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All Things Devoured (Worm/DeadSpace)

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Just a random comment. But I like it better here then over on SB. No idea why. Everyone here seems less intense and I appreccate that.

NECROMORPH HUGS FOR EVERYONE
 
I feel like Taylor might not be able to make her limbs contort into a exact chain saw, but then again something like a saw saw would be very simple. Just a simple muscle powered four bar linkage with a straight line movement output moving as fast as it can with a necromorph slasher style arm at the end and Taylor can help Danny carve that Thanksgiving turkey or ham or steak or whatever needs carving. Pretty dang sure with her showing of mechanical mimicry it would be pretty possible at this point.
 
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    • [X] Make the Undersiders regret everything


    I watch the roiling fog against the glass wall of my cell, and consider my options. I should really try to do something to earn my paycheck at some point, and the current breaking-and-entering is basically within arm's reach, so it's not out of my way. There is the small matter of me being in a cell that's explicitly designed to not be broken out of, but it's not like I've seen a ton of competence from the Protectorate after living in Brockton Bay for the past several years, so I'm not going to assume this place works as intended. Not without taking a few stabs at it, anyway. Once I'm more-or-less confident the Undersiders have passed by completely, I crawl out from under my bed to do exactly that.

    The viewing window is stab-proof, unfortunately, and bulletproof as well, but it might not be acid-proof. Pustules form on my tongue and I give the window a few experimental licks. Thin wisps of acrid smoke peel away from the glass. I guess the nitrous or nitric or whatever the hell Armsmaster said I could spit up works on glass, but not fast enough. Thinking back to listening to the Tinker mutter through his beard gives me an idea, though. I don't have an example drill stashed in my chest to compare to, but a bone spiral honestly isn't a hard shape to make, once I peel all the skin and tendons away from one hand and replace them with hardened calcium deposits instead. A few hollow tubes and holes in the surface for the acid to pour through, and I'm set.

    I bore a hole in the window about the size of my fist, and Grue's black smoke starts to drip into my cell, bit by bit. It's harmless, as far as I can tell, so I ignore it and focus on the hole instead. Maybe I should have thought this through a bit more, because now I really don't have time to try and make a bigger hole if I want to catch up to the thieves… but, skinny as I am, there's still no way I'm fitting through that.

    Well. Not in one piece, at any rate.

    * * *

    "Geeze, could you go any slower? I'm gonna miss my shows at this rate."

    "Shut up, Regent," Grue snapped at his teammate. He spared a glance at the other member of their current trio, checking to see if the outburst had disturbed Tattletale while she worked her magic on the keypad on Bitch's cell. The Thinker had a very pinched look on her face, but she didn't look up. She was probably pretty used to ignoring Regent by now, anyway. Ignoring Bitch seemed like a harder task, as she was pacing restlessly back and forth in front of the locked door, her mouth moving furiously but no sound escaping the cell.

    (S-sciiitch)

    Bitch's rant finally became intellible as Tattletale made a short, victorious fistbump and hit the large green button on the keypad, her power having deduced the password through whatever means it supposedly relied upon. Grue clapped a leather-clad hand over Bitch's mouth as soon as the door opened, and she gave him a furious glare over the tops of his fingers. Regent started to laugh, only to receive a sharp elbow from Tattletale. "Grue. What is it?"

    "Thought I heard something." Hadn't he? A sort of… wet sound, just for a moment? The other Undersiders all quieted, each of them listening to the quiet darkened corridors. The waist-high layer of his power wouldn't muffle anyone's footsteps for him, at least. As the moment stretched, however, the sound of boots on tile never materialized. "Nevermind. Let's just get out of here."

    "Some of those guard assholes said Judas was still alive," Bitch hissed as she stepped out of her cell. "We have to find him."

    "We have to secure our own escape first, Bitch," Tattletale said.

    "Judas can get us out of here easily."

    "We don't know where they might be keeping him, we have to focus on us right now."

    (Pit. Pit. Pat.)

    Grue's head whipped around inside his helmet to stare down the hallway. He had heard something, but it wasn't the footfalls of a patrolling PRT officer. Instead, a small flicker of motion caught his eye, down low on the ground just near where the hallway turned a corner. As he watched, under the cover of his power's fog, a hand crept around the corner. No arm followed it, just a trio of stubby tendrils helping to inch the wandering limb forward.

    (Pit-pit pit. Pit pat. Pit pit pat pitpitpitpit--)

    A heap of something tumbled around the corner in the crawling hand's wake, the mass quickly splintering into a jittery wave of palm-sized scraps of bloodless flesh. They cavorted, and scuttled, and bumped into each other constantly in an aimless horde that, despite their seeming confusion, was quickly advancing towards the Undersiders. More of the swarming mass was following, pouring and scrabbling ever more quickly from past the corner.

    Grue pushed Bitch into Regent and Tattletale, forcing the whole group to stumble back. "We need to run. Now."

    "Grue, what is it, we can't see anything through--" Even as she complained, Tattletale had a hand moving to the gun holstered at her hip. Instead of wasting time trying to explain, Grue banished the black fog with a wave of his hand.

    Immediately, the swarm's behavior changed, the confused and bumbling pieces all suddenly moving in tandem. The new ones still spilling into the hallway spread out, crawling up the walls like headless bats until they were above where the end of Grue's fog had been. The ones already chasing them sped up, many beginning to make chittering and squeaking noises from small, toothy seams that served as mouths. A long rope of what looked like intestines had at one point joined the mass, the disembodied organ making a clumsy attempt at slithering down the corridor after them, and as the Undersiders watched several of the pale scraps and other, red-slicked things started coalescing onto the swelling intestine, gathering together.

    "Put it back," Tattletale yelled, "Put your power back on it!"

    Another wave of Grue's hand, and the hallway filled with darkness. The Undersiders turned and ran, the stumbling swarm fast on their heels.

    * * *

    Assault hit the pause button of the security camera footage again, stilling the feed at an image of the Undersiders emerging from a pall of black smoke, outside the M/S cells wing. They'd apparently blacked out the ceiling during their infiltration, and I'd never really looked up to notice. The Undersiders had different things to worry about by the time they escape the containment wing and had neglected the cameras. It may have had something to do with all the gibs they were covered in: there was a disembodied hand with a death-grip on Grue's jacket, and the picture of the guy in the poofy shirt was all blurry as he'd tried to shake the little swarming bastards I'd dissolved into out of his hair. I vaguely remember the taste of exceptionally fancy shampoo.

    "Once more, Deadpan-- you don't remember anything from the point you left your… room until roughly this moment shown here?" Assault sounds tired. It's a cold comfort that this interrogation is inconveniencing him as much as or moreso than it is me.

    "Yes, like I keep telling you," I rasp at him. "Just… vague bits. It's all confused. It wasn't like when I practiced being in parts instead of being person-shaped." It's also completely fucking frustrating. Apparently that black smoke is a little more complex than a supernatural blindfold; as soon as I'd spilled my bits into it it was like all my parts just… lost track of me. Lost track of even being me, but they kept moving. Whenever the Undersiders left it or my giblets managed to out-scurry the fog's advance I was okay--disoriented maybe, but I knew I was still there. Armsmaster, when he'd still been in this little meeting, had started lecturing about 'distributed intelligence,' meaning that my brainmeats weren't the only part of me that I thought with. I could have told them that.

    Stupid Grue. Stupid Grue and his stupid power and his stupid leather pants. I hate him.

    Things continue in this vein for a while, back and forth, just going over the same damn things. It's so pointless, and I'm tired and I'm sore and I ache at being separated like that. I'm never stepping in Grue's power again unless I'm in one piece. I grit my teeth just at the thought. The so-called 'Masters of Escape' did manage to escape me, for the most part, but they tripped alarms trying to get away from me and ran into mundane PRT troopers instead. Poofy-shirt guy got tazed and at least one of them took a bullet, because I have another vague memory of a few swarmers gathering around to clean up a blood spill. But they did get away.

    They got away. From me. They were mine. My stomach curdles in anger.

    Assault's still talking, still keeping up this farce, but I abruptly raise my head and interrupt him. "Can I go home now?"

    "Er…" Assault falters.

    "I don't want to go back to the cells. I want to sleep in my own room. I'll even go to school." Thorns form on my tongue, but I swallow them down. I know he's got a weak spot, and so long as I don't press it too often… "Please?"

    It's not entirely a weaponized plea. I really do want to go home, or at least be somewhere more familiar. If I had nerves, they'd be shaken from this experience, and I'm fed up with bureaucracy and playing nice for the moment. I want something normal for a while, or as normal as I ever get. Torment the teachers at Winslow for a few days, have a few empty conversations with Dad, that sort of thing. Assault makes a number of noises as he waffles between apologetic and sympathetic, but eventually, he relents.

    * * *

    [X]Get Emma a fffrriiieeennddd

    It's been almost a week since the Undersiders' little incursion, and I still feel bruised in a way that doesn't make much sense. It's not as bad, sure, but I still end up taking a lot of naps under my bed. Partly out of boredom, partly out of wanting to escape that insufferable feeling of separation. Other than that, it's like nothing has changed at all. Dad's smile is strained, the teachers at Winslow try their hardest to pretend I don't exist, even Emma is as polished and empty as ever.

    Around Friday, after Dad has gone to bed and I've stuffed my homework in the wastepaper basket for the time being, I crawl out from under my bed feeling a bit… odd. A little floaty, a little detached, like I'm sleepwalking. Maybe I am. Maybe it doesn't matter either way. I lever my bedroom window open with a pair of claws and slide out into the night, only one destination in mind. This time, I do shimmy down the chimney of the Barnes' big old house. I've been trying to shape a meat-rat all week, with vague thoughts of giving Emma a pet. It never really came out right, but since when has being wrong about something stopped me?

    I creep up the stairs on many legs, slide tendrils around the door to Emma's room to hold it up while I open it-- it creaks otherwise, I remember. She's changed her bedspread and curtains since I was in here last, but her mattress still has room for two. Emma smiles in her sleep, a satisfied little smile, like a cat. I carefully tangle a dozen feelers in her hair and pajamas, then pry open her mouth and stick the inanimate meatrat in her mouth. Just like a cat. Hee hee.

    "Hi Emma," I whisper to her. "I brought you a present."

    She's wide awake now, and she tries to spit out the rat, but I put as normal a hand as I can manage over her face to keep her still. She tosses and turns against my limbs.

    "I was worried you might be lonely," I continue, and run my other hand through her hair, untangling it. "We didn't used to ever be lonely. You remember."

    Never lonely. Never separate. I move my hand from her hair to trace fingers against her cheek, then wrap increasingly-long digits around her throat. She was my best friend. Mine. And she's not allowed to keep hurting me like this.

    "Don't cry, Emma." She shakes her head over and over, not obeying. Well, she always was headstrong. I smile at her. Then I open my skin from neck to navel, and spread my ribs wide for a hug.


    Take Emma with you?
    [ ]YES mine mine mine mine
    [ ]YES hhhhuuuurrrrtsss
    [ ]YES HAHAHAHAHAHA
     
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    • Well fuck, looks like we're now leapt past the point of no return. A pity too; I was enjoying Taylor being the cynical/pragmatic and creepy Ward.

    Also, I'm so happy this is back!

    [X]YES HAHAHAHAHAHA
     
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    [X] YES


    Was kinda hoping we'd wait a bit before going insane. If only for the fun of us finally snapping. Ah well, not like Emma counts as a person really.
     
    [x] YES hhhhuuuurrrrtsss

    From Taylor's point of view this could be a legitimate friendship moment...or playing with your food. From my point of view either way this seems like karma.
     
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