013- Yup, it's yet another long prose post on your flist!
It was cold, dark, and undeniably creepy: the perfect horror movie atmosphere.
"Fuuuuuuuuuck, I hate being right about shit like this!" Grif exclaimed to the apparently empty room, peering out the window at the suddenly spooky scenery. "Well, fuck that, I'm not falling for it! I'm not going outside and I'm not going further in here. I'm staying right here by the door! I'm not going to get knifed or chainsawed or zombied or whatever!"
He leaned against the wall next to the window and frowned at the darkness, his arms crossed against his chest.
"This is so dumb!" he shouted after a brief time.
And that's when the noise started.
It was quiet the first time. Distant. Grif barely noticed it. But then it repeated a little louder. And a little louder. And a little louder still.
It seemed to be coming from off to the left, so Grif took a few cautious steps in that direction, trying to make out what it was, when the noise repeated yet again. Only this time, it was directly behind him. There was no mistaking what it was this time.
"SKREEEEEEEEEEE!"
"SON OF A BITCH!" was Grif's eloquent response as he whirled around to find himself directly face-to-face with a bat, much larger than it had any right to be, its fangs bared and dripping with saliva as it screamed at him. His arm swung out wildly, in a futile attempt to get the bat away from him by any means possible.
And then suddenly there were more bats, all in his face with their fangs and their screaming and their wings and their relentless pursuit and their--.
"Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod...!" Grif ran, bursting through the door to the outside in his attempt to escape.
And that's when he saw it.
It was a tank, massive in size, and it was advancing on him.
He froze, the bats forgotten in the shadow of the tank. All the parts of his brain--his common sense, his self-preservation, his logical reasoning--they were screaming at him to MOVE!!!!, but pure terror kept him rooted in place, as the tank moved forward.
It never stopped.
Grif regained consciousness slowly, more surprised that he was regaining consciousness at all than anything. A conversation rang in his ears, distant and quiet, but perfectly audible. It had an unreal quality, like it wasn't actually happening. Like-- Like a memory.
"Don't try to move too much. You've been through quite the ordeal."
"Oh, man. Where am I?"
"Hush now shhhhshshshhhshhshhhhh. It was really touch and go there for a while, good buddy. But I did it. I pulled you through."
"How long was I out?"
"Don't you worry, Nurse Donut here stayed by your side the whole time, stroking your hand and keepin' you company."
"My right hand?"
"Your left."
"Note to self: cut off left hand."
"Technically speaking, it's not really your left hand...."
"Say what?"
"I had to replace certain body parts that were severely damaged when the tank ran you over. And a few that atrophied from a lifetime diet of hoo-hoos and bacon-flavored marshmallows."
"Wait. Which body parts?"
"Well let's see, we had to start with the shoulder, then we moved on down to the flank...."
"Huh?"
"Yeah we couldn't really find an anatomy book...."
"Made a left turn at the spare rib...."
"But we did find one of those pictures with the cow, and the dotted lines all over it...."
"Then up and over the porterhouse...."
"I think it did the trick."
"And of course the brisket...."
"Wait."
"And the hocks."
"Wait."
"Oh, the hocks."
"Where did you get the replacement parts?"
"Why from our other subject, of course!"
"Subject, my cyborg ass."
"No way."
"Yeah, I'm real happy about this myself, numbnuts."
"Yep, those too."
"Did I get your lips?"
"Prairie Oysters.... The gristle...."
"'Cause maybe then I'll finally figure out how to kiss Sarge's ass."
"And the ass."
"What the hell?"
"Naucy bits."
"What didn't I get?"
"We pretty much replaced all the internal organs, and some of the more disgusting external ones. Except for Simmons's spleen, which will be inflated and used for general recreation, and esprit d'ecors."
"This doesn't seem physically possible."
"Nonsense! Modern technology makes anything possible. It was as easy as shake'n'bake!"
"And I helped!"
Grif groaned, rubbing his face with both hands before he suddenly stopped, mid-rub, and drew his hands away, staring at them in horror. His left hand was different from his right: it was paler, and its proportions were different. It wasn't just his hands that were different, either. All over, he was a mess of contradictory flesh and bone and muscle, two very different bodies shabbily pieced together into one broken whole.
He got to his feet shakily, adjusting to the subtle shift in his balance. "I want to go home."
"SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!"
"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!"
((OOC: OK, tl;dr. Grif is now appearing in his nightmare as FrankenGrif and also is being pursued by bats constantly. You can try and talk to him, but you're not likely to get much of anything sensible out of him, because augh bats. And that's the full 3% of the event spent on getting run over by Sheila and subsequently being FrankenGrif'd.))
"Fuuuuuuuuuck, I hate being right about shit like this!" Grif exclaimed to the apparently empty room, peering out the window at the suddenly spooky scenery. "Well, fuck that, I'm not falling for it! I'm not going outside and I'm not going further in here. I'm staying right here by the door! I'm not going to get knifed or chainsawed or zombied or whatever!"
He leaned against the wall next to the window and frowned at the darkness, his arms crossed against his chest.
"This is so dumb!" he shouted after a brief time.
And that's when the noise started.
It was quiet the first time. Distant. Grif barely noticed it. But then it repeated a little louder. And a little louder. And a little louder still.
It seemed to be coming from off to the left, so Grif took a few cautious steps in that direction, trying to make out what it was, when the noise repeated yet again. Only this time, it was directly behind him. There was no mistaking what it was this time.
"SKREEEEEEEEEEE!"
"SON OF A BITCH!" was Grif's eloquent response as he whirled around to find himself directly face-to-face with a bat, much larger than it had any right to be, its fangs bared and dripping with saliva as it screamed at him. His arm swung out wildly, in a futile attempt to get the bat away from him by any means possible.
And then suddenly there were more bats, all in his face with their fangs and their screaming and their wings and their relentless pursuit and their--.
"Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod...!" Grif ran, bursting through the door to the outside in his attempt to escape.
And that's when he saw it.
It was a tank, massive in size, and it was advancing on him.
He froze, the bats forgotten in the shadow of the tank. All the parts of his brain--his common sense, his self-preservation, his logical reasoning--they were screaming at him to MOVE!!!!, but pure terror kept him rooted in place, as the tank moved forward.
It never stopped.
Grif regained consciousness slowly, more surprised that he was regaining consciousness at all than anything. A conversation rang in his ears, distant and quiet, but perfectly audible. It had an unreal quality, like it wasn't actually happening. Like-- Like a memory.
"Don't try to move too much. You've been through quite the ordeal."
"Oh, man. Where am I?"
"Hush now shhhhshshshhhshhshhhhh. It was really touch and go there for a while, good buddy. But I did it. I pulled you through."
"How long was I out?"
"Don't you worry, Nurse Donut here stayed by your side the whole time, stroking your hand and keepin' you company."
"My right hand?"
"Your left."
"Note to self: cut off left hand."
"Technically speaking, it's not really your left hand...."
"Say what?"
"I had to replace certain body parts that were severely damaged when the tank ran you over. And a few that atrophied from a lifetime diet of hoo-hoos and bacon-flavored marshmallows."
"Wait. Which body parts?"
"Well let's see, we had to start with the shoulder, then we moved on down to the flank...."
"Huh?"
"Yeah we couldn't really find an anatomy book...."
"Made a left turn at the spare rib...."
"But we did find one of those pictures with the cow, and the dotted lines all over it...."
"Then up and over the porterhouse...."
"I think it did the trick."
"And of course the brisket...."
"Wait."
"And the hocks."
"Wait."
"Oh, the hocks."
"Where did you get the replacement parts?"
"Why from our other subject, of course!"
"Subject, my cyborg ass."
"No way."
"Yeah, I'm real happy about this myself, numbnuts."
"Yep, those too."
"Did I get your lips?"
"Prairie Oysters.... The gristle...."
"'Cause maybe then I'll finally figure out how to kiss Sarge's ass."
"And the ass."
"What the hell?"
"Naucy bits."
"What didn't I get?"
"We pretty much replaced all the internal organs, and some of the more disgusting external ones. Except for Simmons's spleen, which will be inflated and used for general recreation, and esprit d'ecors."
"This doesn't seem physically possible."
"Nonsense! Modern technology makes anything possible. It was as easy as shake'n'bake!"
"And I helped!"
Grif groaned, rubbing his face with both hands before he suddenly stopped, mid-rub, and drew his hands away, staring at them in horror. His left hand was different from his right: it was paler, and its proportions were different. It wasn't just his hands that were different, either. All over, he was a mess of contradictory flesh and bone and muscle, two very different bodies shabbily pieced together into one broken whole.
He got to his feet shakily, adjusting to the subtle shift in his balance. "I want to go home."
"SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!"
"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!"
((OOC: OK, tl;dr. Grif is now appearing in his nightmare as FrankenGrif and also is being pursued by bats constantly. You can try and talk to him, but you're not likely to get much of anything sensible out of him, because augh bats. And that's the full 3% of the event spent on getting run over by Sheila and subsequently being FrankenGrif'd.))