Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Postal Dude tried very hard to be a good person. He just wasn't sure what that meant, anymore.

He wanted to be a good Christian as well. His step father had been a model Christian by the standards of their local church, but insisted on instilling his views in Dude physically. Each punishment was further proof to Dude that he was a diseased and sinful person. His entire active memory was plagued with fear and the uncertainty if he was truly as sinful as those around him said. The best he could do was keep his mouth shut and hope the lord didn’t judge him for thoughts alone. Many people he knew in their church grew up to reject the religion forced on them, but Dude was different.

He wanted to be a good Christian, just not the kind his father was. He had tried to do so when he served in the military, shipping off as soon as he was legally old enough to, but this wasn't as selfless as he wanted to believe. To join the army was to escape his father. With goals like that, the only thing he could muster was a desire to not return home until he was a man his step father could be proud of.

It surprised no one when he was discharged a year in, and left without a home to return to.

More than anything, Dude wanted a way to prove himself. Saints are martyred not by rotting away in faithful silence, but in an act of glory in the name of their lord.

So it felt like fate when Dude discovered someone, or something, in his house.

The house was a large but dilapidated building on the edge of the woods. Its previous owner had allowed the house to fall into ruin after the untimely death of his wife. Rumors spread, accusing the home owner of killing his wife rather than the official story of a suicide. The speculation only lead to him becoming more reclusive. He was in his late 70s by the the time he died and the house was listed. If it weren't for the structure's rotting wood and dark past, Dude wouldn't have ever been able to afford it.

And maybe the creature was drawn in by the dark past. Maybe the death, sudden and violent, bred something unnatural within its walls, a perfect nest for something not of this world.

Dude stood in his kitchen, moldy and dim, watching in terror as something appeared in his doorway. The low lighting made it hard to fully make out the figure that watched him, rounded glasses glinting orange as it tilted its head up to look down his sharp nose at Dude. It appeared humanoid, at least, with greasy dark hair that flowed down its broad shoulders.

It almost looked like Dude, in a weird way. Like a fun house mirror, just a bit too tall, just a bit too spindly; a crude imitation of him.

"Be not afraid." the voice echoed in his mind, making his teeth vibrate in his skull, but he couldn't be sure if he'd even truly heard it or just imagined it.

"Who are you?" He managed, his voice quivering. He silently cursed his wavering tone and terrified eyes. Weakness was something many predators preyed on. And Dude certainly felt like he was being hunted now.

"I am an angel of light," the creature placed a long fingered hand with gnarled knuckles to its chest, "sent by your lord as a warning."

Something about the voice set off everything in Dude's nervous system to trigger his fight or flight. The voice sounded less like a voice and more like a recording played in reverse. The words were stunted and breathy, as if it hadn't yet grown used to speaking english.

Once he had worked past the unnatural tone of its voice, Dude still struggled to process the idea. Was this truly an angel of light? Was this a dream? He supposed it looked angelic, in a way. Unnatural, eyes glowing, and black feathered wings pressed in close to its back. Its features were a bit too smooth to look human, almost as if sculpted from marble and given life. Maybe not an angel you would see on a Christmas catalogue, but one you would feel the presence of in the darkened halls of an abandoned chapel.

"You're…you're an angel?" Dude fought to make his voice less meek, "Why were you sent here?"

"Have you learned nothing of those before you?" the "angel" asked, leaning in so its head fell to the side in an inquisitive tilt, "I come bearing news. As you have heard the story of Tevat Noah, Jeanne d'Arc, and Moses, you have been called upon as an extension of your lord."

"News?" Dude's hand instinctively crept towards the side arm he had been keeping on him as of late, but he doubted it would do any damage to whatever was speaking to him.

If the entity noticed his weapon, it didn't react, only continuing, "A great plague will sweep the land. It will not manifest physically, but you shall see the signs."

"The signs?" Dude echoed, thinking back to how the people of Paradise seemed… odd, at best.

"You have already begun to see it." The angel breathed, its glowing eyes boring into Dude.

"I-I don't know if I've seen anything-" Dude was cut off by a sound like a hog's snuffling as it searched the underbrush.

"You doubt yourself too much." it seemed to be… laughing? The unnatural facial expression stretched into something like a grin, but it looked painful and taut. Whatever this was, it wasn't yet used to the body it was trying to present.

"How will I know?" Dude asked, taking a step back from the shambling figure.

"You will know." It answered simply, and Dude felt a pit in his stomach by the omen.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, "Okay…what do I need to do?"

No response.

Dude looked up and realised with a start that the angel was gone. The uncanny chill it had brought still hung in the air, and he could almost make out the shadow of the figure still in the dark, but it was certainly gone.

Dude sighed, maybe in relief, maybe just to let out the breath he didn't know he was holding, and fell back into a kitchen chair. His hand found the handle of his side arm, and the metal was cold to the touch. In a way, it was grounding. In a way, it was exhausting. The encounter with the angel had left his limbs heavy and his mind weary, and no more information than he had started with.

Even as frightening as it may have been, Dude hoped it would return again to guide him. He couldn't do this alone.

Dude didn't know any way to call upon the angel. After all, it's not like the creature left a business card. He had tried praying, lighting candles, holding a crucifix in his hands and begging someone, anyone, to answer. It seemed that the harder he tried, the further the angel would stray. It wasn't until Dude was sitting in his living room, testing the weight of his handgun in his palms, that a voice caught his attention.

"Did you remember my warning?" the angel's voice was still breathy, and a bit muted, but it sounded less like a recording, and more like a face to face conversation. Maybe the angel was learning to imitate humans better. It was an odd thought, for certain.

He looked up at the entity and his suspicions were further confirmed. The angel looked still unreasonably tall and thin, but it had begun to recess into a more humanoid form. Its face was no longer elongated like a melting sculpture, now just a bit oval shaped. The eyes, however, still glowed like twin suns behind its sunglasses.

"I've looked for more warnings." he assured it, replacing the gun in his side holster, "I don't…I don't think I saw anything."

"Do not be blinded by your heart." The angel's tone was a bit scolding, making Dude feel ashamed, "You are a fool for how you view those around you. As they act in their own self interest, the infection grows."

Dude nodded solemnly, eyes downcast, "I-I understand."

"When the signs arise, you must ready to act." the angel reminded him, its voice a bit softer, understanding of the human's error.

"To act?" he looked up at the angel, immediately regretting it. The angel's eyes seemed to look right through him, seeing the doubt and fear he held deep inside.

"You will save and be saved in return." The angel said simply, leaving Dude with more questions than answers, but he bit his tongue and nodded slowly.

"How will I tell you when I find the signs?" Dude asked suddenly, worried about losing the angel's advice without warning, "How can I find you when I know?"

"I never leave you." The sentence should have been comforting to Dude, but somehow it just felt like a threat, "I'm always with you."

Its voice had a dizzying effect, making Dude's head swim when it spoke, and he held his temples until the buzz subsided. When he raised his head, it was gone again. He wanted to be upset at the sudden departure, but the angel seemed to give off an aura that sapped the energy from his veins worse than a 5 mile jog.

Dude slumped back in his chair, looking up at the water stained ceiling, and whispered a prayer of dedication.

"I'll do whatever it takes."

Despite how exhausted each interaction with the angel left him, Dude was struggling to sleep. His paranoia told him every moment of every day was a risk to not only his safety but the entire world's. The fate of humanity was in his hands, and all he could seem to do was sit and wait. Wait for what? Dude had to hope the sign didn't coincide with his untimely passing.

Even if that was his fate, Dude decided to at least go for a walk. It had been an embarrassingly long time since he'd gone to the store, so that was the logical place to go. He was mostly subsisting off of stale cereal and cans of various off colour soups he would swipe from the grocery store he worked at.

Work.

The only thing Dude ever seemed to do anymore was go to work, and even that was suffering. His mind full of angels, doomsday prophecies, and the promise of martyrdom plagued his thoughts. Day after day, he would stock shelves with trembling hands and wide eyes. His hours were cut again, but he remained dutiful in his tasks. Stacking cans. Stacking boxes. Listening to people chatter about meaningless things, unaware Armageddon was on the horizon.

It all seemed so worthless.

Even now, trudging through the thin layer of snow that coated Paradise's roads, Dude was aware of eyes on him. He pulled his trench coat tighter around his shoulders, trying not to notice the eyes of his neighbors peeking out from their windows, watching him, judging him. Who were they to judge him? Many of the houses had Halloween decor; a paper skeleton on a door or a plastic devil on their decks was okay to them but a man without a car was strange? Strange enough to warrant spying as he stomped through the snow?

Maybe it was a sign.

Dude shook his head, both to dispel the thought and to move his auburn hair from his face. The cold wind stung his cheeks, and he wondered if hell could still rise when it was so cold.

Chapter Text

Opening the door to EZ-Mart and feeling its heating hit his face was a relief for Dude. Usually being here was a thing to dread, 8 hours of the monotonous work for $6 an hour, barely enough for him to cover his bills, especially now as his scheduled days were becoming less frequent. He pulled off his jacket, holding it in one arm so it dragged along the aisle floor as he trudged through, painfully aware of how others must see him.

He scooped up a few discounted items, along with a pair of gloves, wine red, to keep his hands from freezing on the walk home. Dude hadn't considered that the only clean clothing he had thrown on that day included his work shirt, a white polo with the word "EZ-MART" embroidered over the breast pocket. Despite not having on his blue vest or khakis, this shirt was enough to make a shopper mistake him for someone on the clock.

"Ma'am, where's the-" Dude startled at the sudden voice and hand on his shoulder. He swung around to stare at the woman, hand gripping a can of green beans still. The customer stiffened at the sight of his unkempt beard and wispy mustache.

"Uhm… sir…I guess." she corrected herself, and Dude could hear how unpleasant she found him by the change in her voice.

"I'm not-I don't- I'm not working." Dude grunted at her, causing the woman's brows to knit.

"What, do you think I'm stupid?" she demanded, stamping her foot angrily, "I can see your damned work shirt. Do you just not want to serve me?"

"Ma'am, I'm not-" his voice faltered. Something about the way she glared at him made dread set in so much worse than before.

"Don't lie to me, you little shit." She reached for him, "You need to get your act together, get a fucking haircut, and start acting like a God-fearing member of society instead of a degenerate!"

When she grabbed his matted and greasy hair, Dude's blood pressure shot up. He was terrified and whipped the can at her. Thankfully, it missed her head or neck, only clipping her shoulder, but she withdrew and screeched like she'd been shot. Panic filled Dude's nervous system and he scooped up the items he had in hand, throwing on his jacket, and dashed out of the supermarket. He ran nearly the whole way back to his house, juggling the stolen produce and tripping over his own shoes as he made it back to his house.

That woman, that demon, had grabbed his long hair and pulled him. He felt infection spread from where she had touched him. He dumped the groceries on the kitchen counter, likely breaking a few eggs, and threw open the junk drawer.

Where is it, where is it-

Dude found a pair of scissors, old, rusted, and stained from opening a bag of ground beef and not washing them since, and rushed to the bathroom.

He watched his reflection, seeing where the demon in the store had touched him. The hair looked darker there.

Maybe it's just clumped together with grease he reasoned, but he couldn't take that chance. Dude slammed the scissors down on the sink, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a hair tie he always kept in his jeans. He pulled his hair into a ponytail, the band positioned just above the infection, and cut it off. The remaining hair flowed into his face, framing him with jagged edges and missed strands.

His hair, previously down to his mid back, was now barely shoulder length in its longest sections. His eyes were focused on his reflection in the dirty mirror, but he noticed movement from behind him and realized his angel had manifested again.

"She was a demon, wasn't she?" Dude's voice broke as he met the angel's glowing eyes in his own reflection.

"She was only part of a further infection." its voice was still becoming more human the more they talked, beginning to gain some bass and lose its ethereal tone.

"W-What do I do?" Dude asked with a shaking tone.

"Bide your time, and your lord will show you when the time of reckoning is at hand." it laid a hand on his shoulder, touching him for the first time. The touch was heavy and inhuman, like a powerful magnet drawing all the iron in his blood to where it sat, and the hand burned against his skin.

Despite the pain, Dude did not pull away. He accepted the touch, hoping it would cleanse him of the sin that nestled deep inside his soul, hoping it would burn bright enough to destroy the darkness that kept him unholy.

When he finally turned to look at it, he saw that the angel had changed once more, looking like a slightly older version of Dude, smile lines on his face and his beard neatly trimmed. At first, he wondered if this was akin to the face of his birth father, but he decided not to entertain such ideas. If not for the odd proportions and burning eyes, Dude would have nearly believed it was a human. Maybe even more human than himself.

Over the next few weeks, the angel had been visiting Dude more and more often. The angel encouraged Dude to practice with his side arm, taking it into the woods and firing at empty beer cans (which Dude had taken to drinking as the stress of the upcoming apocalypse weighed on him) well into the morning hours, only to get home, take a far-too-cold shower, then throw on his work clothes and rush to his job.

Since his first interaction with an infected in the store, Dude had become much more vigilant. Every customer could be a threat. Maybe even some of his coworkers. Rude comments became a basis for suspicion in his eyes, and he could swear he heard the angel's voice whispering just beyond his perception. Whatever was being said was too distant to decipher, but too clear to ignore.

As the month changed from September to October, the town got colder and snow became a bit more frequent, making his walk to and from work less and less bearable. The only thing he found himself looking forwards to was going out after work for firing practice in the woods next to his house. His wine red gloves were good for keeping his hands warm but made handling the second hand m16 he owned harder.

An m16 for self defense. It felt like overkill, but the angel had informed his decision, warning of the infected's unnatural strength. When it became too cold to hold the gun without the metal stinging his skin, Dude finally relented and cut the fingers off of his gloves. Strangely? It felt right. Not just okay, but right, like it was planned from the beginning. His palms gripped the firearm and it felt like he was molded to hold it.

His hands were steadied by an invisible force that Dude had come to know as the angel. After the hell he faced daily, the power of pulling the trigger was euphoric. It was nearly blinding.

Dude couldn't remembering going to bed the previous night. His eye were heavy with exhaustion and his hands shook from the three cups of coffee he had downed in an attempt to wake himself up. He assumed he must have slept since he didn't remember anything past returning from the make-shift firing range the night before, and had regained consciousness sprawled out on the couch with his TV on low volume with static fuzzing the screen.

Assuming he did sleep, he must have slept in. He was going to be late for work, but the coffee seemed essential, so he took the time to brew a pot and pour it into a mostly clean thermos. Cutting it tight, he didn't have time for a full shower while the coffee brewed but he used a wet washcloth to scrub away the worst offenders of his stench.

When Dude arrived at work, out of breath with his hair in a short, low ponytail and his eyes heavily lidded from exhaustion, he was surprised to find his time card gone. His fingers glossed over where it would usually be next to the time clock, but found nothing.

"What are you doing here?" Dude's ears perked up and he turned to see his manager, a squat middle aged woman who rarely seemed to be at work but always had something to critique if she was.

"I-I'm here for my shift." Dude's voice was a croak. He wondered how long it had been since he spoke much aloud to anyone but the angel, "8-12, right?"

"You don't work here anymore." his manager looked more irritated than concerned, "We fired you days ago."

"Wh-…" Dude blinked hard, his mind foggy and disorganized, "Fired? Why?"

"Why?" she scoffed, "Look at yourself. You take no pride in your appearance, your hair looks like you lost a fight with a lawn mower, you smell like shit, and you've missed three shifts in the past two weeks."

"Two weeks?" he echoed, clearly trying to process. It hadn't been that bad, had it? His memory lapses may have been more severe than he realised.

"Two weeks." She confirmed, "I don't know if you're on crack or something, but if you show up here again as anything but a customer, I'll call the cops on you. Got that?"

Dude nodded meekly, his mind filled with haze, "I-I understand. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise, just get the hell out of my store." She pointed to the door, her eyes cold, and Dude wondered if she was another demon in disguise.

As he made his way back home, now empty thermos clenched in his hands, he heard the angel's voice, deep and shockingly human.

"Don't worry about her. This just gives you more time and freedom to prepare."

Dude felt something like relief pool in his stomach. The angel was guarding him. He could not fail.

Things only got worse from there.

Dude's health had been poor his whole life, owing in part to the fact he struggled with basic self maintenance, but now his lack of a job made things more difficult. He couldn't afford good food before, so now he was lucky he could afford much of anything at all. His current situation wasn't too dire, as he had begun stockpiling cans from work when the angel first approached him. He couldn't steal enough for multiple years worth, of course, but the next few months, if he rationed it well and kept his meals meager, would be covered. What he hadn't considered was the electric bill.

The house, creaky and old, was heated by gas, and Dude found himself having to pick between paying the gas bill or the electric bill. With the sharp winds stinging his face anytime he opened a window, Dude decided that gas was the most important. Despite that, he still tried to be careful of it, only keeping the heating on at night and staying bundled in his coat during the day.

The cold showers were another thing he hadn't expected to contend with, but he supposed if it was the end of times, he should simply be glad to have a shower at all.

Ammo was an expense he didn't expect either. The rural area he lived in had plenty of hunters living in it, so it wasn't uncommon for Dude to find buckshot left in the woods, unfired and nestled still in their box under pine needles. The sight was always bizarre to him. Wasteful, and of something as expensive and precious as ammo, it seemed almost disgraceful to Dude. He would take what he could, vowing to make his target practice less frequent as to preserve his supplies.

Unfortunately, that meant his main form of stress relief was gone.

The isolation was suffocating. He hadn't spoken to any of his neighbors in days, and his only communication was of the letters piling up outside his front door.

That and, of course, the angel.

"You're doing well." The angel told Dude, a smile twisting his unnatural face, "I only want you to let me help you further. To prepare you for what you must do to serve your lord."

The request caught him off guard, and Dude struggled to understand what was being asked of him. He was breaking. Despite having a fair share of cans still in his basement, he hadn't allowed himself a meal in two days. This wasn't the first time, either. He was not only forgetting to eat, but sometimes avoiding it, since every spoonful in his stomach made him feel nausea. His face became gaunt and his hands had grown spindly as he ate less and less. On bad days, when his stomach twisted with hunger pangs, he could not think clearly. But an angel would not hurt him, right? An angel would not lead him astray.

So he nodded, eyes drooping and exhausted.

The angel extended his hand, long, talon like nails adorning his fingers. Dude took his hand, feeling the same heat radiate as he had before. The world went dark.

When Dude woke up, his stomach felt full for the first time in days. He placed a hand over his abdomen, able to feel a slight distension confirming he had, indeed, gorged himself the night before.

But none of his stores seemed to have been emptied. His mouth tasted of stale bread and he decided he must have found some without remembering it. There was really no other explanation he could think of, but he wasn't going to be upset with sleep walking and filling his belly with forgotten food.

Dude went to the bathroom, bending over the sink and looking at the clumps of hair that didn't wash down the drain. The ginger tufts, made dark by the water, almost looked like swirls of blood. He looked back up at the mirror and bared his teeth at his reflection, seeing the decay that crept over his gums. He decided to brush, despite having no tooth paste, and spat a stripe of real blood among the ginger smears.

Even after that, Dude had to admit he felt leagues better than he had in weeks. It was like an illness had been lifted from him, and his body finally felt strong enough to stand up and survive the approaching storm.

And if he was feeling better, he may as well get some errands taken care of. Taking advantage of his restored strength, Dude slipped into the woods. Maybe a little firing practice wouldn't hurt.

Every shot hit the target, some sinking into the bullseye much to Dude's delight. He wondered if this was a blessing from the angel as well, and when he felt as if he were being directed, he knew it was.

As weeks progressed, his physical health improved. He hardly felt the need to eat or sleep, always feeling full and rested. But he could barely enjoy the change, as he was more and more aware of the infection spreading outside his home.

He could hear gunshots at night, hollers echoing in the dark. The sickness had to be spreading. It twisted his stomach. There was something unnatural about the voices outside, and Dude would grip the choppy ends of his hair with his hands plastered over his ears, trying anything to drown out the noises of the infected. He could never be sure if it was the neighbors playing, or people succumbing to the curse his angel had warned him of.

He prayed for the best, but prepared for the worst. October's winds grew colder. The nights grew longer. The cries grew louder.

Chapter Text

Dude wasn't sure what was happening to him, but he doubted it was healthy. Even as his physical health grew from the slump he was pulled from only a week prior, his brain seemed to be paying the price. Maybe this was the result of sleep deprivation, but he worried more so that it was the first symptom of the prophesied plague. He was often missing chunks of his memory, starting with small things (Why was I going upstairs? Ah, whatever) but the progression was steady, like a rot growing across a large dead tree, sapping away any integrity it once had, daring it to break if the wind howled too close to it.

The one that scared him the most was when he awoke to a searing pain on his collarbone. He had never known himself to be a sleep walker, but he seemed to jerk awake not in his bed or on the couch, but upright in the kitchen. The confusion of his location had to be secondary, as he panicked and grabbed at his chest, trying to rip away whatever had burned him. His hand found the black leather cord around his throat and tore it away, snapping the fastener and sending his necklace to the ground.

After a moment to gather himself, Dude finally looked down at the kitchen floor and saw his crucifix laying, glinting in the dim light. His hand reached to his chest unsteadily, worried about what it would find, and he pulled the burgundy polo shirt's collar down just enough to see the risen and shiny pink skin of a fresh burn. Just over his heart was the unmistakable shape of a cross, seared into his chest like a brand. He looked at the necklace again, scooping to pick it up as his mind searched for any explanation. Despite the way it burned through his skin just moments before, it wasn't hot to the touch. The front of his shirt was in tact as well, so he didn't suppose the jewelry itself was the cause of the burns.

Desperately, he wished he could ask the angel. Ask it why the symbol of his savior would scald his flesh, and leave him with a brand over his heart. He thought of the punishment of hellfire and felt his heart skip a beat. Then he considered the purifying fires of purgatory. Perhaps the end times were closer than he thought. Perhaps the infection was effecting him too. Perhaps he was on borrowed time, waiting for the angel to return as hellfire rose to claim his town. His Paradise.

There were signs that fed into Dude's fear. He answered a few phone calls of threats from strangers, saying they would remove him from his home base. Nowhere else was safe. Dude was certain of it. This house held the angel, this he was certain of. Sometimes he would catch a glimpse of the angel in his peripheral or a mirror as he walked past. The angel's form was more defined than before, and now he looked almost like Dude himself, if he ignored the fire lit eyes. Dude believed as long as the angel stayed within his home, he could not be harmed in its creaking walls.

Even stepping outside for the mail seemed ill advised. He had already neglected his mail quite often, but the pile of letters was becoming soaked and a smell like mold wafted from under the great oak door. On the rare occasion Dude ventured out, he snuck out the back, feeling safer in the kevlar vest he had left over from his brief time in the military, but even these excursions were becoming less and less frequent.

And the calls only got worse over the course of the week. Threats of forcing Dude from his safe haven. It was a horrid thought, and he knew this was only a trick of the devil. Sounding so official, sounding so human, but he knew this was just to make him let his guard down.

As he sat in his house, the weight of his vest feeling like the comfortable luxury he often longed for, Dude could just barely see white specks of snow outside his window. He thought of the kids next door, knowing they had talked about snowmen and snowball fights when wishing for the cold in the summer months.

He hoped they were still themselves. He hoped the infection hadn't gotten them. His grip on his M16 grew tighter, his teeth clenched.

Dude was far too deep in his thoughts when someone knocked at his door, making him startle and wrap his jacket around him tightly. The knock came once again and he swallowed a terrified squeak, eyes wide as a voice called from outside.

He didn't recognize the voice that echoed down the front hall, and couldn't really understand what was being said. Dude wondered if he should risk being spotted and make a mad dash up the stairs, but the chances of being spotted would only be increased if he had to leave the living room.

Please, please, go away… Dude prayed silently, tucking his head down to knees as if minimizing himself could make the monster outside lose interest.

His worst fears were realized when he heard the click of his door being unlocked. How had they gotten his key? Dude didn't even have time to consider this, jumping to his feet and scrambling backwards. He could hear the door open and his instincts took over.

Something in the clothing (and skin) of a police officer entered his house. Dude could see him as he peered from the darkness of his living room.

The demon hadn't noticed him yet.

He had the advantage of surprise. There was nothing else to do but take the opportunity.

Dude finally stepped into the light, simply to have the benefit of a direct shot. Time slowed. Everything happened all at once. The "officer" recognized him, turning to look at him. Dude barely noticed how confused the demon looked as it processed what was happening, but it didn't have the chance.

Dude squeezed the trigger, his hands steady with practice, and released a spray of bullets into the intruder. The force was greater than Dude had expected. Despite having enlisted during the Gulf war, Dude hadn't had to kill before. Practicing was nothing like the real thing, especially in such close range. The bullets tore through flesh, splattering a spray of viscera on the peeling wall paper behind the demon. The relief of putting the first attacker down was short lived, as Dude began to process that his safe haven was anything but.

Quivering, Dude peered out the window and saw another cop-no, another demon-waiting in a squad car outside, clearly calling for reinforcements. Dude's stomach dropped. He was going to be swarmed in moments. With hardly any time to think, he grabbed his bag which was packed with extra rounds and a few molotov cocktails he had crafted in a fit of paranoia.

Now it seemed less irrational.

Maybe it was the adrenaline powering him, but Dude felt a burst of energy and almost elation as the house was surrounded by "officers".

He ran from the building, barely avoiding the first of many attempts to subdue him, and ducked around back to grab his shot gun. Gun safety be damned, it was already loaded and good thing too, since Dude barely had time to turn on heel and fire at the infected following him. The aftermath was horrific: an explosion of bloody clumps from what used to be a head, the lower jaw still mostly intact while the pink tongue flopped uselessly where the roof of a mouth used to be. Dude felt terror at the scene, but something deep inside of him twisted, and the terror was replaced by satisfaction at the pride he sensed. The angel must be with him. He could feel the hand on his shoulder, another over his hand, guiding him and hissing encouragement to Dude, and mockery towards the demons they slayed.

Dude's mind was foggy as he continued down the streets of his neighborhood, attacking only those who struck first, and praying for the safety of those who watched him.

With his eyes wide and terrified, Dude sank back against a pine tree. He had survived the first wave of the demons, but he knew better than to think he was safe yet. Nestled in his pocket was a small journal he kept: a graduation gift he'd barely touched since high school, but had begun to write in again when the angel arrived.

The knowledge of what was going on… he couldn't keep it to himself. Dude pulled out the journal, flipped it open, and hastily began to write in messy script and smudged letters.

Worst fears confirmed. Group of lunatics tried to invade my home. Must get to truckstop and Sherrif, see if anyone there can help me. Afraid only God can help me now…

Dude closed the book and looked up at the cloudy sky, wishing to see the angel, but it appeared he was alone once again.

After taking the time to write, he knew he had already wasted valuable daylight. His boots crunched in the snow as he made his way down the back roads, not wanting to be spotted. Luck was not on his side.

They must have been more of the possessed. Stepping around the corner, Dude heard someone shout at him and barely had time to process another false officer pointing a gun at him and firing haphazardly. He fell to his knees, taking cover behind a parked car, and, hands trembling with panic, ripped open his bag to retrieve his emergency options. A few used beer bottles clinked against each other as he fished out one and then the lighter from his jeans pocket. A molotov cocktail; not elegant or safe, but the best he had at the moment.

Dude lit the cloth then chucked the bottle as hard as he could. It fell short, landing on the far end of the car, but the flames spread out from where it landed and Dude could hear the faux officer scream. He would have celebrated had he had the time, but relaxing for even a second was punished with a bullet whizzing past his face, leaving a burning streak where it had skimmed his cheek. His hand clamped over the fresh wound, feeling the warm blood on his finger tips.

Worse yet, he looked up and recognized his assailant: the town sheriff. If even he was infected, there may be nowhere for Dude to turn. He needed to know how far this spread. He had to stop it from going any further.

The angel's voice growled in his ears, and his hands seemed to move on their own, raising his rifle to aim at the sheriff and pulling the trigger, "All must die."

Minutes bled into hours, and hours into days. Dude only knew the date based on when the sun had set and risen again. His war was far from over; the angel had told him that. At each opportunity, after clearing the hostile mob away, Dude would take a moment to gather his thoughts, writing them in his journal with shaking hands and glassy eyes.

The further into town he got, the worse the infection seemed to be. More demons wearing the skin of officers flooded into the streets as he continued, and their firepower only grew. More and more often, Dude felt his own hands work against him, moving without his intervention. He could feel the warm glow of the angel in his bones, puppeteering his actions and leading him to kill more and more.

Dude sought refuge anywhere he could. His mind was unraveling, and he could feel it. Each blow felt duller and further when the angel controlled him, but that couldn't be said for the information he gathered as he trudged through those dead by his hand.

The sheriff being infected was the first sign of how bad it had become. He had realized that total eradication of the town may be a necessary evil to stop the infection. His decision was only solidified when he was forced to witness a "parade" making its way brazenly through the street, the demonic features on their faces making it even more obvious that the armies of Hell had risen and taken over Paradise.

It wasn't until after he had made it to the trailer park on the edge of town that he began to fear he truly was the only one left. His clothing was heavy, drenched in blood. He couldn't be certain how much was his own blood. His jacket, heavy wool, was peppered with holes and seared at the edges from fires of his own making and those set by the demons he fought.

"I-I have to warn everyone." his voice broke, and the angel's tone, so human it should have been a survivor whispering in his ear, responded.

"Escape Paradise… the train station…" Dude felt his hot breath on his ear, but when he whipped his head around, there was no one there. Of course there wasn't.

Had Dude not known better, he would have believed the angel wanted him killed. The train station was swarming with the infected, all of which had zeroed in on Dude as he was stuck in the bottle neck leading into the lot.

"Kill them all." the angel's voice instructed him, and Dude hadn't had the strength to resist in days, "All must die."

The train station was the first time Dude had the presence of mind to question the angel's actions. His hands were forced to kill, a depressing necessity of his war against the damned, but he couldn't stand to watch when a felled enemy was killed.

Dude's legs walked against his will, finding someone unarmed who had been shot but still struggled along the pavement, mouth agape and gurgling blood as they did.

"Please, no." Dude's voice broke as he was forced to place the barrel of his gun against the victim's head.

"Only you can stop the evil." The angel told him, tensing his hand so he pulled the trigger. The victim's head exploded like a gourd, blood and chunks flying from where he'd pressed the gun.

"He w-wasn't a risk." Dude choked on a sob, but his face contorted into a smile against his will.

"Listen to me, Dude, you don't want to become infected like the others, do you?" the voice asked. The thought made Dude's blood run cold, and he gave himself up to the control of the angel entirely once more.

"That's better." his voice was smooth as silk, but Dude was doing what he could to not hear it as a threat, "Now… the hive must be cleansed."

A prisoner in his own mind, Dude was forced along.

So it continued. Day after bloody day, Dude allowing his body to be dragged from place to place by the invisible force of the angel, his limbs screaming in protest as they ached from exhaustion and blood loss. It was a miracle Dude hadn't succumbed to his injuries yet. Perhaps it was the angel keeping him alive still.

Part of him wished he wouldn't.

The more he saw, the more Dude worried the madness of the plague had already struck him and he was as hopeless as the others. He prayed to the angel, silently begging, that he would be able to leave this hell with his mind intact. The angel did not answer, only speaking to mock the infected they slaughtered.

The last sliver of hope Dude had left was shattered when they reached the air force base and found it just as swarmed with the demons as everywhere else. Dutifully, diligently, Dude slaughtered all in his path. His boots squelched as he stepped in the eviscerated organs of the final infected, and he turned to look at the sky over head.

He wanted to cry out and demand an explanation why the lord had chosen him to cleanse the earth. He wanted to know why he was the only one immune to the demonic infection. He wanted to sob for all he had killed, and for all who would have no family to even bury them, if they were buried at all.

But he didn't say anything. Dude simply watched the moon through his sunglasses, and wondered if He could hear his turmoil from within his skull.

"It's over." Dude whispered, "There's no one left in the base. We could end it all now. We did it."

He didn't feel relief. He didn't feel grateful. He just felt ill.

"No." The angel's voice dripped with sadistic pleasure in a way that made Dude's arm hair stand on edge, "There's one place left."

"Where?" Dude's voice cracked in frustration, "We can just leave! We can burn the town to the fucking ground! Contain the illness. Contain the curse. Please, just let me end it."

"The hive is cleansed." the angel told him, "The infection… it's source.. I can show you it."

Dude's throat tightened as his legs began to move against his will again. He grit his teeth and fought it, managing to lock his knees so he couldn't be forced to walk any longer.

"What are you?" Dude demanded, clenching his fists at his side.

"I am you." he chuckled somewhere in the back of Dude's skull, "I am the darkness that lurks in your mind. I am the urge to kill you often deny. I am the unkillable bloodlust of humanity, the immortal desire for carnage. I am you, the you that you hide."

"You're not an angel." Dude managed, feeling foolish for having not voiced it until now, "Not of the lord."

"You took long enough." the laughter echoed in his mind loud enough to make his ears thunder, "I serve death. I serve chaos. My master is of gore and desperation. You were simply the easiest vessel to control."

Despite his attempts to fight off the force, the demon overpowered him again, and Dude continued his death march.

Sometimes, whilst controlled by the demon, Dude had felt a million miles away, with his brain fuzzy and his eyes glossy, but now the demon seemed intent on making Dude watch each and every action. With dawning horror, Dude became aware of where they were.

On the horizon, he could see the simple brick building of the local elementary school. His hands tightened on his weapon, and Dude put everything he had into fighting off the control once more.

"You can't defeat me." the demon taunted as Dude's body was forced to the edge of the playground. Children…they must not have noticed him. They still laughed and played, seemingly unaware of the mad man drenched in blood, staggering towards them.

"I am unkillable." the demon forced him to raise his weapon. With one last push, Dude managed to break free of the possession if only for a moment.

A single gunshot rang out through the school yard, turning the kids' playful yells into screams of terror as they fled inside.

"But I'm not." Dude answered, blood already dotting his lips. The shock of it all seemed to have startled even the demon as Dude held the gun turned towards his abdomen. Despite the powers of the demon keeping him running, his body was on the edge of collapse for days now, and a direct hit like that into the stomach was more than he could take. Dude collapsed to the grass, his eyes bleary and spotted with dark patches as the blood loss began to take hold of his mind.

Chapter Text

When Dude next opened his eyes, he was neither in heaven nor hell as he had expected. He was stuck in a blindingly white room. A hospital, it seemed. He tried to sit up, but his injury sent him back down. Only then did he realise his hands were bound to the bed itself.

Dude looked at the locked door across the room, and saw a silhouette talking outside of it. He strained to listen and managed to pick up a few sparse words.

"….undesirable behaviours…. tortured mind……fate of the world…..paranoid delusional…."

Dude gave up on trying to listen, laying his head back and staring up at the stark white ceiling.

Unable to move, with morphine dulling his full body pain, Dude decided to surrender himself to sleep once more. As his eyes drifted shut, he could swear the shadow of the demon passed over him once more. Trapped in a sterile prison with Dude forever.