The Fearsome Feardorcha
Alto had hit a wall.
He had climbed to the top of the elevator shaft, making sure to be steady so he wouldn’t fall and have to start all over again. He used his lower left arm to take out his phone and shone a flashlight in the shaft, looking for a door. When he finally found one, he swung, feet first into the door, and through the other side.
He wandered the hall, looking for any indication on which floor he was on, and looked out a window on the eastern corridors. He wasn’t the top, and he was even more frustrated, tired of playing Araka’s stupid games, stuck inside a ridiculous building with terrible traps.
Alto turned and ran around the narrow hallway, and found a door, old, brown, frayed. He opened it, and inside were four men, and a woman, drinking and watching TV. They were all wearing the standard Triangle Corp mustard yellow shirts and black pants, but from their reactions, they did not seem to be normal employees.
They glared at the sweaty Alterian in confusion.
“Who are you," one of the men asked.
“Doesn’t matter. How do I get to the top floor? Have you seen a red-haired man?”
One of the men stood up from his painted green wooden chair and approached Alto, trying to be threatening, pointing his finger into his chest.
“If you don’t know how to get to the top floor, then you don’t belong here slug. Leave or el—”
The final words never left his mouth.
Alto took his top pair of hands and smacked them against both sides of his head. Like a grape, his head popped, but the consistency was thick like blended watermelon, spraying blood all over Alto’s face, the other Aecors, and it decorated the walls of the room.
The woman screamed, another threw up, and the last two ran into the other room, locking the door. The remaining employees banged on the door, wanting to be let inside, as the monster smiled, enjoying his work.
The man’s body crumpled to the ground, and his blood and brain matter leaked all over the carpeted floor.
“I did not stutter," said Alto. “I will not repeat myself."
The woman began to cry, wailing that she had children, they needed to open the door, why won’t they open the door? Alto took just one step towards them, and the man opened his mouth.
“The only way to reach the higher floors is to take the third door," he explained. “It says utility closet, but that's just a cover for the lower-level employees in case they make it up this far."
“Be quiet,” she said. “What will happen if they find out!?”
“There won’t be anything to happen to us if we die here! Don’t be stupid, woman!”
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With the information he needed Alto left, smearing the blood on the faded wallpaper as he tried to get it off his hands, leaving two horizontal streaks on the walls. When the coast was clear, the other two opened the door, and let them inside.
“Are you sure that was a good idea,” the woman asked.
“Don't worry about it," he replied. “He will die before Araka ever meets him."
Unbeknownst to him, Alto did not care for whatever they were trying to do, in fact, he was offended, expecting more of a fight as he briskly ran down the halls, looking for the utility closet. It was at the end of a hallway, and he ripped the door off its hinges.
A secret stairwell was behind the utility closet door as promised, and he made his way up the dimly lit, concrete stairway. Distant voices were heard, talking in the stairwell, discussing the fight outside, and Alto assumed there were about a dozen of them or more, and he couldn’t take the chance of being hit with the plasma gun.
He went down to the turn of the stairs, pulled out his other gun with his lower set of arms, crouched behind the railing, and whistled. Three men came down the hallway, cautiously, and before they could react, Alto shot up, with both guns and they hit the floor, tumbling down.
One was still alive, and Alto ran over, grabbing the plasma gun out of his hand, and shot him in the head. Blood did not splatter, it dripped from the singular hole in his head, his skin burning, crackling, spreading outwards, and the bullet fizzled into the wall.
More of them came running down the stairwell, weapons in hand, and Alto struggled to pick them off as he tried to walk down the stairwell.
“Get out of my way and stop wasting time," yelled Alto. “My patience is wearing thin!”
The first man that got too close to him didn’t stand a chance.
Alto smacked both of his left arms into him, and he crushed him against the concrete wall. His body crumpled and then fell down the stairs, leaving blood all over the stairwell.
The ones at the top of the stairwell began to shoot, but it was in vain. Alto approached the second man, who had pissed himself. With his left pair, Alto picked him up, using him as a human shield, shooting with his upper right arm, walking carefully upwards, the blood of his meat shield making the floor warm and wet.
His meat shield was used past its sell-by date, and Alto threw it behind him, grabbing the closest man next to him, simplifying throwing him down the stairs, his head splitting open with a loud crack, his brain sliding down the stairs and flip-flopping, like a slinky.
Alto’s rampage did not go unnoticed, all recorded on the CCTV, and someone who was not so fragile was sent out to greet him.
At the top of the stairs, a very large fish-man with jet black smooth skin, and white patches around his ears, mouth, and underbelly was waiting for him. He was ridiculously large, to the point one wondered how he was still alive, his breath heavy, labored, and grotesque, his lungs straining with every bit of movement he made.
The man wore an ill-fitting shirt that only pronounced his already protruding belly, and he chuckled, licking his large, fat lips, clicking and grinding his jagged teeth against each other, his dorsal fin on his neck stretching up in excitement .
“My boss sends his regards, slug ," said Orcinus. “You won’t go any farther.”
Alto grimaced. He really wished people would stop calling him that.