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
( Read more... )
"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.
"I'm a damn good fighter, though," Cid added to balance out the negativity in his last words. "Specialties are spears and machines, though I've yet to get my hands on either of the fuckin' things."
Reply
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."
Reply
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.
Kasady hated that crappy saying of "just follow your nose~!", but in this instance, nothing was truer. He didn't know this place's layout for shit, so it really was a matter of following that faint pulse. Everything looked the same. So despite the fact that he was following that trace odor, even they were startled to round a corner and see him up ahead, with another man.
They slowed down, enough so that he could walk (almost soundlessly - another perk of having the symbiote, although being able to sneak up on victims before might have helped) right up to Brock. He was all but breathing down the back of his neck.
"So, looks like we're not the only one who wanted to stretch our legs a little?"
Reply
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.
Reply
"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--"
A new voice in the darkness, one that most certainly didn't belong to his so-called ally, though it sounded just as dangerous if not moreso. Cid whirled around to face the newcomer, wondering if he had a history with Brock from the way he'd taken the trouble to sneak up on the guy.
Maybe he was just a weirdo. His mode of speech certainly lent to that idea, and it wasn't just that accent, either.
"Who the hell--" Cid began, and then something very slow, very soft, and very familiar cut him off.
The pilot's eyes widened, and though he was staring at the two men opposite him, he only saw the person at his back.
Cid didn't hate being right. He just hated it when he had to face the consequences.
He clenched his hands and he braced his wounds, his eyes darting around for something, anything to use and finally settling on a tall pile of construction rubble and materials that seemed to be blocking off a door to his right.
This was going to hurt. A lot.
"Fuck me," he whispered, and he looked back to the other men. One. Two. Three...
"DUCK!" He yelled, throwing himself to the ground and rolling. His back hit a block of concrete and immediately got to his knees, using two hands to grab at a metal pole that was sticking out of it and pulling feverishly. It wasn't coming out, and the burning pain that shot from his stomach to his skin wasn't helping.
Shit, shit, shit.
Reply
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.
Reply
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.
Reply
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."
Reply
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, it could be he'd lost him, he'd lost him for good, lost him to the fuckers who'd taken everything else away.
"My name ain't Jack!" He found himself yelling instead, some stubborn resentment more towards the powers behind the bastardization of his friend instead of Vincent himself. "It's Cid Highwind, and I'm sick of that shit."
He knew the only way he could beat Vincent would be if he pretended he was someone else, someone who deserved a pounding.
...Shit, who was he fooling? He couldn't beat Vincent at all, more for practical reasons than mental ones. The man in red had all the cards, all the power on his side, he had the gun he used to shoot the other fucking guy in the foot.
His life or his friend's. Fuck.
Cid's eyes darted back towards the debris and he noticed another item, something a little more accessible. A metal bar, just like the last one, but this one... this one was stuck under concrete rather than in it.
The pilot jumped for it and grabbed, yanking out with all his might. His hands went hot from friction and he was sure they'd be raw, but it came out, and with some kind of desperate resolution, he took it in two hands and faced his adversary.
"And you ain't James," he growled, blue eyes sharp and jaw set hard.
Reply
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.
Reply
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 faster.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Brock wondered if that idiot youngling had learned his lesson yet - he had got shot in the foot, even if he deserved it - and then decided that the brat probably didn't. He was immature, young...and thus inherently stupid. A young symbiote was a foolish one, by nature, thinking themselves invincible with no proper experience. Shaking this thought - this Other's thought - away, Brock focused on hoping he wouldn't get shot today.
Reply
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.
Reply
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!
Reply
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 placed on them. Bullets bounced off them, or never made it past the oily covering.
They had never been shot like a common criminal.
They were suddenly furious.
Reply
Vincent's smirk hardened into an angry sneer; they would leave, or they would die.
The 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.
Eyes blazing as he glared Lancaster down, Vincent spoke, voice gutteral and startingly different from before.
"Your demons won't save you from my own."
And suddenly his lips twisted and melded together, skin splitting and hardening and darkening to a burned ash as his muscles grew, tightened, and split the thin fabric around them. He stood slowly, towering above them all as his hands curled into wicked, gauntleted claws. Bandages from his headband slid over one exposed eyeball, the other rolling freely before fixating on the prey before him.
With a sharp tug of the rip cord, a deafening roar filled the hall.
Reply
Perhaps the pilot had made that thought so soon, however.
Perhaps he had only counted on protecting himself.
Some faint sign of blond hair came along with another figure. Cid glanced over to get a better look at the newcomers and found himself staring.
"Cloud...?" He mumbled under his breath, wondering how the hell he had the shitty luck to end up with someone whose face he knew at the last possible moment he needed it. He grit his teeth and ran in the direction of the fellow AVALANCHE member that wasn't currently in a brainwashed delirium.
"CLOUD! WATCH OUT, HE AIN'T---" Cid began before his run slowed and he realized something was very wrong. The kid's eyes were vacant, and the eyes themselves were bigger, the proportions of his face slightly off from what the pilot was used to.
Fuck. He'd been pulled from before, hadn't he?
"Shit!" Cid grunted just in time to hear Vincent's ominous words and whirl around to face him. The guy was transforming?! Oh, HELL.
...Well, Hellmasker, Cid guessed, but THAT WASN'T THE FUCKING POINT. Chainsaw was the main word that pounded through the consciousness of the pilot's brain, as was the sentiment that he should stay as far fucking away from it as fucking possible.
"Cloud! Fuck it all, kid!" Cid growled, grabbing Cloud by the wrist and beginning to pull him away from the fight, legs straining and knuckles white as he made the effort to save a guy who probably didn't remember him in the first place.
Cid was no coward, but when it came down to choosing between his pride and keeping his comrade's asses alive, he'd take the ass.
Reply
Leave a comment