Morbquest - Road to Hell

Votes are in! Looks like Big Corporate will have to try again next time.

Don't worry, they'll be doing fine without you

[] Refuse the offer. We mustn't miss the forest for the trees. If they get mad, so be it!

You close your laptop, the email response sent to the address provided on the documents you had gotten from the MOST representative. The offer was intriguing. The various monetary benefits and ability to avoid red tape regarding experimentation were certainly tempting. Would have made things move along faster, at least so it seemed.

You recline back in the office chair, rotating to take a look around your flat. It wasn't much, but it sure did beat commuting to the lab every day. Despite being physically frail, you still needed decent amounts of movement to promote blood circulation, in addition to the regular hemodialysis.

Speaking of, you look out the window, beholding the evening sky, foretelling of a cold winter this year. You take out your phone and call Martine.

"Hey Michael."

"Martine, hey, I gave them the rejection letter."

"Oh no." Her voice feigned concern. "I hope you were gentle."

"It was brutal, sorry. I just thought of how I'm already in a relationship and don't think I'm ready for that extra commitment yet." You joke, while getting up and heading for the closet.

"Well, I'm sure you can stay friends, at least."

"Feels like we might be seeing more of these corporate types, to be honest. I'm gonna go take a walk, clear my head a bit with some fresh air."

"Washing out the dirt, eh? Well, stay safe. We'll be going over the itinerary tomorrow, and charting out the next series of experiments with Rivara, so don't get in trouble, ok?"

"You know me, Doctor Danger." You both chuckle, and you grab a sufficiently thick-looking coat to wear. "Won't be too late; love ya, we'll talk later, k?"

"Love ya, speak soon!"

You end the call, putting on the coat and taking a scarf just in case. The trek down the few stairs was thankfully not long, being on the second floor. A decent enough neighborhood, it wasn't a bad place to live, but you still relied on others to drive you around to get to farther places.

A nice mild day in November was not too common this year, the wind made your bones rattle whenever it blew through, regardless of your outfit. The streets are mostly devoid of traffic, dim streetlights greeting you. Disregarding your hobbling, it was a pleasant day to stroll around.

Or so you thought.

"Argh! Help!" A shrill voice comes from the right.

You swing your head around, a few dumpsters and crates blocking your vision. Streetlights barely illuminated an arm from behind the obstacles. With a few shivering steps, you peek behind a wall to get an angle, and see two men, one on the ground holding one arm out and using the other to clutch his stomach. The other man was hunching over the first, hands empty save for fists the size of his head. One of his arms seemed more angular than the other, which you assume are prosthetics or some new-fangled replacement.

"Stop! I ain't got it!" The man on the ground cries out, trying to wriggle away from his position. "I already gave ya boss the goods, just ask him!"

"I'll be the judge of that. No one fucks with Big Johnson and gets away with it." The standing man steps on the other man's foot, growling.

The one on the ground seems to take notice of you, reaching out in your direction. "H-Hey! You! P-Please!"

You quickly duck behind the wall.

"Seeing things, now?" Big Johnson says, doing something that made the other man howl about his foot. "Shouldn't've gotten high on your supply, pal."

Between sobs, Johnson's "pal" whimpers. "I ain't done nothing to ya! Wait'll they hear about this..."

"About what?" You hear a crunch, followed by muffled cries and ruffling noises.

Footsteps.

Oh dear.

Trying to parse this scene, the world seems to freeze up around you. Hundreds of scenarios flew around your mind at once, from decent to horrible ones. Unable to just make a proper reaction, your fluttering heart seemed to beat slower as the past flooded in...

><><><><><

Fear.

The floor swung at you with each bound, breath leaving your lungs as whispers dug into your ears. Walls of metal doors towered over the edges of your vision as you made your way forward. Just forward.

There was no clear direction, just a path ahead. What laid behind you pushed you forward for fear of what awaited. Just a moment ago, you still lived in a thin veneer of what life was like. Lunch, a spill, then this.

Your crutch bit and shot wave after wave of pain up your left arm, as much as your legs did. Usually there wasn't need for moving fast in life. You took life one step at a time. Unfortunately, not everyone was willing to extend the same understanding that family and friends would.

A wall comes up, and you try turning the corner, inadvertently missing the "wet floor" sign and causing the ceiling to greet your vision as the world flipped. You land on your side, your body relieved that you were giving it a break at last. The next hallway spun slightly, as you heard footsteps and murmurs approaching.

"Hey, stupid!" The annoying, squeaky and whiny voice came from where you were just a moment ago. "Can't even run properly? You still haven't paid for getting this over me!"

Seething, the middle schooler with a red-stained white shirt with a colorful animal print on it stomped closer, face almost as red as the spillage. His foot whipped out, knocking your crutch out of your hand, a wince appearing on your face as the metal clanged against the lockers.

"It... just... mistake..." You gasped some words out while moving into a fetal position. The kicks you expected didn't come, but you could feel the pain ringing in your left arm still.

"Cripple!" The boy screamed, exasperated. "Your stupid arms work, so don't fling stuff at people! This is my shirt, now it's ruined!"

He continued with the verbal string. You can feel his spittle spraying on your arm, his face likely bent down over to make sure you can hear every word. Why do this? You could wash it out. You wanted to say something, but the chance for conciliation was past for the moment. If you just waited it out, maybe...

"Hey, hey, hey!" A deep voice barked out the hall, followed by heavy footsteps. "Everybody go to your classes, stop standing around!"

That explosive middle schooler voice stopped bearing over you, but you continued to curl, just in case a stray fist met your face.

"Tyler. You stand over here." The man says. You hear something being picked up. "Hey, are you..."

Finally taking a risk, you open up your hands, seeing the face of the teacher you've seen in the other homerooms. He offers a hand, the other holding your crutch.

"Are you able to stand?"

"Y-Yeah." You grab his hand, steadying yourself before taking your crutch, leaning on it immediately.

"Alright, we're taking a trip to the principal's office." The teacher offers you a hand, which you reject, shaking your head. He nods and leads the two of you down the hall, Tyler glaring at you the whole time.

On the way, you stuck to the wall, both to avoid any further wrath and to support yourself while trudging along. At the office door, the teacher knocks and you are both escorted into the office after a brief delay.

Principal Leyland wasn't the kindest man in the world, but he certainly was not talked about much. Boring means it works, in your mind. At least, you hadn't met him face-to-face until now. The teacher relayed what happened earlier with Leyland, then stood in the corner as you and Tyler stepped ahead in front of the principal's desk.

"I had higher expectations for you boys, I really did." His soft eyes frowned in what you think a fatherly disappointment might look like. "I'll have to call your parents, and discuss this with them, okay?"

You both nod.

"Do either of you have anything to say, first?"

"He started it..." Tyler blurts out.

"It was an accident!" You turn to him, face heating up. "And you hit me!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did--"

"Alright, that's enough." Leyland pulls out a notebook and picks up the phone receiver. "I'm gonna call your parents now. I think a bit of cooling down can help us, and we can discuss this at the end of the day, okay?"

The two of you grunt out a "yes".

"Good, now get to your classes. I don't want you to miss out because of some scuffle."

<><><><><>

"Don't worry, Jim." Johnson's voice brings you back into the present. His shadow approaches the sidewalk, and you find yourself needing to make a choice, fast. "I'll make sure there's no one disturbing us."

Well...

Conflict time! Choose your goal for this conflict below. Remember that the stakes aren't necessarily death or injury, but this one may determine how Morbius will deal/has dealt with conflicts, or at least how he generally reacts to these things...
[] Persuade. Perhaps this well-endowed fellow can listen to reason.
[] Fight?! He's unarmed, at least.
[] Run! No one will fault you for escaping.
[] Write-in?? Come up with something plausible, please.

<><><>

Oh boy more flashbacks! We're getting into the first bit of conflict in this story, and finishing up getting an idea of who the Morbius really is, before he morbs out.

Just keep in mind you're still Dr. Michael Morbius, not the Living Vampire, so you are less physically apt than most, and can't morb out as well without passing out, most likely.

Also Happy Canada and US day to y'all who celebrate it! 🎉