Rules
Morbquest - Road to Hell
- Thread starter Plausbius
- Start date
- Original Crossover Superhero
MrWealthman
Filthy Capitalist
- Location
- Deep in the piles of cash.
[X] Write-in? A spark of morbin' brilliance hits and you get an idea... Wait. This body is full of blood. Full. Of. Blood. Delicious, delicious metallic, nourishing blood. More blood means more Morb! Arteries and ventricles and atrii and veins and capillaries to squeeze, organs to suckle, bones to snap and get at the juicy marrow. It's Morbin' Time!
- Location
- Rapidly approaching your location.
- Pronouns
- Any/Morb
Diplomacy might be important to them! Who knows, you might even have good communication abilities!
- Location
- Not the asylum anymore
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Morb directly. Maybe a more direct approach is warranted. I could try to get the woman or her associates to come over and talk it out. I have pretty good people skills, I've given a speech in front of a live audience!
- Location
- Germany
[x] Morb directly. Maybe a more direct approach is warranted. I could try to get the woman or her associates to come over and talk it out. I have pretty good people skills, I've given a speech in front of a live audience!
Gosh Morb it, I keep forgetting to catch up on this quest and now I missed the vote.
2.0 - A MOST Morbin' Visitor
- Location
- Rapidly approaching your location.
- Pronouns
- Any/Morb
[] Morb directly. Maybe a more direct approach is warranted. I could try to get the woman or her associates to come over and talk it out. I have pretty good people skills, I've given a speech in front of a live audience!
Knock knock, knock.
You pound on the door, its cold steel surface clanging off your knuckles. This should be no issue. Whoever was on the speakers clearly can see or detect you, and knows what's going on. You should just explain everything, and maybe it'll all blow over. Ask about what really happened, and maybe this whole practical prank can be over with. Or maybe you'll wake up.
You try looking through the space where there should have been a peephole, but it doesn't seem to show anything beyond the room except for darkness. What is apparent, however, are the sounds of breathing and heartbeats beyond the barrier. There were two in total, from what you were aware of, but you pushed your curiosity of this beyond your consciousness for the moment. Every knock echoes off the door loudly, causing you to flinch, but it gets easier each time.
Footsteps.
It looks like your attempts have borne fruit, and a person is approaching the door! You shift back a couple steps, wiping your mouth in case any unpresentable features remained from whatever had happened to you.
"What, what do you want?" The voice of a gruff man inquires from across the door. He slides open the peephole from the other side, explaining why you couldn't see anything. The light from beyond floods into your eyes, causing you to recoil before gathering yourself shortly.
You clear your throat.
"M-Morbius...!" You manage to spew out a few words, detritus from your previous meal exiting your mouth alongside them. "Mmmmmm..."
Cough.
"Look, don't cause trouble, alright?" The man replies. "We'll be in and out, real quick. Not sure what'll happen to you. Just be thankful it's not one of the more sadistic headhunters."
"Mor... bius..." You groan, gesturing with your hands in an amicable manner, believing yourself to be saying what you think you're saying. "Morbi. Us."
The man's face, obscured as they were by a helmet of some kind, nods up and down. "Yeah, uh, hold on."
The peephole shuts, and the comfort of darkness swallows you back up. Outside, you can hear a conversation go on between the two people outside.
"Go get Leslie, I'm paid to keep watch, not translate."
"Why me? You make me do everything. Go do it yourself."
"You want to stay with Doctor Dracula here? He might knock and suck you dry, who knows."
"Hey, alright, alright, no need to be so weird about it."
Dracula? Sucking? Your words made perfect sense to you. You were relating to how their work was important, and you wanted simply to know what the nature of their operation was. And that your friends were okay, as you were sure they had loved ones, too. It must have been just the shock of the moment that made you act strange to them, that's all.
You consider knocking again, but the other man walking away signified him getting the one they call "Leslie". Perhaps that was their boss? Maybe even the person you heard on the speaker. You could recall some similarities that matched your memories, but the foggy haze that hung over your brain prevented too clear of a thought from forming. All that was present on your mind was the thought of right before the operation, and the cries that grew fainter and fainter until their tenebrous hold on your ears slipped away. You only hope that they were safe.
Pondering those thoughts, you pace around the lab, feeling every footstep reverberate. It got easier to hear everything around you, too, and the dark didn't seem very restricting anymore. You could sense the debris that had fallen over all around, a mess from whatever transpired here.
It was only a few minutes before footsteps from the other side of the door broke your pacing pattern, the sound of steel-toed boots click-clacking causing you to straighten up and cautiously peer at the door unlocking.
"Oh, woah. We'll let you handle this, then."
"Ingrates."
You could hear the words under her breath as the woman, presumably Leslie, steps in. Her hair, shoulder-length and brown, tied into a tight bun, suddenly sprung up the memories of where you had seen her before. Dark red stripes line her long sleek prussian blue winter coat, tracing down the sides to near the ankles, where you see the heavy boots you'd heard earlier. The coat is buttoned at the top, revealing her black trousers with belts holding what you infer to be gadgets or tools of her trade.
"Doctor Morbius." Leslie says, her eyes obscured by shades and mouth curled in a scowl. "You're finally awake."
"M-Morbius." You explain.
"Right." She waves a hand over her shoulder, the other two guards shuffling away subsequently. "Well, I suppose we can have a chat, one on one. What do you want?"
"Morbius." Your eyes widen, right hand poking a finger into your other palm with each syllable. "Mor. Bi. Us."
"You have no idea what happened, do you?"
You shake your head. "Mmmm."
"Rather than waste my time explaining, just have a look at the footage from this very lab." Before you could respond with more groans, she flicks a hand at you, a strobe light flashing and filling your vision. It takes you into a world of blankness.
Then you see the room, from a corner pointing at the experimentation table, three figures gathered in the area. You recognize the two fiddling with the equipment to be Emil and Martine. The third, restrained to the table and subject to multiple syringes from Martine, has the same face you see every day in the mirror. The body looks much paler than you remember, with the shirt off and pants optional. The probes attached to your limbs, abdomen, and chest look like tendrils spreading from your form, reaching into the monitor as if searching for a cure. What you could remember is the mixed look of worry and hope on your face.
You see yourself struggle and shake a few minutes after she administers the serum, with Emil then turning on the electrostimulation pulsators, stabilizing your condition while sending waves of shocks through your muscles. You were sure you couldn't remember much of this, but the worried looks on their faces and the movements of their mouths were all too familiar. This persisted for many minutes, the two rushing to and fro grabbing what reports and tools they could find to... bring you back? You were sure you would have been put under from the shock as one of the potential results of the procedure, but it seems that this was out of the ordinary for your predictions.
Following multiple jerks of your body, you suddenly open your eyes. The "you" on the table, that is. "You" are welcomed by two ecstatic friends, but it quickly turns to panic as the head snaps up, neck straining against the restraint. Jaws open and shut, chomping towards the nearest body, namely Martine. Limbs flail against the other restraints with vigor you didn't know you had in you. The two rise from their seats, Emil trying to type something on his computer interface that doesn't yield any results. Martine yells at him, and they argue, throwing hand gestures at each other and your possessed body before Emil rushes out of the room, worried face turning back at her and your body when passing through the door.
While Martine stares at your past self, you can see the tears start to well up in the corners of her eyes, lips begging for something from someone up above.
It is quickly answered when Emil rushes back, with Lucien, Micah, and two armed guards in tow. They are all gripped by a look of shock at your struggling form. Micah shouts at the guards, causing them to stow their rifles and approach your body slowly. By now, the restraints had loosened, your wrists showing raw and bloodied patches where once was thin and delicate skin.
The guards succeed in freeing you from your bonds, holding your torso down while Martine hesitantly unties each belt, yelping each time your hand claws or jaws nip at her or someone else. Emil and Micah lend their hands, getting the straps off in a bit of a rush, which they regret when Morbius lunges up, slashing at Martine with his hands. She screams inaudibly, but you could hear her pain, tumbling down and clutching onto the table. The guards hold the vicious provocateur while Emil and Micah support Martine, with Lucien shouting out something at the scene from the back. Before the group could retreat back, Morbius lashes out at the guards, latching onto the neck of one of them. The other one leaps back and reaches for his gun, but is held back by Micah, who grabs the man out the door, following Emil with Martine leaning on his shoulder, and Lucien.
Clang goes the door, leaving a gaunt figure, now unrecognizable, hunched over the meekly-struggling body of the guard. You see your new face for the first time: pale skin stretched taut over hollow cheeks, eyes filled with the madness of the blood currently splashed across the face, dripping from lips and teeth gaping towards the ceiling as a maddening and silent howl is unleashed.
Is this... me?
You reach out a hand, the figure twisting its head at you. The lights flicker shortly after, and fade out of vision, those haunting eyes you could swear were red staring back at you.
"Does that ring any bells?" Leslie's voice brings you back into the lab as it is currently: dark, with everything in various knocked-over positions.
"Morb..." You sputter in contemplation.
She traces her gloved right hand in the air, her left eye glowing blue. "Doctor Morbius is suffering from cognitive malfunction. Instructions for further procedures?"
Cognitive... but...
"Affirmative. The data will be acquired. Any requests for the remaining personnel?"
Are they... okay?
"Affirmative. We'll report back within the hour." Leslie's eye stops glowing, and she turns her attention back to you. "I'm sure you won't mind if we conduct a brief scan of your lab."
Before you could open your mouth, she glides past you with a tailwind that pushes your back against the wall. She pulls out a pen-like tool, and jams it into the nearest computer, causing it to flicker on and flash multiple screens, too fast to discern from where you are. You look in confusion as the other electronics flash on and off in a similar fashion, the lights even turning on and off in a ripple-like pattern outward from her position.
What was most strange was how some of the affected electronics weren't even plugged in, or were cracked on the ground.
"That'll do, Doctor." Leslie saunters at a slower pace than before towards you, knife-like eyes scanning you up and down. "It appears you've pierced the Veil, albeit not without certain... faculty loss. Were it up to me, you'd been disposed of as a liability, but the Directive has other plans. In light of that, our previous offer still stands, if you wish to maximize your gains and minimize further losses. You know how to reach me."
She flicks her right hand at you, a bluish glow enveloping you briefly before fading away. You recoil not at the lack of physical pain, but at the sudden gesture, and let out a yelp. "Bius."
"Right." She sighs. "Well, we won't need to worry about you doing anything too drastic at the moment. But we will keep a close eye on you. Do mind your business, Doctor."
You reach out at her, but you are blocked by an invisible barrier of some kind, only able to watch as she walks further and further away to the world beyond the door. "Morbius?"
"The doors are set to unlock when we leave, Doctor. Don't do anything stupid." With that, she shuts the door, a clunking noise ringing out as the deadbolts shut, leaving you to the embrace of darkness.
You can't really trust her, can you?
I feel like throwing up. Again.
She didn't even address the body. What the hell am I going to do?
"Remaining personnel"... the others are fine, right?
<>
You grapple with your thoughts, the only thing accompanying you while you wait for the locks to open as Leslie mentioned. Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to an hour. True to her word, the deadbolts unlocked, lights flashed back on, and machines whirred, slamming into your consciousness like your head was between someone's clapping palms. This jolts you from your lounging rest position on one of the few chairs that were in working condition, forcing you to take a minute or two to adjust to the stimulus.
Martine. Lucien. Emil.
Their faces slowly come back into your mind, becoming less befuddled by the mental fog. You gotta find out what happened here and to the others. But what to focus on?
[][Focus] Focus on making sure the others are okay, especially Martine.
[][Focus] Focus on figuring out what Leslie and her entourage were doing.
[][Focus] Morb out.
The goons from MOST Solutions. Leslie Stroud and her group had come here, doing something. She did threaten your life, but her bosses said they have plans. What will you do about the offer?
[][Offer] Accept MOST's offer. They might provide answers?
[][Offer] Reject MOST's offer. I'll find out myself. Somehow. With my friends, of course!
[][Offer] Morb on that.
You feel a deep hunger welling inside you. Grasping, clawing from within. It is sated at the moment, but you instinctively feel the urge to bite on something. Perhaps you should satisfy that craving? You're not you when you're hungry, after all...
[][Hunger] Feed! You need some fresh, real blood and meat!
[][Hunger] Maybe artificial blood could work. Might need some work, might not.
[][Hunger] Hunger is weakness leaving the body. We cannot morb out willy-nilly.
Stats
Might: 2 -> 20
velOcity: 6 -> 30
Reactivity: 10 -> 40
Bs: 25 -> 30
><><><><
Hope y'all's week is going well! Looks like Morbius didn't roll very well, to say the least...
Please do task voting! Or plan votes, whichever you prefer.
Knock knock, knock.
You pound on the door, its cold steel surface clanging off your knuckles. This should be no issue. Whoever was on the speakers clearly can see or detect you, and knows what's going on. You should just explain everything, and maybe it'll all blow over. Ask about what really happened, and maybe this whole practical prank can be over with. Or maybe you'll wake up.
You try looking through the space where there should have been a peephole, but it doesn't seem to show anything beyond the room except for darkness. What is apparent, however, are the sounds of breathing and heartbeats beyond the barrier. There were two in total, from what you were aware of, but you pushed your curiosity of this beyond your consciousness for the moment. Every knock echoes off the door loudly, causing you to flinch, but it gets easier each time.
Footsteps.
It looks like your attempts have borne fruit, and a person is approaching the door! You shift back a couple steps, wiping your mouth in case any unpresentable features remained from whatever had happened to you.
"What, what do you want?" The voice of a gruff man inquires from across the door. He slides open the peephole from the other side, explaining why you couldn't see anything. The light from beyond floods into your eyes, causing you to recoil before gathering yourself shortly.
You clear your throat.
"M-Morbius...!" You manage to spew out a few words, detritus from your previous meal exiting your mouth alongside them. "Mmmmmm..."
Cough.
"Look, don't cause trouble, alright?" The man replies. "We'll be in and out, real quick. Not sure what'll happen to you. Just be thankful it's not one of the more sadistic headhunters."
"Mor... bius..." You groan, gesturing with your hands in an amicable manner, believing yourself to be saying what you think you're saying. "Morbi. Us."
The man's face, obscured as they were by a helmet of some kind, nods up and down. "Yeah, uh, hold on."
The peephole shuts, and the comfort of darkness swallows you back up. Outside, you can hear a conversation go on between the two people outside.
"Go get Leslie, I'm paid to keep watch, not translate."
"Why me? You make me do everything. Go do it yourself."
"You want to stay with Doctor Dracula here? He might knock and suck you dry, who knows."
"Hey, alright, alright, no need to be so weird about it."
Dracula? Sucking? Your words made perfect sense to you. You were relating to how their work was important, and you wanted simply to know what the nature of their operation was. And that your friends were okay, as you were sure they had loved ones, too. It must have been just the shock of the moment that made you act strange to them, that's all.
You consider knocking again, but the other man walking away signified him getting the one they call "Leslie". Perhaps that was their boss? Maybe even the person you heard on the speaker. You could recall some similarities that matched your memories, but the foggy haze that hung over your brain prevented too clear of a thought from forming. All that was present on your mind was the thought of right before the operation, and the cries that grew fainter and fainter until their tenebrous hold on your ears slipped away. You only hope that they were safe.
Pondering those thoughts, you pace around the lab, feeling every footstep reverberate. It got easier to hear everything around you, too, and the dark didn't seem very restricting anymore. You could sense the debris that had fallen over all around, a mess from whatever transpired here.
It was only a few minutes before footsteps from the other side of the door broke your pacing pattern, the sound of steel-toed boots click-clacking causing you to straighten up and cautiously peer at the door unlocking.
"Oh, woah. We'll let you handle this, then."
"Ingrates."
You could hear the words under her breath as the woman, presumably Leslie, steps in. Her hair, shoulder-length and brown, tied into a tight bun, suddenly sprung up the memories of where you had seen her before. Dark red stripes line her long sleek prussian blue winter coat, tracing down the sides to near the ankles, where you see the heavy boots you'd heard earlier. The coat is buttoned at the top, revealing her black trousers with belts holding what you infer to be gadgets or tools of her trade.
"Doctor Morbius." Leslie says, her eyes obscured by shades and mouth curled in a scowl. "You're finally awake."
"M-Morbius." You explain.
"Right." She waves a hand over her shoulder, the other two guards shuffling away subsequently. "Well, I suppose we can have a chat, one on one. What do you want?"
"Morbius." Your eyes widen, right hand poking a finger into your other palm with each syllable. "Mor. Bi. Us."
"You have no idea what happened, do you?"
You shake your head. "Mmmm."
"Rather than waste my time explaining, just have a look at the footage from this very lab." Before you could respond with more groans, she flicks a hand at you, a strobe light flashing and filling your vision. It takes you into a world of blankness.
Then you see the room, from a corner pointing at the experimentation table, three figures gathered in the area. You recognize the two fiddling with the equipment to be Emil and Martine. The third, restrained to the table and subject to multiple syringes from Martine, has the same face you see every day in the mirror. The body looks much paler than you remember, with the shirt off and pants optional. The probes attached to your limbs, abdomen, and chest look like tendrils spreading from your form, reaching into the monitor as if searching for a cure. What you could remember is the mixed look of worry and hope on your face.
You see yourself struggle and shake a few minutes after she administers the serum, with Emil then turning on the electrostimulation pulsators, stabilizing your condition while sending waves of shocks through your muscles. You were sure you couldn't remember much of this, but the worried looks on their faces and the movements of their mouths were all too familiar. This persisted for many minutes, the two rushing to and fro grabbing what reports and tools they could find to... bring you back? You were sure you would have been put under from the shock as one of the potential results of the procedure, but it seems that this was out of the ordinary for your predictions.
Following multiple jerks of your body, you suddenly open your eyes. The "you" on the table, that is. "You" are welcomed by two ecstatic friends, but it quickly turns to panic as the head snaps up, neck straining against the restraint. Jaws open and shut, chomping towards the nearest body, namely Martine. Limbs flail against the other restraints with vigor you didn't know you had in you. The two rise from their seats, Emil trying to type something on his computer interface that doesn't yield any results. Martine yells at him, and they argue, throwing hand gestures at each other and your possessed body before Emil rushes out of the room, worried face turning back at her and your body when passing through the door.
While Martine stares at your past self, you can see the tears start to well up in the corners of her eyes, lips begging for something from someone up above.
It is quickly answered when Emil rushes back, with Lucien, Micah, and two armed guards in tow. They are all gripped by a look of shock at your struggling form. Micah shouts at the guards, causing them to stow their rifles and approach your body slowly. By now, the restraints had loosened, your wrists showing raw and bloodied patches where once was thin and delicate skin.
The guards succeed in freeing you from your bonds, holding your torso down while Martine hesitantly unties each belt, yelping each time your hand claws or jaws nip at her or someone else. Emil and Micah lend their hands, getting the straps off in a bit of a rush, which they regret when Morbius lunges up, slashing at Martine with his hands. She screams inaudibly, but you could hear her pain, tumbling down and clutching onto the table. The guards hold the vicious provocateur while Emil and Micah support Martine, with Lucien shouting out something at the scene from the back. Before the group could retreat back, Morbius lashes out at the guards, latching onto the neck of one of them. The other one leaps back and reaches for his gun, but is held back by Micah, who grabs the man out the door, following Emil with Martine leaning on his shoulder, and Lucien.
Clang goes the door, leaving a gaunt figure, now unrecognizable, hunched over the meekly-struggling body of the guard. You see your new face for the first time: pale skin stretched taut over hollow cheeks, eyes filled with the madness of the blood currently splashed across the face, dripping from lips and teeth gaping towards the ceiling as a maddening and silent howl is unleashed.
Is this... me?
You reach out a hand, the figure twisting its head at you. The lights flicker shortly after, and fade out of vision, those haunting eyes you could swear were red staring back at you.
"Does that ring any bells?" Leslie's voice brings you back into the lab as it is currently: dark, with everything in various knocked-over positions.
"Morb..." You sputter in contemplation.
She traces her gloved right hand in the air, her left eye glowing blue. "Doctor Morbius is suffering from cognitive malfunction. Instructions for further procedures?"
Cognitive... but...
"Affirmative. The data will be acquired. Any requests for the remaining personnel?"
Are they... okay?
"Affirmative. We'll report back within the hour." Leslie's eye stops glowing, and she turns her attention back to you. "I'm sure you won't mind if we conduct a brief scan of your lab."
Before you could open your mouth, she glides past you with a tailwind that pushes your back against the wall. She pulls out a pen-like tool, and jams it into the nearest computer, causing it to flicker on and flash multiple screens, too fast to discern from where you are. You look in confusion as the other electronics flash on and off in a similar fashion, the lights even turning on and off in a ripple-like pattern outward from her position.
What was most strange was how some of the affected electronics weren't even plugged in, or were cracked on the ground.
"That'll do, Doctor." Leslie saunters at a slower pace than before towards you, knife-like eyes scanning you up and down. "It appears you've pierced the Veil, albeit not without certain... faculty loss. Were it up to me, you'd been disposed of as a liability, but the Directive has other plans. In light of that, our previous offer still stands, if you wish to maximize your gains and minimize further losses. You know how to reach me."
She flicks her right hand at you, a bluish glow enveloping you briefly before fading away. You recoil not at the lack of physical pain, but at the sudden gesture, and let out a yelp. "Bius."
"Right." She sighs. "Well, we won't need to worry about you doing anything too drastic at the moment. But we will keep a close eye on you. Do mind your business, Doctor."
You reach out at her, but you are blocked by an invisible barrier of some kind, only able to watch as she walks further and further away to the world beyond the door. "Morbius?"
"The doors are set to unlock when we leave, Doctor. Don't do anything stupid." With that, she shuts the door, a clunking noise ringing out as the deadbolts shut, leaving you to the embrace of darkness.
You can't really trust her, can you?
I feel like throwing up. Again.
She didn't even address the body. What the hell am I going to do?
"Remaining personnel"... the others are fine, right?
<>
You grapple with your thoughts, the only thing accompanying you while you wait for the locks to open as Leslie mentioned. Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to an hour. True to her word, the deadbolts unlocked, lights flashed back on, and machines whirred, slamming into your consciousness like your head was between someone's clapping palms. This jolts you from your lounging rest position on one of the few chairs that were in working condition, forcing you to take a minute or two to adjust to the stimulus.
Martine. Lucien. Emil.
Their faces slowly come back into your mind, becoming less befuddled by the mental fog. You gotta find out what happened here and to the others. But what to focus on?
[][Focus] Focus on making sure the others are okay, especially Martine.
[][Focus] Focus on figuring out what Leslie and her entourage were doing.
[][Focus] Morb out.
The goons from MOST Solutions. Leslie Stroud and her group had come here, doing something. She did threaten your life, but her bosses said they have plans. What will you do about the offer?
[][Offer] Accept MOST's offer. They might provide answers?
[][Offer] Reject MOST's offer. I'll find out myself. Somehow. With my friends, of course!
[][Offer] Morb on that.
You feel a deep hunger welling inside you. Grasping, clawing from within. It is sated at the moment, but you instinctively feel the urge to bite on something. Perhaps you should satisfy that craving? You're not you when you're hungry, after all...
[][Hunger] Feed! You need some fresh, real blood and meat!
[][Hunger] Maybe artificial blood could work. Might need some work, might not.
[][Hunger] Hunger is weakness leaving the body. We cannot morb out willy-nilly.
Morbin talk 1 = 3 https://rolz.org/info?jgyx2ov3nq:l840m86u
Morbin talk 2 = 38 https://rolz.org/info?jgyx2ov3nq:l840mjco
Morbin reward? = 7 https://rolz.org/info?jgyx2ov3nq:l840mjco
Morbin talk 2 = 38 https://rolz.org/info?jgyx2ov3nq:l840mjco
Morbin reward? = 7 https://rolz.org/info?jgyx2ov3nq:l840mjco
Stats
Might: 2 -> 20
velOcity: 6 -> 30
Reactivity: 10 -> 40
Bs: 25 -> 30
><><><><
Hope y'all's week is going well! Looks like Morbius didn't roll very well, to say the least...
Please do task voting! Or plan votes, whichever you prefer.
Last edited:
The Englanderish
Schrödinger's Kuudere Kitty Caliph(a)
- Location
- Califat de Chats
Well, if plan voting is allowed...
[X] Plan: CRAWLING IN MY SKIN!
-[X][Focus] Morb out.
-[X][Offer] Reject MOST's offer. I'll find out myself. Somehow. With my friends, of course!
-[X][Hunger] Feed! You need some fresh, real blood and meat!
[X] Plan: CRAWLING IN MY SKIN!
-[X][Focus] Morb out.
-[X][Offer] Reject MOST's offer. I'll find out myself. Somehow. With my friends, of course!
-[X][Hunger] Feed! You need some fresh, real blood and meat!
- Location
- Not the asylum anymore
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Plan Have a Heart
-[X][Focus] Focus on making sure the others are okay, especially Martine.
-[X][Offer] Reject MOST's offer. I'll find out myself. Somehow. With my friends, of course!
-[X][Hunger] Maybe artificial blood could work. Might need some work, might not.
-[X][Focus] Focus on making sure the others are okay, especially Martine.
-[X][Offer] Reject MOST's offer. I'll find out myself. Somehow. With my friends, of course!
-[X][Hunger] Maybe artificial blood could work. Might need some work, might not.
- Location
- Rapidly approaching your location.
- Pronouns
- Any/Morb
Well that's a good way to not have your wounds heal, but ok
The Englanderish
Schrödinger's Kuudere Kitty Caliph(a)
- Location
- Califat de Chats
I think it's become very clear by now I'm going for a more carefree approach than the normal quester, especially considering last time I tried to get the PC to do a cheerful cannibalism.Well that's a good way to not have your wounds heal, but ok
- Location
- United States
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Plan Have a Heart
[X] Plan Have a Heart
- Pronouns
- He/Him
The time has come to truly morb
[x] Plan: CRAWLING IN MY SKIN!
[x] Plan: CRAWLING IN MY SKIN!
Stasis
Unverified Lotus
- Location
- Milky Way, Earth
[X] Plan Have a Heart
The Japanese bat turned him into a Pokemon!
Now the question is if it's a Zubat regional variant or more akin to a Zubattwo, because i feel like the latter is more likely to evolve at the same points as regular Zubat line would.
The Japanese bat turned him into a Pokemon!
Now the question is if it's a Zubat regional variant or more akin to a Zubattwo, because i feel like the latter is more likely to evolve at the same points as regular Zubat line would.
NinetyNineLies
Memento Vivere
- Location
- Dreamland
- Pronouns
- Any
[X] Plan: CRAWLING IN MY SKIN!
-[X][Focus] Morb out.
-[X][Offer] Reject MOST's offer. I'll find out myself. Somehow. With my friends, of course!
-[X][Hunger] Feed! You need some fresh, real blood and meat!
Time to be Evil.
-[X][Focus] Morb out.
-[X][Offer] Reject MOST's offer. I'll find out myself. Somehow. With my friends, of course!
-[X][Hunger] Feed! You need some fresh, real blood and meat!
Time to be Evil.
Eternal_0bserver
(Unverified Bookworm)
- Location
- Earth, Northern Europe
[X] Plan Have a Heart
- Location
- Not the asylum anymore
- Pronouns
- She/Her
We shall Morb inwards; after all, isn't the phrase "It's Morbin time"?
- Location
- Rapidly approaching your location.
- Pronouns
- Any/Morb
True. I can't believe I hadn't seen the truth! Only through inward morbfection can we morb out effectively. 🙏
- Location
- Florida
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Plan Have a Heart
2.1 - Hunger Hangups
- Location
- Rapidly approaching your location.
- Pronouns
- Any/Morb
[] Plan Have a Heart
-[][Focus] Focus on making sure the others are okay, especially Martine.
-[][Offer] Reject MOST's offer. I'll find out myself. Somehow. With my friends, of course!
-[][Hunger] Maybe artificial blood could work. Might need some work, might not.
Memories bleed back into your mind.
Terror. Both yours and others'.
Teeth. Gnashing and biting.
Threads. Straining and breaking.
A swipe rips through the thoughts racing through your mind, horrified almond eyes staring through you, skin tinged with drops of red falling from above. Her gaping mouth muttering words unheard, limbs frozen in shock. The smell that brought your senses to a roar, forcing your muscles and tendons to move in ways you only attributed to predatory animals. The sight of crimson hitting you and the table around you, each drop a push further into frenzy and primitive instinctualism. The sounds of the screams and shouting that drowned out any noises you could isolate, muddling any rationality that tried to retake control of the thrashing animal that the doctor had become.
Martine.
Her look of horror imprints itself into your mind. You need to find her. The others too.
Rubbing your eyes, you blink and reach for the door, cautious of invisible barriers that are no longer there. The light causes you to recoil slightly, but you quickly adapt to it, arm still held up as you march forward in an awkward gait, still not used to both your legs just responding to your nerves' commands. The hallway shows signs of conflict, a slight dark red stain still staying on the floor. Apparently, corporate agents weren't the janitorial type.
Now where would they be?
You think back to the layout of the Fort, remembering the barracks and dining hall, all possible places the others could be held, if the MOST agents were intent on containing them. With the tools you saw Leslie use, however, you conclude that they could have been held anywhere.
So, up to the main deck you go.
Stairs, once a taunting challenge to your movement, now seem like something to triumph over. You wobble a bit when gauging your approach, but once the first step hits the step, instincts take over and your legs pump with a strength lifting you up multiple steps. Leaping up entire flights a few bounds at a time, you scoff.
Holy shit.
This didn't feel right. Yet it felt so natural. Your legs felt like they could just kick once and launch you several stories into the air. Of course, you didn't try that when reaching the outside, as you weren't ready to test your rejuvenated limbs against the force of gravity just yet.
Outside is a dreary English afternoon, clouds hanging over the skies and a welcome sight to your irritated eyes, free from the stinging artificial lights. You step out into the concrete deck, vision darting between the central building that contained the main communications hub and the sides of the platform that lead to the other tower. The main hub was obscured, a darkness hanging over the windows, as if tinted or someone drew the curtains on them. This has to be where the important information is held, if there is any. You've seen the guards hanging around the area before, and Micah had shown you around the non-staff-only areas on your brief tour.
Approaching the metal door, you see through the window in the middle that the blinds had been pulled down. The sounds of several murmurs echo from within, growing louder as you get closer. The voices cease as your foot hits the top of the steps at the front of the door, and you can hear them turn into badum-badums. Familiar noises dissonant from your memories. You hear a click, and think twice with your hand on the knob.
Footsteps come towards the door, and you press yourself against the left of the doorway, hearing the voice of a deep-voiced man conversing with who you recognize to be Micah.
"... You sure it's clear, sir? That woman..."
"Will not be an issue. She has what she came for, if that is who I think it is. Just check over the list, account for everyone in the Tower."
"Alright, if you say so..."
The handle jiggles, locks get untethered, and the door opens. The barrel of a rifle pokes out, followed by a guard scanning left and right. More footsteps follow, numbering about a half dozen in total. Your heart freezes for a second as you also seize up.
You hadn't prepared for talking with them. Did they think you were dead? Should you just go up and say hi? They seem on edge, and you weren't sure you could dodge a bullet from a frightened mercenary.
So, you did the only thing you could think of: knocking on the door.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The reverberations of the metal-plated door ring through the deck, giving a shock to your ears as well those of others, causing the others to scamper, legs leaping away from the source of the sound. Two rifles now point towards you, your body already ducking out of the way and around the corner with a speed you hadn't felt for decades.
"Michael?"
Look up. Martine's face awaits you. Pupils shrunk, skin pale. Like she had seen a ghost.
"Hold!" Lucien yells out, holding out a crutch between you and them. He moves towards you, with Emil trying to pull him back. "Michael, you're okay!"
"Don't, he's-- we don't know how he is!" Emil drags on Lucien's shoulders, stretching the suit backwards. He gives you a concerned look. "Michael, are you ok?"
You understand the words, but words don't come out. Not even a shaky "morbius". Clenching your throat and head makes it ease up, and you visualize the conversation in your mind before you speak each word.
"I... m... good." The raspy voice escaping your throat makes you remember that blood isn't as hydrating as water. You start coughing.
"You're pale." Martine holds out a hand at you, face still frozen. "You look hurt, we should get you some aid, w-water. Food..."
She sways, her hand trembling. You look to the right, to where the windows to the central hub are. In the dark and obscure reflection, you can see your faint reflection: Disheveled and long, unbound black hair trails down your face, grayish skin taut and stretched over the sharp skeletal cheekbones jutting from under your eyes. Your eyes, seemingly bloodshot, seem a dark hue of red, a murky mix between the red stains on your face and the brown color they naturally are. Or were. The stains, decorating your lips like a brush over canvas, highlights those teeth, snarled in a grimace, huffing and puffing each breath deeply.
You stand hunched, thin body barely covered on a backdrop of the murky oceanic sky. Thin limbs once familiar now seem more muscular-- only slight, but a noticeable amount. The wiry feeling you get from each flex of an arm or leg is confirmed in your observations. Specks of blood can be seen on sporadic areas on your body, dotting it and bringing back flashes of ripping and tearing that you push down just enough to come back to the present.
"So... ry..." The croaking noise from your throat travels up it again, eyes trained on and switching between each of the others standing across from you.
"Wh-what's happening with him?" Lucien asks. "We should-- Michael, let's just sit down and talk, okay? You're suffering from... Martine, do you..."
Martine shakes her head. "It all happened. So fast, I- it might been something I did? A miscalc, wrong dose..."
"Whatever the case may be, we need to cooperate." Micah steps forward. "Doctor. Can we escort you back? Get you cleaned up, and direct you to the right people?"
Gurgle.
What seems like a normal grumbling from your abdomen lurches and pulls back your vision, sinking your waking self into a gnashing and snapping trance. You see the barrels of those guns rise, only held down by Micah's hand and the others backing away from you.
Thinking to the things you've yet to do, the apologies you haven't given, the life you hadn't yet lived, you grab a hold just enough to pop back in control.
"H-Hung... reee..." You spew out the words in a pained slur. "Blood. Fake."
Though their confusion towards your miming of chugging a barrel of ale is palpable, Lucien taps his right crutch on the ground after a brief gust.
"Right, the artificial blood." He says.
"What are you saying?" Emil furrows his brows.
"Just give him what he wants." Martine answers monotonously. She gestures to Micah and the tower which contained the lab. "If possible."
The Prince looks between her and you several times, neck pulsating with every thought. "Very well. Doctor, will you be able to cooperate?"
"Mmmmm" Thoughts of morbin' out and blood flow into your head, but this time they shift from red to blue, the bags of artificial blood that you'd brought over to Sealand.
The guards stow their guns on their slings, and lead you from the front. Your friends, in various stages of worriedness, follow behind. Back down, across the deck, down the stairs, and into the storage. Lucien and Martine had to be supported in their descent, one physically shaken and the other visibly shaken. Passing by the now-dried patch of blood near the lab brings up concerned hmms and oohs. No one really speaks on the trip down, and the door to the walk-in fridge reveals a scent that dances on your senses. You instinctively reach into the door, past the other people standing there.
And chug.
Forgoing even ripping open the bag you grab, you sink your teeth into one, twisting your head side to side. This goes on for a few seconds as you feel the judgemental eyes peering behind you. What do they know, however? They wouldn't care for explanations, nor how delicious--
This doesn't taste like how you'd imagined it. It's bland, medicinal, tinged with... preservatives. You need natural food! Did you force people to accept such unrefined platelets? This unseasoned drivel? How can you even call yourself a savior if you can't even get it to taste like the real thing?
You shake your head. It's good enough for now... right?
"Michael...?" Lucien's voice wafts into your ears from the distance, pulling you from your ruminations on the metallic taste on your tongue. "Is this what you wanted?"
You grunt. "Mmmm. Yeah."
Turning around, you see the horrified faces of Martine and Micah, with Emil off to the side along with one of the guards. Lucien has a look of concern, poking his head in the doorway.
"So... we need to talk." Lucien tilts his head down. "All of us. Let's just sit down and discuss this, alright? What has happened, how we're all feeling, and our next course of action."
You grumble. Need something real.
"..." The silence hangs over the air. Lucien turns around and waves his head. "Well?"
"I'll be in my room." Martine says, walking away.
"Mart-- Okay, she's off, I see." Lucien says, reaching out. "Needs some time, I suppose. Emil?"
Emil sniffles, covering his mouth. "Sounds good, we should. We'll set a time and place, don't know if I'm up for it right now, just need to work through all this."
"Right. Makes sense." Lucien nods. "Micah, sorry for all the trouble. We'll need a bit of time, but we'll be preparing to be off shortly. Any damages, just send me the bill, yeah?"
Micah sighs. "Generous of you, lad. But take the time you need. We'll need to make sure the Doctor is... stable, so if you could convince him to perhaps, stay put? We could then arrange for transportation, care, and what else you may need."
"We'll try." Lucien replies, as Micah waves the guards to go along with him, down the hallway you came from. Your friend then turns around, leaning on his crutches and the doorframe. "Oh, Michael..."
You slurp.
The taste is bland, but at least it's filling.
"We need to get you help, Michael. You agree, right?"
<>
You are in a light frenzy! -10 to all social rolls until you get some of that good stuff. Don't mind the banging on the back of your head, it'll go away once its demands have been met!
Lucien wants you to get help. But you want yummy stuff. What do?
[] Alone! Consume! It's time to feast!
[] We should find something else to eat. A nice cheesecake, perhaps?
[] Let's just go talk like a normal person, as hard as that might be right now. (low chance)
><><><><
Low rolls, what can you do?
Short update, got good stuff coming up, if you so choose... Be sure to feed your inner Morb or face the consequences!
-[][Focus] Focus on making sure the others are okay, especially Martine.
-[][Offer] Reject MOST's offer. I'll find out myself. Somehow. With my friends, of course!
-[][Hunger] Maybe artificial blood could work. Might need some work, might not.
Memories bleed back into your mind.
Terror. Both yours and others'.
Teeth. Gnashing and biting.
Threads. Straining and breaking.
A swipe rips through the thoughts racing through your mind, horrified almond eyes staring through you, skin tinged with drops of red falling from above. Her gaping mouth muttering words unheard, limbs frozen in shock. The smell that brought your senses to a roar, forcing your muscles and tendons to move in ways you only attributed to predatory animals. The sight of crimson hitting you and the table around you, each drop a push further into frenzy and primitive instinctualism. The sounds of the screams and shouting that drowned out any noises you could isolate, muddling any rationality that tried to retake control of the thrashing animal that the doctor had become.
Martine.
Her look of horror imprints itself into your mind. You need to find her. The others too.
Rubbing your eyes, you blink and reach for the door, cautious of invisible barriers that are no longer there. The light causes you to recoil slightly, but you quickly adapt to it, arm still held up as you march forward in an awkward gait, still not used to both your legs just responding to your nerves' commands. The hallway shows signs of conflict, a slight dark red stain still staying on the floor. Apparently, corporate agents weren't the janitorial type.
Now where would they be?
You think back to the layout of the Fort, remembering the barracks and dining hall, all possible places the others could be held, if the MOST agents were intent on containing them. With the tools you saw Leslie use, however, you conclude that they could have been held anywhere.
So, up to the main deck you go.
Stairs, once a taunting challenge to your movement, now seem like something to triumph over. You wobble a bit when gauging your approach, but once the first step hits the step, instincts take over and your legs pump with a strength lifting you up multiple steps. Leaping up entire flights a few bounds at a time, you scoff.
Holy shit.
This didn't feel right. Yet it felt so natural. Your legs felt like they could just kick once and launch you several stories into the air. Of course, you didn't try that when reaching the outside, as you weren't ready to test your rejuvenated limbs against the force of gravity just yet.
Outside is a dreary English afternoon, clouds hanging over the skies and a welcome sight to your irritated eyes, free from the stinging artificial lights. You step out into the concrete deck, vision darting between the central building that contained the main communications hub and the sides of the platform that lead to the other tower. The main hub was obscured, a darkness hanging over the windows, as if tinted or someone drew the curtains on them. This has to be where the important information is held, if there is any. You've seen the guards hanging around the area before, and Micah had shown you around the non-staff-only areas on your brief tour.
Approaching the metal door, you see through the window in the middle that the blinds had been pulled down. The sounds of several murmurs echo from within, growing louder as you get closer. The voices cease as your foot hits the top of the steps at the front of the door, and you can hear them turn into badum-badums. Familiar noises dissonant from your memories. You hear a click, and think twice with your hand on the knob.
Footsteps come towards the door, and you press yourself against the left of the doorway, hearing the voice of a deep-voiced man conversing with who you recognize to be Micah.
"... You sure it's clear, sir? That woman..."
"Will not be an issue. She has what she came for, if that is who I think it is. Just check over the list, account for everyone in the Tower."
"Alright, if you say so..."
The handle jiggles, locks get untethered, and the door opens. The barrel of a rifle pokes out, followed by a guard scanning left and right. More footsteps follow, numbering about a half dozen in total. Your heart freezes for a second as you also seize up.
You hadn't prepared for talking with them. Did they think you were dead? Should you just go up and say hi? They seem on edge, and you weren't sure you could dodge a bullet from a frightened mercenary.
So, you did the only thing you could think of: knocking on the door.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The reverberations of the metal-plated door ring through the deck, giving a shock to your ears as well those of others, causing the others to scamper, legs leaping away from the source of the sound. Two rifles now point towards you, your body already ducking out of the way and around the corner with a speed you hadn't felt for decades.
"Michael?"
Look up. Martine's face awaits you. Pupils shrunk, skin pale. Like she had seen a ghost.
"Hold!" Lucien yells out, holding out a crutch between you and them. He moves towards you, with Emil trying to pull him back. "Michael, you're okay!"
"Don't, he's-- we don't know how he is!" Emil drags on Lucien's shoulders, stretching the suit backwards. He gives you a concerned look. "Michael, are you ok?"
You understand the words, but words don't come out. Not even a shaky "morbius". Clenching your throat and head makes it ease up, and you visualize the conversation in your mind before you speak each word.
"I... m... good." The raspy voice escaping your throat makes you remember that blood isn't as hydrating as water. You start coughing.
"You're pale." Martine holds out a hand at you, face still frozen. "You look hurt, we should get you some aid, w-water. Food..."
She sways, her hand trembling. You look to the right, to where the windows to the central hub are. In the dark and obscure reflection, you can see your faint reflection: Disheveled and long, unbound black hair trails down your face, grayish skin taut and stretched over the sharp skeletal cheekbones jutting from under your eyes. Your eyes, seemingly bloodshot, seem a dark hue of red, a murky mix between the red stains on your face and the brown color they naturally are. Or were. The stains, decorating your lips like a brush over canvas, highlights those teeth, snarled in a grimace, huffing and puffing each breath deeply.
You stand hunched, thin body barely covered on a backdrop of the murky oceanic sky. Thin limbs once familiar now seem more muscular-- only slight, but a noticeable amount. The wiry feeling you get from each flex of an arm or leg is confirmed in your observations. Specks of blood can be seen on sporadic areas on your body, dotting it and bringing back flashes of ripping and tearing that you push down just enough to come back to the present.
"So... ry..." The croaking noise from your throat travels up it again, eyes trained on and switching between each of the others standing across from you.
"Wh-what's happening with him?" Lucien asks. "We should-- Michael, let's just sit down and talk, okay? You're suffering from... Martine, do you..."
Martine shakes her head. "It all happened. So fast, I- it might been something I did? A miscalc, wrong dose..."
"Whatever the case may be, we need to cooperate." Micah steps forward. "Doctor. Can we escort you back? Get you cleaned up, and direct you to the right people?"
Gurgle.
What seems like a normal grumbling from your abdomen lurches and pulls back your vision, sinking your waking self into a gnashing and snapping trance. You see the barrels of those guns rise, only held down by Micah's hand and the others backing away from you.
Thinking to the things you've yet to do, the apologies you haven't given, the life you hadn't yet lived, you grab a hold just enough to pop back in control.
"H-Hung... reee..." You spew out the words in a pained slur. "Blood. Fake."
Though their confusion towards your miming of chugging a barrel of ale is palpable, Lucien taps his right crutch on the ground after a brief gust.
"Right, the artificial blood." He says.
"What are you saying?" Emil furrows his brows.
"Just give him what he wants." Martine answers monotonously. She gestures to Micah and the tower which contained the lab. "If possible."
The Prince looks between her and you several times, neck pulsating with every thought. "Very well. Doctor, will you be able to cooperate?"
"Mmmmm" Thoughts of morbin' out and blood flow into your head, but this time they shift from red to blue, the bags of artificial blood that you'd brought over to Sealand.
The guards stow their guns on their slings, and lead you from the front. Your friends, in various stages of worriedness, follow behind. Back down, across the deck, down the stairs, and into the storage. Lucien and Martine had to be supported in their descent, one physically shaken and the other visibly shaken. Passing by the now-dried patch of blood near the lab brings up concerned hmms and oohs. No one really speaks on the trip down, and the door to the walk-in fridge reveals a scent that dances on your senses. You instinctively reach into the door, past the other people standing there.
And chug.
Forgoing even ripping open the bag you grab, you sink your teeth into one, twisting your head side to side. This goes on for a few seconds as you feel the judgemental eyes peering behind you. What do they know, however? They wouldn't care for explanations, nor how delicious--
This doesn't taste like how you'd imagined it. It's bland, medicinal, tinged with... preservatives. You need natural food! Did you force people to accept such unrefined platelets? This unseasoned drivel? How can you even call yourself a savior if you can't even get it to taste like the real thing?
You shake your head. It's good enough for now... right?
"Michael...?" Lucien's voice wafts into your ears from the distance, pulling you from your ruminations on the metallic taste on your tongue. "Is this what you wanted?"
You grunt. "Mmmm. Yeah."
Turning around, you see the horrified faces of Martine and Micah, with Emil off to the side along with one of the guards. Lucien has a look of concern, poking his head in the doorway.
"So... we need to talk." Lucien tilts his head down. "All of us. Let's just sit down and discuss this, alright? What has happened, how we're all feeling, and our next course of action."
You grumble. Need something real.
"..." The silence hangs over the air. Lucien turns around and waves his head. "Well?"
"I'll be in my room." Martine says, walking away.
"Mart-- Okay, she's off, I see." Lucien says, reaching out. "Needs some time, I suppose. Emil?"
Emil sniffles, covering his mouth. "Sounds good, we should. We'll set a time and place, don't know if I'm up for it right now, just need to work through all this."
"Right. Makes sense." Lucien nods. "Micah, sorry for all the trouble. We'll need a bit of time, but we'll be preparing to be off shortly. Any damages, just send me the bill, yeah?"
Micah sighs. "Generous of you, lad. But take the time you need. We'll need to make sure the Doctor is... stable, so if you could convince him to perhaps, stay put? We could then arrange for transportation, care, and what else you may need."
"We'll try." Lucien replies, as Micah waves the guards to go along with him, down the hallway you came from. Your friend then turns around, leaning on his crutches and the doorframe. "Oh, Michael..."
You slurp.
The taste is bland, but at least it's filling.
"We need to get you help, Michael. You agree, right?"
<>
You are in a light frenzy! -10 to all social rolls until you get some of that good stuff. Don't mind the banging on the back of your head, it'll go away once its demands have been met!
Lucien wants you to get help. But you want yummy stuff. What do?
[] Alone! Consume! It's time to feast!
[] We should find something else to eat. A nice cheesecake, perhaps?
[] Let's just go talk like a normal person, as hard as that might be right now. (low chance)
><><><><
Low rolls, what can you do?
Short update, got good stuff coming up, if you so choose... Be sure to feed your inner Morb or face the consequences!