[ CW ] Write yourself into a corner .

# # # # # # [ ] ( # dropcap ) 
 
 
 ***BLAM! *** 
 
 Hilary Flint fired his one-shot shotgun-pistol at the charging shape, the dim hallway flashing bright as the dragonbreath round spewed a cloud of burning magnesium. Something was hit, its inhuman shrieks clawing at Flint's ears as he broke open the Foundry-made gun, and shoved a new shell into the barrel. He fired again, the sound of the shotgun pistol echoing down the hall. Another one of the creatures howled in pain as bits of burning metal bubbled into its leathery hide. Flint reloaded as he ran back, knocking over filing cabinets and bookcases in an effort to delay his pursuers. It did n't work. 
 
 At least a score chased him through the hallway, leaping over toppled chairs and crawling along the walls and ceilings, blackened claws sinking into the cheap plaster and drywall. They had too many teeth and far too many eyes for Flint's liking. They looked like some degenerate breed of man, leading to their name of Morlocks. He could hear them crawling across the building's face outside, drawn to him like hornets protecting their nest. Sure enough he kicked hive. 
 
 A snarl in the room on his right and Flint fired without looking, the buckshot slamming into mangy fur and flesh. The Morlock fell back missing half its jaw, a long drooling tongue flailing about its mangled maw. 
 
 His pack he had abandoned earlier in the parking lot, the monsters not caring for the priceless salvage inside its pockets as they tramped it into the mud. His assault rifle he dropped in the building's lobby, magazine empty and out of bullets. He made a wall of their dead as they tried to swarm through the iron gates. It worked, until they started using the corpses of their brethren as meat shields, the beasts showing a dreadful intelligence that belied their inhuman appearance. He smashed in one Morlock's head with the butt of his rifle, bits of grey brain matter splattering across the dusty marble floor before swinging it hard and fast enough to stave in the chest of another. 
 
 Flint took a corner too quickly and smashed into the wall, a shower of dust and plaster raining down on him as he picked himself up. The last of his precious stick grenades he plucked from his belt, ripping the friction cord and flinging the heavy thing towards the chittering, shrieking mass. Flint did n't bother inspecting the damage, instead counting to three and hearing the satisfying sound of flying ball bearings and dying animals. 
 
 A flicker of an EXIT sign from the light of his headlamp and Flint turned in the direction of its arrow. Sixty feet down the hall was a red door, the paint peeling with age and water damage. Hilary Flint had to laugh aloud as he read the sign bolted to it. 
 
 *FOR EMERGENCY PURPOSES ONLY. * 
 
 Fuck yes, it's an emergency. 
 
 Flint slammed into the crash bar at full tilt, shoving the door six inches before it refused to budge. He grunted as if he ran straight into a wall, bouncing off the door and toppling to the floor. With blurring vision he rose to his feet, gloved hand reached for the handle and feeling the cold links of a thick steel chain. 
 
 `` Oh for fuck's sake! Who padlocks a fucking fire exit!?'' 
 
 The sound of the approaching Morlocks tore Flint from his cursing, dozens, scores of gasping maws, the sound of hundreds of claws scraping on the tile floor. Flint swore again and yanked out his pistol and trench knife, rotating his arm to stretch it out. 
 
 `` This is *not* how I expected my day to turn out...'' 
 

