to drink. He felt ill. Blood covered the walls like an incompleted painting, and he couldn't help but think about the way she smiled at him. He threw up over the railing, and trundled his way down the rest of the steps, he didn't have it in him to run anymore. He heard sirens in the distance as he pushed past the foyeur and toward the front doors. He heard sirens and he figured it was safer to be seen by the authorities and defended than out in the back where he could get picked off. Logic works both ways, however, and a devil decided it would get easier pickings indoors than outside. Breaking through the revolving door, walking on two feet with a confident swagger, a devil pushed past, with Sam in its sights. Sam looked at the eyes of this thing that almost glowed red with hatred and anger and he just couldn't move. He held his arms up as if to shield himself, but the devil just picked him up, flashing those claws-
"SEATTLE POLICE DEPARTMENT, GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!"
The rest was shortness of breath, tightly shut eyes and gunfire.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!"
They weren't the most eloquent words ever said, but they were definitely the most fitting. His phone buzzed idly to itself in his pocket as he just stared out of the window, watching. He saw them flying past. Them. The devils. They were killing people in the street, tearing off the tops of cars and crashing through windows in the opposing building. He saw glass topple down from the top floor all the way down to the pavement, seeing the light reflecting off of each little shard before it soundlessly hit the ground. That should've been his wakeup call. He saw a a mass of blacked wings and pointed bone way too late. It crashed through the window of his hotel room, and for a moment, everything slowed down with the adrenaline. He heard his own breath against the soundtrack of screeches, screams and the cacophany of car alarms that permeated Seattle. It was the perfect impetus to get him to sprint out of the room, and slam the door behind him as he, for once, decidedly took the stairs down. The sound of skin sliiiiiding against the handrailing, and the echoes of shoes slamming against the steps was all he focused on, skipping a couple of stairs at a time. He heard screaming throughout the building, and he only then realized just how much he was shaking, and how cut up his hands were from the shattered glass, slashed skin, and blood dripping freely onto the floor.
Another scream brought him back to Earth. It came from a floor, maybe two up. He doubled his pace down, chest heaving as if his heart was going to break through his chest. Second floor. The door to the rooms was propped open by a dead body. An actual dead body. It was that girl. Amber, the one who he was talking to at the hotel bar. She called him cute, and funny, and probably had a bit too much to drink. He felt ill. Blood covered the walls like an incompleted painting, and he couldn't help but think about the way she smiled at him. He threw up over the railing, and trundled his way down the rest of the steps, he didn't have it in him to run anymore. He heard sirens in the distance as he pushed past the foyeur and toward the front doors. He heard sirens and he figured it was safer to be seen by the authorities and defended than out in the back where he could get picked off. Logic works both ways, however, and a devil decided it would get easier pickings indoors than outside. Breaking through the revolving door, walking on two feet with a confident swagger, a devil pushed past, with Sam in its sights. Sam looked at the eyes of this thing that almost glowed red with hatred and anger and he just couldn't move. He held his arms up as if to shield himself, but the devil just picked him up, flashing those claws-
"SEATTLE POLICE DEPARTMENT, GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!"
The rest was shortness of breath, tightly shut eyes and gunfire.
