"Better get ready for a long shift Benjamin," Martin said, "'Cause there's a lot to get done today." Benjamin nodded obediently and started walking to his work station in the power plant. He muttered a good morning to Davis who was guarding the hallway Benjamin worked in. The area of the power plant where Benjamin worked was tucked away in the corner nearby the splits between Western and Eastern wings of the facility; he quite liked the isolation from most of the other workers. He sipped his coffee, thinking about the first thing he would do when he got home; this was brief however, as the task at hand demanded his attention. When the fire alarm went off Benjamin nearly jumped out of his shoes and he could hear Davis nearby saying, "Huh? That wasn't part of today's procedure!" Right as the words escaped Davis's lips a hallow noise echoed throughout the power plant: gunshots. Fear overcame Benjamin as he started to hear screaming, first in fright and then in agony. His mind was racing but despite this he was able to think, "The exit is too far away to run to, I'll need to take a shortcut through the maintenance system." The gunshots were drawing closer now as Benjamin hastily scanned the walls for any ventilation shafts. Benjamin finally located a vent on the side of the wall that could fit a man; he heaved and heaved, but it was not going to come off the wall. "Jesus Christ get away!" Martin screamed in the distance. You're fucked you're fucked you're fucked, Benjamin thought, trying to find an escape route. Realizing there was no way to get out, Benjamin got on his hands and knees and crawled behind the counter near his work space, so he was between it and the wall. He heard boots moving along the floor, as well as a few more screams and a few more gunshots. That's when the footsteps and shooting stopped. Oh God, oh Christ they know, Benjamin thought, he bit back hot tears as he prepared to loose his life. What followed were clanking sounds, and some clicks. There was the distinct noise of a shotgun being cocked. They're reloading, Benjamin realized. The footsteps resumed and went back in the direction they had came, much to Benjamin's relief. He waited a good five minutes before poking his head over the counter. Benjamin was already shaking with fear but he entered the hallway leading away from his workplace and he nearly threw up at the repulsive sight: bodies, bodies of co workers both known and unknown to Benjamin, scattered across the floor. Bullet holes peppered the corpses, and huge chunks of flesh and puddles of blood were dispersed across the floor. A few of the victims seemed to be making a dying attempt to gasp for air. A desperate voice whispered, "Help….help me." Benjamin locked eyes with Davis, slumped against the wall cradling a gut wound. "I think I can make it," the wounded man managed, "but please for the love of God help me…" Benjamin swallowed back fear and told his shot co worker, "Sure, Davis, I'll help you…" Peeking around the hallway to make sure the gunmen were gone, Benjamin hoisted up his wounded co worker and started dragging him in the direction of the nearest exit. They could hear sirens now, loud and clear but still a ways away. The two arrived at a crossroads leading to the East Wing and the West Wing of the facility. There were fresh screams echoing through the West Wing, so Benjamin continued on with his wounded co worker to the East. As the two kept moving down the hallway someone emerged from the West Wing. Benjamin looked up to see a masked man holding a shotgun. The gunman wore all white clothes, which were splattered in blood, an ammo belt stretching over his torso, and black combat boots. He wore a grotesque white mask with a sick black smile too big for its face, black rings around the eyes, and curved eyebrows pointing down. The masked shotgunner dropped to his knee and fired at Benjamin and Davis, hitting them both. Davis was killed instantly and took most of the shot, though part of it still hit Benjamin in the chest. He collapsed, crawling his way around the corner as he shouted out in desperation, "Help! Is anyone down there?!" Benjamin couldn't believe his eyes when he saw a group of police officers equipped with a stretcher. "Watch out! There's an asshole with a gun 'round the corner!" Benjamin screamed to them. The police officers lifted him up onto the stretcher and a couple of them took him away while the others stayed back. As Benjamin was wheeled away on the stretcher he watched the police go around the corner only to hear the sound of a shotgun being fired. Benjamin began to fade out as the police radioed for backup and the shooting went on. He blacked out for a while, still seeing the masked shotgunner's devilishly huge grin mocking him with triumph. He saw Davis die over and over, and every time it was impossible to save him. Benjamin woke up with hot eyes and dried tears around them, but the pain from before was gone. As his eyes focused on the room around him he saw several doctors walking about. He was still too groggy too make out any complete sentences spoken by the doctors, but he certainly heard mention of an operation going well. The wearing anesthetic still had affect though, and once more Benjamin fell to sleep. Hours later Benjamin awoke, but this time there was a police officer in the hospital room. "They've treated your buckshot wounds," the officer told him, "you should be able to go home tomorrow." Sitting up, Benjamin asked, "What the hell happened at the power plant?" The officer's expression darkened and after a minute he said, "Some kind of strange terrorist attack. Countless casualties, and the worst part is we didn't take down a single one of them. This stuff is all over the news, if you want I could bring in the TV." Benjamin agreed he would like to know more, so the officer came back with the television and was about to leave when Benjamin blurted out, "Did you see their masks?" The officer turned back to him and said, "No sir, I was called in for backup but by the time I arrived the gunmen had left. My squad was so lucky to be contacted late enough in the shootout to not arrive on time." After seeing Benjamin's look of confusion, he added, "None of the police officers who went in made it out. You are one of only two survivors of the massacre." Benjamin's heart sank but he thanked the officer for his help, took the remote, and switched the TV on. Sure enough the news stations couldn't stop talking about the Power Plant Massacre, and how every single police officer who went in was killed. He was even more disturbed to discover that a bomb had been detonated in the surveillance room, destroying all security tapes. But what finally made Benjamin turn off the television was the note left at the crime scene. A photo of it appeared onscreen, showing it had been made on a word processor and had a partial bloody handprint on it. The note read "Salvation is the only cure - White Specter".
When Benjamin went to sleep the nightmares were back tenfold. This time he heard the agonized screams of his co workers and the police officers trying to save them as the masked shotgunner fired his gun again and again. He charged the shotgunner in a pitiful attempt to save the innocent lives but the masked gunman simply turned and shot a hole in his stomach. Benjamin's entrails dangled out onto the bloodstained floor, where he too collapsed to join his fellow workers in and endless slumber.
He got up the next morning with a headache from the relentless nightmares. Benjamin exited the hospital room he had been healed in to see the masked shotgunner running down the hallway. He instantly screamed and ran back into the room, slamming the door behind him. Someone started knocking on the door and asked if Benjamin was okay. Tired and embarrassed, he explained to the doctors outside the door he must have hallucinated the gunman from yesterday. They recommended him a PTSD therapist but understood he wanted to get home, so the hospital sent Benjamin on his way. To his convenience his car had been towed to the hospital's parking lot, and among the possessions found in Benjamin's jacket pockets were his keys. He left the hospital and went straight home.
I'm so damn tired, time to relax, he thought as he absent-mindedly turned on the TV. After watching a few hours of television, Benjamin realized how hungry he was; he drove to a local restraint, got lunch, and returned home only to repeat the process of relaxation. Benjamin quite enjoyed TV and right as his favorite show was wrapping up a special report interrupted it. "Damnit," Benjamin said, "this better be important." The news reported a missing person in the area, and the whole world seemed to freeze when Martin's picture came on screen. According to the report, the culprits had left no clues at the scene of the crime, but Benjamin knew who did it. It's the White Specter, he thought, They're going to kill all of us. They didn't let any police officers survive and now they're going to kill me. The phone rang. Benjamin pulled himself together and answered, "Hello?" He was relieved to hear a familiar voice on the other end. "Benjamin Lee? I'm the police officer who you met in the hospital yesterday. We'd like you to come down to the station. We're trying to gather information on the White Specter terrorist organization, and you can help us. We also have reason to believe your co-worker Jason Martin was abducted by the White Specter, and we can protect you until they're captured." Benjamin felt sane again, knowing that his fears were valid. He told the officer he'd be on his way and left the house immediately. Upon arriving at the station, Benjamin found the officer from the hospital waiting at the door. They went inside and the officer showed Benjamin to an interrogation room where an artist sat. "You saw the terrorists, right?" asked the officer. Benjamin said yes to which the officer replied, "Then describe them the best you can to this artist. We had one description from Jason Lee before he was abducted, but our analysis of the White Specter must be as extensive as possible. Now, I'll leave you to it." The officer exited the room, leaving the artist and Benjamin in silence. "He was wearing a mask…." Benjamin managed to say. "It was a blank white mask, like one from a craft store. It had been painted to be smiling-" he couldn't handle it anymore. Benjamin burst into tears, his shoulders heaving and his breathing sharp. The officer came back in and told Benjamin, "I'm sorry. This can wait. We do have a sketch of a reported terrorist by Jason Martin though, can you try and identify it?" Benjamin nodded and wiped hot tears from his eyes as the officer showed him the sketch. What was on the paper though was not the monster Benjamin had seen, however. It was another masked man in all white, but the mask was different; its only features were tiny circles for eyes and a small cross on the forehead. There were no other facial features. "That's not what I saw," Benjamin said slowly, "The mask is different, but the clothing is the same." The officer pondered this and replied, "It's possible there are multiple ranks among this terrorist group which have different uniforms. Hard to say though, we barely know a damn thing about the White Specter." Benjamin heard screaming, screaming and gunshots. He was surprised to see panic spread across the artist's face as the officer ran out of the room. A police officer shouted elsewhere, "I've got hostiles!" Benjamin sobbed again and sunk to the floor, holding his face in his hands. The artist ran out of the room and made a fruitless attempt to understand the situation; he only screamed and fell to the ground. Benjamin looked up and saw the artist's dead body sprawled on the floor, his head agape and his brains on the floor. Benjamin knew there would be no escape this time. A White Specter operative charged in the room and pointed a revolver at Benjamin. After that, everything went black.
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