[X] Ask what happened with the kaiju attack. Two attacks of that magnitude one after the other isn't supposed to happen, especially with so little warning.
I'm fairly certain it has nothing to do with the person we saved, beyond possibly that willingness to sacrifice being a desired quality by the symbiote. It's almost guaranteed the reason we're in this facility is because they had some means of detecting when a symbiote bonds with someone, and they chose to make sure they keep such people around. After all, this kind of situation probably falls within the 1% of people who have some form of powers, and that's a small enough number that's it's worth trying to save as many as possible to be useful later.Actually, what are the odds that the person we saved have some connections to this facility? I mean, by all accounts John was rather average before this and there were probably tons of other mortally wounded people around, so why was he saved instead of somebody else?
Sure, it could just be random chance/because he's the protagonist, but that's the boring explanation.
Watch it be a guy who's hero name is this:[X] Ask after the person you tried to save. You don't have a lot of details to go on, but it can't hurt to try.
I've been convinced.
We need that name!
[X] Ask after the person you tried to save. You don't have a lot of details to go on, but it can't hurt to try.
MOTHERFUCKER JUST RAN OFF WITHOUT SO MUCH AS A THANK YOU
WE NEED A NAME
You run down the slope, down into the muck and mud and rising water, through the covered work area, past abandoned tools and lunch boxes. You're reaching down, grabbing something, hefting its weight - a sledgehammer, still stained with concrete dust.
You can't remember what you said. Every time you look back and try to remember why it's just covered with more and more white noise.
You don't feel the hammer slipping through your fingers. You don't feel your feet leave the ground.
Maybe you just wanted to be something you're not.
His face falls at the sight of your wounds.
"Sorry, kid," he says softly. And he turns away.
You aren't in pain. You aren't afraid.
You aren't anything.
It's nice.
The tar-creature's head opens like a flower, glistening petals of oil curling back in squirming tendrils. The stamen extends like a tongue, questing blindly. Slipping between your parted lips. It leans down to meet you in a grotesque 'kiss', the petals closing around your head, sealing you in. Blind and deaf, submerged in darkness. You feel it pour itself down your throat. You feel the hot tar in your lungs, in your stomach, in your veins. So hot after the freezing cold it hurts. It hurts so much you want to scream but you can't.
You're alive.
All those years stewing in misery and bitter, directionless anger. Struggling and failing, struggling and failing and then, right when you've made your peace, welcomed the end of it all... that's snatched away from you too.
"The good news is that your situation isn't as unique as you might think. All over the world there are people with their own symbiotes of one stripe or another that live perfectly normal lives. In some cases, even where surgical intervention is possible, they choose to continue living with their new 'partners'. However..."
She meets your gaze, unafraid. "You're safe, John. Nothing bad's going to happen to you. I promise." Her voice is low, even and soothing. "If you'd like something to calm you down and time to rest, just nod."
"John? John, listen to me." She still hasn't raised her voice. She isn't backing away. She even reaches over the side of the bed and presses her hand against your chest, a warm pressure over your fake heart. Not even hard enough to be trying to push you back into bed. "It can sense you're frightened so it thinks you have to defend yourself. But you're not in danger, are you? You're safe in bed and nothing's going to happen until you're well enough to consent to it. Okay?"