4.13 - Inheritance
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4.13 - Inheritance
Hello, is anyone there? Sir? Damn it, there's no signal-
I can hear you, Veronica.
Ah. Wonderful. Well, I have a report to give, sir.
First things first, the Cinq have performed admirably. G. Corp's ranks are in disarray and the Zwei have moved into the inner city. The Rabbits have been dealing with the stragglers.
Hhm.
Something the matter, sir?
Tell them to stop doing that and advance into the southern zone.
…the Rabbits, sir?
Yes. Dealing with stragglers is a waste of their time, given the new data the traitor supplied us with.
I was not made privy to that information, sir. Could you…
Of course. How can my most elite agent perform without data? How would this genius specialist do her work and maneuver her brilliant state-of-the-art technology, made by the equally brilliant director of Research & Development, without all the information being supplied to her?
…sir, please..
Oh, Veronica, sorry. Hm-hm. What we found out is that the proportion of G. Corp's forces that are mere conscripted civilians is far higher than what we thought. We speculated… What was it, again?
30%, sir.
Yeeees. It's actually 68%.
Sixty- what? That's insane.
I am referring specifically to the platoon you are facing right now. They have been conscripting civilians en masse in order to shore up their numbers, even when they can barely even afford to move all these people to the frontlines. In addition to this, with L. Corp lost with all hands, morale is going down the shitter and desertion is at an all-time high.
I see. But the reason the Rabbits were tasked with hunting down stragglers was not merely to prevent hit-and-run attacks aimed at our supply lines. We wanted to provide an outlet to their bloodlust; without that, how can we guarantee they won't start getting antsy?
Ah, don't worry about that. Dias assured me that their desperate desire to stay alive by far outweighs their violent instincts. They won't be a problem to anyone not stupid enough to be near a Purification Protocol activation zone. Anyway, continue your report. Has the Singularity of L. Corp been retrieved?
Partially, sir.
Did the Color consent to the memory removal, even after seeing the Singularity's truth?
He did.
Excellent, though I regret saying we failed from our side. With all the Board slaughtered, and their own R&D division committing mass suicide, it seems the true power of the Haze will be lost to time. Thankfully, with his help, we can recoup our losses with the reactor-forms and the smoke, even if the procedure they used to fully integrate the power into themselves has been destroyed beyond all hope of recovery.
Sir, what about the report we received earlier?
It's a failure, unfortunately. We did not manage to discover the criteria that translate into compatibility with the Haze. Despite extensive testing, none of the 2.000 citizens of L. Corp's Nest, from both inner and outer circles, managed to successfully integrate the flesh of the Suffocating Haze into themselves.
That is unfortunate.
I know! We did everything we could. All the ritualistic practices we could manage to extract via interrogation. Chemical encouragement. We even had mass. With such an uniform rate of failure, there was little to glean from the procedure, overall, outside of the obvious fact that eating Haze meat kills you. Because it's incredibly toxic.
Terrible news, sir. May I continue the report?
Yes! I apologize for going on tangents again. Continue.
We've taken the encampment in the…
You awake on a shore, staring up at a black night sky. A wave jostles against your heels before fading back, the rhythmic sensation gradually teasing you to consciousness.
Your name is Nicole. You blink once- then twice.
"Night… sky?"
You look to your side.
Sand crunches against your cheek and stretches into the distance, freshly dampened - you're laid out on an idyllic beach, straight out of some Feather's calendar photo. You try to lift your head from the surf, but exhaustion dogs every movement. There's something in your mouth. You spit it out before blinking drearily, trying to make sense of the vague shapes your eyes can catch.
Above you, a starlit sky. The full moon.
Next to you… a man. His eyes are closed. Two feline ears. You turn to the other side. A woman. Her long hair touches your face- so that was what you felt in your mouth.
"Where…" you mouth. "Where the hell…"
You close your eyes again, before taking a deep breath. You are tired. Impossibly so. You feel so incredibly tired, your muscles aching and groaning as you struggle to get up.
Your clothes are wet. You feel salt in the breeze. Is this the sea? Where… where are you? Where are your guns?
You- a knife. Your knife, a pistol, your rifle- everything's there, in your pockets, in your back. There's also-
Memories flood your head as you almost trip over the still unconscious body by your side. Rhine Labs. Ahrens Parvis. The red-hooded bodyguard. The things you took from Parvis' office are still with you. You had leaped through a wall, and fallen… somewhere.
You fell for what could've been a minute or a month - the moment stretched out into forever, with the only sure things being the vertigo of nothing beneath your feet and your hands holding onto the two scientists. Then, it all went dark.
The two on the ground- the Directors. Muelsyse, Ferdinand. They were unconscious now. From what you recall, they had both shouted and screamed and clawed at you all the way through the fall.
No time to think about that. Where are you? What is this place?
An island. Large. Deserted. You can spot a few palm trees, but it seems to be mostly sand. You can see something large in the distance, but it's blurry. You wait for your vision to clear- and you see it.
A castle. The moonlight shining down on it looks strange- makes it look faintly red. You blink.
What the hell had happened? What was this place? The ocean is far away from where you were before, and teleportation technology isn't this advanced here, you're sure of it. Did Parvis, or Rhine Labs, somehow independently recreate something like W. Corp's space-ripping technology?
It sounds absurd. A simulated world? It feels real, at least. A pocket dimension? A simple dream or hallucination?
Damn it, you don't have time for this. You are a professional. You know what to do.
First things first, secure the VIPs. Ferdinand goes first, slung over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You'll bring him to the shores.
Alright, that was done. Was he breathing right? Seemed so. No wounds outside of some marks. A few on his neck and wrists. Apparently from needles; drawing blood? Some are from scalpels, mainly the ones around the wrist and- oh, there's some near the spine- they're quite large and obvious now that you can look closer and through the hospital gown.
Another on the neck. Two in his temples. Probably something relating to his brain, who knew what those sick experiments that goat was doing to his victims in that basement.
Muelsyse is- is she face down? You panic, trying to yank her out of the tides by her leg. But the bubbling water reveals she's still breathing, somehow. You check her pulse just to be safe. After that, it's just a bit more difficult to get her body out- the sea clings tightly to her gown, not wanting to let go. But you push past that and drag her out of the water.
You sigh again, and start looking at the trees. You have to make a fire. Despite your enhancements, you are already getting cold- in definitely unnatural manner.
Your rifle and your pistol are all wet, though, so you have to do some maintenance first… no, the VIPs not freezing to death takes priority. Could you ask for extra pay for all of this? You're sure Sieg could help you squeeze some more money out of Rhodes.
Oh well.
You have the wood, but no matches. Some gunpowder would be enough; just a bit. The stuff is potent. A small bit.
Right, now you have a fire. Good. At the very least, she would be warm-
"Ughhhh…" the Director of the Ecological Section groans, trying- and failing- to get up. "Where am… Where am I?"
She blinks as you offer her a cigarette.
"Want one?" you say, waving the cigarette in front of her face. She blinks once, twice.
Then she screams.
"Where- what is-"
"I'm asking myself the same question."
It takes almost half a minute before she calms down, and another half before her words become anything close to coherent.
In the meantime, you seek comfort in your cigarette. The familiar sensation of acrid smoke filling your lungs, the satisfaction that came with the light burning. Your lungs finish absorbing the smoke, but they're full- filled to maximum capacity. They begin spitting out something that feels like tar.
Is it dripping out of your nose? It is.
"Heh." you mumble, wiping it off. This was a bit unusual. They only get like this if you feel really stressed for a continuous time.
That said, you are pretty stressed. Every fiber of your body is tense, every muscle feels pulled. You take a deep breath.
You can't fail now- can't disappoint everyone.
Clooney starts screaming and shouting- yeah, he just woke up as well.
Damn. It seems you have some explanations to give.
"Fascinating."
Your name is Wympe. You are, in fact, unimpressed. Extremely unimpressed. It had barely taken you an hour to get your blackmail victim to spill out more material to use against the rest of the department. And now, you're spending that material, in order to take a little visit to a morgue.
The coroner is a pale man with the eyes of someone who just didn't care, with two horse ears and very low standards for bribes.
The corpse in front of you is almost insultingly fake. It wasn't even the right race; the victim was supposed to be a Lupo- this was a Perro. Sure, it was the same build and the appearance was very similar- with their particular ear shape, it was very difficult to actually distinguish the two. Same hair color, too. But that didn't excuse them.
It was good that you had decided to spend time studying things like these. Even between very similar people, there were enough differences, in fur patterns, in the shape of the ear canal, in the structure of their teeth- between one race and another, patterns that anyone who paid enough attention- or had sufficiently enhanced perception- could notice.
That said, this all left you with more questions than answers. The body had obviously been replaced, but why?
You pace from one side of the room to another. This called things into question. Could you trust the information your contact had provided? Likely not, though you don't think he was knowingly providing bad info.
Unless he is a genius mastermind stringing you up with some brilliant twelve-step plan, it just wasn't very plausible. The man was so spineless that you doubt he'd have been included in whatever plot this was; they must have known that he'd leak everything to the first person who pushed a bit hard.
You study the fake a bit more. You have around three minutes before law enforcement would get into the room as the coroner's excuses ran out- so, time to be quick with this.
You trace the grisly injuries. Post-mortem, definitely inflicted with a sword or some other kind of bladed weapon. They're the part where they got sloppy- an incredibly similar body, and injuries that don't quite match. If you want to fake something, do it properly, damn it.
Your hands are slick with blood as you hack through the corpse's stomach. The signs of overdose are obvious; this amount of partially digested antihistamines can't have come from anything else. By now, it's proven beyond all doubt; this isn't the real body.
But why?
The body in the records was a Lupo. She had died of a precise wound to the neck that led to an agonizing, if relatively quick death- it caused her to bleed out in less than two minutes but only lose consciousness around the one minute and thirty seconds mark.
There were signs of struggle as she tried to run away, but she was restrained with some sort of cuff, going by the bruised circle in the leg. In the end, they bled to death and the corpse suffered a series of grisly post-mortem wounds which you suppose were meant to hide the real cause of the death.
Once again, the question was why. Why would someone do this? You can only speculate. The wound was extraordinarily precise, as the autopsy had noted; so the killer was someone with incredible skill. Thus, one could reason they wanted to make it seem like it wasn't a trained assassin who did it, but rather a more common serial killer?
Like you had speculated before, that merely sounds plausible. The defacing of the body was amateurish- it had been flung around, smashed against walls, and stabbed repeatedly. What assassin would have supreme skill at the actual killing and then cover it up so badly?
No, this was something involving the police for sure. You didn't have much hope for their competence when you came here but this had proven they were involved with the coverup.
Oops, time to make your exit. There was going to be banging on the door any minute now. Luckily, there was a convenient window. It was a two-story drop, but it didn't matter too much.
A thought passes your mind, as you start to undo the locks with slippery hands. The plant of the building showed that there was a large incinerator in the basement- there wasn't supposed to be one, officially, but the design really couldn't be making room for anything else.
And if they had wanted to dispose of a body…
Your name is Olivia Silence, and the last time you can recall being this fatigued was the 72-hour all-nighter the week before your graduation.
This was… an ordeal, for sure. The Forsaken's screams still echo faintly in your mind. You almost can't believe what you got tangled in -if you were told this would happen ten years ago... maybe even ten days ago, you would've broken into laughter.
You are dressed in a… costume. You really can't call it anything else.
It resembles his straightjacket, in a way. Full of belts and straps, the same faded color, the- the muzzle. It has a muzzle. God, you look ridiculous with your round, thick glasses perched atop the bizarre attire - although that hasn't stopped Ifrit from gushing about how 'cool' you look with it all on.
It comes with what you can only describe as a hammer, although it's in truth basically a broomstick with some horrendous hunk of metal welded onto the end. Such a thing would normally be completely impractical, but somehow, you can defy any conventional understanding of physics and wave the menace around like it was made of paper mache.
It's by no means the only unnatural feat you can accomplish when wearing the costume. You feel bizarrely different with it on, but also so much stronger. It comes with impulses, however...
"Wow." says Sieghart, to the side of you. You lower your head, mortified. "Knocked it right through the walls."
That's- a way to word it? It's… not an exaggeration. In front of you are the remains of some piece of equipment whose name you can't recall at the moment, meant to test physical strength.
You didn't mean to. But Sieghart saw the costume after you all woke up- you were dressed in it. Your original clothes are nowhere to be found. He and his… partner, the ghost, Abel- they recognized it.
"Extermination of Geometrical Organ." says Abel, analyzing the wreck of the machine. Ifrit is cheering your dramatic showing of brute strength- in a manner both flattering and embarrassing. "It is somewhat self-explanatory. An E.G.O is akin to an additional organ, extracted from the Abnormality and then converted into a set of equipment for human use. A mass of Abnormality tissue altered and repurposed for combat purposes."
You blink.
"So this is… his flesh?"
"In a way." Abel nods. "Most Abnormalities' clothes are part or their body- there is little distinction between what is "flesh" and what is "cloth," as everything is fundamentally composed of the same material and is merely an unfolding of the entity's core. As such, you may absorb "stray notions," or instinctual runoff from the Abnormality's mass, as this E.G.O you possess is much stronger then average."
Sieghart tilts his head.
"Stronger? Is it why…" he gestures at the destroyed equipment.
You really didn't mean to. You were just meant to swing with a stick- a wooden stick- into the machine. A simple physical test; you've overseen hundreds of these by now. But before you realized, your temples started to ache, and you headbutted the machine with everything you had, ripping half of it clean off and sending it flying out of the city's bounds.
"Most E.G.O has the… let's call it "metaphysical mass." To create a TETH-ranked E.G.O, we would extract 5% of an Abnormality's metaphysical mass and reprocess it into a weapon or a suit. The percentage actually goes down as you rise up in levels, with 4% for a HE-class, 2% for a WAW and a mere 0.5% for an ALEPH, as you need less metaphysical mass for an equipment because the Abnormality is stronger and has more mass overall. Extracting more would mean vastly increased risk of the equipment causing Corrosion- that being it "possessing" the wearer."
You… get it. Yes. It's a fascinating field of study, you think- you would like to learn more, later. Especially if you want to control this power, which you do.
…maybe not control. It feels alive- like the Prisoner's mind is contained within it. Would he want to be controlled, mastered? Maybe you could learn to understand what he wants, what he is...
"How much mass does this E.G.O have?" you ask. "Can you measure it by hand?"
He makes a so-so gesture.
"Not very precisely. I estimate that around 70-80% of the Forsaken Murderer's full mass went into your E.G.O. Have you felt anything, beyond the impulses? A presence, in the corner of your vision, in the reflections of mirrors?"
"I think it's too early to say. Are there any side effects of… taking it off?" you say, hesitantly. "E.G.O, I mean. Will it irritate the Forsaken, or something like…"
"Unlikely." he says, studying your clothes. "E.G.O is by nature inert when not in active use. It could be compared to dead tissue; running a current through it, in this case, an user investing their will, is what brings it to activity, but as soon as that current subsides it returns to its dead state. It is… a complex topic. I should probably write a book on it, I think…"
Abel reminds you of… yes, he reminds you of Parvis. He has a naturally reserved, if not quite paternal, atmosphere about him typically, but you can see the passion in him flare when he discusses research. It's not an uncommon habit among scientists - including yourself - but there's a distinct symmetry to the way they act ... it's almost eerie.
And, speaking of Parvis…
"There's something I need to tell you, Sieghart."
"You're here to… rescue us?"
You nod your head.
The Director of Ecology's eyes are wide. She keeps closing and opening her hands, wiping her hands on the fabric of her gown every now and then no matter how dry they've become. She doesn't have the same sort of, well, animal features, that you've come to expect on everyone since arriving on Terra.
The only hint Muelsyse isn't a fellow Cityfolk is her pair of pointed ears and lime-green eyes that keep moving toward the ocean. You've seen her before in pictures, but absent the gadgets she's seemingly never without and the impish energy that seemed odd on a scientist, Muelsyse comes accross as ... small. Fragile, and not just physically. You'll need to keep an eye on her.
One of her hands reaches for the scar in her other wrist, the minute marks left behind by minuscule needles and precise scalpels. You recognize them- your cycle of lung replacement used to leave quite a few of these in your chest. You don't have any currently; you replaced your skin a few months before you went into the Library, if you recall it well…
"Who sent you here?" Ferdinand asks. There are deep bags under his eyes- and his hands shake. "How long have- how long have we been there?"
The crisscrossing scars on his left wrist point towards an operation in the median nerve. Repeated ones, going by how the scars look like. Whatever Parvis wants with all of this, it's something he didn't have any qualms experimenting on his friends for. Something to think about, for sure.
"Saria," you lie, lighting a cigar. "Though it was more of an accident. We were looking for you after you disappeared- but my goal was to investigate this place, not necessarily find you."
"Saria…?" Muelsyse says, staring at the ground in disbelief. "...she came for me?"
Ferdinand coughs. You tilt your head towards him.
"I'm going to be frank with you," you say with a sigh. "I have no idea what this place is. I jumped out of a window after taking you out of there."
"I think- I think I know this place." Ferdinand says.
-what?
"Have you been here before?"
He looks at the sky, and at the castle in the distance.
"In my dreams, yes."
There is something funny, you think, about seeing the old goat so pissed off. He's quiet about it, like everything else.
But there's that mad gleam in his eyes when he skims through his little book- like if he looks inside that Abnormality hard enough, he'll find the answer, his knuckles whitening from the firm grip. He throws a glance at the door every now and then, as if expecting someone to barge through shooting and swinging a weapon.
Good. That paranoia will serve him well.
But there's no way the Note is going to cooperate. The thing's moody at best. Out of the Abnormalities he's got in his payroll, you're the only one worth a damn for sure- he got lucky when he took you out of the pit.
You take a bite out of your ham sandwich. It's pretty good. The cool, air-conditioned breeze is rather pleasant. You really could stay here forever.
"They're down there." you say. "You know that."
The old goat adjusts his glasses, before sighing.
"Red, I'm sorry, but we need more information. We need to know in what containment they landed in, otherwise-"
You snort. You can't help it.
"I work for you, Parvis. And as your bodyguard, it's my job to give you a clear assessment of the situation."
He rubs his forehead, before placing his book on the table. You've got him.
"Give it, then."
"If they landed in the disaster chair's cell, they're either going to escape through the hatch or die."
He flinches at the last word.
"If they landed in the Nosferatu's cell, they're going to rip through the hatch as Bloodfiends or die." you raise your eyebrow. "And I told you about Bloodfiends, before. If they become-"
"You'll kill them. Yes."
"Yes. I can't in good conscience let these kinds of beasts run amok. I have a reputation- and a responsibility- that, as a hunter, I must uphold."
You throw the wrapping of the sandwich in the trash bin, and cross your legs.
"If they land in the Conflagrati's cell, they are probably going to die or leave as bombs. Either way we do the same thing; wait at the exit with a gun pointed at them. No need for you to go searching in your little book for clues; you know the thing doesn't trust you now that you've decided to keep her at arm's length."
Probably the best decision Parvis' made in his damned life, you think. You've seen a lot of shady people, you've seen what she did to Miller, so from that and from what Parvis told you about her, she's up to no good.
"We're not going to go down there looking for them." you say, slowly. "We're going to wait for them to come out, you're going to bring the troopers, and then we're most likely going to have to put them down. They're not going to leave the cells alive- or as things that should be left alive. Do you want more flame zombies?"
Parvis frowns. He's usually stubborn as- well, a goat- but given by how defeated he looks…
"Fine." he relents, looking down.
It's good to see your boss listen to you, you think.
You get up from your chair. You have an axe to sharpen.
"Clooney, are you-"
The man's cat ears are pinned back against his head- he's quite annoyed, it seems. His tail's also lashing back and forth despite the man's obvious attempts to look in control - if not of his surroundings or circumstances, then at least himself.
Staking your escape on a recurring dream feels a bit strange, but indeed, you have no other plans outside of building a raft and escaping into the open ocean- and going by your boss' story, there is no way you are getting close to these waters if you can help it.
These two don't agree.
"Yes. Yes, I know what I'm doing. I've sailed before." he coughs. "A yacht, anyway. It's not too different."
You watch the pair of would-be shipwrights, letting a cigarette burn to the wick from your spot on the beach.
"It's too thick." says Muelsyse. "You shouldn't have bound them like this."
Clooney gives her an annoyed look, trying to keep the crude sail together with his trembling hands. The water bubbled and surged, balancing the raft and keeping it aloft. You mark it as more evidence towards the dream-hypothesis.
"Look, I know more about this then you."
"You need to do them like this-"
This way was going to rip the thing apart, you note quietly. They were going to tear the raft into two with the way they were pulling.
"No, I know better."
"Like-" Muelsyse shakes her head. "Of course you don't, have you even-"
"More then you! For you to know anything you'd have to have any-"
You check your wrist for an imaginary watch. One, two, three, four...
There. The raft splits in half, both of the scientists falling into the water with a panicked yelp. Ferdinand even sounds like a cat, you notice.
In ten seconds, they're in the shores again. With how much they were bickering, you guess working together on something was good for them. If they hadn't, in two or three minutes they were going to be at each other's throats with warpaint on their faces and a pig head on a stick, you were sure of it.
"Damn it." coughs Clooney, shaking his head.
"You pushed too much."
"If it wasn't for you tearing the damn sail..."
"Me- what are you even saying!"
At least they managed to complete it. You really didn't think they had it in them. You still knew it was going to fall apart at the slightest provocation, but at least they built a raft. It fell apart, sure, but they built a raft. And now you're here- around the fire again, while the two of them look wetter and more miserable- though, thankfully, unharmed.
"Are you two satisfied?" you say, eyebrows raised. "I'm getting kinda tired. Or we still gotta go through any other ideas?"
With their frantic energy spent, there aren't any other ideas. Instead the two settle around the fire, trying to dry off, and you finally get to hear what this "recurring dream" was all about.
"Every two nights or so, I have that same dream." says Clooney, sighing. "I am wandering, in rags, until I find myself in front of the castle. I am hungry… so they give me meat. And I am thirsty, and they give me wine."
He looks upwards, staring at the moon.
"I'm brought in front of the throne room, and the dream ends- and I wake up at the operating table again."
Just in time for more experiments, you'd guess.
"Does Parvis use anesthetic, if I may ask?"
"Not at all." they both say, with a shudder.
Muelsyse adjusts her hair. She's pretty fidgety- you'd guess she likes to keep her hands busy, and now all she's got is the hair and the gown.
"Parvis went completely insane, as far as I'm concerned." she says, a finger almost touching one of her surgery scars- before flinching away from the wound. "He apologized throughout the whole thing, even as he was cutting my back open with a scalpel. Said the feelings are "part of the process," even."
"What the hell happened to him? Did no one come down looking for us but Saria?" hisses Clooney. "You didn't tell us how long we were there."
"Quite a bit of time. Weeks. I'm not sure of the exact timeline, everyone's speculating, but if I recall it right..." you spit out a plume of smoke, thinking. "The first one to hit the alarm that your disappearance was malicious was some intern? I'm not sure. A scientist, I think, one of the ones in your division. Asten or something."
"Astgenne?" he says. "Yes. Yes, it does make sense. She would have noticed. But nobody... nobody came?"
You shake your head.
"Parvis put the site in lockdown. Kirsten Wright is outside for some reason I can't recall at the moment, and past a level of the facility? Nobody enters or leaves." throwing the spent one in the ground, you light up another cigarette before you continue. "The place's tied down in some kind of nightmare dream-logic labyrinth, and they're doing experiments to the people inside. The guards seem to be going crazy, too. They were very inattentive."
"...what kind of experiments?" asks Muelsyse.
You recount her the story of the man you freed from his restraints, and show her the things you found in his office.
"You took his degree?" blinks Clooney, before laughing. "I suppose you left no stone unturned."
"I'm a professional." you say, nodding, before taking out the stacks of autopsies. Some of them are wet, but they're still mostly readable- mostly. "I took this, too. I didn't get much from them, but you two might know more."
Soon enough, you three begin your walk through the sands- through the sparse palm trees that adorn the way to the castle. The two scientists mumble and mutter to one another as they read.
"They're… side effects of something." says Muelsyse. "Most of these deaths are from sepsis. All of them have something called "C," in their body; these are tests of what the chemical does. The autopsies are assuming you've already read some previous documentation on it. It appears to induce some kind of alteration of affected tissues, and the body rips itself apart trying to contain the effect."
"All of the bodies also have obvious deformations. Limbs and bones changing shape, the very beginnings of a lump in the skull that would likely lead to the growth of additional horns. The skull itself changed shape, so the bones would open? Like the brain was supposed to come out?" says Clooney. "This is fucking nightmarish. What is he doing? Brains crawling out of the skull. Small legs growing in the spine like a centipede. This is just-"
"Not wanton cruelty. This is obviously guided." says the pointy-eared woman. "But why? What is the point of doing this? I know Parvis is willing to do much in the persuit of science. There was the Diabolic crisis..."
Clooney massages the bridge of his nose, before letting out a long-suffering breath.
"Yes. Yes, that. You were involved with it."
"I would say he's gone insane. But he's… not like that. If he's doing this, there's a goal at least." there's a brief gleam in her eyes. "I've seen the results of Parvis' experiments before. There's no line he won't cross, nothing he won't do for the sake of progress. We should... we should have known. I should have known. If he was willing to experiment on a child... why wouldn't he experiment on us, if he thought he needed it?"
"It... the crisis was the reason Saria left, wasn't it?"
"It was," she nods. "And we had to deal with the fallout of Parvis' experiments before. Saria didn't want to let it go, but Kirsten did. And I sided with her- I trusted her. Maybe that was a mistake, if even now she's not willing to stop him."
She mutters something a human's ears wouldn't catch- and probably, neither would a Feline's. But yours do.
"Does she- does she just not care?"
"Parvis had a ... he had a record of doing this?" growls Clooney, his features blackening with grievances both fresh and foul. "You - if you all hadn't kept so many damn secrets, maybe I would've seen this coming! If you and Control gave us the slightest bit of trust, maybe we would have both avoided an operating table, Muelsyse!"
"Trust - trust you!?" Muelsyse hotly retorts. "What what you've done! With what you were planning? We can't share anything with you, not when your friends in the DoD learn every interesting snippet, and you're constantly trying to undermine Control - undermine us! Why on Terra would we trust you-!"
"Maybe Control needs to brought down a peg, if this is the result of letting them run like this. They're just letting this all happen, you're clearly not seeing things clearly if you think-"
"Not- not seeing things clearly! I see things perfectly. And I see that you're not-"
"Cogito." you say.
"What?" they say in unison, before glaring at each other.
"Cogito. It's called Cogito. The name of the chemical. He told me about it."
You rub your eyes. This is too complicated.
"Well, what does it-"
"Later. We've arrived." you say, staring at the gates of the castle.
Open.
No guards.
They are waiting for you, inside.
He seemed lost. He was looking for something, but he didn't appear to know what he wanted to find.
The three travelers stepped inside. The gates were open, and all awaited them.
When they stepped through, what they saw was a splendid sight; the uniformed nobles, the twenty-six princes, their Kindred and attendants stepping delicately into the dancing line, bowing and curtsying as the music rang sweetly.
The gala swirled around the travelers, as if they were the only stationary points in a moving world. As if they were the axis around which all else revolved.
Drinks and laughter ruled the room, as the musicians struck up the first waltz. Dancers whirled in glittering joy, the windows gleaming with the reflections of the reddened moonlight, sparkling on ten thousand jewels.
The dancers' red eyes accompanied the three travelers. Older than language, younger than life.
The first traveler was starstruck. The second, entranced. The third's eyes widened in horrified recognition- and that was all the more alluring.
The third told the two to run away, for they knew what this place was, and knew nothing good would come. But the servants came, and offered wine. Promises were made. Soon enough, their fear became mere apprehension.
At the first hour, the three were led to their rooms. Seven servants came, and delivered gifts from their masters.
They were given magnificent clothes- the envy of kings. For no guest of the palace could be dressed in the garbs of a peasant.
But the night was still young. Much to the giftee's chagrin, the third did not don the clothes given; and the first and second agreed that it was wise to reject such gifts. But the rejection only made the princes' desires fiercer.
By the end of the first dance, the first of the travelers found themselves being courted; courted by the Princess of the Stone Bulwark, guardian of the southern fortress. Her grin was sharp, and her wit sharper, still.
She engaged the traveler in conversation, and spoke to them of the arts and sciences. Despite the fear nested in their heart, the traveler found her wisdom amusingly outdated, and the mistake was made; when the Princess made a frustrating remark, they could not resist correcting her.
The Princess was an enthusiast of sciences, indeed. She coveted technology, for her defenses were constantly tested by the arms of humans; and the fortress' shields had to rise in turn. So she coveted the traveler's knowledge.
She would not take them by force, for she was forbidden to harm their guests. Arms shackled by filial piety, she attempted to seduce the traveler- and almost succeeded, until they remembered their home. They remembered someone that would have advised caution, and so rejected her advances. She bowed, and left gracefully- but her eyes held a promise of vengeance.
The second traveler was courted by the Prince of the Wheeled Lance, whose future held betrayal. He pursued them out of whimsy, as always.
He asked all sorts of questions. What was the outside world like? The traveler asked if he had never been let outside of these hallways. Of course he had. But even when he was away from here, he was still locked- in his domain, in his castle.
He had never left it. This place wasn't even real, he said. All a dream. But aren't dreams so wonderful?
"I won't be here when you come back, if you come back." said the Prince. "But then, of course, I'm not here now!"
His two Kindreds watched the two as they danced together. The second traveler did not admit it, but his interest was piqued. What was this place, indeed?
In the end, the Prince bowed, and left satisfied, though he had done little. The second traveler breathed deeply, and continued on his path through the ballroom.
The third traveler was courted by no one, for they remained hidden; and though many searched for them to offer a dance, none but the Prince of the Predator Forest could pierce their veil of fog; and so he watched them with greed.
As the third traveler watched the two others, clinging to their hidden weapon, the Prince came. He offered them a secret, in exchange for a kiss. The third traveler did not give them what they desired; and so they grew ever more covetous.
"You did not give me what I wanted." he said. "How could I do anything but want it even more?"
He followed the third traveler through the castle, always in the shadows, always watching; the two of them playing a deadly game, waiting to see who would grow irritated or desiring enough to take the first violent step. But no such step was taken.
"I grew bored of the game. The traveler was dull, in the end, as all the others." exclaimed the Prince of the Predator Forest.
"Yes, and the fox claimed the grapes were sour," said the Princess of the Stone Bulwark. "We all know you failed. Admit it, and save yourself the dishonor."
And so, by midnight, they were brought before the castle's ruler- the one who the third knew, if only by legend.
"I am the ruler of this blood-red night." he said, as the twenty-six kneeled in prostration. "What has brought you to my domain?"
They were guests, and so, no harm would be brought to them. But that did not mean they were to be granted all. They had come here to ask for something, no?
"After all, to live is to want- to want is to live. Tell me of thy wish."
An escape. That was their desire. They wished to return home.
And so, a price would have to be paid. The Princess of the Stone Bulwark made a suggestion; one of the travelers would stay with them forevermore, while the two others would go home. The ruler found this suggestion pleasing.
"But I am feeling merciful tonight. And so… I will change your suggestion, if only a little. One of you must become my child, my heir." the ruler smiled. "Who amongst you will receive this honor?"
The first traveler was the first to speak.
"I… it's better this way. We need to get out of here."
The second traveler hesitated, but took a step forward.
"I believe- I believe it would be better if I was the one to take on this responsibility. I still owe you, after all."
The third traveler pushed the other two out of the way.
"No. I need to keep you two safe."
The ruler smiled. The choice was only his to make, but it pleased him to see the three fight for it. He languished in his seat, and raised his glass. He had already made his choice. He would grant his gift to...
[ ] The first traveler, with the elfin ears.
"I sense something old, in you. You are a remnant of an age long past, of a people long decayed. Much like I. Thus, I shall declare an alliance between our peoples."
[ ] The second traveler, with the feline furs.
"I feel that you are a covetous one. Ambition is to be rewarded, and greed is to be punished. But how does one distinguish between one and the other? The choice is obvious- I will both reward and punish, and cover my bases."
[ ] The third traveler, marked in smoke.
"How adorable. You have already known my kind. A mere Fourth Kindred is far too distant from the source, from the ancient font of desire. So, it is time. You will come closer. Much, much closer."
Hello, is anyone there? Sir? Damn it, there's no signal-
I can hear you, Veronica.
Ah. Wonderful. Well, I have a report to give, sir.
First things first, the Cinq have performed admirably. G. Corp's ranks are in disarray and the Zwei have moved into the inner city. The Rabbits have been dealing with the stragglers.
Hhm.
Something the matter, sir?
Tell them to stop doing that and advance into the southern zone.
…the Rabbits, sir?
Yes. Dealing with stragglers is a waste of their time, given the new data the traitor supplied us with.
I was not made privy to that information, sir. Could you…
Of course. How can my most elite agent perform without data? How would this genius specialist do her work and maneuver her brilliant state-of-the-art technology, made by the equally brilliant director of Research & Development, without all the information being supplied to her?
…sir, please..
Oh, Veronica, sorry. Hm-hm. What we found out is that the proportion of G. Corp's forces that are mere conscripted civilians is far higher than what we thought. We speculated… What was it, again?
30%, sir.
Yeeees. It's actually 68%.
Sixty- what? That's insane.
I am referring specifically to the platoon you are facing right now. They have been conscripting civilians en masse in order to shore up their numbers, even when they can barely even afford to move all these people to the frontlines. In addition to this, with L. Corp lost with all hands, morale is going down the shitter and desertion is at an all-time high.
I see. But the reason the Rabbits were tasked with hunting down stragglers was not merely to prevent hit-and-run attacks aimed at our supply lines. We wanted to provide an outlet to their bloodlust; without that, how can we guarantee they won't start getting antsy?
Ah, don't worry about that. Dias assured me that their desperate desire to stay alive by far outweighs their violent instincts. They won't be a problem to anyone not stupid enough to be near a Purification Protocol activation zone. Anyway, continue your report. Has the Singularity of L. Corp been retrieved?
Partially, sir.
Did the Color consent to the memory removal, even after seeing the Singularity's truth?
He did.
Excellent, though I regret saying we failed from our side. With all the Board slaughtered, and their own R&D division committing mass suicide, it seems the true power of the Haze will be lost to time. Thankfully, with his help, we can recoup our losses with the reactor-forms and the smoke, even if the procedure they used to fully integrate the power into themselves has been destroyed beyond all hope of recovery.
Sir, what about the report we received earlier?
It's a failure, unfortunately. We did not manage to discover the criteria that translate into compatibility with the Haze. Despite extensive testing, none of the 2.000 citizens of L. Corp's Nest, from both inner and outer circles, managed to successfully integrate the flesh of the Suffocating Haze into themselves.
That is unfortunate.
I know! We did everything we could. All the ritualistic practices we could manage to extract via interrogation. Chemical encouragement. We even had mass. With such an uniform rate of failure, there was little to glean from the procedure, overall, outside of the obvious fact that eating Haze meat kills you. Because it's incredibly toxic.
Terrible news, sir. May I continue the report?
Yes! I apologize for going on tangents again. Continue.
We've taken the encampment in the…
You awake on a shore, staring up at a black night sky. A wave jostles against your heels before fading back, the rhythmic sensation gradually teasing you to consciousness.
Your name is Nicole. You blink once- then twice.
"Night… sky?"
You look to your side.
Sand crunches against your cheek and stretches into the distance, freshly dampened - you're laid out on an idyllic beach, straight out of some Feather's calendar photo. You try to lift your head from the surf, but exhaustion dogs every movement. There's something in your mouth. You spit it out before blinking drearily, trying to make sense of the vague shapes your eyes can catch.
Above you, a starlit sky. The full moon.
Next to you… a man. His eyes are closed. Two feline ears. You turn to the other side. A woman. Her long hair touches your face- so that was what you felt in your mouth.
"Where…" you mouth. "Where the hell…"
You close your eyes again, before taking a deep breath. You are tired. Impossibly so. You feel so incredibly tired, your muscles aching and groaning as you struggle to get up.
Your clothes are wet. You feel salt in the breeze. Is this the sea? Where… where are you? Where are your guns?
You- a knife. Your knife, a pistol, your rifle- everything's there, in your pockets, in your back. There's also-
Memories flood your head as you almost trip over the still unconscious body by your side. Rhine Labs. Ahrens Parvis. The red-hooded bodyguard. The things you took from Parvis' office are still with you. You had leaped through a wall, and fallen… somewhere.
You fell for what could've been a minute or a month - the moment stretched out into forever, with the only sure things being the vertigo of nothing beneath your feet and your hands holding onto the two scientists. Then, it all went dark.
The two on the ground- the Directors. Muelsyse, Ferdinand. They were unconscious now. From what you recall, they had both shouted and screamed and clawed at you all the way through the fall.
No time to think about that. Where are you? What is this place?
An island. Large. Deserted. You can spot a few palm trees, but it seems to be mostly sand. You can see something large in the distance, but it's blurry. You wait for your vision to clear- and you see it.
A castle. The moonlight shining down on it looks strange- makes it look faintly red. You blink.
What the hell had happened? What was this place? The ocean is far away from where you were before, and teleportation technology isn't this advanced here, you're sure of it. Did Parvis, or Rhine Labs, somehow independently recreate something like W. Corp's space-ripping technology?
It sounds absurd. A simulated world? It feels real, at least. A pocket dimension? A simple dream or hallucination?
Damn it, you don't have time for this. You are a professional. You know what to do.
First things first, secure the VIPs. Ferdinand goes first, slung over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You'll bring him to the shores.
Alright, that was done. Was he breathing right? Seemed so. No wounds outside of some marks. A few on his neck and wrists. Apparently from needles; drawing blood? Some are from scalpels, mainly the ones around the wrist and- oh, there's some near the spine- they're quite large and obvious now that you can look closer and through the hospital gown.
Another on the neck. Two in his temples. Probably something relating to his brain, who knew what those sick experiments that goat was doing to his victims in that basement.
Muelsyse is- is she face down? You panic, trying to yank her out of the tides by her leg. But the bubbling water reveals she's still breathing, somehow. You check her pulse just to be safe. After that, it's just a bit more difficult to get her body out- the sea clings tightly to her gown, not wanting to let go. But you push past that and drag her out of the water.
You sigh again, and start looking at the trees. You have to make a fire. Despite your enhancements, you are already getting cold- in definitely unnatural manner.
Your rifle and your pistol are all wet, though, so you have to do some maintenance first… no, the VIPs not freezing to death takes priority. Could you ask for extra pay for all of this? You're sure Sieg could help you squeeze some more money out of Rhodes.
Oh well.
You have the wood, but no matches. Some gunpowder would be enough; just a bit. The stuff is potent. A small bit.
Right, now you have a fire. Good. At the very least, she would be warm-
"Ughhhh…" the Director of the Ecological Section groans, trying- and failing- to get up. "Where am… Where am I?"
She blinks as you offer her a cigarette.
"Want one?" you say, waving the cigarette in front of her face. She blinks once, twice.
Then she screams.
"Where- what is-"
"I'm asking myself the same question."
It takes almost half a minute before she calms down, and another half before her words become anything close to coherent.
In the meantime, you seek comfort in your cigarette. The familiar sensation of acrid smoke filling your lungs, the satisfaction that came with the light burning. Your lungs finish absorbing the smoke, but they're full- filled to maximum capacity. They begin spitting out something that feels like tar.
Is it dripping out of your nose? It is.
"Heh." you mumble, wiping it off. This was a bit unusual. They only get like this if you feel really stressed for a continuous time.
That said, you are pretty stressed. Every fiber of your body is tense, every muscle feels pulled. You take a deep breath.
You can't fail now- can't disappoint everyone.
Clooney starts screaming and shouting- yeah, he just woke up as well.
Damn. It seems you have some explanations to give.
"Fascinating."
Your name is Wympe. You are, in fact, unimpressed. Extremely unimpressed. It had barely taken you an hour to get your blackmail victim to spill out more material to use against the rest of the department. And now, you're spending that material, in order to take a little visit to a morgue.
The coroner is a pale man with the eyes of someone who just didn't care, with two horse ears and very low standards for bribes.
The corpse in front of you is almost insultingly fake. It wasn't even the right race; the victim was supposed to be a Lupo- this was a Perro. Sure, it was the same build and the appearance was very similar- with their particular ear shape, it was very difficult to actually distinguish the two. Same hair color, too. But that didn't excuse them.
It was good that you had decided to spend time studying things like these. Even between very similar people, there were enough differences, in fur patterns, in the shape of the ear canal, in the structure of their teeth- between one race and another, patterns that anyone who paid enough attention- or had sufficiently enhanced perception- could notice.
That said, this all left you with more questions than answers. The body had obviously been replaced, but why?
You pace from one side of the room to another. This called things into question. Could you trust the information your contact had provided? Likely not, though you don't think he was knowingly providing bad info.
Unless he is a genius mastermind stringing you up with some brilliant twelve-step plan, it just wasn't very plausible. The man was so spineless that you doubt he'd have been included in whatever plot this was; they must have known that he'd leak everything to the first person who pushed a bit hard.
You study the fake a bit more. You have around three minutes before law enforcement would get into the room as the coroner's excuses ran out- so, time to be quick with this.
You trace the grisly injuries. Post-mortem, definitely inflicted with a sword or some other kind of bladed weapon. They're the part where they got sloppy- an incredibly similar body, and injuries that don't quite match. If you want to fake something, do it properly, damn it.
Your hands are slick with blood as you hack through the corpse's stomach. The signs of overdose are obvious; this amount of partially digested antihistamines can't have come from anything else. By now, it's proven beyond all doubt; this isn't the real body.
But why?
The body in the records was a Lupo. She had died of a precise wound to the neck that led to an agonizing, if relatively quick death- it caused her to bleed out in less than two minutes but only lose consciousness around the one minute and thirty seconds mark.
There were signs of struggle as she tried to run away, but she was restrained with some sort of cuff, going by the bruised circle in the leg. In the end, they bled to death and the corpse suffered a series of grisly post-mortem wounds which you suppose were meant to hide the real cause of the death.
Once again, the question was why. Why would someone do this? You can only speculate. The wound was extraordinarily precise, as the autopsy had noted; so the killer was someone with incredible skill. Thus, one could reason they wanted to make it seem like it wasn't a trained assassin who did it, but rather a more common serial killer?
Like you had speculated before, that merely sounds plausible. The defacing of the body was amateurish- it had been flung around, smashed against walls, and stabbed repeatedly. What assassin would have supreme skill at the actual killing and then cover it up so badly?
No, this was something involving the police for sure. You didn't have much hope for their competence when you came here but this had proven they were involved with the coverup.
Oops, time to make your exit. There was going to be banging on the door any minute now. Luckily, there was a convenient window. It was a two-story drop, but it didn't matter too much.
A thought passes your mind, as you start to undo the locks with slippery hands. The plant of the building showed that there was a large incinerator in the basement- there wasn't supposed to be one, officially, but the design really couldn't be making room for anything else.
And if they had wanted to dispose of a body…
Your name is Olivia Silence, and the last time you can recall being this fatigued was the 72-hour all-nighter the week before your graduation.
This was… an ordeal, for sure. The Forsaken's screams still echo faintly in your mind. You almost can't believe what you got tangled in -if you were told this would happen ten years ago... maybe even ten days ago, you would've broken into laughter.
You are dressed in a… costume. You really can't call it anything else.
It resembles his straightjacket, in a way. Full of belts and straps, the same faded color, the- the muzzle. It has a muzzle. God, you look ridiculous with your round, thick glasses perched atop the bizarre attire - although that hasn't stopped Ifrit from gushing about how 'cool' you look with it all on.
It comes with what you can only describe as a hammer, although it's in truth basically a broomstick with some horrendous hunk of metal welded onto the end. Such a thing would normally be completely impractical, but somehow, you can defy any conventional understanding of physics and wave the menace around like it was made of paper mache.
It's by no means the only unnatural feat you can accomplish when wearing the costume. You feel bizarrely different with it on, but also so much stronger. It comes with impulses, however...
"Wow." says Sieghart, to the side of you. You lower your head, mortified. "Knocked it right through the walls."
That's- a way to word it? It's… not an exaggeration. In front of you are the remains of some piece of equipment whose name you can't recall at the moment, meant to test physical strength.
You didn't mean to. But Sieghart saw the costume after you all woke up- you were dressed in it. Your original clothes are nowhere to be found. He and his… partner, the ghost, Abel- they recognized it.
"Extermination of Geometrical Organ." says Abel, analyzing the wreck of the machine. Ifrit is cheering your dramatic showing of brute strength- in a manner both flattering and embarrassing. "It is somewhat self-explanatory. An E.G.O is akin to an additional organ, extracted from the Abnormality and then converted into a set of equipment for human use. A mass of Abnormality tissue altered and repurposed for combat purposes."
You blink.
"So this is… his flesh?"
"In a way." Abel nods. "Most Abnormalities' clothes are part or their body- there is little distinction between what is "flesh" and what is "cloth," as everything is fundamentally composed of the same material and is merely an unfolding of the entity's core. As such, you may absorb "stray notions," or instinctual runoff from the Abnormality's mass, as this E.G.O you possess is much stronger then average."
Sieghart tilts his head.
"Stronger? Is it why…" he gestures at the destroyed equipment.
You really didn't mean to. You were just meant to swing with a stick- a wooden stick- into the machine. A simple physical test; you've overseen hundreds of these by now. But before you realized, your temples started to ache, and you headbutted the machine with everything you had, ripping half of it clean off and sending it flying out of the city's bounds.
"Most E.G.O has the… let's call it "metaphysical mass." To create a TETH-ranked E.G.O, we would extract 5% of an Abnormality's metaphysical mass and reprocess it into a weapon or a suit. The percentage actually goes down as you rise up in levels, with 4% for a HE-class, 2% for a WAW and a mere 0.5% for an ALEPH, as you need less metaphysical mass for an equipment because the Abnormality is stronger and has more mass overall. Extracting more would mean vastly increased risk of the equipment causing Corrosion- that being it "possessing" the wearer."
You… get it. Yes. It's a fascinating field of study, you think- you would like to learn more, later. Especially if you want to control this power, which you do.
…maybe not control. It feels alive- like the Prisoner's mind is contained within it. Would he want to be controlled, mastered? Maybe you could learn to understand what he wants, what he is...
"How much mass does this E.G.O have?" you ask. "Can you measure it by hand?"
He makes a so-so gesture.
"Not very precisely. I estimate that around 70-80% of the Forsaken Murderer's full mass went into your E.G.O. Have you felt anything, beyond the impulses? A presence, in the corner of your vision, in the reflections of mirrors?"
"I think it's too early to say. Are there any side effects of… taking it off?" you say, hesitantly. "E.G.O, I mean. Will it irritate the Forsaken, or something like…"
"Unlikely." he says, studying your clothes. "E.G.O is by nature inert when not in active use. It could be compared to dead tissue; running a current through it, in this case, an user investing their will, is what brings it to activity, but as soon as that current subsides it returns to its dead state. It is… a complex topic. I should probably write a book on it, I think…"
Abel reminds you of… yes, he reminds you of Parvis. He has a naturally reserved, if not quite paternal, atmosphere about him typically, but you can see the passion in him flare when he discusses research. It's not an uncommon habit among scientists - including yourself - but there's a distinct symmetry to the way they act ... it's almost eerie.
And, speaking of Parvis…
"There's something I need to tell you, Sieghart."
"You're here to… rescue us?"
You nod your head.
The Director of Ecology's eyes are wide. She keeps closing and opening her hands, wiping her hands on the fabric of her gown every now and then no matter how dry they've become. She doesn't have the same sort of, well, animal features, that you've come to expect on everyone since arriving on Terra.
The only hint Muelsyse isn't a fellow Cityfolk is her pair of pointed ears and lime-green eyes that keep moving toward the ocean. You've seen her before in pictures, but absent the gadgets she's seemingly never without and the impish energy that seemed odd on a scientist, Muelsyse comes accross as ... small. Fragile, and not just physically. You'll need to keep an eye on her.
One of her hands reaches for the scar in her other wrist, the minute marks left behind by minuscule needles and precise scalpels. You recognize them- your cycle of lung replacement used to leave quite a few of these in your chest. You don't have any currently; you replaced your skin a few months before you went into the Library, if you recall it well…
"Who sent you here?" Ferdinand asks. There are deep bags under his eyes- and his hands shake. "How long have- how long have we been there?"
The crisscrossing scars on his left wrist point towards an operation in the median nerve. Repeated ones, going by how the scars look like. Whatever Parvis wants with all of this, it's something he didn't have any qualms experimenting on his friends for. Something to think about, for sure.
"Saria," you lie, lighting a cigar. "Though it was more of an accident. We were looking for you after you disappeared- but my goal was to investigate this place, not necessarily find you."
"Saria…?" Muelsyse says, staring at the ground in disbelief. "...she came for me?"
Ferdinand coughs. You tilt your head towards him.
"I'm going to be frank with you," you say with a sigh. "I have no idea what this place is. I jumped out of a window after taking you out of there."
"I think- I think I know this place." Ferdinand says.
-what?
"Have you been here before?"
He looks at the sky, and at the castle in the distance.
"In my dreams, yes."
There is something funny, you think, about seeing the old goat so pissed off. He's quiet about it, like everything else.
But there's that mad gleam in his eyes when he skims through his little book- like if he looks inside that Abnormality hard enough, he'll find the answer, his knuckles whitening from the firm grip. He throws a glance at the door every now and then, as if expecting someone to barge through shooting and swinging a weapon.
Good. That paranoia will serve him well.
But there's no way the Note is going to cooperate. The thing's moody at best. Out of the Abnormalities he's got in his payroll, you're the only one worth a damn for sure- he got lucky when he took you out of the pit.
You take a bite out of your ham sandwich. It's pretty good. The cool, air-conditioned breeze is rather pleasant. You really could stay here forever.
"They're down there." you say. "You know that."
The old goat adjusts his glasses, before sighing.
"Red, I'm sorry, but we need more information. We need to know in what containment they landed in, otherwise-"
You snort. You can't help it.
"I work for you, Parvis. And as your bodyguard, it's my job to give you a clear assessment of the situation."
He rubs his forehead, before placing his book on the table. You've got him.
"Give it, then."
"If they landed in the disaster chair's cell, they're either going to escape through the hatch or die."
He flinches at the last word.
"If they landed in the Nosferatu's cell, they're going to rip through the hatch as Bloodfiends or die." you raise your eyebrow. "And I told you about Bloodfiends, before. If they become-"
"You'll kill them. Yes."
"Yes. I can't in good conscience let these kinds of beasts run amok. I have a reputation- and a responsibility- that, as a hunter, I must uphold."
You throw the wrapping of the sandwich in the trash bin, and cross your legs.
"If they land in the Conflagrati's cell, they are probably going to die or leave as bombs. Either way we do the same thing; wait at the exit with a gun pointed at them. No need for you to go searching in your little book for clues; you know the thing doesn't trust you now that you've decided to keep her at arm's length."
Probably the best decision Parvis' made in his damned life, you think. You've seen a lot of shady people, you've seen what she did to Miller, so from that and from what Parvis told you about her, she's up to no good.
"We're not going to go down there looking for them." you say, slowly. "We're going to wait for them to come out, you're going to bring the troopers, and then we're most likely going to have to put them down. They're not going to leave the cells alive- or as things that should be left alive. Do you want more flame zombies?"
Parvis frowns. He's usually stubborn as- well, a goat- but given by how defeated he looks…
"Fine." he relents, looking down.
It's good to see your boss listen to you, you think.
You get up from your chair. You have an axe to sharpen.
"Clooney, are you-"
The man's cat ears are pinned back against his head- he's quite annoyed, it seems. His tail's also lashing back and forth despite the man's obvious attempts to look in control - if not of his surroundings or circumstances, then at least himself.
Staking your escape on a recurring dream feels a bit strange, but indeed, you have no other plans outside of building a raft and escaping into the open ocean- and going by your boss' story, there is no way you are getting close to these waters if you can help it.
These two don't agree.
"Yes. Yes, I know what I'm doing. I've sailed before." he coughs. "A yacht, anyway. It's not too different."
You watch the pair of would-be shipwrights, letting a cigarette burn to the wick from your spot on the beach.
"It's too thick." says Muelsyse. "You shouldn't have bound them like this."
Clooney gives her an annoyed look, trying to keep the crude sail together with his trembling hands. The water bubbled and surged, balancing the raft and keeping it aloft. You mark it as more evidence towards the dream-hypothesis.
"Look, I know more about this then you."
"You need to do them like this-"
This way was going to rip the thing apart, you note quietly. They were going to tear the raft into two with the way they were pulling.
"No, I know better."
"Like-" Muelsyse shakes her head. "Of course you don't, have you even-"
"More then you! For you to know anything you'd have to have any-"
You check your wrist for an imaginary watch. One, two, three, four...
There. The raft splits in half, both of the scientists falling into the water with a panicked yelp. Ferdinand even sounds like a cat, you notice.
In ten seconds, they're in the shores again. With how much they were bickering, you guess working together on something was good for them. If they hadn't, in two or three minutes they were going to be at each other's throats with warpaint on their faces and a pig head on a stick, you were sure of it.
"Damn it." coughs Clooney, shaking his head.
"You pushed too much."
"If it wasn't for you tearing the damn sail..."
"Me- what are you even saying!"
At least they managed to complete it. You really didn't think they had it in them. You still knew it was going to fall apart at the slightest provocation, but at least they built a raft. It fell apart, sure, but they built a raft. And now you're here- around the fire again, while the two of them look wetter and more miserable- though, thankfully, unharmed.
"Are you two satisfied?" you say, eyebrows raised. "I'm getting kinda tired. Or we still gotta go through any other ideas?"
With their frantic energy spent, there aren't any other ideas. Instead the two settle around the fire, trying to dry off, and you finally get to hear what this "recurring dream" was all about.
"Every two nights or so, I have that same dream." says Clooney, sighing. "I am wandering, in rags, until I find myself in front of the castle. I am hungry… so they give me meat. And I am thirsty, and they give me wine."
He looks upwards, staring at the moon.
"I'm brought in front of the throne room, and the dream ends- and I wake up at the operating table again."
Just in time for more experiments, you'd guess.
"Does Parvis use anesthetic, if I may ask?"
"Not at all." they both say, with a shudder.
Muelsyse adjusts her hair. She's pretty fidgety- you'd guess she likes to keep her hands busy, and now all she's got is the hair and the gown.
"Parvis went completely insane, as far as I'm concerned." she says, a finger almost touching one of her surgery scars- before flinching away from the wound. "He apologized throughout the whole thing, even as he was cutting my back open with a scalpel. Said the feelings are "part of the process," even."
"What the hell happened to him? Did no one come down looking for us but Saria?" hisses Clooney. "You didn't tell us how long we were there."
"Quite a bit of time. Weeks. I'm not sure of the exact timeline, everyone's speculating, but if I recall it right..." you spit out a plume of smoke, thinking. "The first one to hit the alarm that your disappearance was malicious was some intern? I'm not sure. A scientist, I think, one of the ones in your division. Asten or something."
"Astgenne?" he says. "Yes. Yes, it does make sense. She would have noticed. But nobody... nobody came?"
You shake your head.
"Parvis put the site in lockdown. Kirsten Wright is outside for some reason I can't recall at the moment, and past a level of the facility? Nobody enters or leaves." throwing the spent one in the ground, you light up another cigarette before you continue. "The place's tied down in some kind of nightmare dream-logic labyrinth, and they're doing experiments to the people inside. The guards seem to be going crazy, too. They were very inattentive."
"...what kind of experiments?" asks Muelsyse.
You recount her the story of the man you freed from his restraints, and show her the things you found in his office.
"You took his degree?" blinks Clooney, before laughing. "I suppose you left no stone unturned."
"I'm a professional." you say, nodding, before taking out the stacks of autopsies. Some of them are wet, but they're still mostly readable- mostly. "I took this, too. I didn't get much from them, but you two might know more."
Soon enough, you three begin your walk through the sands- through the sparse palm trees that adorn the way to the castle. The two scientists mumble and mutter to one another as they read.
"They're… side effects of something." says Muelsyse. "Most of these deaths are from sepsis. All of them have something called "C," in their body; these are tests of what the chemical does. The autopsies are assuming you've already read some previous documentation on it. It appears to induce some kind of alteration of affected tissues, and the body rips itself apart trying to contain the effect."
"All of the bodies also have obvious deformations. Limbs and bones changing shape, the very beginnings of a lump in the skull that would likely lead to the growth of additional horns. The skull itself changed shape, so the bones would open? Like the brain was supposed to come out?" says Clooney. "This is fucking nightmarish. What is he doing? Brains crawling out of the skull. Small legs growing in the spine like a centipede. This is just-"
"Not wanton cruelty. This is obviously guided." says the pointy-eared woman. "But why? What is the point of doing this? I know Parvis is willing to do much in the persuit of science. There was the Diabolic crisis..."
Clooney massages the bridge of his nose, before letting out a long-suffering breath.
"Yes. Yes, that. You were involved with it."
"I would say he's gone insane. But he's… not like that. If he's doing this, there's a goal at least." there's a brief gleam in her eyes. "I've seen the results of Parvis' experiments before. There's no line he won't cross, nothing he won't do for the sake of progress. We should... we should have known. I should have known. If he was willing to experiment on a child... why wouldn't he experiment on us, if he thought he needed it?"
"It... the crisis was the reason Saria left, wasn't it?"
"It was," she nods. "And we had to deal with the fallout of Parvis' experiments before. Saria didn't want to let it go, but Kirsten did. And I sided with her- I trusted her. Maybe that was a mistake, if even now she's not willing to stop him."
She mutters something a human's ears wouldn't catch- and probably, neither would a Feline's. But yours do.
"Does she- does she just not care?"
"Parvis had a ... he had a record of doing this?" growls Clooney, his features blackening with grievances both fresh and foul. "You - if you all hadn't kept so many damn secrets, maybe I would've seen this coming! If you and Control gave us the slightest bit of trust, maybe we would have both avoided an operating table, Muelsyse!"
"Trust - trust you!?" Muelsyse hotly retorts. "What what you've done! With what you were planning? We can't share anything with you, not when your friends in the DoD learn every interesting snippet, and you're constantly trying to undermine Control - undermine us! Why on Terra would we trust you-!"
"Maybe Control needs to brought down a peg, if this is the result of letting them run like this. They're just letting this all happen, you're clearly not seeing things clearly if you think-"
"Not- not seeing things clearly! I see things perfectly. And I see that you're not-"
"Cogito." you say.
"What?" they say in unison, before glaring at each other.
"Cogito. It's called Cogito. The name of the chemical. He told me about it."
You rub your eyes. This is too complicated.
"Well, what does it-"
"Later. We've arrived." you say, staring at the gates of the castle.
Open.
No guards.
They are waiting for you, inside.
He seemed lost. He was looking for something, but he didn't appear to know what he wanted to find.
The three travelers stepped inside. The gates were open, and all awaited them.
When they stepped through, what they saw was a splendid sight; the uniformed nobles, the twenty-six princes, their Kindred and attendants stepping delicately into the dancing line, bowing and curtsying as the music rang sweetly.
The gala swirled around the travelers, as if they were the only stationary points in a moving world. As if they were the axis around which all else revolved.
Drinks and laughter ruled the room, as the musicians struck up the first waltz. Dancers whirled in glittering joy, the windows gleaming with the reflections of the reddened moonlight, sparkling on ten thousand jewels.
The dancers' red eyes accompanied the three travelers. Older than language, younger than life.
The first traveler was starstruck. The second, entranced. The third's eyes widened in horrified recognition- and that was all the more alluring.
The third told the two to run away, for they knew what this place was, and knew nothing good would come. But the servants came, and offered wine. Promises were made. Soon enough, their fear became mere apprehension.
At the first hour, the three were led to their rooms. Seven servants came, and delivered gifts from their masters.
They were given magnificent clothes- the envy of kings. For no guest of the palace could be dressed in the garbs of a peasant.
But the night was still young. Much to the giftee's chagrin, the third did not don the clothes given; and the first and second agreed that it was wise to reject such gifts. But the rejection only made the princes' desires fiercer.
By the end of the first dance, the first of the travelers found themselves being courted; courted by the Princess of the Stone Bulwark, guardian of the southern fortress. Her grin was sharp, and her wit sharper, still.
She engaged the traveler in conversation, and spoke to them of the arts and sciences. Despite the fear nested in their heart, the traveler found her wisdom amusingly outdated, and the mistake was made; when the Princess made a frustrating remark, they could not resist correcting her.
The Princess was an enthusiast of sciences, indeed. She coveted technology, for her defenses were constantly tested by the arms of humans; and the fortress' shields had to rise in turn. So she coveted the traveler's knowledge.
She would not take them by force, for she was forbidden to harm their guests. Arms shackled by filial piety, she attempted to seduce the traveler- and almost succeeded, until they remembered their home. They remembered someone that would have advised caution, and so rejected her advances. She bowed, and left gracefully- but her eyes held a promise of vengeance.
The second traveler was courted by the Prince of the Wheeled Lance, whose future held betrayal. He pursued them out of whimsy, as always.
He asked all sorts of questions. What was the outside world like? The traveler asked if he had never been let outside of these hallways. Of course he had. But even when he was away from here, he was still locked- in his domain, in his castle.
He had never left it. This place wasn't even real, he said. All a dream. But aren't dreams so wonderful?
"I won't be here when you come back, if you come back." said the Prince. "But then, of course, I'm not here now!"
His two Kindreds watched the two as they danced together. The second traveler did not admit it, but his interest was piqued. What was this place, indeed?
In the end, the Prince bowed, and left satisfied, though he had done little. The second traveler breathed deeply, and continued on his path through the ballroom.
The third traveler was courted by no one, for they remained hidden; and though many searched for them to offer a dance, none but the Prince of the Predator Forest could pierce their veil of fog; and so he watched them with greed.
As the third traveler watched the two others, clinging to their hidden weapon, the Prince came. He offered them a secret, in exchange for a kiss. The third traveler did not give them what they desired; and so they grew ever more covetous.
"You did not give me what I wanted." he said. "How could I do anything but want it even more?"
He followed the third traveler through the castle, always in the shadows, always watching; the two of them playing a deadly game, waiting to see who would grow irritated or desiring enough to take the first violent step. But no such step was taken.
"I grew bored of the game. The traveler was dull, in the end, as all the others." exclaimed the Prince of the Predator Forest.
"Yes, and the fox claimed the grapes were sour," said the Princess of the Stone Bulwark. "We all know you failed. Admit it, and save yourself the dishonor."
And so, by midnight, they were brought before the castle's ruler- the one who the third knew, if only by legend.
"I am the ruler of this blood-red night." he said, as the twenty-six kneeled in prostration. "What has brought you to my domain?"
They were guests, and so, no harm would be brought to them. But that did not mean they were to be granted all. They had come here to ask for something, no?
"After all, to live is to want- to want is to live. Tell me of thy wish."
An escape. That was their desire. They wished to return home.
And so, a price would have to be paid. The Princess of the Stone Bulwark made a suggestion; one of the travelers would stay with them forevermore, while the two others would go home. The ruler found this suggestion pleasing.
"But I am feeling merciful tonight. And so… I will change your suggestion, if only a little. One of you must become my child, my heir." the ruler smiled. "Who amongst you will receive this honor?"
The first traveler was the first to speak.
"I… it's better this way. We need to get out of here."
The second traveler hesitated, but took a step forward.
"I believe- I believe it would be better if I was the one to take on this responsibility. I still owe you, after all."
The third traveler pushed the other two out of the way.
"No. I need to keep you two safe."
The ruler smiled. The choice was only his to make, but it pleased him to see the three fight for it. He languished in his seat, and raised his glass. He had already made his choice. He would grant his gift to...
[ ] The first traveler, with the elfin ears.
"I sense something old, in you. You are a remnant of an age long past, of a people long decayed. Much like I. Thus, I shall declare an alliance between our peoples."
[ ] The second traveler, with the feline furs.
"I feel that you are a covetous one. Ambition is to be rewarded, and greed is to be punished. But how does one distinguish between one and the other? The choice is obvious- I will both reward and punish, and cover my bases."
[ ] The third traveler, marked in smoke.
"How adorable. You have already known my kind. A mere Fourth Kindred is far too distant from the source, from the ancient font of desire. So, it is time. You will come closer. Much, much closer."
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