268 Horrors of War(3)

– San Francisco, California - 12:16 AM –

The sky hung heavy with a pall of gray clouds, veiling the sunlight, while the ground below was shrouded in a veil of thick fog. Amidst the hushed landscape, it was completely quiet, punctuated only by the distant echo of gunfire.

Accompanied by the sound of faint footsteps, a team of eleven heavily armed soldiers can be seen moving through the streets.

Mobile Task Force Delta-4, codenamed "Minutemen", the ones that Rip and the rest came with were currently moving down the streets after Rip had taken out the enemy forces earlier which granted them passage to move without going through another enemy gunfire.

"Rip. Carson. Ramsey. Does anyone read me? Over."

Among them, the captain of Delta-4 tried to radio them, but no response came as he was only met with silence.

"No response. They might be out of radio range or have lost signal." the captain lamented, in his trail was a team of ten soldiers that followed him along the way.

"Hey captain, why isn't this fog dissipating?" One of the soldiers was the first to speak, casting a wary eye over the vast expanse of white mist.

Indeed, the fog persisted for an entire day. As they ventured deeper, the fog became increasingly dense. By now, the visibility was less than five to six meters.

Exploring through the desolate streets, even some soldiers could not help but shudder with fear at every rustle, fearing that an enemy might suddenly jump at them.

"Uh…" After a brief silence, the experienced captain also could not provide a reasonable explanation.

In fact, that fog did not even exist in this region, leading to one unsettling conclusion.

"It's probably an anomaly." asserted a dark-skinned soldier, tightening his grip on his machine gun.

The Captain interjected, his voice a grave reminder, "Anomaly or not. Keep your guard up though, who knows who might be lurking in the fog."

As if he wasn't right enough, Jason Voorhees, the legendary slasher himself, was hidden within the fog and silently observed the MTF squad walking down the street without noticing his presence.

"..."

A familiar eerie sound pierced the air, sending a shiver down those who heard it.

🎶Ki Ki ki ki... Ma Ma ma ma🎶

"Did anyone else hear that?" Gulping in nervousness, a soldier suddenly asked as he broke the uneasy silence.

"Must be your imagination," the captain replied gravely, his tone masking any hint of uncertainty, "Keep moving people. Ramsay and the rest can't have gone far."

Unbeknownst to them, Jason stepped out of the alleyway and walked behind the MTF team slowly with an axe on his left hand and his signature machete on his right with chilling intent, his presence heralded by the eerie repetition of an ominous sound echoing through the fog-laden streets.

At the same time, the dense fog permeating in the streets seemed to be bearing an indescribable sense of oppression, constantly pressuring the soldiers' nerves with each passing moment.

"I swear to god, Captain. I am hearing a sou-"

Before the soldier could finish his sentence, a spout of blood shot up in the sky, accompanied by the sickening thud of a fallen weapon.

The MTF commander and the MTF soldiers heard the sound and spun around to find the MTF soldier collapsed on his knees with his entire head gruesomely severed from his body. Behind the fallen soldier was Jason standing over his body making his presence known to them.

"Oh shit! It's Jason!"

Amidst the continuous cries of alarm, each and every soldier raised up their weapons in a frantic bid for survival.

"Open fire!"

Immediately after, a spray of bullets poured out like rain as muzzle flashes flickered in the dense fog, sending Jason flinching constantly by the cacophony of gunfire that tore through the oppressive darkness.

"Fire! Fire!"

The captain and his men fired their assault rifles at Jason, but the bullets had little effect on him, who simply tanked them since he was already dead himself and his unstoppable advance fueled by an unholy resilience.

As the soldiers continued to empty their magazines into him, Jason approached the nearest MTF soldier's rifle and pierced it through his face, followed by uppercutting another MTF soldier which tore his head off and was sent careening into a trash bin.

"Nothing's working!" one soldier cried out, his voice thick with unease.

"Keep shooting!" the captain barked, his command echoing through the chaos.

But their efforts were in vain as the last rounds were expended, leaving them defenseless in the face of the infamous killer. As they scrambled to reload and move backwards, Jason took advantage of it and rushed forward, closing in with them at terrifying speed.

With a vicious swing of his machete, Jason cleaved through a nearby soldier, bisecting him vertically in two. Grasping another soldier by the throat, he deftly pulled the pins from one of the grenades holstered on the soldier's uniform and threw him at three unsuspecting soldiers.

Before they could react, the grenade detonated in a fiery explosion on their faces, claiming their lives in an instant while the shockwave sent the remaining soldiers tumbling to the ground.

Now, only two soldiers and the captain remained.

With resolve etched on his face, the MTF captain issued a command to the remaining soldiers, "You two, move it!"

"But?"

"THAT'S AN ORDER!"

The two MTF soldiers, much to their regret, nodded their heads in understanding, knowing the urgency of the situation from not only Jason but the grenade explosion and their gunfire might have drawn attention to the enemy forces. With heavy heart, they made a run for it as their footsteps echoing through the desolate streets

The MTF captain stood up and brought out his combat knife, his grip tightening around it as he prepared to face the unstoppable force, who stood in the middle of corpses filled with his men as they stood in a fierce standoff.

In the eerie silence that followed, a palpable tension hung in the air as the weight of the impending confrontation bearing down on them both.

Without warning, the captain launched himself forward, executing a swift maneuver to flank Jason and stabbed the back of his head with the knife, but it barely flinched.

"Shit."

Cursing under his breath, the captain recoiled as Jason retaliated with a brutal thrust of his machete, impaling him through the chin, and with a sickening crunch, the blade burst through the top of the captain's skull, ending his valiant stand in an instant.

"..."

Silence descended upon the scene as Jason dropped the lifeless body to the ground, his gaze turning towards the horizon in search of his remaining prey. Leaving behind a trail of carnage, he stalked off into the fog-covered streets as the last remnants of the MTF team were left behind.

🎶Ki Ki ki ki... Ma Ma ma ma🎶

—————————————————————

The two MTF soldiers sprinted through the streets, their hearts pounding with adrenaline as they raced to put as much distance as possible between themselves and their pursuer.

"That's Jason motherfucking Voorhees! Why the hell is he here?!" The same black-skinned soldier shouts filled with disbelief and terror.

"Who cares! Just keep running! We need to find other MTF forces and regroup!" The other soldier's words were punctuated by the sound of heavy breathing as they pushed themselves to their limits.

Suddenly, an axe came flying through the air and hit one of the soldiers in the back with a sickening thud. He collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain.

"No!" The Nigerian soldier cried out and approached to help his fallen comrade, but halted in his tracks as he caught sight of Jason advancing towards them with deliberate menace.

"Run!" The wounded soldier gasped, blood trickling from his lips. "Just run! Save yourself! I'll only slow you down!"

The african male soldier quickly inspected his machine gun, but noticed he ran out of ammunition and he knew average melee weapons wouldn't work against an undead like Jason. With a heavy heart, he turned and fled, his footsteps echoing through the empty streets.

As Jason closed in on the down soldier, he pulled out his handgun from his holster and fired off round after round until he emptied the magazine. Unfazed by the bullets puncturing his body, Jason simply stomped the axe deeper into the soldier's back until the blade burst through his chest with a sickening crunch, ending his life in an instant.

"..."

Meanwhile, the last MTF soldier continued running across the foggy streets until he found an unfinished building in construction and took cover behind a rectangular pillar, catching his breath. He takes a peek to see no one before getting back into cover and breathes a sigh of relief.

"At least its not one of those horror movie tropes where the black guy dies fir-"

…Only to last for a second as a metal rod pierced through the concrete pillar he was using as cover, impaling him through the back of the head.

"...Mo..M-Motherfu-"

With his remaining life left, he fell limp. Standing stoically on the other side of the pillar, Jason withdrew the metal rod from the concrete pillar and stared at the blood of his victim staining its cold surface.

"..."

In the eerie silence that followed, Jason's attention was drawn to the dead MTF soldier's radio that crackled to life.

[Can anyone hear me? This is Agent Ramsey. Me and the rest are at an abandoned carnival possibly a mile from your location on the north side of the city. Requesting regrouping there.]

"..."

Looking ahead, Jason sets his sights on the north for a new set of prey to be extinguished at his hands, and the radio gives him the location.

On a rooftop not far from where Jason is standing, Project Jaeger, the secret project from the Chaos Insurgency was observing Jason as he slaughtered an entire MTF team without much effort and seeing him just leave now from the construction building. Project Jaeger was going to attack them first, but it seems like Jason was quicker in getting his prey.

"N O T F O U N D A T I O N."

Jason wasn't his target as its only targets were the SCP Foundation or anyone related to them, so he heads out, ignoring the serial killer for his gruesome work as he isn't part of them... unless provoked otherwise.

————————————————————

At the abandoned carnival, Ramsey, Rip, Simmons, Zorin, and Carson continued their futile attempts to establish contact with the missing MTF crew they came to California with, but their radios yielding nothing but static.

"Any luck?" Carson inquired, his voice tinged with apprehension.

Ramsey shook her head in resignation. "No response at all," she replied, exchanging a concerned glance with Rip. "How long have we been standing here?" she asked.

"I say... three minutes." Rip estimated, though the passage of time felt longer amidst the palpable tension.

"Alright, let's not waste any more time. We'll have to meet up with them ourselves I guess. Let's move out." Ramsey declared, her tone resolute as they prepared to venture out.

As they traversed the abandoned carnival grounds and looked around, the eerie silence weighed heavily upon them, broken only by the occasional creak of rides and rustling of attractions such as tens and booths which seemed to be still intact to some degree but the place seemed abandoned not too long ago.

"So, uh, any chance they're... you know, not alive?" Carson suddenly asked casually, which drew disapproving looks from the others.

"What is wrong with you Carson?" Ramsey's furrowed brow conveyed her displeasure.

"I'm saying that they might be dead. Might be," Carson shrugged, his nonchalant demeanor at odds with the gravity of the situation.

"Let's hope not, or we might be the only ones left," Simmons interjected, attempting to steer the conversation towards a more constructive path.

At that moment, Rip's eyes caught sight of something ahead and called out to the group, "Wait." prompting them to pause in their tracks and redirect their attention.

"What is it?" Ramsey inquired, her tone tinged with curiosity and caution.

Rip gestured towards a body lying motionless on the ground, clad in what appeared to be a GOC soldier's uniform. However, upon closer inspection, it became evident that something was odd about it.

Approaching cautiously, Ramsay and the rest noticed the GOC soldier was actually alive, or it seemed like it. His entire face, body, and uniform had this very dull gray color and sort of very sad face on him.

Ramsay stepped forward and addressed the soldier, seeking to ascertain his condition. "Are you alright?" she asked, her concern palpable.

Instead of normally answering her question, the GOC soldier let out a mournful and sad dull groan, devoid of any coherent response.

"It appears his soul has been... taken," Carson interjected, his words laced with a sense of urgency.

Zorin furrowed her brow in confusion. "I'm sorry. His soul?"

"Yeah, he mi-" Carson paused as he realized something, "We need to leave. Now."

"Carson, you're not making any sense." Ramsay chided, her patience wearing thin.

"No, listen. It's a cartoon character who did this and we need to leave," Carson insisted in an urgent tone.

Ramsey grunts in annoyance, "If this is another joke I'm not interested." she retorted, her annoyance evident.

Despite the skepticism of his companions, Carson's urgency was palpable, his instincts urging him to flee from the unseen threat lurking in the shadows of the abandoned carnival.

At that moment, Carson and Simmons froze when they noticed a very tall figure standing right behind Rip and Ramsey as a sense of dread washed over them.

"Don't turn around, you two," Carson warned urgently, but his words fell on deaf ears as Rip and Ramsey disregarded the caution.

"Shut it."

Ignoring Carson's warning, Rip and Ramsey turned around, only to bump into the very tall person standing behind them. Standing at a towering eight feet tall, with black fur and a distinctly cartoonish appearance, the figure exuded an otherworldly aura.

[IMAGES]

"ゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴ"

"Woah," Zorin murmured in awe, her gaze fixed on the imposing figure.

"Hello there," the figure greeted them with an unsettling charm.

"IT'S THE DEVIL!" Carson and Simmons exclaimed in unison, their voices trembling with fear.

"Ah, even my enemies are my fans. How jarring," the Devil remarked, his tone dripping with amusement as he casually rubbed his index finger and thumb together.

"This guy is responsible?" Ramsey inquired, her voice tinged with disbelief.

"YES!" Carson confirmed emphatically as his eyes widened with terror.

Zorin, however, remained composed as she stared at the Devil with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. "And who, exactly, are you?"

The Devil chuckled softly before responding, "Oh, how rude of me to not introduce myself. Allow me to properly greet you, my dear guests. Oh boys~!"

Just then, two of the abandoned carnival tents open up to reveal some Reich soldiers and dark aether Manglers holding musical instruments in one tent, and row upon rows of jars filled with trapped souls in the other.

"Let me out! LET ME OUUUUUTTTTTTTTTT!!" The anguished cry of the trapped soul of the same GOC soldier they found echoed from within one of the jars, sending shivers down their spines.

Rip's eyes widened in realization as she looked at the body of the GOC soldier they found and the soul inside the jar, finally connecting the pieces. "Now it makes sense,"

The Devil chuckled ominously, his gaze fixed on the jarred souls. "Oh, don't worry. They're enjoying themselves," he assured them, his words dripping with malice. "Now, about my introduction, let's do it... through SONG!" he announced, his voice tinged with excitement.

"What?" Ramsay, Zorin, and Rip exclaimed in unison, their confusion evident.

"Yaaay!" Carson and Simmons cheered enthusiastically, seemingly unfazed by the unfolding madness.

With a snap of his fingers, the group found themselves suddenly seated in chairs and their surroundings transformed into a makeshift stage.

"Hit it, boys!"

With a dramatic flourish, the Reich soldiers and Manglers began to play their instruments, filling the air with an eerie melody.

~ The Devil's Song ~

As the haunting melody filled the air, the Devil's foot tapped on the ground rhythmically to the beat while pointing his thumb to himself and his movements synchronized with the music as he exuded an aura of dark charisma.

And with a wicked grin, he began to sing that spoke power and mischief.

"🎶Wooooooooah! In case you ain't heard, I'm the Devil!🎶"

Slithering like a serpent around Rip and the rest of the group in a sinuous circle, he continued his performance with a sinister grace.

"🎶I'm a real lowdown, not on the level!🎶"

Each word dripped with allure and danger as he weaved his way around them, his presence commanding attention.

And as he danced lightly, he pulled out a white top hat from behind his head and spun his pitchfork around his hands dexterity as he tipped his hat to the captive audience.

"🎶They call me Old Scratch, Mr. S, the big D!🎶"

Throwing his pitchfork and hat aside, he sat on his luxury leather chair after a purposeful jump, surrounded by Manglers holding statues and portraits of himself, the Devil lounge comfortably, playfully scratching its chin and admired them in a mix of arrogance and charm.

"🎶I'm the king of the underworld! Yeah it's great to be me!🎶"

Turning his chair around, he is confronted by a piano and starts playing it. His fingers danced across the keys of the piano and weaved intricate melodies to complement the music.

Watching his performance, Zorin couldn't help but admit, "Not gonna lie, this is catchy."

With a mischievous gleam in his eyes, the Devil began to juggle his own head with his shoulders while singing the lines with his voice continuing the infectious tune.

"🎶Ho-di-llie doh-di-llie doh!🎶"

"🎶Ho-di-llie doh-di-llie doh!🎶" The Reich soldiers and Manglers followed along with him.

Reattaching his head seamlessly, the Devil resumed playing the piano, his fingers moving with supernatural speed.

"🎶He-di-llie hee-di-llie hee!🎶"

"🎶He-di-llie hee-di-llie hee!🎶" The trapped souls within the jars forcefully added their voices to the cacophony and sang along, their eerie chorus echoing through the air.

Morphing himself into a dragon-serpent-like creature, the Devil coiled and wrapped himself around the group while singing with a menacing glare and a devilish grin instilling a sense of dread in their hearts.

"🎶I'm a real naughty boy, I'm sure you'll agree!🎶"

"Oh totally," Carson nods quickly as he grins nervously at him.

As the Devil throws them back into their chairs with a swift motion, he transforms into a spider, dangling himself from a thread and skittering towards a mirror mounted on the wall, tapping the mirror with one of his legs.

"🎶I get my kicks playing tricks on the locals!🎶"

The reflection ripples to view him in his true form popping a balloon of a child. While the kid cries, the devil steals and begins licking his lollipop with a cruel smile on his face.

"🎶They're easy marks! They're real dumb yokels!🎶"

The tent is dark but the only thing lit was a silhouette of the Devil, whispering as if sharing a sinister secret.

"🎶But now folks, listen closely. It's time I made a confession!🎶"

With a sudden burst of light, the tent illuminated an array of jars containing captured souls, their ethereal glow casting an eerie pallor over the scene.

"🎶Collecting people's souls is my greatest obsession!🎶"

He began to laugh diabolically, quite pleased with his work. In fact, he was so thrilled that he decided to break out into dance.

"BWAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!"

Wearing a white tailcoat with a matching top hat, white spats, and a red bow tie, he danced to the beat of the music like he just didn't care. However, his joyous dance was short-lived when one of the Reich soldiers was calling his name.

"Uhhhh, Herr Devil. Herr Devil…? HERR DEVIL!"

~ Musical Paused ~

"WHAAAATTTT!?! I was singing!" The Devil ran up to his face and shouted indignantly at the trembling soldier.

The Reich soldier nervously pointed to Carson and the group standing next to the tent filled with jars containing trapped souls as the latter was ready to shatter the jars and release the captive spirits with a baseball bat that he found somehow.

"Batter up!" Carson exclaimed, ready to swing.

But before he could make a move, the Devil used his pitchfork to incinerate the baseball bat to ashes in a burst of flames.

"Do you really think I'm that stupid that I will let you free them?!" The Devil's voice dripped with contempt as he leveled his pitchfork at the group, his eyes flashing with malice.

"...Yes," Carson replied with a nervous grin.

Cocking his pitchfork like a shotgun, the Devil took aim at the five intruders as a malicious grin spread across his face. "Well, you're going to be ashes in the next few minutes."

"Should we do something?" asked one of the Reich soldiers in the stage.

The Mangler shook his head dismissively. "Naaaaah. Let him have his fun," he replied, his expression betraying a twisted sense of amusement at the scene.

"Now, Rip!" Ramsay's command cut through the tension, prompting Rip to raise her musket rifle and take aim.

Pulling the trigger, Rip fired a magic bullet that streaked through the air in a zig-zag pattern and aimed directly at the Devil.

But the Devil was quick to react, pulling out a stop sign and shouted, "STOP!"

With the sound of a car steering, the bullet literally stops inches away from his face and simply falls on the ground with a metallic ting.

"What." - Ramsay

"The." - Rip

"Fuck?" - Zorin

"He used the power of toon force!" Carson and Simmons shouted in disbelief.

Ramsey turned to them, confusion evident in her expression. "The what now?"

The Devil explained with a smirk, "The realm of cartoons has a force which we can manipulate to affect reality itself in the most cartoonish and nonsensical way possible, as well as breaking the fourth walls... sometimes. This is toon force. You cut my head off, I can reattach it. I can paint an exit on a wall which only I can walk through while others can't, or stop a bullet with a stop sign, and many other cartoonish examples."

"Ah shit, a reality bender."

"So, we're doomed?" Zorin's voice wavered with uncertainty.

"Oh, horribly," the Devil replied with a wicked grin before vaporizing Simmons, Ramsey, and Carson's rifles to ashes from his pitchfork, leaving them stunned.

"Wait, why didn't you also destroy my weapon?" Rip, whose weapon was the only one remaining intact, questioned the Devil's selective destruction.

"The Forsaken needs your rifle intact, Rip. He thinks he can use dark aether powers to turn it into a dark aether weapon or some sort of wonder weapon and yada yada yada," the Devil explained nonchalantly.

"So... what are our options?" Zorin turned to the group, seeking a plan.

Carson immediately replied, "Just one. RUUUUUNN!"

With adrenaline-fueled determination, Carson and everyone else run away in a true Joseph Joestar fashion.

Watching as they fled, the Devil's eyes lingered on the readers, "Oh, I love it when they run," he mused with a devilish grin spreading across his face