Watch out for water, they fell in the ocean first.
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Neonate 1.1
Tears stream down Taylor's cheeks. She'd deny that she is crying, tell you that her scrunched up eyes are because of the water running down her face from the shower faucet. But the water doesn't numb her heart like it numbs her skin. Emma's constant barbs only make her feel weaker and rawer instead of taking the pain away.
She doesn't see what comes out of the drain, too distracted tugging at glue filled hair to notice. It's too quiet to hear, even without the raucous impacts of pressurized water against porcelain. Straining through dime-sized metal holes, it pops out of the drain. Salmon pink skin crawls across the bathtub, the gastropod craning its neck upwards. It looks at Taylor and crawls towards her ankle.
Taylor feels something touch her foot and it takes her a moment to scrub the shampoo out of her eyes. Disgust and shame curdle in her stomach as she sees the slug, and she reaches down to brush it off. Those feelings shift to confusion and panic as it slides beneath her skin. She twists down and grabs at her leg, wondering whether to blame her poor eyesight.
A small bulge in her leg slips out between her fingers, it begins creeping upwards. Taylor screeches, trying to push it down, but it just seems to sink in for a moment before snaking up her leg again. For a moment, she worries that she's gone crazy, that Emma has finally made her snap, but the strange pushing sensation something wriggling beneath her skin from the inside convinces her otherwise.
Pushing aside the shower curtain, she stumbles out, hands shaking, and races to the sink. Grabbing a pair of tweezers and bringing them to her leg, she scratches at the lump, her skin turning raw and red as the lump wriggles and moves faster, going above her knee. Slamming open the bathroom door, dripping onto the carpet and not caring about the windows, she runs towards the kitchen.
As the beat of her heart pulses through her ears, Taylor grabs a kitchen knife. The bulge is on her side now, rolling across her ribcage like a vein, and she has to stretch her arms to aim the knife, jamming it into her side and eliciting a cry from her mouth. Red and blue blood pours out of the wound, and she draws back the knife for another swing.
A whimper slips through her lips as she plunges the knife again, reluctance driven away by desperation, but she misses, the knife scraping bone as the bulge wriggles up her latissimus muscle. She feels the rolling pulse as it slides against her muscles, the cold subsurface sensation of something cold beneath warm skin.
Her shoulders flex as she brings the knife back, arching her back and stabbing. Flesh parts as the knife enters her back, tip bending and creating a jagged cut through the skin of her shoulder blade. Over and over and over again, the knife paints a tapestry of blood on her back with accents of blue.
When it reaches the back of her neck, she grabs the knife with both hands and presses it against the sensation. She catches it, it's stuck, and now she just needs to call for help. Shallow breathing fills the room as pipes groan above her. She presses the knife too hard, and the slug is cut in half, both halves lurch.
A startled gasp escapes her mouth as she feels a strange bite against the base of her skull, the knife sliding across her nape as her body tenses, spine going rigid. Tingles race down her spine as bones are chewed, and Taylor hiccups as something like suction fills her brain. Everything goes dark as Taylor sleeps.
Something else wakes up minutes later as a car pulls into the driveway.
She doesn't see what comes out of the drain, too distracted tugging at glue filled hair to notice. It's too quiet to hear, even without the raucous impacts of pressurized water against porcelain. Straining through dime-sized metal holes, it pops out of the drain. Salmon pink skin crawls across the bathtub, the gastropod craning its neck upwards. It looks at Taylor and crawls towards her ankle.
Taylor feels something touch her foot and it takes her a moment to scrub the shampoo out of her eyes. Disgust and shame curdle in her stomach as she sees the slug, and she reaches down to brush it off. Those feelings shift to confusion and panic as it slides beneath her skin. She twists down and grabs at her leg, wondering whether to blame her poor eyesight.
A small bulge in her leg slips out between her fingers, it begins creeping upwards. Taylor screeches, trying to push it down, but it just seems to sink in for a moment before snaking up her leg again. For a moment, she worries that she's gone crazy, that Emma has finally made her snap, but the strange pushing sensation something wriggling beneath her skin from the inside convinces her otherwise.
Pushing aside the shower curtain, she stumbles out, hands shaking, and races to the sink. Grabbing a pair of tweezers and bringing them to her leg, she scratches at the lump, her skin turning raw and red as the lump wriggles and moves faster, going above her knee. Slamming open the bathroom door, dripping onto the carpet and not caring about the windows, she runs towards the kitchen.
As the beat of her heart pulses through her ears, Taylor grabs a kitchen knife. The bulge is on her side now, rolling across her ribcage like a vein, and she has to stretch her arms to aim the knife, jamming it into her side and eliciting a cry from her mouth. Red and blue blood pours out of the wound, and she draws back the knife for another swing.
A whimper slips through her lips as she plunges the knife again, reluctance driven away by desperation, but she misses, the knife scraping bone as the bulge wriggles up her latissimus muscle. She feels the rolling pulse as it slides against her muscles, the cold subsurface sensation of something cold beneath warm skin.
Her shoulders flex as she brings the knife back, arching her back and stabbing. Flesh parts as the knife enters her back, tip bending and creating a jagged cut through the skin of her shoulder blade. Over and over and over again, the knife paints a tapestry of blood on her back with accents of blue.
When it reaches the back of her neck, she grabs the knife with both hands and presses it against the sensation. She catches it, it's stuck, and now she just needs to call for help. Shallow breathing fills the room as pipes groan above her. She presses the knife too hard, and the slug is cut in half, both halves lurch.
A startled gasp escapes her mouth as she feels a strange bite against the base of her skull, the knife sliding across her nape as her body tenses, spine going rigid. Tingles race down her spine as bones are chewed, and Taylor hiccups as something like suction fills her brain. Everything goes dark as Taylor sleeps.
Something else wakes up minutes later as a car pulls into the driveway.
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Neonate 1.2
Danny slams his old car door shut, the loud bang of old, rusty metal echoing through the street. Gravel made from chipped pavement crunches beneath worn boots as he walks up the driveway. Awaiting him inside is a cold beer, the last of a six pack.
He reaches the door and fumbles with his keys; he can never get the right one on the first try.
Opening the door, he notices water on the floor. He sees damp carpet steps, and puddles shaped like footsteps on the hardwood floor.
"Taylor?" He shouts into the house. "What's all this water?" He hangs his jacket on the coat hanger by the door and rests his handbag on the floor. Frowning slightly in consternation, he walks into the kitchen.
He freezes when he sees streaks of blood on the floor, specks on the counter. "Taylor?" He screams, voice hoarse. "Taylor!"
Frantically looking around, he sees the basement door open, handprints smeared across the handle and edge. Sprinting toward the door and to the steps, he descends, taking them two at a time. Just before he reaches the bottom, he feels a sharp pain in his ankle, and cries out as he trips.
Grasping the handrail with both hands, he looks at his leg and sees an ugly gash on his Aquille's tendon, blood pouring as his calf shakes. A rasping breath comes out of his throat as he brings a hand down to the wound. Glancing down, he sees Taylor, drenched, hair clumped together, and with dead eyes.
She brings the knife down again and cuts into his other leg, randomly stabbing into him, knife held firmly in a reverse grip. Pulling herself closer using his shirt, she stabs into his back, and he throws her off, sending her stumbling down the stairs, her head cracking against the wall.
"Oh, oh no. Oh no, no, no. Taylor? Why would you?" Danny whimpers, watching Taylor twitch. "Oh no. Why?"
He cries out as he tries to stand, adrenaline wearing off. He sees Taylor's hand twitch, and he freezes, face shifting into baffled horror, as the veins in Taylor's hands start to inflate.
Underneath her fingernails, where all the veins lead, squeeze out small antennae, wet and translucent. They take a moment to orient in his direction, and then, her fingernails pop as slugs pour out. Covered in red veins and with skin like epidermis, they crawl toward Danny.
He grabs the rail and tries to pull himself up, knees aching against the stairs, but he can't. Too long spent in the office, not taking care of his body, has left him frail.
The many slugs crawl onto his foot, and then through his ankle into his body as he screams, a mixture of horror and pain writ across his face. Kicking his legs out in a vain attempt to get the slugs out, Danny begins shivering, shock and utter horror making him catatonic as he pulls his shirt up, watching the creatures make their way through his torso.
A giggle makes it way out of his lips as he feels them cross his Adam's apple, and as he glances up, the last thing he sees is Taylor standing in the dark with loose fingernails hanging by threads of skin.
He reaches the door and fumbles with his keys; he can never get the right one on the first try.
Opening the door, he notices water on the floor. He sees damp carpet steps, and puddles shaped like footsteps on the hardwood floor.
"Taylor?" He shouts into the house. "What's all this water?" He hangs his jacket on the coat hanger by the door and rests his handbag on the floor. Frowning slightly in consternation, he walks into the kitchen.
He freezes when he sees streaks of blood on the floor, specks on the counter. "Taylor?" He screams, voice hoarse. "Taylor!"
Frantically looking around, he sees the basement door open, handprints smeared across the handle and edge. Sprinting toward the door and to the steps, he descends, taking them two at a time. Just before he reaches the bottom, he feels a sharp pain in his ankle, and cries out as he trips.
Grasping the handrail with both hands, he looks at his leg and sees an ugly gash on his Aquille's tendon, blood pouring as his calf shakes. A rasping breath comes out of his throat as he brings a hand down to the wound. Glancing down, he sees Taylor, drenched, hair clumped together, and with dead eyes.
She brings the knife down again and cuts into his other leg, randomly stabbing into him, knife held firmly in a reverse grip. Pulling herself closer using his shirt, she stabs into his back, and he throws her off, sending her stumbling down the stairs, her head cracking against the wall.
"Oh, oh no. Oh no, no, no. Taylor? Why would you?" Danny whimpers, watching Taylor twitch. "Oh no. Why?"
He cries out as he tries to stand, adrenaline wearing off. He sees Taylor's hand twitch, and he freezes, face shifting into baffled horror, as the veins in Taylor's hands start to inflate.
Underneath her fingernails, where all the veins lead, squeeze out small antennae, wet and translucent. They take a moment to orient in his direction, and then, her fingernails pop as slugs pour out. Covered in red veins and with skin like epidermis, they crawl toward Danny.
He grabs the rail and tries to pull himself up, knees aching against the stairs, but he can't. Too long spent in the office, not taking care of his body, has left him frail.
The many slugs crawl onto his foot, and then through his ankle into his body as he screams, a mixture of horror and pain writ across his face. Kicking his legs out in a vain attempt to get the slugs out, Danny begins shivering, shock and utter horror making him catatonic as he pulls his shirt up, watching the creatures make their way through his torso.
A giggle makes it way out of his lips as he feels them cross his Adam's apple, and as he glances up, the last thing he sees is Taylor standing in the dark with loose fingernails hanging by threads of skin.
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Heavily inspired.
Neonate 1.3
Danny is dragged by his daughter into Brockton Bay General Hospital. Blood dripping from his legs and a wound on his side. As they lay him down on a gurney, a nurse leads his helpless daughter off to the side, her eyes soft and empty, gently rubbing her back as he leads her away.
As they walk, Taylor looks around, waiting until the hallway is somewhat clear.
Brushing off the nurse, she barges into a room, ignoring the nurse protesting behind her. As she's grabbed by the bicep and turned around, she watches the door swings shut, then shoves the knife hidden in her jacket through the nurse's stomach, pulling them sideways away from the door as he looks down with wide eyes. She pulls the knife out and shoves her other hand inside before the nurse throws her away, stumbling away to the door.
A fog of nausea spreads through his body, making him waver. As his stomach twists in on itself he manages to brush his fingers against the door. Willowy arms wrap around his torso and hold him tightly as he feels something wriggling up his throat, his gag reflex forces his eyes closed as he pukes, blood leaking out of his nose. His stomach roils as he notices slugs crawling through bile, trapped underneath mashed up hospital food.
A second passes with shadows passing beneath the door before he stands up straight, and the boney arms wrapped around his torso release. He turns, and the two share a wordless conversation. He glances back down at his bloody scrubs with a frown, then shrugs, pushing Taylor ahead of him to hide the bloody scrubs as he pockets her knife. She doesn't protest, staring blankly ahead.
Leading her down multiple halls, eyes furtively glancing back and forth between the rooms, he eventually reaches a room labeled 'Employee Break Room' and glances inside before walking in, hand steady across her back.
Two people are inside, a young woman sitting at a table and an older man in a corner. The man is preoccupied with his phone, but the woman glances up and frowns slightly, "Hey, Louis," she says. "A-are you supposed to bring, uh, other people into here?"
"If I want to," he says tersely, feeling at the top of a chair. Sam hunches in on herself slightly, mumbling an apology as she turns away, unwilling to make a big deal out of something she's not paid to care about.
Louis hugs the wall as he walks, keeping his body facing the wall as he strides over toward the older man. Sam glances up at Taylor as she drags the chair over, feeling strangely unnerved as the chair grinds against the floor. Glancing up, she raises an eyebrow as she notices the girl staring at her vacantly.
"Um, want to sit here?'
Taylor heaves the chair into the air and brings it down on her head, drawing a cry from the woman as it rebounds of her head and into the floor. Taylor brings it up again as Louis stabs the man in the throat, his hands being cut as he grabs at the knife. The woman screams as the chair swings down again and falls out of her seat, she crawls away frantically underneath the table, hair hanging loosely over her face.
Louis reaches inside of his stomach wound and pulls out a slug, then slides it into the man's ear. He tears the microwave from the wall and tosses it across the room into Sam as she stands, sending her onto the floor again. He runs over and kicks her in the stomach, cracking a rib, before holding her down. Taylor crouches down and pulls her head up, pulling her hair apart until she finds a cut across her scalp.
"Please stop," whimpers Sam. One of Taylors fingers shivers as a slug squeezes out of her fingernail, dropping like cold honey onto Sam's head. Louis holds her mouth closed as she cries, and they both watch silently as the slug crawls down her face, over the ridge of her brow, and then bulges her eye out at as it slides in between her eye and the bone. A trail of blood pours down Sam's cheek before her eyes snap back into focus.
Sam looks at Louis as a trail of blood runs from her bloodshot eye, mixing with the tears, and says, "She's on the roof."
As they walk, Taylor looks around, waiting until the hallway is somewhat clear.
Brushing off the nurse, she barges into a room, ignoring the nurse protesting behind her. As she's grabbed by the bicep and turned around, she watches the door swings shut, then shoves the knife hidden in her jacket through the nurse's stomach, pulling them sideways away from the door as he looks down with wide eyes. She pulls the knife out and shoves her other hand inside before the nurse throws her away, stumbling away to the door.
A fog of nausea spreads through his body, making him waver. As his stomach twists in on itself he manages to brush his fingers against the door. Willowy arms wrap around his torso and hold him tightly as he feels something wriggling up his throat, his gag reflex forces his eyes closed as he pukes, blood leaking out of his nose. His stomach roils as he notices slugs crawling through bile, trapped underneath mashed up hospital food.
A second passes with shadows passing beneath the door before he stands up straight, and the boney arms wrapped around his torso release. He turns, and the two share a wordless conversation. He glances back down at his bloody scrubs with a frown, then shrugs, pushing Taylor ahead of him to hide the bloody scrubs as he pockets her knife. She doesn't protest, staring blankly ahead.
Leading her down multiple halls, eyes furtively glancing back and forth between the rooms, he eventually reaches a room labeled 'Employee Break Room' and glances inside before walking in, hand steady across her back.
Two people are inside, a young woman sitting at a table and an older man in a corner. The man is preoccupied with his phone, but the woman glances up and frowns slightly, "Hey, Louis," she says. "A-are you supposed to bring, uh, other people into here?"
"If I want to," he says tersely, feeling at the top of a chair. Sam hunches in on herself slightly, mumbling an apology as she turns away, unwilling to make a big deal out of something she's not paid to care about.
Louis hugs the wall as he walks, keeping his body facing the wall as he strides over toward the older man. Sam glances up at Taylor as she drags the chair over, feeling strangely unnerved as the chair grinds against the floor. Glancing up, she raises an eyebrow as she notices the girl staring at her vacantly.
"Um, want to sit here?'
Taylor heaves the chair into the air and brings it down on her head, drawing a cry from the woman as it rebounds of her head and into the floor. Taylor brings it up again as Louis stabs the man in the throat, his hands being cut as he grabs at the knife. The woman screams as the chair swings down again and falls out of her seat, she crawls away frantically underneath the table, hair hanging loosely over her face.
Louis reaches inside of his stomach wound and pulls out a slug, then slides it into the man's ear. He tears the microwave from the wall and tosses it across the room into Sam as she stands, sending her onto the floor again. He runs over and kicks her in the stomach, cracking a rib, before holding her down. Taylor crouches down and pulls her head up, pulling her hair apart until she finds a cut across her scalp.
"Please stop," whimpers Sam. One of Taylors fingers shivers as a slug squeezes out of her fingernail, dropping like cold honey onto Sam's head. Louis holds her mouth closed as she cries, and they both watch silently as the slug crawls down her face, over the ridge of her brow, and then bulges her eye out at as it slides in between her eye and the bone. A trail of blood pours down Sam's cheek before her eyes snap back into focus.
Sam looks at Louis as a trail of blood runs from her bloodshot eye, mixing with the tears, and says, "She's on the roof."
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Neonate 1.4
Taylor stares blankly ahead as the three nurses rush around the room; Louis jamming a chair into the door handle and giving it a rough shake, Sam delicately cleaning the blood off of her face with paper towels, and the older man, Walter, crawling up through the ceiling tiles before sliding them back into place. Taylor absentmindedly brings up a fingernail to her face, taking in the raw frayed edges, the blood on the edges, the texture of rust.
Sam breaks the silence of the room, scraping at a stubborn piece of blood on her hairline, "We need to reconnect, now."
Louis looks at the door, the ceiling tile that Walter disappeared into, and then at Taylor, "The cape on the roof, the anomaly. Are they protected?" He goes to the vending machine and purchases a soda. Tossing it up and down, he lets his arm drop to the side, he leans against the wall.
Sam, head dunked sideways into the sink as they wash the blood out of their hair, looks off to the side, eyes distant in though. "Not right now," they say, turning off the faucet. "But the sister, she shows up to collect her in 30 minutes." She glances back at Louis, a small frown on her face, she flicks her eyes to the side, at Taylor.
The pair stare at each other and nod. "We do it now," they echo. Both pulling on a pair of gloves and wrapping their arms with gauze.
Louis grabs Taylor and pulls her over, his skin buzzes as he transmits feelings of caution and trepidation. The most he can do at the moment.
Dragging Taylor outside, he finds the nearest bathroom and stores her inside one of the stalls, locking the door and reentering the hallway with Sam. The pair run down the hallway, ignoring questions and hollers of alarm as they reach the staircase, taking the steps two at-a-time. Bursting through the metal door, they follow the sound of an alarmed shriek to the sight of a teenage girl with frizzy hair chewing on a lollipop's depleted stick.
"Hey, what're you- shit, you're bleeding!" Panacea says, moving closer with slightly widened eyes. "Give me your hand."
Louis slams the cold soda into her nose, knocking her into the wall, she crumples to the floor as a woman screams in the stairwell door, the woman rushes back down the stairs, letting the door slam behind her. Sam frowns as Louis crouches over the cape, "Five minutes."
"We'll have it done," says Louis, reaching into his stomach cavity and pulling out a slug. Resting his hand over the unconscious teens mouth, he drops the worm by her nose and watches as it crawls inside her nasal cavity, leaving a trail of mucus through the blood pouring from her nose. Her eyes twitch as it burrows inside, and then open with bone-deep fear as it fully enters. She opens her mouth in an aborted scream, violently jerking, before going silent.
"Victoria will be here in 15 minutes," she says, as Louis pulls her into a standing position. Her sleeve passes across her lip as she wipes a smear of blood off of her face.
They rush down the staircase, a security guard rushing over slows to a halt as he watches them approach, "Panacea? Heard what happened. You alright?" He holds a baton, eyeing the two nurses warily. "These aren't the two who did it, are they?"
"It's fine," Amy says, voice gruff underneath her scarf. She walks up to him and grabs his hand; he has a moment to frown before he collapses like a puppet losing its strings, flesh frothing as it turns to paste. All in all, the transformation only takes 20 seconds. Amy turns the soft flesh into a condensed cube and pockets the substance while Louis grabs the bones now knitted together, and Sam takes the organs Amy molded into a sac.
An alarm sounds through the building a minute later as they crouch in the bathroom, Amy's hands against Taylor's forehead. Brow furrowed, Amy talks to the others absentmindedly, "They saw me do it, through the cameras. We'll have capes coming here quickly. We'll be cutting it close, they won't be willing to rush in without information though, even if it's a hospital."
Sam eyes Taylor with trepidation after a few moments pass, "Why is it taking so long?"
"Something is wrong," Amy says. "The pieces are held apart, like matching polarities." Removing her hand from Taylor, she turns toward the other two and takes out the materials collected earlier. "We're out of time. We need to set the stage, give me your hands."
Sam breaks the silence of the room, scraping at a stubborn piece of blood on her hairline, "We need to reconnect, now."
Louis looks at the door, the ceiling tile that Walter disappeared into, and then at Taylor, "The cape on the roof, the anomaly. Are they protected?" He goes to the vending machine and purchases a soda. Tossing it up and down, he lets his arm drop to the side, he leans against the wall.
Sam, head dunked sideways into the sink as they wash the blood out of their hair, looks off to the side, eyes distant in though. "Not right now," they say, turning off the faucet. "But the sister, she shows up to collect her in 30 minutes." She glances back at Louis, a small frown on her face, she flicks her eyes to the side, at Taylor.
The pair stare at each other and nod. "We do it now," they echo. Both pulling on a pair of gloves and wrapping their arms with gauze.
Louis grabs Taylor and pulls her over, his skin buzzes as he transmits feelings of caution and trepidation. The most he can do at the moment.
Dragging Taylor outside, he finds the nearest bathroom and stores her inside one of the stalls, locking the door and reentering the hallway with Sam. The pair run down the hallway, ignoring questions and hollers of alarm as they reach the staircase, taking the steps two at-a-time. Bursting through the metal door, they follow the sound of an alarmed shriek to the sight of a teenage girl with frizzy hair chewing on a lollipop's depleted stick.
"Hey, what're you- shit, you're bleeding!" Panacea says, moving closer with slightly widened eyes. "Give me your hand."
Louis slams the cold soda into her nose, knocking her into the wall, she crumples to the floor as a woman screams in the stairwell door, the woman rushes back down the stairs, letting the door slam behind her. Sam frowns as Louis crouches over the cape, "Five minutes."
"We'll have it done," says Louis, reaching into his stomach cavity and pulling out a slug. Resting his hand over the unconscious teens mouth, he drops the worm by her nose and watches as it crawls inside her nasal cavity, leaving a trail of mucus through the blood pouring from her nose. Her eyes twitch as it burrows inside, and then open with bone-deep fear as it fully enters. She opens her mouth in an aborted scream, violently jerking, before going silent.
"Victoria will be here in 15 minutes," she says, as Louis pulls her into a standing position. Her sleeve passes across her lip as she wipes a smear of blood off of her face.
They rush down the staircase, a security guard rushing over slows to a halt as he watches them approach, "Panacea? Heard what happened. You alright?" He holds a baton, eyeing the two nurses warily. "These aren't the two who did it, are they?"
"It's fine," Amy says, voice gruff underneath her scarf. She walks up to him and grabs his hand; he has a moment to frown before he collapses like a puppet losing its strings, flesh frothing as it turns to paste. All in all, the transformation only takes 20 seconds. Amy turns the soft flesh into a condensed cube and pockets the substance while Louis grabs the bones now knitted together, and Sam takes the organs Amy molded into a sac.
An alarm sounds through the building a minute later as they crouch in the bathroom, Amy's hands against Taylor's forehead. Brow furrowed, Amy talks to the others absentmindedly, "They saw me do it, through the cameras. We'll have capes coming here quickly. We'll be cutting it close, they won't be willing to rush in without information though, even if it's a hospital."
Sam eyes Taylor with trepidation after a few moments pass, "Why is it taking so long?"
"Something is wrong," Amy says. "The pieces are held apart, like matching polarities." Removing her hand from Taylor, she turns toward the other two and takes out the materials collected earlier. "We're out of time. We need to set the stage, give me your hands."
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This is spooky and baffling. Looking forward to more and hopefully starting to understand it.
Neonate 1.5
Inside of the security room, two guards listen to a woman, Michelle, ramble about Pancea being attacked as they watch the cameras. Deacon, the older of the two, watches with horrified fascination as Amy Dallon, the little one-girl-hospital, liquifies a man. Distantly, he hears Billy shouting that the Dallon girl just melted Roy. Michelle sobs into her hand.
Rubbing his eyes, and remembering to blink, Deacon raises a shaking hand to his mustache and thinks about the situation. Watching the two freaky, blank-eyed nurses walk behind the freaky, blank-eyed healer, the old guard realizes that he hasn't been this afraid since the day he was in the same town as Jack Slash.
"Dee, Dee! What do we do?" Billy whispers, suddenly at his shoulder. Deacon looks at his hand like it's a spider, Billy's fingers clutching into the fabric like hooks until it hurts, and it grounds him enough that he can think for a second.
"I- I don't know, Bill," he admits, standing up just to fall back down when his legs give out. "We. Let's just, take a minute. I turned on the alarm, so let's just. Lock that door please, Bee?"
"Cape just goes fucking insane?" Billy says to no-one, rushing over to lock the door, steadying his hands as he inputs the password. He hooks his hands in his belt loops as he paces the room, jaw clenched likes he's chewing on leather. Deacon watches the feed as he feels beads of sweat roll down his back.
"You'll do something, right?" Asks Michelle, and Deacon realizes that she's young, as young as his daughter. He imagines his daughter in Michelle's shoes. Deacon thinks of the way Panacea killed a man, a friend, with one touch, just like Jack did every time he swung one of his knives and it cut someone down from a room away, and he thinks of what kind of man he'd be if he let someone's daughter die because of a monster.
That man would be nothing like the heroes that saved his daughter.
"Yeah. Yeah, we'll do something about it," he says, smiling at Michelle in a way he hopes she can believe, and turns toward Billy, projecting a confidence he would give anything to feel. "Right Bee?"
Billy stops pacing, a mystified look on his face, before he smiles, "If you say so, Dee, you crazy bastard."
Rubbing his eyes, and remembering to blink, Deacon raises a shaking hand to his mustache and thinks about the situation. Watching the two freaky, blank-eyed nurses walk behind the freaky, blank-eyed healer, the old guard realizes that he hasn't been this afraid since the day he was in the same town as Jack Slash.
"Dee, Dee! What do we do?" Billy whispers, suddenly at his shoulder. Deacon looks at his hand like it's a spider, Billy's fingers clutching into the fabric like hooks until it hurts, and it grounds him enough that he can think for a second.
"I- I don't know, Bill," he admits, standing up just to fall back down when his legs give out. "We. Let's just, take a minute. I turned on the alarm, so let's just. Lock that door please, Bee?"
"Cape just goes fucking insane?" Billy says to no-one, rushing over to lock the door, steadying his hands as he inputs the password. He hooks his hands in his belt loops as he paces the room, jaw clenched likes he's chewing on leather. Deacon watches the feed as he feels beads of sweat roll down his back.
"You'll do something, right?" Asks Michelle, and Deacon realizes that she's young, as young as his daughter. He imagines his daughter in Michelle's shoes. Deacon thinks of the way Panacea killed a man, a friend, with one touch, just like Jack did every time he swung one of his knives and it cut someone down from a room away, and he thinks of what kind of man he'd be if he let someone's daughter die because of a monster.
That man would be nothing like the heroes that saved his daughter.
"Yeah. Yeah, we'll do something about it," he says, smiling at Michelle in a way he hopes she can believe, and turns toward Billy, projecting a confidence he would give anything to feel. "Right Bee?"
Billy stops pacing, a mystified look on his face, before he smiles, "If you say so, Dee, you crazy bastard."
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This chapter could use just a little clarification on who Michelle and Tiffany are.
I think maybe one of them is the person who saw the nurse hit Amy with the can, but not sure.
I think maybe one of them is the person who saw the nurse hit Amy with the can, but not sure.
The name was a mistake, and yes Michelle was the witness. I made two, actually. The second was that the heroes saved his daughter, not Deacon.
I'm going to get betas from now on.
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Those changes not only make it clear, they also feel like it flows a little better now.
Looking forward to more!
Looking forward to more!
Neonate 1.6
Eerie silence fills the restroom as Sam and Louis kneel down, heads against the cold palms of Amy Dallon. Dry sweat clings to hair that brushes against her fingertips, a look of blank concentration across her face.
A block of firm, condensed flesh is split into both hands, one half each. Bone from the same corpse rests against the ridges of her fingers. The blocks sink into them, compressing like damp sponges as she presses them inside, bones sinking deep, finger joints gradually resting flush against their skin as flesh ripples.
"These forms," she starts, "they're weak, sensitive to change. Easy to destroy, but hard to build. What I'm giving you won't be much." The still living flesh of the unfortunate guard is integrated into their forms, highly efficiently stored calories and protein filled batteries of meat burn through their bodies.
Fat reserves are sloughed off, and cartilage melted, refined, as bone marrow is eaten.
Hair production and waste cycles are halted, chemical reactions in the brain removed, the bladder and liver eaten.
Muscles enhanced, bones reinforced, skin toughened, sex organs stripped, nerves rendered impotent, eyes focused and nails sharpened, joints stretched until they won't tear even when turned in on themselves. Organ space is repurposed, molded into chambers that connect to fingers.
Throughout the process, waste energy burns throughout their bodies, fever-like heat scalding against the healer's palms. Shuddering against her palms, the two forms lurch to the ground as she releases her hold. Sweat pours off of their faces as the rise, shallow noses running trails across grey faces.
"You won't last long," Amy says. "In order to advance you so far, I had to make concessions. Here," she raises her left arm, "remove this."
A quick swipe from Sam has her arm tumble down to the tile floor, a gout of blood pouring across her costume, painting it rust red. Louis takes his belt, now much too large, and pulls it tightly around her arm, hard enough to strain the leather. Amy picks up the arm, still warm, and shreds it, turning it into a small block. Pressing it into Taylor, she forces production cycles into overdrive.
Need, she sends. Taylor raises a limb, hand dangling limply between them, as a slug crawls out. Louis hurries over, opening his mouth and letting the writhing things crawl inside.
Ten are inside his stomach before Amy steps back, a trail of mucus moistens Louis' lips.
"You know the evacuation procedures?" The two grey nurses nod, eyes sharp. "Good, Louis, go up a floor and spread us." He nods before racing out of the door, his passing leaving a chip in the wood.
"Sam," Amy says, attention focused on Taylor. "I need you to signal Danny."
A block of firm, condensed flesh is split into both hands, one half each. Bone from the same corpse rests against the ridges of her fingers. The blocks sink into them, compressing like damp sponges as she presses them inside, bones sinking deep, finger joints gradually resting flush against their skin as flesh ripples.
"These forms," she starts, "they're weak, sensitive to change. Easy to destroy, but hard to build. What I'm giving you won't be much." The still living flesh of the unfortunate guard is integrated into their forms, highly efficiently stored calories and protein filled batteries of meat burn through their bodies.
Fat reserves are sloughed off, and cartilage melted, refined, as bone marrow is eaten.
Hair production and waste cycles are halted, chemical reactions in the brain removed, the bladder and liver eaten.
Muscles enhanced, bones reinforced, skin toughened, sex organs stripped, nerves rendered impotent, eyes focused and nails sharpened, joints stretched until they won't tear even when turned in on themselves. Organ space is repurposed, molded into chambers that connect to fingers.
Throughout the process, waste energy burns throughout their bodies, fever-like heat scalding against the healer's palms. Shuddering against her palms, the two forms lurch to the ground as she releases her hold. Sweat pours off of their faces as the rise, shallow noses running trails across grey faces.
"You won't last long," Amy says. "In order to advance you so far, I had to make concessions. Here," she raises her left arm, "remove this."
A quick swipe from Sam has her arm tumble down to the tile floor, a gout of blood pouring across her costume, painting it rust red. Louis takes his belt, now much too large, and pulls it tightly around her arm, hard enough to strain the leather. Amy picks up the arm, still warm, and shreds it, turning it into a small block. Pressing it into Taylor, she forces production cycles into overdrive.
Need, she sends. Taylor raises a limb, hand dangling limply between them, as a slug crawls out. Louis hurries over, opening his mouth and letting the writhing things crawl inside.
Ten are inside his stomach before Amy steps back, a trail of mucus moistens Louis' lips.
"You know the evacuation procedures?" The two grey nurses nod, eyes sharp. "Good, Louis, go up a floor and spread us." He nods before racing out of the door, his passing leaving a chip in the wood.
"Sam," Amy says, attention focused on Taylor. "I need you to signal Danny."
While i Like it... I am kinda Lost about whats happening lol. Due to the chapters being so short I Feel like there are timeskips happening and im Lost about what happened. After Taylor Took Danny to the hospital and then "Attacks" i think? this just go insane and I no longer have any idea about whats happening.
I'm confused too.
Neonate 1.7
The prey ran.
Sam followed.
She could hear the sound of their beating heart, rabbit quick, as they took corners too fast and bounced into walls. Sam slowed down when they did so; they lost more time to mistakes than Sam would ever gain by running faster. Would they be horrified to know this?
Her clawed hands rip furrows through linoleum; too sharp to be natural, as is the rest of her.
The prey stumbles.
Sam doesn't
She pounces, hands splayed, and tears into the doctor, turning their blue scrubs black. They have an arm extended, fingers curled strangely, like they were trying to play a guitar before they died. Sam stands up, and a miniscule part of her, a distant recollection, thinks that the red blood around the nurse and their blackened clothes makes them look a bit like the Eye of Sauron.
It's unique.
She moves on.
Louis decides to take advantage of that fact.
Louis hears Sam sprint by outside the door.
They are both doing their jobs, fulfilling their objectives. Louis feels... proud. It is a programmed feeling, but are not all feelings programmed?
Vomiting slugs into the woman's mouth, Louis holds her jaw open to make sure she can't chew the slugs and tilts her head backwards to ensure that she swallows. Her protests matter little. When given the choice between choking or forcing down the blockage, most people choose the latter.
Louis decides to take advantage of that fact.
Some of the ones hiding inside are praying, and Sam wonders if it would not be better to stay silent, to save breath for running away and screaming.
She pushes her claw point first into the lock, slowly applying pressure until the metal warps, a seam opening down the middle. Metal groans and wood splinters as Sam spins her finger like a key.
Even if she couldn't hear their whispers, she would still be able to find them by their smell.
She finds them all.
Now Sam needs to find more doctors.
Sam followed.
She could hear the sound of their beating heart, rabbit quick, as they took corners too fast and bounced into walls. Sam slowed down when they did so; they lost more time to mistakes than Sam would ever gain by running faster. Would they be horrified to know this?
Her clawed hands rip furrows through linoleum; too sharp to be natural, as is the rest of her.
The prey stumbles.
Sam doesn't
She pounces, hands splayed, and tears into the doctor, turning their blue scrubs black. They have an arm extended, fingers curled strangely, like they were trying to play a guitar before they died. Sam stands up, and a miniscule part of her, a distant recollection, thinks that the red blood around the nurse and their blackened clothes makes them look a bit like the Eye of Sauron.
It's unique.
She moves on.
* * *
Louis holds the woman in place, she is young and fit, with no other defining characteristics. Louis is tempted to simply make another bomb, but hosts value certain aesthetics, and have a predisposition to trust and apply positive attributes to hosts they do not know as long as they are sufficiently attractive. Vague memories indicate serial killers using this method to lure hosts into a false sense of security.
Louis decides to take advantage of that fact.
Louis hears Sam sprint by outside the door.
They are both doing their jobs, fulfilling their objectives. Louis feels... proud. It is a programmed feeling, but are not all feelings programmed?
Vomiting slugs into the woman's mouth, Louis holds her jaw open to make sure she can't chew the slugs and tilts her head backwards to ensure that she swallows. Her protests matter little. When given the choice between choking or forcing down the blockage, most people choose the latter.
Louis decides to take advantage of that fact.
* * *
Sam is running out of easy to find doctors. A group has decided to board themselves up inside of a room, believing themselves to be safe. Sam is reminded of Jurassic Park. She's always admired raptors.
Some of the ones hiding inside are praying, and Sam wonders if it would not be better to stay silent, to save breath for running away and screaming.
She pushes her claw point first into the lock, slowly applying pressure until the metal warps, a seam opening down the middle. Metal groans and wood splinters as Sam spins her finger like a key.
Even if she couldn't hear their whispers, she would still be able to find them by their smell.
She finds them all.
Now Sam needs to find more doctors.
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