Penumbra: Last Mirage.
"Such a sad world" thought Phillip, strolling down the dark hallway of the deep mine. His head was low, and his face was pale. His hands were shaking; so many voices entered his head…so many damn voices – he could not take it. If only he had a little more endurance to get out of this god forsaken mine, he would, but seems like he failed fate's ultimate test. All these painful memories…all because of his father, all because if the Tuurngeit. How much he hated this world. The voice of Red was getting to him now, rambling something about time, unnecessary evil, huge spiders.
The surroundings suddenly became familiar, as he understood where his, perhaps, final stroll has leaded him. He remembers the petrifying fear that he felt while his heart was still recovering from "Red's tragedy", when he has been knocked down grimly by one of the infected, and dragged away before he could gather all his scattered emotions. Something died inside him back then. Something that was pushing inside his chest, screaming to get out…Was it deep regret? No, as much as that feeling wrenched his guts and cleaved his soul, he felt a strange warmness.
He pushed the heavy metal door, which he cursed at somewhere deep in his mind, swearing that if it hadn't opened, he would not have been in the stage that he was in now. Beyond that door…no, that gate of hell was the same, empty hall: To the right – Red's chamber of torment. To the left – Red's resting place. Forward – the way back. The way back to nowhere – the void that he came out of and the void that did not want to go back in to. He felt trapped, not wanting to go back nor forth. Without thinking, so many tainted voices whispering into his ears, he turned left. His feet pushed him to stop and to back away, but he didn't. He didn't know what was controlling him. A part of him knew why he was going to the incinerator room, but his conscience was too afraid to admit it. He wouldn't dare say to himself that he was committing suicide, no; he was simply freeing himself, freeing himself of this atrocious, baneful, twisted fate that he was lead to by his own damned curiosity. "Why?" He fell on his knees, and covered his face with his hands. He felt a cold sweat on his forehead, he felt someone calling to him. First it was only an echo, but then he started to make out words. The voices grew louder and louder, although the unseen man talked with the same patience that he always did, rambling almost as if to his own self: "Please, I beg you, press the button, set me free…"
Phillip's eyes widened, still covered by his palms. Was that really Red? The voice seemed so real, as if Phillip was back in the past when he didn't know what kind of grim tests await him in his future. He slowly began to get up, his heart beat relentlessly, but inside, he felt as cold as ever. Phillip thought he saw something shiny catch the corner of his eye – it was a reflection on the wall, a reflection of light on glass. There was a door on the side of the incinerator, barely noticeable, but still there. On the top of it, there was a small glass window (that is what made the reflection), and behind it was an empty, cold, void room, with a human form sitting in one of the far corners.
The door didn't resist when Phillip opened it up. That is when he saw Red, never deceased, never burning, but just sitting there, waiting to be executed. When Red lifted his face off of his knees, his big, abnormal eyes flashed at Phillip, but inside them, Phillip could see consideration, sorrow, and a deep hatred for what the world has put him through. That is when it came to Phillip…that is when Phillip began to comprehend what was that feeling that he felt – it was love. None other, he could explain this in no other way. Only love. Red never wanted to hurt anyone; he only wanted a friend, something he never had. They were both so alike, so similar once you think of it.
Phillip approached Red without saying a word, and neither of them needed words to express their feeling towards the other. Perhaps Red's face was corroded and grotesque, and perhaps his white eyes had no irises, but after so much pain and loss, Phillip didn't want to notice it.
Phillip slowly strolled up towards Red. The door closed gently behind him, casting the inside of the incinerator into complete darkness.
Was Red deceased? For that, there was no answer…
Phillip slowly approached the corner in which Red was staring at him with his glowing eyes. Phillip crouched down, his knees touching the cold, dry floor. He tilted his head to the side, and his arms circled around the frail body of his companion. This, this was the best ending that Phillip ever needed. He would rather die here, in the tight hold of the only person in this world that he has connected to, all his life, blown on nothing, worthless, cheap.
The room lit up as fire circled both them, and began to scorch their skin. What did Phillip care? He loved it, his eyes closed, his lips locked with Red's he died.
He died holding ashes in his hands.