UnwelcomeStorm
BARK! BARK! BARK!
- Location
- United States
Pfah, what? That's not a sword. That's a pinecone.
Hunter (WormxBloodborne)
- Thread starter UnwelcomeStorm
- Start date
-
- Tags
- bloodborne worm
- Location
- Mandaluyong City
I remember one description of it was "Eldritch Abomination on a stick" plus it's alive, course it's not powerful enough or otherworldly enough to be an Eldritch Abomination
- Pronouns
- It/They
Just stop.
I am more wondering about why did Armsmaster called Taylor as his 'baby girl'.
On a side note I wonder what would happen if Taylor got a hold of a grenade launcher and managed to send it to Yharman. () Hopefully that's the right spelling.
The Stormbringer
Worm Fanfic & Crack Connoisseur
- Location
- Spaaaaace~!
He was quoting what Danny said towards the end of their interview.
Revlid
blob of bugs
- Location
- England
Samehameda is basically the equivalent of putting a very ugly, magical shark on a stick, and hitting people with it in the hopes it'll bite them.
In other words, it's more likely to be a Fishing Hamlet drop than anything she'd get from Hookwolf.
A Hookwolf weapon would probably — ironically enough — be a sort of grappling hook thing. A kusari-gama with a hooked claw instead of a sickle-blade. One-handed version wraps the chain around your arm so you can wield the claw as a short-ranged fast attack "brass knuckle", two-handed transform turns it into a longer-ranged whippy chain weapon that focuses on knockback (or maybe knock-forward — drags enemies toward you while provoking stun animation).
An Armsmaster set would be fairly amusing, given that without a power source it'd be an actual suit of Dark Souls fatroll armour, in Bloodborne. Well, the halberd would at least be useful, even if it's another goddamn "activate this for a free paper" weapon like the Tonitrus or Boom Hammer, just for bleed/anti-armour.
Rareitor
Aspiring K0mput0rmayun
I imagine it being kind of like the Bloodletter or the Arm, in terms of what and how the alternate forms could work.
Taylor (15)
UnwelcomeStorm
BARK! BARK! BARK!
- Location
- United States
Taylor (15)
May 25 - June 1
Heartbreak.
I'd never recognized what that word meant before. It means loss, a loss so profound and unknowable that there are no words to describe it. It means a hurt so deep that you feel it physically, a rending sensation in the throat and chest, only without the cold embrace of blood loss to calm it. It means sitting in a tight ball behind the far side of your bed, listening to your parents raise their voices for the first time in memory. It means overhearing a phone call at 2 AM, with a faceless voice on the other side saying 'Mr. Hebert, there's been an accident.'
It means a bottomless sea of despair when you realize what you've done.
What had I done?
I wandered the streets of Yharnam, absently trailing my fingers along the abandoned carriages, the stacks of coffins, the half-melted statues of famished women. My thoughts were as clear as my vision, crisp and beautiful in the silver moonlight. The memory of Mr. Ethan's face, with my saw only a few bare inches from cutting him down like a dog, had begun to ripple and blur. Once again, the Bay was mere watercolors, already starting to run. It was like trying to hold onto a dream. Waking to the stench of blood and beasts only made it even more ethereal.
I hated Yharnam. I hated that this was where I was awake, that this was what I had to look forward to when I drifted through my life in Brockton. I hated how beautiful the moon was, hated how it had usurped the sun.
I hated the mark of <Impurity> glimmering on my wrist. I hated how killing was the only thing that made sense anymore.
I made my way back to the Cathedral Ward, needing some sort of human contact, needing to see the one thing I'd done right in this damned Hunt. I'd found a great many occupied houses, earlier in the night, but most had turned me away. The rest, less than a dozen all totaled, agreed to seek shelter. Only a few came to the Cathedral Ward, and they cast suspicious eyes upon me whenever I visited, but it was something. It was a few lives I'd helped to save rather than ruin. I desperately wanted that to mean something.
This time, I found the blind beggar engaged in a lively conversation with one of the refugees: Arianna, a lovely woman in a red dress. She was likely the most soft-spoken person I'd met in this city, and certainly the most well put-together, if her formalwear and scavenged chair were any indication. I suppose that made sense, given her occupation. She'd had a good laugh at my expense, when I first came across her lit window, as I'd completely failed to understand the hints and flirtations she'd dispensed. I'd barely been able to look her in the eye, when she finally told me flat-out. Now, though, my teenage awkwardness and insecurities were so far removed from my priorities I scarcely remembered them.
The pair looked up at my approach, and the blind beggar stammered a greeting. Arianna gave me a visible once-over and said, "You're looking a bit tense, Hunter. Something I can do for you?"
"Not interested."
"Hmhmhm, not what I meant. Come here, darling. You'll do yourself no favors if you're worn down to nothing." She walked back to her plush chair--I still had no idea where she'd gotten it--and sat down, beckoning to me with one hand. With her other, she opened her purse, and withdrew something I was very familiar with. The one in the Workshop was older and clearly intended for function over form, but a bloodletting tool is always unmistakable. She tied a ribbon around her arm, saying, "Here, hold the vial for me, would you?"
I did, and once I had it flush to her wrist she took the steel lancet and opened a vein. Her blood was a bright and lively color of red, and when she'd filled two vials with her life she untied the ribbon and re-purposed it as a bandage.
"There you are, darling. Even a whore's blood can possess vintage and bouquet." I put one vial away, and uncorked the other, sipping at it. Iron and amaranth. The drops were a warm touch to my frayed nerves. "You picked a bad night to come to Yharnam, I'm afraid... it's not all bad here, Hunter. It's not all beasts and madmen all the time. You'll see, come morning."
"You'll forgive me if I don't believe that. But... thanks, Arianna. I feel a little better."
"Hm. I won't ask what put such a look on your face, Hunter. I'll be here to listen, if you want it."
"...thank you." It was a generous offer--friendly shoulders are rare enough without the Hunt--but I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't think I would ever want to. I turned and left the chapel, so I wouldn't have to see Arianna's sympathetic eyes, or the blind beggar's hopeful, toothless smile. I couldn't be trusted with either of them. I headed deeper into the Cathedral Ward, out of sight, but I wasn't the only one with that idea, it seemed. A voice hailed me from a shadowed crook.
"Still alive, I see."
"Not for lack of trying, I guess. Hello, Eileen."
"Somethin' wrong?" She asked, as I approached.
"Everything."
"Typical Yharnam, then."
"I thought as much." Eileen was leaning comfortably against the wall of the chapel, looking out over a short balcony that loomed over the sprawl of Yharnam, down below. I sat down with my back to the fence, and set my weapons aside. Elieen made an approving noise as she looked at them.
"You've shaped up quickly, as a Hunter. What's the hammer?"
"Djura made it for me. Well, repaired it."
"Djura? That old goat's still kicking? Ha, how under the sky did you manage to get him to talk to you?"
We spent a while in conversation, Eileen asking me about my Hunt, and giving a few anecdotes about the places I'd visited. I didn't mention Brockton, and I kept my branded wrist within the sleeve of my coat. I didn't know if she could sense <Impurity>, but even if the mark was invisible to her, it wasn't to me. And if it was visible, she was good enough not to mention it. I don't know if I could say the same, if I had seen such a mark smouldering in her. Eventually, with the bright circle of the moon still hanging immobile above us, I asked her what she was doing.
"The Hunt makes Hunters mad, my dear. It's my task to put them down, the ones which have succumbed to the thirst for blood, or the lust for battle." She turned towards me, and I couldn't suppress a shiver. I felt her stern gaze through her beaklike mask. "Hunters are far more dangerous than Beasts, when they lose control of themselves. Someone needs to be watchful of that, and that someone is me."
I stayed where I was, and didn't reply. "...now, I'm staking out the Tomb of Oedon. Henryk, an old hunter, has gone mad. He was Gascoigne's partner."
I drew my knees up to my chest.
"Did you kill him, Taylor?" I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Elieen sighed. "He was falling apart. I'm sure it had to be done. I'm sorry. You see what I mean about Hunters losing control, then." I thought again of the image of my saw, holding it just a few inches away from making another terrible mistake. I imagined my skin tearing like paper, with fur spreading over sinew and muscle. The shadow of Gascoigne still followed me, the specter of what he represented. I could not let him catch me. I could not let this Hunt continue until he did.
Elieen continued, still content for the moment to turn a blind eye to my guilt. "Though, if Gascoigne is dead... hm. Stay out of the Tomb, Hunter. Henryk will have to wait a few moments more. I'm going to go check on someone. And, Taylor?" She pushed herself off of the chapel wall, filled with a sudden impatience.
"Try to keep your hands clean." She left, and I saw her feathered cape recede into the shadows. I stood as well, and gathered up my weapons. Elieen was right, had been right from the start. I didn't have time to mope. I couldn't hide and wait for morning. I had to search. I had only the barest idea of what the Three Thirds was, and even that came from the shadows that hid between Master Willem's words, but I'd kept note of places I needed to examine closer, and that seemed as good a place to begin as any. Back to the Cathedral Ward I went, and through the double doors, making my way to the tower with the winding staircase that connected the districts. Reaching the Abandoned Workshop would be difficult without my grappling hook, but I could bear a fall or two if it came to that.
Even once I got to it, being in the Abandoned Workshop wasn't any easier than it had been, the last time. There was something intangibly sad about it. I didn't wish to linger, but I forced myself to walk the familiar paths, give the hollowed-out stump a friendly pat, and finally enter the Workshop proper. It was still dusty, and its scant books were moldering, and of no help to me. I crossed the creaking floor to the workbench, thinking to give it another look, when I caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye that made my heart leap into my throat in surprise.
The Doll was here, sitting in the corner, as though trying to avoid being seen. Except... I took a closer look. This was a doll, a real one, lifeless and immobile. It was exactly the Doll, down to every stitch and seam. I got closer and examined it, enthralled. There were only two differences that I could see, three if you counted the empty gaze. First, pressed into the doll's silver hair was a small comb, which after a moment of hesitation I withdrew. I felt drawn to the bauble, and I wasn't sure why. It was jade, I think, with a delicate carving of flower petals. I tucked it carefully into my coat. It smelled of melancholy.
The second thing was a small jewelry box, cradled in the doll's lap. I touched a fingertip to the delicate clasp, and felt my whole body wracked by a shudder. I recoiled, but...
I touched the clasp again, and carefully undid it, opening the box. Inside was a red velvet cushion, and a small black coil, and a sense of loss so profound and unknowable that I did not have words to describe it. My hand shook as I picked up the small coiled thing that was inside the box. It was perhaps seven inches long, if it had been unraveled, textured with wrinkles and small leathery folds. The cord was lined with small, oil-drop eyes.
I had to grip my wrist to steady my hand. It was dead, I knew it was dead, but that did not diminish the suffocating presence it had. I touched it, and I knew. I knew what it was. I knew what I had to do. I had been right: I was not coming back from this. Not anymore.
I screwed my eyes shut, and felt tears track down my cheeks. I felt the small dead eyes blink against my palm.
"Oh, God."
I slipped the Cord into my mouth, and chewed.
I opened my eyes.
I opened my eyes.
I OPENED MY EYES.
May 25 - June 1
Heartbreak.
I'd never recognized what that word meant before. It means loss, a loss so profound and unknowable that there are no words to describe it. It means a hurt so deep that you feel it physically, a rending sensation in the throat and chest, only without the cold embrace of blood loss to calm it. It means sitting in a tight ball behind the far side of your bed, listening to your parents raise their voices for the first time in memory. It means overhearing a phone call at 2 AM, with a faceless voice on the other side saying 'Mr. Hebert, there's been an accident.'
It means a bottomless sea of despair when you realize what you've done.
What had I done?
I wandered the streets of Yharnam, absently trailing my fingers along the abandoned carriages, the stacks of coffins, the half-melted statues of famished women. My thoughts were as clear as my vision, crisp and beautiful in the silver moonlight. The memory of Mr. Ethan's face, with my saw only a few bare inches from cutting him down like a dog, had begun to ripple and blur. Once again, the Bay was mere watercolors, already starting to run. It was like trying to hold onto a dream. Waking to the stench of blood and beasts only made it even more ethereal.
I hated Yharnam. I hated that this was where I was awake, that this was what I had to look forward to when I drifted through my life in Brockton. I hated how beautiful the moon was, hated how it had usurped the sun.
I hated the mark of <Impurity> glimmering on my wrist. I hated how killing was the only thing that made sense anymore.
I made my way back to the Cathedral Ward, needing some sort of human contact, needing to see the one thing I'd done right in this damned Hunt. I'd found a great many occupied houses, earlier in the night, but most had turned me away. The rest, less than a dozen all totaled, agreed to seek shelter. Only a few came to the Cathedral Ward, and they cast suspicious eyes upon me whenever I visited, but it was something. It was a few lives I'd helped to save rather than ruin. I desperately wanted that to mean something.
This time, I found the blind beggar engaged in a lively conversation with one of the refugees: Arianna, a lovely woman in a red dress. She was likely the most soft-spoken person I'd met in this city, and certainly the most well put-together, if her formalwear and scavenged chair were any indication. I suppose that made sense, given her occupation. She'd had a good laugh at my expense, when I first came across her lit window, as I'd completely failed to understand the hints and flirtations she'd dispensed. I'd barely been able to look her in the eye, when she finally told me flat-out. Now, though, my teenage awkwardness and insecurities were so far removed from my priorities I scarcely remembered them.
The pair looked up at my approach, and the blind beggar stammered a greeting. Arianna gave me a visible once-over and said, "You're looking a bit tense, Hunter. Something I can do for you?"
"Not interested."
"Hmhmhm, not what I meant. Come here, darling. You'll do yourself no favors if you're worn down to nothing." She walked back to her plush chair--I still had no idea where she'd gotten it--and sat down, beckoning to me with one hand. With her other, she opened her purse, and withdrew something I was very familiar with. The one in the Workshop was older and clearly intended for function over form, but a bloodletting tool is always unmistakable. She tied a ribbon around her arm, saying, "Here, hold the vial for me, would you?"
I did, and once I had it flush to her wrist she took the steel lancet and opened a vein. Her blood was a bright and lively color of red, and when she'd filled two vials with her life she untied the ribbon and re-purposed it as a bandage.
"There you are, darling. Even a whore's blood can possess vintage and bouquet." I put one vial away, and uncorked the other, sipping at it. Iron and amaranth. The drops were a warm touch to my frayed nerves. "You picked a bad night to come to Yharnam, I'm afraid... it's not all bad here, Hunter. It's not all beasts and madmen all the time. You'll see, come morning."
"You'll forgive me if I don't believe that. But... thanks, Arianna. I feel a little better."
"Hm. I won't ask what put such a look on your face, Hunter. I'll be here to listen, if you want it."
"...thank you." It was a generous offer--friendly shoulders are rare enough without the Hunt--but I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't think I would ever want to. I turned and left the chapel, so I wouldn't have to see Arianna's sympathetic eyes, or the blind beggar's hopeful, toothless smile. I couldn't be trusted with either of them. I headed deeper into the Cathedral Ward, out of sight, but I wasn't the only one with that idea, it seemed. A voice hailed me from a shadowed crook.
"Still alive, I see."
"Not for lack of trying, I guess. Hello, Eileen."
"Somethin' wrong?" She asked, as I approached.
"Everything."
"Typical Yharnam, then."
"I thought as much." Eileen was leaning comfortably against the wall of the chapel, looking out over a short balcony that loomed over the sprawl of Yharnam, down below. I sat down with my back to the fence, and set my weapons aside. Elieen made an approving noise as she looked at them.
"You've shaped up quickly, as a Hunter. What's the hammer?"
"Djura made it for me. Well, repaired it."
"Djura? That old goat's still kicking? Ha, how under the sky did you manage to get him to talk to you?"
We spent a while in conversation, Eileen asking me about my Hunt, and giving a few anecdotes about the places I'd visited. I didn't mention Brockton, and I kept my branded wrist within the sleeve of my coat. I didn't know if she could sense <Impurity>, but even if the mark was invisible to her, it wasn't to me. And if it was visible, she was good enough not to mention it. I don't know if I could say the same, if I had seen such a mark smouldering in her. Eventually, with the bright circle of the moon still hanging immobile above us, I asked her what she was doing.
"The Hunt makes Hunters mad, my dear. It's my task to put them down, the ones which have succumbed to the thirst for blood, or the lust for battle." She turned towards me, and I couldn't suppress a shiver. I felt her stern gaze through her beaklike mask. "Hunters are far more dangerous than Beasts, when they lose control of themselves. Someone needs to be watchful of that, and that someone is me."
I stayed where I was, and didn't reply. "...now, I'm staking out the Tomb of Oedon. Henryk, an old hunter, has gone mad. He was Gascoigne's partner."
I drew my knees up to my chest.
"Did you kill him, Taylor?" I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Elieen sighed. "He was falling apart. I'm sure it had to be done. I'm sorry. You see what I mean about Hunters losing control, then." I thought again of the image of my saw, holding it just a few inches away from making another terrible mistake. I imagined my skin tearing like paper, with fur spreading over sinew and muscle. The shadow of Gascoigne still followed me, the specter of what he represented. I could not let him catch me. I could not let this Hunt continue until he did.
Elieen continued, still content for the moment to turn a blind eye to my guilt. "Though, if Gascoigne is dead... hm. Stay out of the Tomb, Hunter. Henryk will have to wait a few moments more. I'm going to go check on someone. And, Taylor?" She pushed herself off of the chapel wall, filled with a sudden impatience.
"Try to keep your hands clean." She left, and I saw her feathered cape recede into the shadows. I stood as well, and gathered up my weapons. Elieen was right, had been right from the start. I didn't have time to mope. I couldn't hide and wait for morning. I had to search. I had only the barest idea of what the Three Thirds was, and even that came from the shadows that hid between Master Willem's words, but I'd kept note of places I needed to examine closer, and that seemed as good a place to begin as any. Back to the Cathedral Ward I went, and through the double doors, making my way to the tower with the winding staircase that connected the districts. Reaching the Abandoned Workshop would be difficult without my grappling hook, but I could bear a fall or two if it came to that.
Even once I got to it, being in the Abandoned Workshop wasn't any easier than it had been, the last time. There was something intangibly sad about it. I didn't wish to linger, but I forced myself to walk the familiar paths, give the hollowed-out stump a friendly pat, and finally enter the Workshop proper. It was still dusty, and its scant books were moldering, and of no help to me. I crossed the creaking floor to the workbench, thinking to give it another look, when I caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye that made my heart leap into my throat in surprise.
The Doll was here, sitting in the corner, as though trying to avoid being seen. Except... I took a closer look. This was a doll, a real one, lifeless and immobile. It was exactly the Doll, down to every stitch and seam. I got closer and examined it, enthralled. There were only two differences that I could see, three if you counted the empty gaze. First, pressed into the doll's silver hair was a small comb, which after a moment of hesitation I withdrew. I felt drawn to the bauble, and I wasn't sure why. It was jade, I think, with a delicate carving of flower petals. I tucked it carefully into my coat. It smelled of melancholy.
The second thing was a small jewelry box, cradled in the doll's lap. I touched a fingertip to the delicate clasp, and felt my whole body wracked by a shudder. I recoiled, but...
I touched the clasp again, and carefully undid it, opening the box. Inside was a red velvet cushion, and a small black coil, and a sense of loss so profound and unknowable that I did not have words to describe it. My hand shook as I picked up the small coiled thing that was inside the box. It was perhaps seven inches long, if it had been unraveled, textured with wrinkles and small leathery folds. The cord was lined with small, oil-drop eyes.
I had to grip my wrist to steady my hand. It was dead, I knew it was dead, but that did not diminish the suffocating presence it had. I touched it, and I knew. I knew what it was. I knew what I had to do. I had been right: I was not coming back from this. Not anymore.
I screwed my eyes shut, and felt tears track down my cheeks. I felt the small dead eyes blink against my palm.
"Oh, God."
I slipped the Cord into my mouth, and chewed.
I opened my eyes.
I opened my eyes.
I OPENED MY EYES.
notanautomaton
I've got 99 quests, I've finished one
Poor Taylor. Your life is such suffering.
- Location
- NC
I'm so sad right now, and I don't know enough about Bloodborne to know why. (All the wiki says is that eating it unlocks a new ending... Is it the become-an-eldritch-abomination-ending I've seen mentioned?)
I'm sure she's fine, this time.
I'm sure she's fine, this time.
I'm sure she's fine, this time.
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Being Taylor Hebert, is suffering.
Also, poor Taylor, sending the Blind Beggar to the chapel.
Last edited:
Olive
Silent Princess
Yeah. Not that she knows that though. All she knows is that this is how to end the dream.
Anzer'ke
Anarchism Ho!
Oh damnit, I thought that was referring to the chapel dweller...well fuck
- Pronouns
- It/They
Eh I'm pretty sure she is.
Taylor skipped the part of the woods with the beggar in it after all.
UnwelcomeStorm
BARK! BARK! BARK!
- Location
- United States
The Blind beggar is the chapel dweller, yes. She hasn't met the Suspicious Beggar yet.
S_K
OG Multi-Stand User
- Location
- Road (Avoiding Kars)
Thank god. This story doesn't need to get even darker.
...Wait, didn't Taylor send people to the Clinic?
Damn it.
The Stormbringer
Worm Fanfic & Crack Connoisseur
- Location
- Spaaaaace~!
PRT (9)
UnwelcomeStorm
BARK! BARK! BARK!
- Location
- United States
PRT (9)
June 2
At 5:00 AM, on the dot, Armsmaster strolled into the Rig's cafeteria. He proceeded to commandeer a large cart from the kitchen, load it up with stolen coffee makers and a seized tray of donuts, and then take the cart and walk back out again without a word, leaving the kitchen staff to scratch their heads and file yet another complaint to Director Piggot.
At 5:15 AM, a mass text was sent out to the local Protectorate heroes on duty, requesting their presence in the West Hall briefing room.
At 5:17 AM, a second text was sent out, reminding them of the former text, and offering a modest bribe for their cooperation.
At 5:34 AM, Velocity and Dauntless arrived at the West Hall briefing room. Miss Militia followed next, then Battery, and finally Triumph who had just come in from a patrol. He undid the catches on his lion helm, raked his fingers through his hair, and glowered.
"You said you'd get coffee and donuts, Armsmaster."
"And they're right there against the wall. Sit down."
"If you're going to 'get' something, it usually means something better than the muddy water coffee we've got here."
"Take it up with your boss. Oh wait, that's me. Now sit down."
Armsmaster waited impatiently for everyone assembled to collect themselves and find seats. He tapped gauntleted fingers on the tabletop, and drew a few concerned looks from his coworkers. Normally someone who took pains to appear immaculate and under control, now he was almost haggard. What little of his face was visible within his helmet was pale and lined from stress, even his beard was beginning to look unkempt. He saw Dauntless eyeing him, but the younger hero ducked his head and refused to meet Armsmaster's gaze when he looked over. Eventually everyone took a seat, an open space left next to Battery out of long habit.
"All settled? Good. I need to make this quick. I think we have a major problem on our hands, and we need to get it under control before it gets worse."
"That's pretty obvious," Triumph responded. "Half the Wards off duty and Assault taking an M/S vacation, all three gangs are starting to push boundaries. Empire's still out for blood after Hookwolf, and the ABB--"
"Not that. I mean Bloodmoon."
There was a slight ripple of unease across the table. Battery gave Armsmaster a hard stare. "She's dead. Very dead. You were even there, Armsmaster."
"Then where's her body, hm? Nowhere. Granted, exploding her head like that seems pretty conclusive, but she's been Nowhere before and I'm not going to relax for at least another full moon. You shouldn't either, if she does come back she might want to have another talk with your husband."
"Wh-- that's not funny, Armsmaster! Jesus, what's wrong with you today?"
"I think there might be a lot wrong with me, Battery. That's why I'm in a hurry. That, and I tweaked my onboard health management systems to override the safety restrictions on my stimulants. I've got about four more hours before I start risking serious damage to my heart and kidneys."
"What the hell, Colin!"
"Moving on," he said, ignoring the outburst and the increasingly concerned expressions. "Over the past few months there's been a lot of debate over Bloodmoon's exact nature and parahuman abilities, particularly with regards to what she did to Shadow Stalker. After examining her father, I believe I've come to the worst possible conclusion."
"Mutagenic bio-Tinker is a pretty fucking bad conclusion, we already know this."
"I don't think she's a Tinker. I don't even think she's working with a Tinker. I think she's a Shaker." Silence descended over the gathering. Armsmaster continued speaking. "It's the only option that ties things together. I think her blood is a vector for a Shaker effect. We knew it had anomalous properties but we didn't go far enough with that, we didn't consider what that might mean. Her blood is the bio-Tinker. It starts warping anyone around her over time, causing sleep disturbance, mental instability, and finally, mutation. That's how she's managed increased Brute and Mover abilities over time. That's what made Stalker crazy enough to steal that sample, and when she consumed it, the potency and proximity triggered her transformation. It's what made her father start growing eyes all over his insides."
Dauntless looked sick. So did Velocity and Battery, come to think of it. Miss Militia's expression was mostly hidden by her bandanna, but her hand had tightened on her power's current form of a 9mm pistol. As he watched, it flickered, changing to a configuration a bit more high caliber. "Armsmaster... how long did you have that sample of her blood in your lab?"
Armsmaster smiled, which did nothing to stem the muttered 'oh, shit' from Triumph's end of the table. "Exactly why I'm working on a time limit. In about ninety-two minutes, the Director is going to receive my report, and I will be tossed into Master-Stranger confinement. But I've got a theory on this, and if I'm right, none of us have time to wait on it: I don't think Bloodmoon's blood had to be outside her body to spread its effects. I think her presence alone was enough. So, that said..."
He leaned forward, hands pressed flat to the table hard enough to make it groan. Almost everyone leaned back, reflexively.
"Any volunteers to go with me to Winslow High School?"
* * *
"We are all going into M/S confinement after this, you realize. Me for obvious reasons, you three for not tackling me to the ground and tazing me."
"You don't have to remind us how big of a clusterfuck this is." Velocity muttered, his hands tight upon the steering wheel of the PRT transport they'd taken. Miss Militia had shotgun, while Battery was next to Armsmaster in the back, the latter doing breathing exercises to maintain her charge. "I'm only here to keep an eye on... I guess all four of us? Fuck."
"If Armsmaster's theory is correct, we're going to need a lot more containment cells. How many students attend Winslow? Close to a thousand, isn't it?"
"Something like that, around 800 I think. It's not the busiest district in the city, but..."
"But, 800 teenagers, and a handful of teachers. Even a suspicion is worth the consequences for disregarding protocols." Miss Militia ran her fingers over her weapon, and it flicked and shifted between types of pistols. "We'll need to do this quick. The school staff doesn't arrive very early ahead of the students. Velocity, Battery, you're on backup. I'll go with Armsmaster to take a quick look inside, so stay on the comms with us. If we find anyone has gone the way of Mr. Hebert, we're getting out and having the whole place quarantined." Her jaw was tight. Battery gave her a solemn look, but nodded.
"Heavy call, there. Okay. What about Bloodmoon's house?"
"I sent a message to Dragon already, asking her to use remote drones to seal off the Hebert household and get a couple cameras inside. Investigators said she just appeared in her bedroom, if she repeats that I want to know about it."
Everyone was quiet for a moment, before Battery quietly asked, "Do you really think she's alive?"
"I don't know. If she is, it wouldn't be the strangest thing to happen in Brockton lately." Armsmaster paused. "I shouldn't have to say this, but... don't tell Ethan. Not until we're sure."
"You're right. You don't have to say it."
"...I'm sorry."
"Yeah," she sighed. "Me too."
"Heads up, people." Velocity said, steering the van into the parking lot of Winslow High. It was already filling with up with secondhand cars belonging to students. A few heads turned as the PRT van came to a stop. "We're here. Good luck, you two. I'll have the radio open."
Miss Militia and Armsmaster got out of the van, then hurried towards the main entrance of the school. Miss Militia's power flickered at her hip, and she shivered, lowering her voice. "This place makes me uneasy. I hope to God you're wrong, Armsmaster."
"So do I. You were here last, any opinion on where we start?"
"Teachers might not be in yet. Let's go see the principal, let her know we're here." The corridors were filling up, students going about their pre-class bustle and chatter. Windows were open in most classrooms, letting in the late spring air for the last few days of class, and sunshine suffused the hallways that Miss Militia led them through. Armsmaster kept close on her heels, and watched the gooseflesh prickle on the back of her neck. Everything was normal, and neither of them could stand it. The air felt like a near solid pressure as they walked.
They set a quick pace and reached the faculty offices in short order. The room was in good order, if as quietly shabby as the rest of the school, but the usual secretary was absent. Miss Militia made a hmm noise in her throat, and kept her voice low.
"There's a light on in the Principal's office, but there's supposed to be someone out here. I'd figured the teachers might be slow, but the clerical staff? They're always overworked in a place like this."
"Doesn't look out of order, though, and I smell coffee. Could just be late getting settled." Armsmaster replied. "...it's quiet out there. I didn't hear a bell, did you?"
Miss Militia shook her head, then grabbed Armsmaster by the shoulder when he turned to leave. "Oh no, we are not splitting up. Not here. Let's just go in." She kept hold of him, then knocked on the frosted pane of the Principal's door. A crisp voice from within answered, saying, 'Come in.'
Principal Blackwell was at her desk, dressed smartly in her three-piece suit and with her ever-present scowl, just as Miss Militia remembered her. She quirked a brow when the heroes entered her office. "I wasn't aware the PRT was coming by today. Do you have an appointment?"
"No ma'am," Armsmaster said. "I'm afraid this is somewhat of an unscheduled matter. We'd like to ask you a few questions abo--"
"You'll need an appointment."
Armsmaster paused. "That's not really an option, Principal Blackwell. We're here on Protectorate business."
"You can't be here without an appointment, I don't care who you are." Blackwell ground out between her teeth. Miss Militia sent Armsmaster a look, then carefully backed a few paces away, putting a bit of space between herself and the Tinker. Armsmaster's halberd took up a lot of room, if it needed to be swung.
"Principal Blackwell, we may need you to come with us, after we ask you a few questions."
"This is my office, my school, I'm not going anywhere." She seethed, her face contorting into a frown too large for her face. "I'm not going anywhere!"
"Ma'am, I'm going to have to place you under Master-Stranger arrest if you--" Blackwell flung her arm out in anger, the limb stretching and smacking Armsmaster across the chest from three feet away. A flesh-colored puddle seeped out from under the desk, burbling and reaching tendrils towards the pair of heroes. A handful of toothless mouths opened along their lengths as Blackwell shrieked, "I'm not going anywhere!"
"Backup! Velocity, we need backup-- Velocity? Velocity!" Armsmaster and Miss Militia retreated from the office, slamming the door closed behind them. "Signal's cut, that shouldn't be possible."
"You think any of this is possible? We need to leave, now!" Miss Militia grabbed a chair and shoved it against the door's latch. The frosted glass shuddered as Blackwell's limbs slapped against it, howling in unison. "That's not gonna hold. Go!"
They left the faculty office, stepping quickly into the empty hallways and abandoned classrooms. All the windows were nailed shut, with dust-colored sunlight suffusing the air and making every breath taste stale. The walls were covered in spiderwebs of cracks, with petrified orbs peering out from the larger gaps. Armsmaster passed too close to a row of lockers, which snapped their jaws at him until he moved back towards the center of the corridor. He wiped rust-colored spittle off his arm with a shaking hand.
"Oh God. Tell me you're seeing this too, Militia. ...Militia?"
Miss Militia was staring out one of the windows set into the hallway. Outside the school, the parking lot was gone, as were all the cars, and everything beyond them. Instead, Winslow was sitting in some sort of badlands, the ground dry and cracked, and littered with tombstones that oozed a red substance. A few silver-colored creatures prowled in the distance. Armsmaster walked to the window, and peered out in silence at the dead land under the cancerous sun. After a few moments, Miss Militia offered him her hand. He took it.
They both held tight.
June 2
At 5:00 AM, on the dot, Armsmaster strolled into the Rig's cafeteria. He proceeded to commandeer a large cart from the kitchen, load it up with stolen coffee makers and a seized tray of donuts, and then take the cart and walk back out again without a word, leaving the kitchen staff to scratch their heads and file yet another complaint to Director Piggot.
At 5:15 AM, a mass text was sent out to the local Protectorate heroes on duty, requesting their presence in the West Hall briefing room.
At 5:17 AM, a second text was sent out, reminding them of the former text, and offering a modest bribe for their cooperation.
At 5:34 AM, Velocity and Dauntless arrived at the West Hall briefing room. Miss Militia followed next, then Battery, and finally Triumph who had just come in from a patrol. He undid the catches on his lion helm, raked his fingers through his hair, and glowered.
"You said you'd get coffee and donuts, Armsmaster."
"And they're right there against the wall. Sit down."
"If you're going to 'get' something, it usually means something better than the muddy water coffee we've got here."
"Take it up with your boss. Oh wait, that's me. Now sit down."
Armsmaster waited impatiently for everyone assembled to collect themselves and find seats. He tapped gauntleted fingers on the tabletop, and drew a few concerned looks from his coworkers. Normally someone who took pains to appear immaculate and under control, now he was almost haggard. What little of his face was visible within his helmet was pale and lined from stress, even his beard was beginning to look unkempt. He saw Dauntless eyeing him, but the younger hero ducked his head and refused to meet Armsmaster's gaze when he looked over. Eventually everyone took a seat, an open space left next to Battery out of long habit.
"All settled? Good. I need to make this quick. I think we have a major problem on our hands, and we need to get it under control before it gets worse."
"That's pretty obvious," Triumph responded. "Half the Wards off duty and Assault taking an M/S vacation, all three gangs are starting to push boundaries. Empire's still out for blood after Hookwolf, and the ABB--"
"Not that. I mean Bloodmoon."
There was a slight ripple of unease across the table. Battery gave Armsmaster a hard stare. "She's dead. Very dead. You were even there, Armsmaster."
"Then where's her body, hm? Nowhere. Granted, exploding her head like that seems pretty conclusive, but she's been Nowhere before and I'm not going to relax for at least another full moon. You shouldn't either, if she does come back she might want to have another talk with your husband."
"Wh-- that's not funny, Armsmaster! Jesus, what's wrong with you today?"
"I think there might be a lot wrong with me, Battery. That's why I'm in a hurry. That, and I tweaked my onboard health management systems to override the safety restrictions on my stimulants. I've got about four more hours before I start risking serious damage to my heart and kidneys."
"What the hell, Colin!"
"Moving on," he said, ignoring the outburst and the increasingly concerned expressions. "Over the past few months there's been a lot of debate over Bloodmoon's exact nature and parahuman abilities, particularly with regards to what she did to Shadow Stalker. After examining her father, I believe I've come to the worst possible conclusion."
"Mutagenic bio-Tinker is a pretty fucking bad conclusion, we already know this."
"I don't think she's a Tinker. I don't even think she's working with a Tinker. I think she's a Shaker." Silence descended over the gathering. Armsmaster continued speaking. "It's the only option that ties things together. I think her blood is a vector for a Shaker effect. We knew it had anomalous properties but we didn't go far enough with that, we didn't consider what that might mean. Her blood is the bio-Tinker. It starts warping anyone around her over time, causing sleep disturbance, mental instability, and finally, mutation. That's how she's managed increased Brute and Mover abilities over time. That's what made Stalker crazy enough to steal that sample, and when she consumed it, the potency and proximity triggered her transformation. It's what made her father start growing eyes all over his insides."
Dauntless looked sick. So did Velocity and Battery, come to think of it. Miss Militia's expression was mostly hidden by her bandanna, but her hand had tightened on her power's current form of a 9mm pistol. As he watched, it flickered, changing to a configuration a bit more high caliber. "Armsmaster... how long did you have that sample of her blood in your lab?"
Armsmaster smiled, which did nothing to stem the muttered 'oh, shit' from Triumph's end of the table. "Exactly why I'm working on a time limit. In about ninety-two minutes, the Director is going to receive my report, and I will be tossed into Master-Stranger confinement. But I've got a theory on this, and if I'm right, none of us have time to wait on it: I don't think Bloodmoon's blood had to be outside her body to spread its effects. I think her presence alone was enough. So, that said..."
He leaned forward, hands pressed flat to the table hard enough to make it groan. Almost everyone leaned back, reflexively.
"Any volunteers to go with me to Winslow High School?"
* * *
"We are all going into M/S confinement after this, you realize. Me for obvious reasons, you three for not tackling me to the ground and tazing me."
"You don't have to remind us how big of a clusterfuck this is." Velocity muttered, his hands tight upon the steering wheel of the PRT transport they'd taken. Miss Militia had shotgun, while Battery was next to Armsmaster in the back, the latter doing breathing exercises to maintain her charge. "I'm only here to keep an eye on... I guess all four of us? Fuck."
"If Armsmaster's theory is correct, we're going to need a lot more containment cells. How many students attend Winslow? Close to a thousand, isn't it?"
"Something like that, around 800 I think. It's not the busiest district in the city, but..."
"But, 800 teenagers, and a handful of teachers. Even a suspicion is worth the consequences for disregarding protocols." Miss Militia ran her fingers over her weapon, and it flicked and shifted between types of pistols. "We'll need to do this quick. The school staff doesn't arrive very early ahead of the students. Velocity, Battery, you're on backup. I'll go with Armsmaster to take a quick look inside, so stay on the comms with us. If we find anyone has gone the way of Mr. Hebert, we're getting out and having the whole place quarantined." Her jaw was tight. Battery gave her a solemn look, but nodded.
"Heavy call, there. Okay. What about Bloodmoon's house?"
"I sent a message to Dragon already, asking her to use remote drones to seal off the Hebert household and get a couple cameras inside. Investigators said she just appeared in her bedroom, if she repeats that I want to know about it."
Everyone was quiet for a moment, before Battery quietly asked, "Do you really think she's alive?"
"I don't know. If she is, it wouldn't be the strangest thing to happen in Brockton lately." Armsmaster paused. "I shouldn't have to say this, but... don't tell Ethan. Not until we're sure."
"You're right. You don't have to say it."
"...I'm sorry."
"Yeah," she sighed. "Me too."
"Heads up, people." Velocity said, steering the van into the parking lot of Winslow High. It was already filling with up with secondhand cars belonging to students. A few heads turned as the PRT van came to a stop. "We're here. Good luck, you two. I'll have the radio open."
Miss Militia and Armsmaster got out of the van, then hurried towards the main entrance of the school. Miss Militia's power flickered at her hip, and she shivered, lowering her voice. "This place makes me uneasy. I hope to God you're wrong, Armsmaster."
"So do I. You were here last, any opinion on where we start?"
"Teachers might not be in yet. Let's go see the principal, let her know we're here." The corridors were filling up, students going about their pre-class bustle and chatter. Windows were open in most classrooms, letting in the late spring air for the last few days of class, and sunshine suffused the hallways that Miss Militia led them through. Armsmaster kept close on her heels, and watched the gooseflesh prickle on the back of her neck. Everything was normal, and neither of them could stand it. The air felt like a near solid pressure as they walked.
They set a quick pace and reached the faculty offices in short order. The room was in good order, if as quietly shabby as the rest of the school, but the usual secretary was absent. Miss Militia made a hmm noise in her throat, and kept her voice low.
"There's a light on in the Principal's office, but there's supposed to be someone out here. I'd figured the teachers might be slow, but the clerical staff? They're always overworked in a place like this."
"Doesn't look out of order, though, and I smell coffee. Could just be late getting settled." Armsmaster replied. "...it's quiet out there. I didn't hear a bell, did you?"
Miss Militia shook her head, then grabbed Armsmaster by the shoulder when he turned to leave. "Oh no, we are not splitting up. Not here. Let's just go in." She kept hold of him, then knocked on the frosted pane of the Principal's door. A crisp voice from within answered, saying, 'Come in.'
Principal Blackwell was at her desk, dressed smartly in her three-piece suit and with her ever-present scowl, just as Miss Militia remembered her. She quirked a brow when the heroes entered her office. "I wasn't aware the PRT was coming by today. Do you have an appointment?"
"No ma'am," Armsmaster said. "I'm afraid this is somewhat of an unscheduled matter. We'd like to ask you a few questions abo--"
"You'll need an appointment."
Armsmaster paused. "That's not really an option, Principal Blackwell. We're here on Protectorate business."
"You can't be here without an appointment, I don't care who you are." Blackwell ground out between her teeth. Miss Militia sent Armsmaster a look, then carefully backed a few paces away, putting a bit of space between herself and the Tinker. Armsmaster's halberd took up a lot of room, if it needed to be swung.
"Principal Blackwell, we may need you to come with us, after we ask you a few questions."
"This is my office, my school, I'm not going anywhere." She seethed, her face contorting into a frown too large for her face. "I'm not going anywhere!"
"Ma'am, I'm going to have to place you under Master-Stranger arrest if you--" Blackwell flung her arm out in anger, the limb stretching and smacking Armsmaster across the chest from three feet away. A flesh-colored puddle seeped out from under the desk, burbling and reaching tendrils towards the pair of heroes. A handful of toothless mouths opened along their lengths as Blackwell shrieked, "I'm not going anywhere!"
"Backup! Velocity, we need backup-- Velocity? Velocity!" Armsmaster and Miss Militia retreated from the office, slamming the door closed behind them. "Signal's cut, that shouldn't be possible."
"You think any of this is possible? We need to leave, now!" Miss Militia grabbed a chair and shoved it against the door's latch. The frosted glass shuddered as Blackwell's limbs slapped against it, howling in unison. "That's not gonna hold. Go!"
They left the faculty office, stepping quickly into the empty hallways and abandoned classrooms. All the windows were nailed shut, with dust-colored sunlight suffusing the air and making every breath taste stale. The walls were covered in spiderwebs of cracks, with petrified orbs peering out from the larger gaps. Armsmaster passed too close to a row of lockers, which snapped their jaws at him until he moved back towards the center of the corridor. He wiped rust-colored spittle off his arm with a shaking hand.
"Oh God. Tell me you're seeing this too, Militia. ...Militia?"
Miss Militia was staring out one of the windows set into the hallway. Outside the school, the parking lot was gone, as were all the cars, and everything beyond them. Instead, Winslow was sitting in some sort of badlands, the ground dry and cracked, and littered with tombstones that oozed a red substance. A few silver-colored creatures prowled in the distance. Armsmaster walked to the window, and peered out in silence at the dead land under the cancerous sun. After a few moments, Miss Militia offered him her hand. He took it.
They both held tight.
- Location
- Brazil
Welcome to the nightmare!
- Location
- Cyberspace
Well... that happened.
- Location
- Australia
Oh well, that is unfortunate for them. But if they are really in the Nightmare, they might find Shadow Stalker, go team!