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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Brock wondered what kind of mutant or mutate Cid was. He seemed far too normal for either, both physically and mentally, from what he'd seen. If Brock didn't know any better, he'd say that this Cid was just an ordinary man.
At least he could walk without limping too much now. Brock caught up to Cid, reaching out and grabbing him by the elbow.
"Hold on," Brock said, releasing Cid's arm. "Look, if some shit did go down and something happened to the patients, it'd be better ( ... )
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"We are sticking together," Cid answered gruffly, noting with some vague trepidation that the guy was taller than he. "I'm not stupid, and I'm not in the best shape either."
Still, the pilot could tell what was truly driving the man's words--some amount of fear, and some amount of vulnerability, though to what extent and relativity Cid didn't know. It meant that Cid was valued, even if just as a buffer. Good enough for now, especially when there wasn't a damned weapon in sight.
Cid turned and continued walking, slowing down a little so as not to send the other guy into a raging panic. Shit, and he was the wounded one ( ... )
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Brock hid the smirk trying to squeeze past behind a cough. Laughing in Cid's face was out of the question, but the blonde thought he was entitled to some sarcasm.
"That's good then," Brock said dryly. "If I ever need, God forbid, actual rescuing, I'll know who to run to - nothing says business like poking something with an overgrown stick."
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He really did think he was making progress with that one patient. It was a good start....
....And then they caught Venom's vile little scent on the sterile air. He could just barely smell it amongst the winding corridors and the heavy scent of the other patients, but he knew it immediatetly.
It was like a switch was flipped. Things were nowhere near settled with that jackass, and they wanted it settled now, now, now. Brock had to be put into his place. If he would just understand where he and that senile symbiote fit in, things would be just flowers and daisies ( ... )
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The air rustled his cloak, and suddenly Vincent's voice cut through the darkness.
"You will all return to your rooms immediately," he ordered.
Gold and once again clawed fingers curled over the hilt of a chainsaw.
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"Hey," he barked. It wasn't the first time someone had questioned his choice of weapon, especially in relation to how advanced his knowledge of modern technology was. "I ain't talking about a stick. I'm talkin' about a seven-foot long piece of sharp metal. Javelins, tridents--sure, it's barbaric, but it's fuckin' fun, and it works like a ( ... )
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They whirled and nearly went for the brat's throat the moment they recognized him.
That youngling, the symbiote went suddenly from spitting furious to cold.
It could mask its presence from them - like they could with the Spider - which meant that young or not, it did have some skill. Brock didn't have time to question the ramifications of what all this meant, when another patient suddenly materialized in the gloom and Cid shouted his warning.
Brock spotted something that looked suspiciously like a chainsaw in the other patient's hands, and decided that he wasn't going to sit around and find out if this guy was on their side. But with this idiot youngling here, they most certainly weren't going to back down; Brock sprouted the black claws and exchanged a pointed glance at the red-headed brat next to him that said all to clearly to get out of his way.
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It was a chainsaw, so what? Sure, it looked all easy to use and fun in the movies, but even Kasady knew it wasn't that easy. Of course he'd given one a try; he wouldn't be much of an FBI's Most Wanted if he hadn't.
The serial killer had nearly taken off his own leg with that experiment. He'd decided that maybe it was better not to get too ahead of themselves. Just say on the try and true methods.
The thing about chainsaws was that most people could barely figure out how to turn it on. Much less lift a powered one up. Controlling it? Ha! The wielder - especially an untrained and most likely not-quite-there patient - had a greater chance of decapitating themselves than the person they were aiming at.
The same went with the gun, except chances were they'd shoot that door several feet over than them. Although that was more embarassing.
They weren't too impressed. They were, however, prepared to laugh if this guy managed to take off his own arm in the process.
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Without a second thought Vincent drew the gun at his thigh, smirked, and shot the third in the foot.
Dance.
Glancing languidly at the figure trying to desperately to pull debris from the ground and failing miserably. "Jack..." he called with a sneer, usually stoic voice now wicked and anxious. "Glad you could make it."
The tip of a sharp golden finger slipped effortlessly through the plastic hoop of the rip cord, and Vincent's eyes burned a little too brightly.
"Turn back now."
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The bar wasn't coming loose.
Fuck.
Cid's body wanted to freeze at the warped tone of the man's voice, but he was smart enough to force it not to. Instead, he whirled around at the sound, facing the man with whom he'd slain monsters and bet on Chocobo Races (Vincent always won), with whom he'd shared interests and views, bullshit and beliefs.
The guy even had his fucking cape back, ratty old thing. Cid's hands clenched into fists as he took a step back, knowing that this wouldn't be like the movies--he wouldn't be able to say a few profound words and bring back his only fucking friend in this place. Shit, ( ... )
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Well well... this was an interesting situation. A quick sweep of her eyes told Scholar Ling that there was one main target and two opponents, with a third that had possibly not made up his mind. For now, however, she let her observationg be as much as she did; surely three men would have no problems against one, especially as he was armed with a weapon that looked quite... potent. Not something that Lord Lao would create- it would need to have more explosions for that- but possibly something he would have doodled in his spare time.
For now, the Scholar wished to learn more, and for that she remained quiet and watched. 'Like a crossbow bolt, perfectly timed,' as the ancients had it.
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Still, even if he was ingood hands, Brock watched that gun warily as he went for the other patient blocking their path. He hadn't ever been shot yet (thankfully) and even if a gun was just a primitive weapon to the symbiote, he would be the one getting shot at and that didn't sound fun at all. In fact, running toward a gun rather than the opposite direction was sending alarms ringing throughout his head - but they were commited and the symbiote poured more adrenaline into its host's body to push it farther and ( ... )
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Chusa came padding down the hallway - away from where lightning was being tossed about - and paused at the tableau.
One person not in the cheap gray clothing that the rest wore, being confronted by several others. The darkly dressed and cloaked man was the source of the gunshot by the weapon at his side and he was holding a very odd contraption that looked like someone had tried to merge a power source to a chain blade and done a rather odd job at that.
She recognized one man, he'd been in her memories from last night, walking amongst the dead monsters. He was moving in to attack and Chusa stepped forward, almost even with the one woman who was slightly apart from the tangle of men.
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There really are monsters! Though, it was a little disconcerting that this one looked almost human. He was almost hoping that it was some wildlife that had gotten into the reactor and not some ... person. Still, it looked like the people were planning on fighting it anyway. Well, it was either its life or theirs, but still, he couldn't bring himself to join in the fight.
Unsure of what to do (not like he could do much as it was -- the best he could do was throw his flashlight at the beast's head, and that would hardly be of any help to anyone), he could only stand and watch. A little afraid to look away from the battle, he turned to see if the others had followed after him, but it seems like they had not. He almost wished he had stayed with them, not separated from that group. Not like he could be any more help to them, but, at least he wouldn't be in the middle of some battle!
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Or that's what Kasady would have said, only it came off more like a strangled shriek. The symbiote was swearing in that weird-ass alien tongue of theirs that Kasady could kinda-sorta understand. Kasady was pretty sure he'd just let loose his own barrage of cursing to mingle with the symbiote.
They didn't remember falling to the floor, much less hitting the ground. All they could feel was pain, pain that the symbiote hadn't predicted and hadn't had any time to block. Agony that they didn't remember ever having really experienced.
It was pain and shock. And now that the immediate pain was fading (as long as he didn't move that foot), the surprise was really starting to jump in there.
Oh, Kasady had been shot at. A lot. By cops, FBI, a private detective here and there, a few flesh-containers who thought a gun was a good home security device. But there was a goddamn difference in being shot at and being shot. They'd always been successively merged as Carnage, with none of this shit-assed clamp on their bond that this place had ( ... )
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Vincent's smirk hardened into an angry sneer; they would leave, or they would dieThe chainsaw gripped in his hand had only a split second to start its descent as Vincent released it suddenly, charging toward Lancaster. Ignoring the sharp claws suddenly slicing through his arm, he sidestepped and snagged his collar, hurling the patient aside in a single movement before snatching the still-falling chainsaw in a pseudo-crouch ( ... )
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