Contamination Rating: Severe (Worm, SI)
- Thread starter violetshadows
- Start date
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- Tags
- worm horror humor self insert cute
Don't worry, you can fix that.
Older-than-Time
[Eating My Muse]
- Location
- Somewhere in the Sol System
- Pronouns
- He/Him/ThatIdiot
Wait...is the SI male or female? Because I'm getting horrifying images either way...
I think you may have meant to use a different word here.
Not sure what you mean, this is what I get from google dictionary
dis·bar
disˈbär/
verb
gerund or present participle: disbarring
- 1.
expel (a lawyer) from the Bar, so that they no longer have the right to practice law. - 2.
exclude (someone) from something.
"competitors wearing rings will be disbarred from competition"
Is the meaning that they don't allow capes into the gang in order to maintain a low profile? I usually read the word disbar to mean some kind of individually targeted ban.
Yes. It's much the same strategy Coil used, only with a smaller budget and less inherent duplicity.
AZATHOTHoth
༼ つ ☀️_☀️ ༽つ
This looks good so far. Watched.
So could Bonesaw go to Africa? Might be a way to get the bodies you need.
So could Bonesaw go to Africa? Might be a way to get the bodies you need.
1.I Unravel: Side A
1.I Unravel: Side A.
Daniel Clarence drummed his fingers against the floor, as he watched the PRT through a window. Ten; eleven; twelve. Combined with the squads at the warehouse and the four running interference, there must have been sixty agents combing their way through the block.
Well... fifty-nine, now. Ducking back beneath the frame after hitting his target in the chest, he stayed just long enough to watch the man drop, while bits of his armor scattered about the street. A casualty of his 8.08 Velmat, the tinker-fab long rifle had been a hassle to acquire, but it was definitely proving its worth.
More so than Gerald's Uzi, at any rate. Highly inaccurate and with limited stopping power, the feds outside had barely blinked before putting a round through his face. Fucking assholes. Apparently the capes were the only ones who rated the damn sprayers.
"Hey Carlos, how are you doing back there?"
The Hispanic enforcer winced. Bleeding from the shoulder after getting winged by a bit of glass, he was trying to pull it out with some tweezers and the carpet had grown damp with his blood. "You know, this would be a lot easier, if you could stop pissing them off. Give me like... five fucking minutes: is that too much to ask?"
It kind of was. Pinned down by Ferric and the PRT after him, Craig might have killed the vigilante, but the way he'd done it had created major problems. "Fuck," the gangster muttered irritably, as he crawled across the floor. Abandoning his position, while the PRT fired upon the window, he felt a few shards of glass hit his scalp, and he hoped they wouldn't cut more than his hair.
"Damn. Got it." Carlos called, before finally tossing the fragment to the floor. Joining the brunette as he inched his way to the door, it was about time they reunited with their comrades and escaped from this unexpected death trap.
Ideally, with all due haste. The Protectorate hadn't arrived yet, but it was only a matter of time. Once they did? Things would become unsalvageable.
Passing Carlos his holster as they crawled by the end-table, the enforcer stared at it grimly, before tying it around his waist. "Where's Demetri? Is he still down below?"
Daniel nodded his head. Camped out on the bottom floor while he waited for the PRT, the teen was eager to prove himself, even if it meant making some stupid choices. In this case, that meant ambushing the next squad when they tried to breach the building. Hunkered behind a large desk in the foyer, he figured he could kill the rest with his machine gun, before they had time to return fire.
The brunette wished him all the luck. Finally, checking the hallway to see if the coast was clear, he waved his hand over his shoulder, and they headed off on the right.
Gunfire echoed outside; somewhere, a wall was shattered. "Craig?" Carlos asked, wincing a bit at the sound.
Daniel shrugged. A weedy, little fuck with long hair, he'd never been the strongest guy around, but capes could be deceiving. Last he saw, the blonde had jumped Ferric like a crazed honey badger and the two had dropped through the floor.
Heh, must have scared the piss out of the old couple below. They were the ones who had likely called the police, and it warmed his callous heart well to imagine the looks on their face. "Let's hope not. I don't want to get his attention while he's busy losing his shit."
Carlos gave a wordless hiss of agreement. Then, after reaching the end of the corridor, they pulled on the door to the fire escape and stepped out onto the raised platform.
"Of course," Dan groaned, when he saw the end of the ladder. "Why wouldn't it be fucking busted?" Terminating in a shard of grimy, corrugated iron, it was maybe thirty feet to the pavement, and that was if they hung from the ledge.
"Jump it?" the sniper asked, eyeing the width of the alley.
The Columbian looked sick at the thought. "You want to die, hombre?" Still, it was either that or the roof, and they could hear Demtri fighting down below. "Christ!" he conceded. "Fine, but you have to be the one to go first."
Dan scowled, unimpressed. "Puss," he accused, as he slammed his foot into the railing. Kicking it once or twice, until the beam broke off with a crack, he eyed the distance carefully and backed up through the open door.
"Well?" Carlos began, glancing over his shoulder. "You gonna to do it or not?"
His only response was a silently raised middle finger. Then, after gathering his nerve and shouldering the strap of his rifle, the brunette took a few harried steps and threw himself into the air.
He hit the other building chest first. Grunting and groaning as the air was forced from his lungs, he fell half a dozen feet and snagged a nearby balcony with his hand. Then, after struggling to maintain his grip, he latched on with his other arm and slowly pulled himself up.
Carlos looked pissed he'd made it. "Your turn," the sniper called, staring up at the Columbian. "Might want to nail the landing, though. It's a bit of a rough trip down."
"Yeah, yeah," the enforcer shouted back, scowling down from on high. "Fucking smartass."
Moving back towards the wall, so Carlos would have room to arrive, Dan leaned against the brickwork and panted as quietly as he could.
Shit. for a second there, he'd thought he was going to die. Resigned to playing it cool, least he never hear the end of it, he watched the other man say a prayer before backing up to take his best shot.
"Son of a bitch!" Carlos howled as he launched himself through the air. Pinwheeling his arms like a retarded bird trying to fly, he snagged one of the bars with his fingers and hung suspended over the street.
He laughed and pulled himself up.
The railing creaked in protest.
One of the welds released a crack.
The last thing Dan saw before Carlos hit the pavement below was a brief flash of surprise on the other man's face as he passed.
"Shit," the enforcer muttered, stumbling over to the edge.
Yeah, that was Carlos, alright. Fat sack of shit had made a crater when he slammed into the road. Surprisingly, there wasn't much blood pooling beneath the body, and though it was rather unreasonable, hope kindled in his chest. Then, he remembered the PRT and resigned himself to the loss. One way or another, he probably wouldn't see the man again. "Well... it was good run, anyway." Murmuring a brief prayer and sketching the sign of the cross, the brunette quickly looked away and climbed the ladder to the roof.
Locked; locked; locked. It took him until the sixth floor before he found a door which would yield to his touch. Left unsecured by an old bucket propped near the frame, someone must have held it open to try to keep cool in the summer heat.
"Richard? Cubrik? You in here?"
Daniel's only response was a brief burst of gun fire. Sighing at just how fucked up this day had steadily grown, he unslung his rifle from its strap, and cradled it between his arms. Then, after making sure to keep his eyes peeled for any signs of trouble, he hurried forward through the building to help his distant comrades.
He should have saved himself the hassle. Leaping the last few steps on his way to the fourth floor, he turned the corner towards the bathrooms and found them lying dead on the ground.
Blood; spent shell casings; two discarded mags. The first had been taken from behind, a ragged hole in the middle of his neck; while the second - one of the Columbians who'd joined up with Carlos - was a bit more intact, if only barely. Curled up on the carpet like a gnarled bit of ginger, something had dissolved half his face and left the rest a smoking ruin.
'Is that Lithium's work?' he wondered, a little shocked by the sight. A well known blaster attached to the Cleveland Wards, he'd heard the kid could melt flesh, but this was a bit beyond the pale.
"Christ," he finished quietly, disturbed by the youth's viciousness. Glancing over his shoulder for fear that the teen would pop out, he checked the safety on his gun and thread his finger through the guard. Ain't no way, he was going out like that. Stepping over the bodies and the blood pooled on the floor, he braced the stock against his shoulder and started down the hall.
Nothing jumped out at him save an endless row of doors. Dyed a deep black due to the mold growing on their surface, the carpet was sticky beneath his boots and the lighting was too poor to say why.
Zzzz-tch; zzz-tch. One of the ceiling panels flickered overhead, either damaged by age or vandalism. Casting the walls into shadow as he searched for the wayward cape, the scene sent a chill down his spine, and he wasn't ashamed to say he flinched.
"Fuck this," he muttered nervously, halting halfway through his search. "I don't need any mood music, to know a horror movie when I see one."
"Yeah?" a woman chirped from behind. "In that case, why'd you come?'
Heart pounding in his throat as his hand seized on the grip, he jerked around in a flash only to feel a body move with the motion. Once; twice; thrice. Spinning in a circle while he tried to draw a bead on his opponent, he felt himself getting dizzy, while his assailant's laughter rang in his ears.
"Faster; faster," she called, counting off each rotation. Giggling into her fist or maybe both of her hands, her muffled amusement infuriated him like a piece of cloth before a bull. Then, just as he thought he could finally see a bit of her arm, his feet went numb at the toes.
"Five rotations!" she sang, as his body hit the floor with a thud. "That's at least two over the statistical average!"
He mood wasn't improved by the news. Rolling onto his shoulder, so he'd at least know who killed him, a young woman met his gaze, her eyes a touch too wide. Jeans; a white coat; brown streaks where her dye job was fading. The mask wrapped around her ears was serious cause for concern, and through his fading fury, he could see her smile through the heavy cloth.
"Now, can you say nighty-night?"
He was unconscious before he could curse.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
"...thirty five milligrams of..."
"...No, that's not compatible with the..."
"Hey... hey. What do you think? Dark red, or gunmetal blue?"
Daniel Clarence opened his eyes to the sight of a young woman staring into his face. Pressed nose to nose with the inebriated sniper, his drugged gaze met her own, the question too complicated to process. "W-what?" he slurred out, his head heavy on his shoulders.
She smiled with an edge of irritation. "Color: which do you think looks better?" Holding up two thin shafts for him to carefully examine, the first reminded him of his father's old Mercedes and the other glimmered like mica on a large boulder. Lingering on the former with the focus of the truly impaired, she hummed a bit at his 'choice,' and then made a mou of agreement.
"Yeah, it probably was a little chuuni to consider a palette swap." Walking through the bathroom door and into the apartment proper, he heard something heavy hit the ground followed by a sound like nickles in a pan.
Click; click; click; click; click. Rolling his eyes as the noise slowly drew closer, a strange abomination appeared before him, its carcass covered in plastic.
"We-ouu," it beeped, skittering over the tile. Poking his leg once or twice along the knee and behind the calf, it circled him with an air of contemplation, a fisherman sizing up his catch.
"F-fuck," he muttered drunkenly as he tried to kick it away. "G'lost."
It didn't do any such thing. Avoiding his few plaintive strikes, if they could even warrant such a name, it stabbed him in the meat of his thigh and pushed some concoction into his veins.
"No! None of that!" Walking back into the bathroom and planting her hands on her hips, the woman stared down at the machine, a small frown on her face.
The... animal, seemed the shrink in on itself. Rubbing two of its limbs together as it wilted beneath her gaze, it shuffled about uncertainly, clearly wishing to be elsewhere.
"Don't give me that look; go prep the other samples!"
Watching the abomination dash over to the far wall, the sniper tried to follow it with his eyes, but he couldn't see past his shoulder.
"I swear; what was he thinking?" Clicking her tongue at the antics of the weird creature, her attention drifted through the room, until it finally came to rest on his leg. "Tch, I'm going to have to do something about that. Maybe, a benzodiazapine blocker? Or should I try to get it on the reuptake cycle?"
Chewing on her bottom lip, as she stared down at his waist, she grew a bit lost in thought, until a groan cut through her fugue. "W-what are you...?" His tongue grew too numb to continue.
"What am I doing?" she finished, seeming amused by the question. "I'm glad you asked. Most people just ignore me when I try to explain my work."
Dusting off her jeans as she bent down to the ground, she wrapped her hands around his shoulder and started to spin him about. "See, the human body is a really resilient system. Complicated, highly specialized and in some ways shockingly rugged, it's capable of enduring extreme trauma, loss of limb and even exsanguination. Now, most of these fates will often kill the subject eventually; however, in the right hands... well, see for yourself."
Staring into the bathtub bolted to the floor, Dan caught sight of a face he hadn't seen since earlier that night.
"Neat, isn't it," she murmured, smiling at the dead cape. "His passenger would infuse his skin with a strange metallic composite. I don't have the equipment on hand to do a proper scan of the compound, but I think it's some sort of meta-material - maybe with a high-proton base."
Ferric glinted in the lime-light. Lying slumped against the faucet, as he leaked from a hole in his chest, his ribs were caved in on the right and it was clear his spine had been damaged. Peppered with bullet holes, here, there and everywhere, Dan expected it to be more gruesome, but most of the blood had dried against the walls of the basin.
The woman laughed. "Well, admittedly he still needs some work. I'd like to take my time, and maybe do him up proper, but I don't think it'll fit in the schedule." Glancing down the enforcer, she winked a blood-shot eye. "That's where you come in. I know it isn't vintage, and it might be a bit rushed to count, but try to consider this your welcoming party to the wide, wide world of parahumans. Here, let me go get your present."
Walking over to Ferric and pulling a scalpel from her coat, she traced the side of the his skull and slowly peeled back his scalp.
AN: I am like... ninety percent sure the pacing on this is jacked. That being said, it'd probably take a week to fix so you get first look at the rough version. Anyway, I decided to do something new for the interlude titles, so instead of the character's name, it's going to be the chapter title. It's a bit restrictive in that I'm not sure what I'll do if I have more than two interludes per chapter, but I think I can work with it. Anyway, the theme is looking like songs. This is the first.
Daniel Clarence drummed his fingers against the floor, as he watched the PRT through a window. Ten; eleven; twelve. Combined with the squads at the warehouse and the four running interference, there must have been sixty agents combing their way through the block.
Well... fifty-nine, now. Ducking back beneath the frame after hitting his target in the chest, he stayed just long enough to watch the man drop, while bits of his armor scattered about the street. A casualty of his 8.08 Velmat, the tinker-fab long rifle had been a hassle to acquire, but it was definitely proving its worth.
More so than Gerald's Uzi, at any rate. Highly inaccurate and with limited stopping power, the feds outside had barely blinked before putting a round through his face. Fucking assholes. Apparently the capes were the only ones who rated the damn sprayers.
"Hey Carlos, how are you doing back there?"
The Hispanic enforcer winced. Bleeding from the shoulder after getting winged by a bit of glass, he was trying to pull it out with some tweezers and the carpet had grown damp with his blood. "You know, this would be a lot easier, if you could stop pissing them off. Give me like... five fucking minutes: is that too much to ask?"
It kind of was. Pinned down by Ferric and the PRT after him, Craig might have killed the vigilante, but the way he'd done it had created major problems. "Fuck," the gangster muttered irritably, as he crawled across the floor. Abandoning his position, while the PRT fired upon the window, he felt a few shards of glass hit his scalp, and he hoped they wouldn't cut more than his hair.
"Damn. Got it." Carlos called, before finally tossing the fragment to the floor. Joining the brunette as he inched his way to the door, it was about time they reunited with their comrades and escaped from this unexpected death trap.
Ideally, with all due haste. The Protectorate hadn't arrived yet, but it was only a matter of time. Once they did? Things would become unsalvageable.
Passing Carlos his holster as they crawled by the end-table, the enforcer stared at it grimly, before tying it around his waist. "Where's Demetri? Is he still down below?"
Daniel nodded his head. Camped out on the bottom floor while he waited for the PRT, the teen was eager to prove himself, even if it meant making some stupid choices. In this case, that meant ambushing the next squad when they tried to breach the building. Hunkered behind a large desk in the foyer, he figured he could kill the rest with his machine gun, before they had time to return fire.
The brunette wished him all the luck. Finally, checking the hallway to see if the coast was clear, he waved his hand over his shoulder, and they headed off on the right.
Gunfire echoed outside; somewhere, a wall was shattered. "Craig?" Carlos asked, wincing a bit at the sound.
Daniel shrugged. A weedy, little fuck with long hair, he'd never been the strongest guy around, but capes could be deceiving. Last he saw, the blonde had jumped Ferric like a crazed honey badger and the two had dropped through the floor.
Heh, must have scared the piss out of the old couple below. They were the ones who had likely called the police, and it warmed his callous heart well to imagine the looks on their face. "Let's hope not. I don't want to get his attention while he's busy losing his shit."
Carlos gave a wordless hiss of agreement. Then, after reaching the end of the corridor, they pulled on the door to the fire escape and stepped out onto the raised platform.
"Of course," Dan groaned, when he saw the end of the ladder. "Why wouldn't it be fucking busted?" Terminating in a shard of grimy, corrugated iron, it was maybe thirty feet to the pavement, and that was if they hung from the ledge.
"Jump it?" the sniper asked, eyeing the width of the alley.
The Columbian looked sick at the thought. "You want to die, hombre?" Still, it was either that or the roof, and they could hear Demtri fighting down below. "Christ!" he conceded. "Fine, but you have to be the one to go first."
Dan scowled, unimpressed. "Puss," he accused, as he slammed his foot into the railing. Kicking it once or twice, until the beam broke off with a crack, he eyed the distance carefully and backed up through the open door.
"Well?" Carlos began, glancing over his shoulder. "You gonna to do it or not?"
His only response was a silently raised middle finger. Then, after gathering his nerve and shouldering the strap of his rifle, the brunette took a few harried steps and threw himself into the air.
He hit the other building chest first. Grunting and groaning as the air was forced from his lungs, he fell half a dozen feet and snagged a nearby balcony with his hand. Then, after struggling to maintain his grip, he latched on with his other arm and slowly pulled himself up.
Carlos looked pissed he'd made it. "Your turn," the sniper called, staring up at the Columbian. "Might want to nail the landing, though. It's a bit of a rough trip down."
"Yeah, yeah," the enforcer shouted back, scowling down from on high. "Fucking smartass."
Moving back towards the wall, so Carlos would have room to arrive, Dan leaned against the brickwork and panted as quietly as he could.
Shit. for a second there, he'd thought he was going to die. Resigned to playing it cool, least he never hear the end of it, he watched the other man say a prayer before backing up to take his best shot.
"Son of a bitch!" Carlos howled as he launched himself through the air. Pinwheeling his arms like a retarded bird trying to fly, he snagged one of the bars with his fingers and hung suspended over the street.
He laughed and pulled himself up.
The railing creaked in protest.
One of the welds released a crack.
The last thing Dan saw before Carlos hit the pavement below was a brief flash of surprise on the other man's face as he passed.
"Shit," the enforcer muttered, stumbling over to the edge.
Yeah, that was Carlos, alright. Fat sack of shit had made a crater when he slammed into the road. Surprisingly, there wasn't much blood pooling beneath the body, and though it was rather unreasonable, hope kindled in his chest. Then, he remembered the PRT and resigned himself to the loss. One way or another, he probably wouldn't see the man again. "Well... it was good run, anyway." Murmuring a brief prayer and sketching the sign of the cross, the brunette quickly looked away and climbed the ladder to the roof.
Locked; locked; locked. It took him until the sixth floor before he found a door which would yield to his touch. Left unsecured by an old bucket propped near the frame, someone must have held it open to try to keep cool in the summer heat.
"Richard? Cubrik? You in here?"
Daniel's only response was a brief burst of gun fire. Sighing at just how fucked up this day had steadily grown, he unslung his rifle from its strap, and cradled it between his arms. Then, after making sure to keep his eyes peeled for any signs of trouble, he hurried forward through the building to help his distant comrades.
He should have saved himself the hassle. Leaping the last few steps on his way to the fourth floor, he turned the corner towards the bathrooms and found them lying dead on the ground.
Blood; spent shell casings; two discarded mags. The first had been taken from behind, a ragged hole in the middle of his neck; while the second - one of the Columbians who'd joined up with Carlos - was a bit more intact, if only barely. Curled up on the carpet like a gnarled bit of ginger, something had dissolved half his face and left the rest a smoking ruin.
'Is that Lithium's work?' he wondered, a little shocked by the sight. A well known blaster attached to the Cleveland Wards, he'd heard the kid could melt flesh, but this was a bit beyond the pale.
"Christ," he finished quietly, disturbed by the youth's viciousness. Glancing over his shoulder for fear that the teen would pop out, he checked the safety on his gun and thread his finger through the guard. Ain't no way, he was going out like that. Stepping over the bodies and the blood pooled on the floor, he braced the stock against his shoulder and started down the hall.
Nothing jumped out at him save an endless row of doors. Dyed a deep black due to the mold growing on their surface, the carpet was sticky beneath his boots and the lighting was too poor to say why.
Zzzz-tch; zzz-tch. One of the ceiling panels flickered overhead, either damaged by age or vandalism. Casting the walls into shadow as he searched for the wayward cape, the scene sent a chill down his spine, and he wasn't ashamed to say he flinched.
"Fuck this," he muttered nervously, halting halfway through his search. "I don't need any mood music, to know a horror movie when I see one."
"Yeah?" a woman chirped from behind. "In that case, why'd you come?'
Heart pounding in his throat as his hand seized on the grip, he jerked around in a flash only to feel a body move with the motion. Once; twice; thrice. Spinning in a circle while he tried to draw a bead on his opponent, he felt himself getting dizzy, while his assailant's laughter rang in his ears.
"Faster; faster," she called, counting off each rotation. Giggling into her fist or maybe both of her hands, her muffled amusement infuriated him like a piece of cloth before a bull. Then, just as he thought he could finally see a bit of her arm, his feet went numb at the toes.
"Five rotations!" she sang, as his body hit the floor with a thud. "That's at least two over the statistical average!"
He mood wasn't improved by the news. Rolling onto his shoulder, so he'd at least know who killed him, a young woman met his gaze, her eyes a touch too wide. Jeans; a white coat; brown streaks where her dye job was fading. The mask wrapped around her ears was serious cause for concern, and through his fading fury, he could see her smile through the heavy cloth.
"Now, can you say nighty-night?"
He was unconscious before he could curse.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
"...thirty five milligrams of..."
"...No, that's not compatible with the..."
"Hey... hey. What do you think? Dark red, or gunmetal blue?"
Daniel Clarence opened his eyes to the sight of a young woman staring into his face. Pressed nose to nose with the inebriated sniper, his drugged gaze met her own, the question too complicated to process. "W-what?" he slurred out, his head heavy on his shoulders.
She smiled with an edge of irritation. "Color: which do you think looks better?" Holding up two thin shafts for him to carefully examine, the first reminded him of his father's old Mercedes and the other glimmered like mica on a large boulder. Lingering on the former with the focus of the truly impaired, she hummed a bit at his 'choice,' and then made a mou of agreement.
"Yeah, it probably was a little chuuni to consider a palette swap." Walking through the bathroom door and into the apartment proper, he heard something heavy hit the ground followed by a sound like nickles in a pan.
Click; click; click; click; click. Rolling his eyes as the noise slowly drew closer, a strange abomination appeared before him, its carcass covered in plastic.
"We-ouu," it beeped, skittering over the tile. Poking his leg once or twice along the knee and behind the calf, it circled him with an air of contemplation, a fisherman sizing up his catch.
"F-fuck," he muttered drunkenly as he tried to kick it away. "G'lost."
It didn't do any such thing. Avoiding his few plaintive strikes, if they could even warrant such a name, it stabbed him in the meat of his thigh and pushed some concoction into his veins.
"No! None of that!" Walking back into the bathroom and planting her hands on her hips, the woman stared down at the machine, a small frown on her face.
The... animal, seemed the shrink in on itself. Rubbing two of its limbs together as it wilted beneath her gaze, it shuffled about uncertainly, clearly wishing to be elsewhere.
"Don't give me that look; go prep the other samples!"
Watching the abomination dash over to the far wall, the sniper tried to follow it with his eyes, but he couldn't see past his shoulder.
"I swear; what was he thinking?" Clicking her tongue at the antics of the weird creature, her attention drifted through the room, until it finally came to rest on his leg. "Tch, I'm going to have to do something about that. Maybe, a benzodiazapine blocker? Or should I try to get it on the reuptake cycle?"
Chewing on her bottom lip, as she stared down at his waist, she grew a bit lost in thought, until a groan cut through her fugue. "W-what are you...?" His tongue grew too numb to continue.
"What am I doing?" she finished, seeming amused by the question. "I'm glad you asked. Most people just ignore me when I try to explain my work."
Dusting off her jeans as she bent down to the ground, she wrapped her hands around his shoulder and started to spin him about. "See, the human body is a really resilient system. Complicated, highly specialized and in some ways shockingly rugged, it's capable of enduring extreme trauma, loss of limb and even exsanguination. Now, most of these fates will often kill the subject eventually; however, in the right hands... well, see for yourself."
Staring into the bathtub bolted to the floor, Dan caught sight of a face he hadn't seen since earlier that night.
"Neat, isn't it," she murmured, smiling at the dead cape. "His passenger would infuse his skin with a strange metallic composite. I don't have the equipment on hand to do a proper scan of the compound, but I think it's some sort of meta-material - maybe with a high-proton base."
Ferric glinted in the lime-light. Lying slumped against the faucet, as he leaked from a hole in his chest, his ribs were caved in on the right and it was clear his spine had been damaged. Peppered with bullet holes, here, there and everywhere, Dan expected it to be more gruesome, but most of the blood had dried against the walls of the basin.
The woman laughed. "Well, admittedly he still needs some work. I'd like to take my time, and maybe do him up proper, but I don't think it'll fit in the schedule." Glancing down the enforcer, she winked a blood-shot eye. "That's where you come in. I know it isn't vintage, and it might be a bit rushed to count, but try to consider this your welcoming party to the wide, wide world of parahumans. Here, let me go get your present."
Walking over to Ferric and pulling a scalpel from her coat, she traced the side of the his skull and slowly peeled back his scalp.
AN: I am like... ninety percent sure the pacing on this is jacked. That being said, it'd probably take a week to fix so you get first look at the rough version. Anyway, I decided to do something new for the interlude titles, so instead of the character's name, it's going to be the chapter title. It's a bit restrictive in that I'm not sure what I'll do if I have more than two interludes per chapter, but I think I can work with it. Anyway, the theme is looking like songs. This is the first.
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Traumatizing, trigger inducing even. Either way, yer a parahuman, Dan!
I'd hate for him to lose his personality like Hatchjob or Murder Rat.
Africa's filled with warlords and some really strong parahumans who could be interested in either conscripting or eliminating an out of towner bio tinker.
1.7
1.7
I stared down at the slit I'd made in the dark haired enforcer's stomach. Gall bladder; kidneys; liver. I had to trim down his intestines to make room for the new implant; however, that wasn't what made me pause with my fingers wrapped around his rib.
What... what was I doing with my life? I was high, surrounded by corpses and shaving down a human skull, so it could fit in another man's chest. At what point had any of this seemed like a good idea?
"God," I muttered wearily, rubbing the bridge of my nose. Running my fingers through my hair, while I contemplated the gangster's features, I tossed the scalpel into the sink and began pacing back and forth.
Ok... ok. T-this was fixable. I could sow up the incision I'd made and... No, no that wouldn't work. The patient had seen my face, so at a minimum, he would have to die. After that, I'd need to mutilate the body and maybe torch the room. Between the bloody corpses, the missing organs and the wiring I'd torn from the wall, it wouldn't take a genius to realize a tinker had been here. Heck, my most recent science project had 'sprouted' a few tentacles: if that wasn't a red flag, I'd eat my own mask.
Staring at the wet protrusions extending from the enforcer's back, I ignored my growing headache and tried to remember what it was I'd done. Ligaments to grant them flexibility; strands of muscle to let them move around. It was a hack-job according to my passenger, but even still, Bonesaw had done good work.
'Or do I do good work?' Normally, I would have blamed shard-shenanigans and finally called it a night; however, I knew the Chirurgeon hadn't provided the impetus, even if it did supply the know-how. The coloration of the limbs? The decision on how many to use? That was all me. I'd recalled Ferric from my research, and it'd been like adding two and two. I... I even adjusted his metabolism, so he wouldn't deviate from cannon. For all intents and purposes? I'd just made this man a ghoul.
"I am a weaboo piece of shit."
The gangster groaned on the floor.
Propped up in a slouch by the plastic contraption on his back, Fluffles warbled quietly, a constant update regarding his health. Currently, the brunette was paralyzed due to the prongs lodged in his spine; however, with a few signals from Fluffles' legs, I could probably make him destroy his own flesh. The only question was... did I want to?
The floor rumbled beneath my feet, an echo of the battle down the block. Trapped in a holding pattern following the initial confrontation, the two sides had made a few forays, but none so great as to leave themselves exposed. Now divided by a no-man's land of spent shells, everyone was waiting for reinforcements, while they tried to treat their injured.
For the LVH, that meant heavier weapons and some support from their friends in Detroit. In the PRT's case? They'd be waiting on the local Protectorate.
A six cape team with a few big names, they were down to five after Behemoth, and some of those were likely still on leave. Between the agents already in the field and their commitments to Cleveland itself? I couldn't imagine they'd send more than two. Unfortunately, depending on which ones they chose that might just be enough. The Samaritan? Lockstep? Both could drop me in a heartbeat. A stranger and a master respectively, the former was like Nice Guy-lite and the latter had more in common with Regent. Able to force others to mirror his movements exactly, all it would take was a second, and he could walk me right into a cell.
...Well, he could if I made Fluffles get down. Immune to most strangers due to his mechanical existence, Lockstep might still have free reign, but that depended on the details of his power. Did his passenger use telekinetic pressure, or did it jack into the target's nervous system? If it utilized the former, then the hero would have me dead to rights, but if it relied upon the latter, Fluffles would be able to resist.
The only problem was it'd mean keeping 'Kaneki' around.
Pacing back and forth as I worried away at my lip, I periodically glanced throughout the room, and then focused on the gangster himself.
The brunette looked numb to the world. Sprawled across the carpet, while his tentacles twitched in the air, his face was devoid of expression like a man in the midst of a stroke. 'Fudge it,' I grimly decided. If worse came to worse, I could always hide the body.
"Fluffles: seal up the remaining incisions and run Friendzone.exe. It's time for us to leave."
His hypnotic beeping stilled; eventually, he shifted Kaneki's head and released a hesitant chirp. Then, after bracing the cape's hands against the floor, he leveraged the enforcer up, while Ferric's power started to activate.
The villain flickered red in the lamp-light. 5' 4" with brown hair, his shirt had been removed during surgery and his pants barely clung to his hips. Topped off with four, long limbs extending from the small of his back, they were arranged in a two by two pattern and shined with a shallow luster. Soon, that coloration would spread. Excreted from his pores only milligrams at a time, I'd ordered Fluffles to direct production, but it was time to go all in.
"Wee-ou? Eiiiiei-eeiii?"
I translated the synthetic tone. 'Query: Method: Explosives?'
I shook my head. "No. Save the potassium; use the ether, instead. Heck, spray down that insulation we had to tear loose from the wall. it looks fairly thick with mold, and it should burn pretty well."
With any luck, the resulting fire would hide any signs of our presence. Finally collecting the tools I'd left scattered about the apartment, I followed Fluffles into the hall and grabbed a matchbook from my coat pocket.
My shaking hands fumbled with the striker.
"Azzz-brzt?"
His words seemed to echo in my ears as the match arced through the air. Then, slowly twisting my neck, while the fire alarm started to blare, I met his curious gaze.
...Damn it all. I knew I'd forgotten something.
I stared down at the slit I'd made in the dark haired enforcer's stomach. Gall bladder; kidneys; liver. I had to trim down his intestines to make room for the new implant; however, that wasn't what made me pause with my fingers wrapped around his rib.
What... what was I doing with my life? I was high, surrounded by corpses and shaving down a human skull, so it could fit in another man's chest. At what point had any of this seemed like a good idea?
"God," I muttered wearily, rubbing the bridge of my nose. Running my fingers through my hair, while I contemplated the gangster's features, I tossed the scalpel into the sink and began pacing back and forth.
Ok... ok. T-this was fixable. I could sow up the incision I'd made and... No, no that wouldn't work. The patient had seen my face, so at a minimum, he would have to die. After that, I'd need to mutilate the body and maybe torch the room. Between the bloody corpses, the missing organs and the wiring I'd torn from the wall, it wouldn't take a genius to realize a tinker had been here. Heck, my most recent science project had 'sprouted' a few tentacles: if that wasn't a red flag, I'd eat my own mask.
Staring at the wet protrusions extending from the enforcer's back, I ignored my growing headache and tried to remember what it was I'd done. Ligaments to grant them flexibility; strands of muscle to let them move around. It was a hack-job according to my passenger, but even still, Bonesaw had done good work.
'Or do I do good work?' Normally, I would have blamed shard-shenanigans and finally called it a night; however, I knew the Chirurgeon hadn't provided the impetus, even if it did supply the know-how. The coloration of the limbs? The decision on how many to use? That was all me. I'd recalled Ferric from my research, and it'd been like adding two and two. I... I even adjusted his metabolism, so he wouldn't deviate from cannon. For all intents and purposes? I'd just made this man a ghoul.
"I am a weaboo piece of shit."
The gangster groaned on the floor.
Propped up in a slouch by the plastic contraption on his back, Fluffles warbled quietly, a constant update regarding his health. Currently, the brunette was paralyzed due to the prongs lodged in his spine; however, with a few signals from Fluffles' legs, I could probably make him destroy his own flesh. The only question was... did I want to?
The floor rumbled beneath my feet, an echo of the battle down the block. Trapped in a holding pattern following the initial confrontation, the two sides had made a few forays, but none so great as to leave themselves exposed. Now divided by a no-man's land of spent shells, everyone was waiting for reinforcements, while they tried to treat their injured.
For the LVH, that meant heavier weapons and some support from their friends in Detroit. In the PRT's case? They'd be waiting on the local Protectorate.
A six cape team with a few big names, they were down to five after Behemoth, and some of those were likely still on leave. Between the agents already in the field and their commitments to Cleveland itself? I couldn't imagine they'd send more than two. Unfortunately, depending on which ones they chose that might just be enough. The Samaritan? Lockstep? Both could drop me in a heartbeat. A stranger and a master respectively, the former was like Nice Guy-lite and the latter had more in common with Regent. Able to force others to mirror his movements exactly, all it would take was a second, and he could walk me right into a cell.
...Well, he could if I made Fluffles get down. Immune to most strangers due to his mechanical existence, Lockstep might still have free reign, but that depended on the details of his power. Did his passenger use telekinetic pressure, or did it jack into the target's nervous system? If it utilized the former, then the hero would have me dead to rights, but if it relied upon the latter, Fluffles would be able to resist.
The only problem was it'd mean keeping 'Kaneki' around.
Pacing back and forth as I worried away at my lip, I periodically glanced throughout the room, and then focused on the gangster himself.
The brunette looked numb to the world. Sprawled across the carpet, while his tentacles twitched in the air, his face was devoid of expression like a man in the midst of a stroke. 'Fudge it,' I grimly decided. If worse came to worse, I could always hide the body.
"Fluffles: seal up the remaining incisions and run Friendzone.exe. It's time for us to leave."
His hypnotic beeping stilled; eventually, he shifted Kaneki's head and released a hesitant chirp. Then, after bracing the cape's hands against the floor, he leveraged the enforcer up, while Ferric's power started to activate.
The villain flickered red in the lamp-light. 5' 4" with brown hair, his shirt had been removed during surgery and his pants barely clung to his hips. Topped off with four, long limbs extending from the small of his back, they were arranged in a two by two pattern and shined with a shallow luster. Soon, that coloration would spread. Excreted from his pores only milligrams at a time, I'd ordered Fluffles to direct production, but it was time to go all in.
"Wee-ou? Eiiiiei-eeiii?"
I translated the synthetic tone. 'Query: Method: Explosives?'
I shook my head. "No. Save the potassium; use the ether, instead. Heck, spray down that insulation we had to tear loose from the wall. it looks fairly thick with mold, and it should burn pretty well."
With any luck, the resulting fire would hide any signs of our presence. Finally collecting the tools I'd left scattered about the apartment, I followed Fluffles into the hall and grabbed a matchbook from my coat pocket.
My shaking hands fumbled with the striker.
"Azzz-brzt?"
His words seemed to echo in my ears as the match arced through the air. Then, slowly twisting my neck, while the fire alarm started to blare, I met his curious gaze.
...Damn it all. I knew I'd forgotten something.
Ghouls for everyone.