Night 18: Hallway Near Waiting Room 2/Doctor's Offices
"Hell if I know," Cid growled back, not quite liking the demanding tone Brock was taking but at the same time likening it to his own mode of speech. "Didn't you hear the announcement on the intercom earlier? Fucker's insinuating some weird shit and I'm guessing the patients he mentioned are a part of it
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The woman who barred her path was dressed the same as all the other inmates here, but she had none of the 'lost' feeling that so many of the others - including Chusa - tended to project. It was as if the other woman had simply paused here on a trip and was simply having a look around before she moved on.
With the chainblade now roaring to an anrgy life, Chusa could appreciate the design a bit more. The cutting teeth were moving fast enough to shred unprotected bodies, not that it was deterring the man moving to attack. Chusa shifted her feet a bit, cautious of the lingering damage there but didn't move forward.
She had to raise her voice a bit to be heard over the howl of the blade, but Cid was right there, "What's he capable of like this?" She'd a feeling that the other two men weren't about to back down.
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However, what stopped him was that one of people was calling out his name. He thought he had misheard but he was definitely being called to. Obvious confusion was evident as he couldn't place who this person was; not someone originally from the town and he wasn't famous enough to be spoken about. Yet, here this person was running towards him, grabbing onto his wrist to drag him off away from the battle.
Even if that was what he was going to do in the beginning, he didn't need some civilian saving him. He had to have some sense of pride to do it himself. Trying to pull his arm away, he fought to be left alone. Even digging his heels into the ground so hinder the other's attempts to move them even more. Of course, he felt like he was coming off more as a stubborn child than anything else, but he already committed himself to staying (at least, long enough to make his escape unaided) to stop now.
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Finally....finally going to see a chainsawing!
It was Kasady's first thought, with the symbiote following straight behind, its waves of honest-to-God delight radiating throughout their shared body. The alien hadn't exactly seen one of these in action, and in person. Tonight was gonna be treat for both of them. Even if they'd gotten shot in the foot.
So this guy was some kinda freakshow. A regular carnie. Just like those mutants... those X-Men that pranced around in tights. He'd caught wind of them on the news every now and then. Seemed sorta weird.
Well, the Spider did too, but it somehow seemed less strange when he did it.
They watched from where they lay, grinning. Kasady swore that the roar of the chainsaw had his teeth rattling in his head.
Come on, come on, DO IT!
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Single eye rolling sickeningly back in his head, it paused jerkily, head twitching for a split second before darting toward the two struggling nearby.
Dashing with inhuman speed, it raised the chainsaw---
...And in a single motion swung, cleaving the heavy weapon through the shoulder of the young one and pulling. Bright red suddenly coated its eye, its head, its body as hard bone shattered under the force of the saw, and when he screamed, it convulsed and drove the saw further.
The boy stopped screaming eventually.
Tearing through muscle and ribs and flesh as viscera and blood splattered the wall, the saw suddenly jammed, coming to a screeching halt as it caught near the hip.
It released the saw, embedded in Cloud's torso, and they both dropped to the floor, broken.
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But not here. Not at fucking Landel's.
The sound was getting closer, and although Cid was pulling as hard as he could at the blond kid's wrist, they weren't fucking getting anywhere, and the sound was just getting louder and louder to the point that Cid was just about to turn around and throw the kid out of the weapon's reach---when he heard a hiss, felt a shudder from the kid's hand, and then heard a noise akin to a plane's propeller getting stuck in pebbled ground.
He whirled around, though the action wasn't fast enough, wasn't strong enough, to help in any way when the inevitable came. He was quick enough to see it, though--to bear witness with wide eyes when the dark form of one friend tore through another, to feel his blood go cold and his breath go numb as warm, sticky globules spattered against his cheek and felt anything but.
One final rush of the stuff, a spray that got his grey uniform as red as the guilt that weighted his heart and the nausea that swarmed the pit of his stomach. He took a step back as the guts and acid and blood and blood quickly pooled around the ruined body, hands shaking, mouth trembling.
It'd been a long time since he'd thought about the war, really thought about it, about the rotting corpses and dismembered limbs. It was easy to forget when you weren't in the thick of it, easy to forget how bad things could get when it was your people falling down and dying.
And now that's what had happened to the kid.
Dead... dead, dead... Cid found himself wondering, found himself thinking in the numb kind of detachment that comes to some instead of tears, thinking of his theory, of clones and memories and timelines and continuity--that if one had died, the rest could die too, and if Cloud was gone and Cid was still here, able to remember the exploits this Cloud had never lived to see...
Then Cid wasn't Cid at all.
The pilot (could he call himself that?) slowly looked up with deadened eyes, taking in the sight of the thing that had done this, the thing that this shithole had turned against him, or perhaps which it had created. He wondered what he had to fight for.
Then he wondered what he had to die for.
The answer to both was the same, and although it was a bleak conclusion, the process had given him something to ponder, something to stray upon, something raw and animalistic that made him grip his weapon and narrow his eyes, twist his mouth and let out a roar that came from some instinct with no nobility, no purpose, no higher cause.
He had nothing to fight for, nothing to die for, nothing to live for but to live.
He rushed at the creature that had been his friend, leaping in the air and hanging between the ceiling and the ground before landing on the monster's shoulders and twisting around. He aimed for the point between the thing's sinewy shoulder blades and thrust the weapon down as hard as he fucking could.
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She'd brought him here, to the place of his death. Oh, she hadn't forced him, but he'd followed, he'd trusted. And now his blood caked her, sprayed across her body and face. A lick at her lips was rewarded by a hot, coppery - and oddly sweet - taste.
She was... angry. She wasn't entirely sure why... she hadn't known Cloud, she wasn't responsible for him, but... but... he'd been with her. Followed her. He'd been... hers.
She didn't like people taking away what was hers.
Something coiled inside, tight and very cold.
The fact that her opponent wasn't entirely human didn't bother her, her eyes flickered over the altered body, assessing, categorizing. Nerve bundles there... pressure points... joints... pay attention to that odd cybernetic arm...
Cid leapt forward, the man had a surprisingly strong leap, going up high on what had been once a man named Vincent. Which left the low for her. The steel pipe in her hand lashed out in a fast opening pattern, aiming with instinctive precision on the leg to numb and cripple, sciatic nerve, knee joint, outer thigh, Chusa struck hard, long ingrained training taking over.
There was no howl from her, no battle cry or shriek. Just a silent join into battle.
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Rather, she learned about the others there. She learned from their reactions, from what they did, and in an instant, she knew how best to serve the Way.
The air suddenly seemed to be frigid, the Scholar's breath coming out as a cloud as she drew upon the frigid depths of her own soul. She changed her place in the world, to that of the cold arbiter of truth, and even if this world did not respect her place- yet- it could not help but to obey. Steam seemed to play off of her fingers as she gathered the cold into her hands, focusing it, giving it purpose...
...and then, with absolute and ruthless precision, she flung it at that creature's face, seeking to blind and slow, hoping to freeze solid, and the sharpened ice would slice like a blade should it hit.
She wanted to learn more: about this place, about these people, about the power that they wielded and the depths of their souls. There was much to learn here... and yet, there was also so very much to teach.
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What they hadn't expected was how loud it was, as bones shattered, and the chainsaw jammed. They saw it in clear detail, thick blood and tissue, and bits of guts flying. The kid had practically been cleaved in half, and now Kasady understood why some of those really crazy sonovabitches used chainsaws, despite the risk to themselves. The symbiote couldn't help licking their lips, partly with envy.
You humans and your weapons can be very.... artful, it sounded impressed. Savage, and sometimes primitive, but highly satisfying.
You said it, Kasady answered. That was something, coming from the symbiote. Like a compliment. The symbiote had some genetic memories of its world. The serial killer wasn't sure how the hell that really worked, but the symbiote was able to show him a few of their weapons and execution methods. Those had been foreign, but ingenious. All of them. So for the symbiote to be impressed?
Kasady couldn't help but feel a little proud of the human race. Sometimes they did things right.
Despite the agonizing pain in his foot, Kasady managed to pull himself up. Unlike the others, he didn't move to attack.
Instead, he began to applaud.
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Cloud had no time to wonder about the sudden shift of reality, nor what memories were replaying for him. Instead, he could only focus on the pain, the agony, the path that it was going as he watched the saw travel down his chest in horror.
No, it wasn't quite the pain, but the shock of dying, of knowing that he was dying. He thought he was screaming, he was sure of it. But, eventually, he stopped. The saw had ripped through one of his lungs, filling his mouth with blood and muffling any further cries.
His vision faded, blotted in black, filled it.
Nothing.
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Fresh meat, the symbiote shivered despite itself. It yearned, pulling even though it knew they were both not starving.
The world suddenly turned from the threat with the chainsaw, from Cid and the others, to the pitiful, tempting, beautiful corpse just lying there, with the best parts still intact. Brock quivered, even though he knew that whatever Alex did meant that they didn't have to eat to keep the pangs away (yet), and only started when he heard someone clapping a few feet away.
It was that youngling symbiote with the red-haired host. The fucker was actually applauding the kill. Brock had half of a mind to cuff some sense and maturity into the idiot, but found that he had more pressing matters. There was another symbiote and if he was like they were, they'd soon realize that this was essentially a free meal, young or not.
Competition.
Brock wasted no time in heading for the corpse, feeling as if he was being pulled then moving of his own accord, aware of the symbiote practically salivating in anticipation.
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Almost.
Shrieking in unfortunately unavoidable pain as metal struck it from all sides, many sensitive but a few devastatingly detrimental, it doubled over as suddenly the citrus sweet stench of deadly noxious fumes rose steadily from its body, permeating the thick air.
It paused in its wake of toxin, staggering as the bodies around it weakened and ceased their attacks. Its body was twitching, convulsing, wracked with pain and almost defeated even as the heavy poison settled through the hallway.
Vincent collapsed lifelessly to the floor, and everyone else only seconds after.
(end thread)
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