OOC Jabber: I've decided with some nudging to continue Mach's story here as well as it's original home - The Hunters Life back on DragonsMark. Posted here will be the most recent ongoing tale of Mach while previous exploits can be found in the other forum. I don't have much interest in working towards another folder at the moment so free form posting!
Disclaimer time – Mach's story is very much for adult audiences. It will deal with dark, gritty, and grim events and circumstances involving folks of varying degrees of broken struggling in a non-ideal world. There will be angry words, lurid words, violent words, ugly words, and foolish words. Any posts that might broach the line of suitable public reading will be marked as NSFW.
With that said please enjoy. Feel free to jaw at me via DM or Discord, I don't bite... only nibble.
The Hunter's Life
Re: The Hunter's Life
The Karmic Puppet Hunt - Stoked Flames
Ignition
Originally Posted: April 29, 2019
"You sure you want these case files, sir?"
Mach paused in the picking of the various bandages that encased his fingers, a lovely reminder of the 'ravens' from his last hunt, to shoot the young soldier a gaze. "Whadya mean by that? I'm principal hunter here, yeah? Why wouldn't I want to look at case files for hunts."
"Well... t-that is, um..." The corporal visibly squirmed under his lone cobalt blue gaze causing him to take a mental step back. It was blatantly obvious he was irate given the sourness of his expression and the weary droop of his posture. Whoops, letting the ol' front slip. It was one thing to feel like he did, or not feel as it where, due to the ramping up symptoms of his disorder which were taking a heavier toll by the day. It was quiet another to actually let on that he felt, or again not, so to others; especially those who might report him to higher ups.
Forcing some levity into his features he straightened his spine as he took the stack of manila folders placed atop the counter. "Just that I'm a peacekeeper and we're usually a lazy sodding lot, yeah?" He spoke seriously but followed it with a light grin as by now he'd learned that winking with only one eye just did not work as it should.
This change in demeanor didn't seem to set the other at ease though as they continued to fidget slightly in their little booth. Maybe they were just a naturally nervous sorts? If that were the case then being assigned to the Rhy'Din satellite base had to be some cruel souls idea of a joke. Or maybe the military was just that hard up for folks to spare for a special trade zone mission in a land full of corrupting influences when tensions back home were at an all time high thanks to, well, corrupting influences. Either way he paid the flustered man little mind as he began leafing through the folders, noting the different case numbers, names, and infractions listed. "Um, oh, n-no sir! Not at all! Just... well... you're an A3 and all of those are, um, S ranked."
He paused on that observation, gloved prosthetic fingers unconsciously feeling over the danger red tag in the corner of the file he was currently browsing. They had a point, he had no reason to even look at these files and yet here he was riffling through the list of most dangerous hunts in Rhy'Din as though looking for his next milk run. Maybe the man was nervous because he was acting bizarre though then again what high level hunter didn't? There certainly wasn't a lick of sense among the lot of them by his notion. "Well, yeah, they're what I requested..." Fingering that red tag a little more he let the almost maniacally okay front that he'd put up tarnish. "Just... something I wanted to look into. Personal reasons. You know." Glancing at the young man they most certainly did not know as they just sort of stared at him blankly. Seriously, where the hells did they scrape this guy up from!? "I mean, you've read about the Sanguine Hunt, yeah?"
This seemed to register as a bit of focus flickered in the young mans thousand mile gaze. "Oh, yes sir. I... I'm sorry for what h-happened to... well..."
He didn't bother to hide the annoyance in that sharp wave off of incoming platitudes. "Sometimes you're the hammer, sometimes you're the nail. It happens, nothing to brood over." 'Over long' though he left that little snippet on the floor of his mental editing room. "That aside, that case presented as grade A level threat, yeah? Bust some heads, kick in some teeth, bam, boom, one and done. But eldritch horrors, blood cults, and that lot? Yeah... no. That shit show was S level all around. So..."
"So..."
He couldn't help the aggravation in that sigh as the corporal seemed incapable of reading nuance or making connections less they were apparently presented via brick to the face. "So I'm looking for other high danger targets that might be doing stuff that'll intersect with me and mine. Patterns, yeah? Deductions and all that jazz you learn in academy, but practical. They were there for the Sanguine Hunt but I just didn't see them. Can't be affording to let that sorta lapse happen again; don't have enough eyes to keep paying for that stupidity."
The younger soldier almost looked like they admired him and his sage ways, right up to that eye payment comment. Aaaand back to nervous squirming. Well, he preferred young meat to not get too cozy to him. Better he served as a warning sign than any sort of person to aspire towards. Look what happened to Second Lieutenant Cole Jacobson and all that violence that went down thanks to the hubbub stirred by the Temple of the Divine Mother. Another cyclops cyborg in the hunter ranks, just like dear ol' Mach... if the kid was even still in the military. If they were smart they'd have gotten out with that little reality check but then again hunters were about as intelligent as they were normal and if being near torn asunder by a dragon didn't get the shitty likes of him to quit well... Then again they hadn't returned to the Rhy'Din posting after their medivac so maybe they at least had more sense then he did.
Returning his attention to the files in hand he continued to flip through the pages of atrocities, not really sure what it was he was exactly looking for. Certainly not the patterns he'd impressed upon the young corporal as he'd certainly never picked up on those – neither back in academy or by experience. The only reason he'd kept one step ahead of the bullet with his name on it to this point was nothing but luck, and he was running out of that quickly. Couldn't have luck if you weren't conscious to gamble with it and his worsening spirita dissociation was making sure that his dice getting worse and worse. He was probably playing craps with a pair of four sided dice, and soon enough he was sure he'd just be flipping coins. So when the rules of the game changed, well, the only thing to do was to change the game though he was sure no one would approve of the new one he played. Lucky for him his 'winning' personality took care of that little snag.
Flipping through a few for folder with mounting annoyance at the lack of 'click' he felt with any of them he suddenly stopped cold at a name that tugged him to the core. "Gin..." He almost couldn't believe the name that stared up at him from the list of crimes – Benjamin Ural Reeves... Gin. The young corporal shrank back as his attention shot up to them. "This one - 4678DB4R11993012, I want all the case files on this one."
"T-That one? He's a low priority target, sir. Dangerous bu-"
"They've killed hunters."
"Yes... yes sir, why they're dangerous. But on the priority scale they-"
"No, no, no, no, you don't understand. They've. Killed. Hunters. Our... my kind. I mean, what the fuck, I thought this guy was supposed to be toast after Gin... after Cpt. Reeves hunt party apprehended them!"
"O-Oh, um, uh..." The corporal floundered as they backed off to the safety of their terminal far out of the range of his crazed look. Tamping a bit on the aging relic the young man the printer in the corner squawked to life as it began spitting out pages of report. "R-Reeves... oh... um... yes, their hunt party did apprehend them but... um, hmm... ah, they were able to mount an escape while in transit to Kerns Arandrast for processing."
"Kerns Arandrast? That fucker should have been given a seven gun barrage, not rehabilitation! What happened!?"
"Um, well, th-they... hmm, looks like they made a deal with th-" The man almost jumped out of their skin from the resonating boom of his metallic fist making hard contact with the wooden counter. From the upper corner of the room he heard the sound of the mechanical motor swivel the auto turret his direction but he paid it no mind. Oh no, no damn sentry was going to stop him from hunting and putting down the bastard that put a rail gun bolt through his best friends chest not even a year from getting out of the game!
Fidgeting the young corporal once more jumped as the antiquated printer beeped as it spat out the last page of an impressively hefty dossier. Gathering the pages quickly they cautiously held out the stack to him as though feeding an alligator. Probably a good idea given how he was sure he looked but he didn't give a crap at the moment if his mask was on or off. Oh no, not with such a perfect hunt to end his career on. "Gaines Clyfer... your ass is mine."
Ignition
Originally Posted: April 29, 2019
"You sure you want these case files, sir?"
Mach paused in the picking of the various bandages that encased his fingers, a lovely reminder of the 'ravens' from his last hunt, to shoot the young soldier a gaze. "Whadya mean by that? I'm principal hunter here, yeah? Why wouldn't I want to look at case files for hunts."
"Well... t-that is, um..." The corporal visibly squirmed under his lone cobalt blue gaze causing him to take a mental step back. It was blatantly obvious he was irate given the sourness of his expression and the weary droop of his posture. Whoops, letting the ol' front slip. It was one thing to feel like he did, or not feel as it where, due to the ramping up symptoms of his disorder which were taking a heavier toll by the day. It was quiet another to actually let on that he felt, or again not, so to others; especially those who might report him to higher ups.
Forcing some levity into his features he straightened his spine as he took the stack of manila folders placed atop the counter. "Just that I'm a peacekeeper and we're usually a lazy sodding lot, yeah?" He spoke seriously but followed it with a light grin as by now he'd learned that winking with only one eye just did not work as it should.
This change in demeanor didn't seem to set the other at ease though as they continued to fidget slightly in their little booth. Maybe they were just a naturally nervous sorts? If that were the case then being assigned to the Rhy'Din satellite base had to be some cruel souls idea of a joke. Or maybe the military was just that hard up for folks to spare for a special trade zone mission in a land full of corrupting influences when tensions back home were at an all time high thanks to, well, corrupting influences. Either way he paid the flustered man little mind as he began leafing through the folders, noting the different case numbers, names, and infractions listed. "Um, oh, n-no sir! Not at all! Just... well... you're an A3 and all of those are, um, S ranked."
He paused on that observation, gloved prosthetic fingers unconsciously feeling over the danger red tag in the corner of the file he was currently browsing. They had a point, he had no reason to even look at these files and yet here he was riffling through the list of most dangerous hunts in Rhy'Din as though looking for his next milk run. Maybe the man was nervous because he was acting bizarre though then again what high level hunter didn't? There certainly wasn't a lick of sense among the lot of them by his notion. "Well, yeah, they're what I requested..." Fingering that red tag a little more he let the almost maniacally okay front that he'd put up tarnish. "Just... something I wanted to look into. Personal reasons. You know." Glancing at the young man they most certainly did not know as they just sort of stared at him blankly. Seriously, where the hells did they scrape this guy up from!? "I mean, you've read about the Sanguine Hunt, yeah?"
This seemed to register as a bit of focus flickered in the young mans thousand mile gaze. "Oh, yes sir. I... I'm sorry for what h-happened to... well..."
He didn't bother to hide the annoyance in that sharp wave off of incoming platitudes. "Sometimes you're the hammer, sometimes you're the nail. It happens, nothing to brood over." 'Over long' though he left that little snippet on the floor of his mental editing room. "That aside, that case presented as grade A level threat, yeah? Bust some heads, kick in some teeth, bam, boom, one and done. But eldritch horrors, blood cults, and that lot? Yeah... no. That shit show was S level all around. So..."
"So..."
He couldn't help the aggravation in that sigh as the corporal seemed incapable of reading nuance or making connections less they were apparently presented via brick to the face. "So I'm looking for other high danger targets that might be doing stuff that'll intersect with me and mine. Patterns, yeah? Deductions and all that jazz you learn in academy, but practical. They were there for the Sanguine Hunt but I just didn't see them. Can't be affording to let that sorta lapse happen again; don't have enough eyes to keep paying for that stupidity."
The younger soldier almost looked like they admired him and his sage ways, right up to that eye payment comment. Aaaand back to nervous squirming. Well, he preferred young meat to not get too cozy to him. Better he served as a warning sign than any sort of person to aspire towards. Look what happened to Second Lieutenant Cole Jacobson and all that violence that went down thanks to the hubbub stirred by the Temple of the Divine Mother. Another cyclops cyborg in the hunter ranks, just like dear ol' Mach... if the kid was even still in the military. If they were smart they'd have gotten out with that little reality check but then again hunters were about as intelligent as they were normal and if being near torn asunder by a dragon didn't get the shitty likes of him to quit well... Then again they hadn't returned to the Rhy'Din posting after their medivac so maybe they at least had more sense then he did.
Returning his attention to the files in hand he continued to flip through the pages of atrocities, not really sure what it was he was exactly looking for. Certainly not the patterns he'd impressed upon the young corporal as he'd certainly never picked up on those – neither back in academy or by experience. The only reason he'd kept one step ahead of the bullet with his name on it to this point was nothing but luck, and he was running out of that quickly. Couldn't have luck if you weren't conscious to gamble with it and his worsening spirita dissociation was making sure that his dice getting worse and worse. He was probably playing craps with a pair of four sided dice, and soon enough he was sure he'd just be flipping coins. So when the rules of the game changed, well, the only thing to do was to change the game though he was sure no one would approve of the new one he played. Lucky for him his 'winning' personality took care of that little snag.
Flipping through a few for folder with mounting annoyance at the lack of 'click' he felt with any of them he suddenly stopped cold at a name that tugged him to the core. "Gin..." He almost couldn't believe the name that stared up at him from the list of crimes – Benjamin Ural Reeves... Gin. The young corporal shrank back as his attention shot up to them. "This one - 4678DB4R11993012, I want all the case files on this one."
"T-That one? He's a low priority target, sir. Dangerous bu-"
"They've killed hunters."
"Yes... yes sir, why they're dangerous. But on the priority scale they-"
"No, no, no, no, you don't understand. They've. Killed. Hunters. Our... my kind. I mean, what the fuck, I thought this guy was supposed to be toast after Gin... after Cpt. Reeves hunt party apprehended them!"
"O-Oh, um, uh..." The corporal floundered as they backed off to the safety of their terminal far out of the range of his crazed look. Tamping a bit on the aging relic the young man the printer in the corner squawked to life as it began spitting out pages of report. "R-Reeves... oh... um... yes, their hunt party did apprehend them but... um, hmm... ah, they were able to mount an escape while in transit to Kerns Arandrast for processing."
"Kerns Arandrast? That fucker should have been given a seven gun barrage, not rehabilitation! What happened!?"
"Um, well, th-they... hmm, looks like they made a deal with th-" The man almost jumped out of their skin from the resonating boom of his metallic fist making hard contact with the wooden counter. From the upper corner of the room he heard the sound of the mechanical motor swivel the auto turret his direction but he paid it no mind. Oh no, no damn sentry was going to stop him from hunting and putting down the bastard that put a rail gun bolt through his best friends chest not even a year from getting out of the game!
Fidgeting the young corporal once more jumped as the antiquated printer beeped as it spat out the last page of an impressively hefty dossier. Gathering the pages quickly they cautiously held out the stack to him as though feeding an alligator. Probably a good idea given how he was sure he looked but he didn't give a crap at the moment if his mask was on or off. Oh no, not with such a perfect hunt to end his career on. "Gaines Clyfer... your ass is mine."
Re: The Hunter's Life
Burning Bridges
Originally Posted: July 07, 2019
"Whadya mean you got nothing!?"
"Exactly as I said - I don't have any information on Gaines Clyfer."
Mach felt his expression souring; his already haggard friendliness twisting into a scowl. Of course the fact that one of the madsci's abominations had absconded with a clip of 45ACP and the holster that held it... and part of the belt said holster was attached to... certainly didn't help his crumbling demeanor. "Reg, come on, the guy's a madsci; well known even. You gotta be jonsing me that he's not even made a blip on your radar."
"Jones, Shirley, or Jim I can't tell you what I don't have."
He couldn't help that incredulous crinkle of brow at how many idioms the man with less culture than some yogurts just blew through. It would almost have been impressive if it didn't make the back of his neck itch. No, something stank... more than the bobbing fellow who looked like they hadn't seen water let alone a bath in days. Sitting among a mire of technology, discarded food wrappers, and energy drink cans the fellow looked very much like a pack rat in a nest with more than a passing addiction to VR. Jeez, those goggles hadn't fused to their face, had they? "You can't tell me what you don't have?"
"No, I cannot. I have not formulated an advanced enough algorithm nor a sophisticated enough machine mind which to run said algorithm so as to make such high level predictions much less precognitive ones. Now if I had a sample of the coding used by Doombell to-"
Rather than argue with the man he instead took the moment of distraction to peer about a few of the many murky shadows in that cluttered backroom in search of his stolen equipment. It was rather unnerving; though, that every shadow he peered into peered back! The room churned, breathed with the movement of wee mechanical menaces, all with just enough of a spark of intelligence to be very dangerous if their collective conscious so chose to be. But he was a hunter, and as stupid and/or abstract as that concept probably was to the hive conscious even they knew he wasn't something to take lightly. This was evidenced well enough as each shadow coiled away just slightly from his probing boot save for a few metallic horrors that seemed particularly slow on the uptake.
A smirk crossed him at that rather dark thought of Nietzsche spinning in their grave trying to decide which of the two were the abyss and which the peering innocence. He, for one, certainly didn't feel like any sort of innocent given the shift in his methods as of late. With that ever present specter of dissociation snapping at his heels he'd found that being even a little gentle and merciful in his hunts was a good way to find himself dead as evidenced by more than a few close calls leading to stays in the ICU at Rhy'Din General. No, prolonging a hunt was just far too dangerous now, especially mixed with the fact that he hadn't felt his hands in months and the failing efficacy of his regeneration. So yeah, when you had to hunt with brutal efficiency in mind, well, the results were... monstrous.
But this was the choice he'd made by coming back. And he liked to think that the little company he maintained here was worth it, selfish as it was given that he would inevitably fail them. Already failed those who espoused such hopeful thoughts to him in the first place given what little of their company he held still but then he knew the sort of man he was, knew how folks tended to underestimate or overestimate his particular brand of stupid.
Most folks at least, though those who had more intimate knowledge of the situation and culture which birthed such a right bastard as he weren't so easily fooled. It was this thought that made him rather suspect the madsci that rambled on still, chattering on in a way that felt more nervous than it did focused. Usually this would have merely annoyed him but at this moment it infuriated him. Time was a luxury he was almost out of and he had no patience to suffer fools trying to toy with the inevitable.
"-w from Hordal's treatises on nt'h dimensionality one could, in theory mind you, construct a-"
"REG! Don't fuck with me!" His words and tone cracked like a bullwhip in that small room stilling the churning shadows and silencing the bobbing madman in the middle.
The mania drained from their features, head cocking his direction though they didn't bother to pull off those goggles. "I... am not. I don't know what you seek."
In spite of their mild affect he could tell there was just a snap of defensiveness in those words. He'd always been decent...ish... at reading folks but his dwindling time had certainly forced him to hone such a skill. Some people from his past might have been proud of this development if he didn't use this honed ability to browbeat folks even harder then he'd stubbornly did before. Learning, yes, improving... "Because you didn't look into them in the first place, yeah?"
"I did. I... looked into them. I..." That indifferent affect squirmed a little under the steady gaze of that lone cobalt eye. Friendly as they could be with each other there was always that undercurrent of hunter/prey that existed between them which Mach could leverage. He didn't usually because it was a total dick move but then Regi had never tried to be a purposeful obstacle to him before. "...I learned enough. They're not someone you want to go after Mitch. They're dangerous-"
"All madsci are dangerous." That twitch at the corner of the others lips felt like an icicle being stabbed into his chest even as he spoke that classic hunter line. Damn it, he didn't mean, he... Biting back that wash of guilt he doubled forced himself to double down on that hard tact approach, his features hardening. "That's why I want info on the guy. They need to be taken care of."
"Put down."
Okay, no, this... this was wrong. Letting out that tension in a tired sigh he lifted that gloved prosthetic hand to try and break up the stern mask that found itself at home on those rugged features far to often of recent. Yeah, he was giving in to the inevitable and had given in to being a devil more than he should have but that didn't mean he had to give up all that he was or push everyone away... not quiet yet anyway. "N-No Reg... sorry, I..." Struggling for what he wanted to convey he'd just shake his head sure that neither he nor the madsci had the faculties for such a heartfelt exchange. "...yeah, no. Take care of. Someone needs to take care of this Gaines."
For being emotionally stunted and having half their face hidden he could still see uncertainty play across the madsci's features. After a bit of fidgeting with some random wrapper that edge of defensiveness once more gave way to unease. "Maybe. Maybe not. They're not actively hurting anyone."
"But they have, Reg."
"In the past."
"That doesn't-!" He caught himself from yelling at the madsci, a step taken back as he deep breathed in and out. "Look, they killed-"
"Gin." That unclenching fist of his froze at the name the madsci dropped. He wasn't sure the look he gave the man at that moment but the shadows seemed to still dangerously, holding a collective breath. For their part Regi seemed unfazed by all the tension as they continued to fidget in the same uncertain manner as they had. "I know the importance of that to you. I can also see why it may blind you-"
"Oh, no. Nononono, don't give me shit Reg, if you really knew the importance-"
"Blind you to the danger-"
"I said don't give me that shit Re-"
"The danger of-"
"REG!" Even the massive collection of computers strewn about the room seemed to quiet at that. "If you really knew the importance of what that man did then you wouldn't dare try to talk me down."
Regi's anemic form coiled back a little at the bare anger in his tone, their expression shifting from uncertainty to annoyance. "It is my understanding that makes my voice all more important, Mach." A sharp edge curled into their usually meek voice, an unusual inflection of emotion. "You are not thinking about this clearly."
Despite his better judgement he scoffed at that sharp observation. "Yeah, I'm not. 'Cause that ain't what I do. Some bastard harms mine I harm back – no logic, no reason, just nature. It is what it is and you should know that too."
"Is it?" They canted their head towards him, thin fingers lifting to finally push the VR goggles up their brow revealing dull grey depths sunken by self-neglect. They turned their gaze to him, their expression not quiet the emotionless canvas he was used to seeing on the fellow.
"Is what?"
"It. All that 'it' is – just nature. Because it seems more than that. The danger-"
"Is part of me job, my life."
"Measured? Yes. Poorly? At times. But this is more... Too poor to be this measured. This isn't just 'Mach brand stupid', this is duplicitous."
He glowered at the man but found himself faltering before that fluxless gaze. "It is what it is..." All his fire and thunder left him as it was obvious that Regi was on to him and what was going on. Damn them. "You got this all figured out, yeah? Then you know this goes only one way."
No flit of smug pride lit up the madsci's gaunt features as was usual when they pulled one over the hunter. No, their expression was troubled at best. "It..." Thin lips twisted as if they were chewing on a lemon. "This will lead to your death. You know this. Gaines Clyfer is a Hunter Killer. They have killed those your better. I mean..." He watched as the others gray eyes flit about, searching. "Isn't there-"
"I'm flickering out... more and more each day. I've also lost almost all of my feeling and no amount of concentration is helping. And all of this paired with the fact that I'm basically poisoning myself with regeneratives now and I'm still not bouncing back... it's just... it's time. There ain't a damn thing I nor the Way can do about any of this and I'm tired, Reg." A thin smile pulled upon those rugged features as he laid all his cards out on the table. It was almost cathartic to be so bluntly honest; even if he was cheating a little given his audience. "Come on... the least I can do is decide what prick I get to kick last. Who I get to give the last middle finger to."
The other rocked softly, their expression conflicted as they wrestled with all of this though he knew the void of apathy which was a hallmark of madscism dulled any sort of emotional response they may have otherwise been burdened with. Part of what made them so dangerous and hard to deal with. They were human and yet they all were missing to some degree or another something vitally important for being such. And in it's place? Well, what space was hollowed out was filled by the need of the spark and the void of the hunger.
At long last the madsci seemed to calm down what emotions they had, their form stilling as thin fingers moved to pull the VR goggles down once more over their eyes blocking out the reality their spark so shunned. "I... I can't tell you what I don't know."
"Reg-"
"I won't know. I can't know. Don't ask me to know, Eli. You are a bastard, coming to me, but don't be this much of one. I can't have your blood on my hands..."
The man spoke without inflection and yet he could hear the pleas in those monotone words. A bastard... yeah, bulls-eye with that one. Maybe two given a small part of him still felt twinge of annoyance that the madsci couldn't help him. Damn.
Shaking away that feeling of loathing he as well drew back that comforting hand which reached for the madsci. No, any comfort he could offer was only going to sour with time. So instead he did as he always did and took on a confident posture, thumbs hooking his suspenders. "Ok... ok... it's ok Reg. I'll... look into this some other way. Sorry."
His words felt lame and yet they were the only ones he knew to speak. Luckily they were enough as the madsci nodded, all trace of uncertainty draining away into apathetic somberness. Neither of them spoke though really, in this situation, what could be said? And so he turned wordlessly for the bead curtain that lead out to the storefront but paused as the slip of his partially eaten gun belt reminded him of something else he'd come here for. Yeah, bulls-eye times three, he was grade A master bastard. "Oh... yeah, hey, on a different note, have you looked into the other matter I asked about? With the arm?"
And as if on cue the madsci brightened even if they themselves wouldn't have wanted to. Any who said madscism wasn't a curse had never had the displeasure of realizing how monsterously easy it was to manipulate one. "The one from the dog girl you gave me?"
"Yeah, that one. Figure anything about that crystal yet?"
The other grew animated as they began to rock in obvious excitement. "That, yes. It's very interesting in how it-"
"Can you make use of it how I asked?" He felt bad for cutting off the man in the midst of their prattling but guilty as he was about his mistreatment of the man he didn't have the luxury of time to spare them the kindness of a good ramble.
Rocking a bit more Regi seemed almost like they were losing themselves to their own thoughts though his question did snap them back, if just so. "Quiet possibly, yes. I can have that finished soon if..."
"Good. Do that. No worry over expense, I'll need that soon, yeah?" For what purpose he wouldn't say but then he was sure, moreso than before, that the madsci wouldn't approve. Hells, he barely approved though it was something he knew he had to do. One of those last orders of business. "Just let me know when it's done and I'll pick it up... Thanks." He held on that last word just a little longer, another pang of guilt washing over him though as he'd grown so accustomed to as of late he pushed it down to deal with, well, never. And with that he quickly pushed through the bead curtain before any more could be exchanged.
Originally Posted: July 07, 2019
"Whadya mean you got nothing!?"
"Exactly as I said - I don't have any information on Gaines Clyfer."
Mach felt his expression souring; his already haggard friendliness twisting into a scowl. Of course the fact that one of the madsci's abominations had absconded with a clip of 45ACP and the holster that held it... and part of the belt said holster was attached to... certainly didn't help his crumbling demeanor. "Reg, come on, the guy's a madsci; well known even. You gotta be jonsing me that he's not even made a blip on your radar."
"Jones, Shirley, or Jim I can't tell you what I don't have."
He couldn't help that incredulous crinkle of brow at how many idioms the man with less culture than some yogurts just blew through. It would almost have been impressive if it didn't make the back of his neck itch. No, something stank... more than the bobbing fellow who looked like they hadn't seen water let alone a bath in days. Sitting among a mire of technology, discarded food wrappers, and energy drink cans the fellow looked very much like a pack rat in a nest with more than a passing addiction to VR. Jeez, those goggles hadn't fused to their face, had they? "You can't tell me what you don't have?"
"No, I cannot. I have not formulated an advanced enough algorithm nor a sophisticated enough machine mind which to run said algorithm so as to make such high level predictions much less precognitive ones. Now if I had a sample of the coding used by Doombell to-"
Rather than argue with the man he instead took the moment of distraction to peer about a few of the many murky shadows in that cluttered backroom in search of his stolen equipment. It was rather unnerving; though, that every shadow he peered into peered back! The room churned, breathed with the movement of wee mechanical menaces, all with just enough of a spark of intelligence to be very dangerous if their collective conscious so chose to be. But he was a hunter, and as stupid and/or abstract as that concept probably was to the hive conscious even they knew he wasn't something to take lightly. This was evidenced well enough as each shadow coiled away just slightly from his probing boot save for a few metallic horrors that seemed particularly slow on the uptake.
A smirk crossed him at that rather dark thought of Nietzsche spinning in their grave trying to decide which of the two were the abyss and which the peering innocence. He, for one, certainly didn't feel like any sort of innocent given the shift in his methods as of late. With that ever present specter of dissociation snapping at his heels he'd found that being even a little gentle and merciful in his hunts was a good way to find himself dead as evidenced by more than a few close calls leading to stays in the ICU at Rhy'Din General. No, prolonging a hunt was just far too dangerous now, especially mixed with the fact that he hadn't felt his hands in months and the failing efficacy of his regeneration. So yeah, when you had to hunt with brutal efficiency in mind, well, the results were... monstrous.
But this was the choice he'd made by coming back. And he liked to think that the little company he maintained here was worth it, selfish as it was given that he would inevitably fail them. Already failed those who espoused such hopeful thoughts to him in the first place given what little of their company he held still but then he knew the sort of man he was, knew how folks tended to underestimate or overestimate his particular brand of stupid.
Most folks at least, though those who had more intimate knowledge of the situation and culture which birthed such a right bastard as he weren't so easily fooled. It was this thought that made him rather suspect the madsci that rambled on still, chattering on in a way that felt more nervous than it did focused. Usually this would have merely annoyed him but at this moment it infuriated him. Time was a luxury he was almost out of and he had no patience to suffer fools trying to toy with the inevitable.
"-w from Hordal's treatises on nt'h dimensionality one could, in theory mind you, construct a-"
"REG! Don't fuck with me!" His words and tone cracked like a bullwhip in that small room stilling the churning shadows and silencing the bobbing madman in the middle.
The mania drained from their features, head cocking his direction though they didn't bother to pull off those goggles. "I... am not. I don't know what you seek."
In spite of their mild affect he could tell there was just a snap of defensiveness in those words. He'd always been decent...ish... at reading folks but his dwindling time had certainly forced him to hone such a skill. Some people from his past might have been proud of this development if he didn't use this honed ability to browbeat folks even harder then he'd stubbornly did before. Learning, yes, improving... "Because you didn't look into them in the first place, yeah?"
"I did. I... looked into them. I..." That indifferent affect squirmed a little under the steady gaze of that lone cobalt eye. Friendly as they could be with each other there was always that undercurrent of hunter/prey that existed between them which Mach could leverage. He didn't usually because it was a total dick move but then Regi had never tried to be a purposeful obstacle to him before. "...I learned enough. They're not someone you want to go after Mitch. They're dangerous-"
"All madsci are dangerous." That twitch at the corner of the others lips felt like an icicle being stabbed into his chest even as he spoke that classic hunter line. Damn it, he didn't mean, he... Biting back that wash of guilt he doubled forced himself to double down on that hard tact approach, his features hardening. "That's why I want info on the guy. They need to be taken care of."
"Put down."
Okay, no, this... this was wrong. Letting out that tension in a tired sigh he lifted that gloved prosthetic hand to try and break up the stern mask that found itself at home on those rugged features far to often of recent. Yeah, he was giving in to the inevitable and had given in to being a devil more than he should have but that didn't mean he had to give up all that he was or push everyone away... not quiet yet anyway. "N-No Reg... sorry, I..." Struggling for what he wanted to convey he'd just shake his head sure that neither he nor the madsci had the faculties for such a heartfelt exchange. "...yeah, no. Take care of. Someone needs to take care of this Gaines."
For being emotionally stunted and having half their face hidden he could still see uncertainty play across the madsci's features. After a bit of fidgeting with some random wrapper that edge of defensiveness once more gave way to unease. "Maybe. Maybe not. They're not actively hurting anyone."
"But they have, Reg."
"In the past."
"That doesn't-!" He caught himself from yelling at the madsci, a step taken back as he deep breathed in and out. "Look, they killed-"
"Gin." That unclenching fist of his froze at the name the madsci dropped. He wasn't sure the look he gave the man at that moment but the shadows seemed to still dangerously, holding a collective breath. For their part Regi seemed unfazed by all the tension as they continued to fidget in the same uncertain manner as they had. "I know the importance of that to you. I can also see why it may blind you-"
"Oh, no. Nononono, don't give me shit Reg, if you really knew the importance-"
"Blind you to the danger-"
"I said don't give me that shit Re-"
"The danger of-"
"REG!" Even the massive collection of computers strewn about the room seemed to quiet at that. "If you really knew the importance of what that man did then you wouldn't dare try to talk me down."
Regi's anemic form coiled back a little at the bare anger in his tone, their expression shifting from uncertainty to annoyance. "It is my understanding that makes my voice all more important, Mach." A sharp edge curled into their usually meek voice, an unusual inflection of emotion. "You are not thinking about this clearly."
Despite his better judgement he scoffed at that sharp observation. "Yeah, I'm not. 'Cause that ain't what I do. Some bastard harms mine I harm back – no logic, no reason, just nature. It is what it is and you should know that too."
"Is it?" They canted their head towards him, thin fingers lifting to finally push the VR goggles up their brow revealing dull grey depths sunken by self-neglect. They turned their gaze to him, their expression not quiet the emotionless canvas he was used to seeing on the fellow.
"Is what?"
"It. All that 'it' is – just nature. Because it seems more than that. The danger-"
"Is part of me job, my life."
"Measured? Yes. Poorly? At times. But this is more... Too poor to be this measured. This isn't just 'Mach brand stupid', this is duplicitous."
He glowered at the man but found himself faltering before that fluxless gaze. "It is what it is..." All his fire and thunder left him as it was obvious that Regi was on to him and what was going on. Damn them. "You got this all figured out, yeah? Then you know this goes only one way."
No flit of smug pride lit up the madsci's gaunt features as was usual when they pulled one over the hunter. No, their expression was troubled at best. "It..." Thin lips twisted as if they were chewing on a lemon. "This will lead to your death. You know this. Gaines Clyfer is a Hunter Killer. They have killed those your better. I mean..." He watched as the others gray eyes flit about, searching. "Isn't there-"
"I'm flickering out... more and more each day. I've also lost almost all of my feeling and no amount of concentration is helping. And all of this paired with the fact that I'm basically poisoning myself with regeneratives now and I'm still not bouncing back... it's just... it's time. There ain't a damn thing I nor the Way can do about any of this and I'm tired, Reg." A thin smile pulled upon those rugged features as he laid all his cards out on the table. It was almost cathartic to be so bluntly honest; even if he was cheating a little given his audience. "Come on... the least I can do is decide what prick I get to kick last. Who I get to give the last middle finger to."
The other rocked softly, their expression conflicted as they wrestled with all of this though he knew the void of apathy which was a hallmark of madscism dulled any sort of emotional response they may have otherwise been burdened with. Part of what made them so dangerous and hard to deal with. They were human and yet they all were missing to some degree or another something vitally important for being such. And in it's place? Well, what space was hollowed out was filled by the need of the spark and the void of the hunger.
At long last the madsci seemed to calm down what emotions they had, their form stilling as thin fingers moved to pull the VR goggles down once more over their eyes blocking out the reality their spark so shunned. "I... I can't tell you what I don't know."
"Reg-"
"I won't know. I can't know. Don't ask me to know, Eli. You are a bastard, coming to me, but don't be this much of one. I can't have your blood on my hands..."
The man spoke without inflection and yet he could hear the pleas in those monotone words. A bastard... yeah, bulls-eye with that one. Maybe two given a small part of him still felt twinge of annoyance that the madsci couldn't help him. Damn.
Shaking away that feeling of loathing he as well drew back that comforting hand which reached for the madsci. No, any comfort he could offer was only going to sour with time. So instead he did as he always did and took on a confident posture, thumbs hooking his suspenders. "Ok... ok... it's ok Reg. I'll... look into this some other way. Sorry."
His words felt lame and yet they were the only ones he knew to speak. Luckily they were enough as the madsci nodded, all trace of uncertainty draining away into apathetic somberness. Neither of them spoke though really, in this situation, what could be said? And so he turned wordlessly for the bead curtain that lead out to the storefront but paused as the slip of his partially eaten gun belt reminded him of something else he'd come here for. Yeah, bulls-eye times three, he was grade A master bastard. "Oh... yeah, hey, on a different note, have you looked into the other matter I asked about? With the arm?"
And as if on cue the madsci brightened even if they themselves wouldn't have wanted to. Any who said madscism wasn't a curse had never had the displeasure of realizing how monsterously easy it was to manipulate one. "The one from the dog girl you gave me?"
"Yeah, that one. Figure anything about that crystal yet?"
The other grew animated as they began to rock in obvious excitement. "That, yes. It's very interesting in how it-"
"Can you make use of it how I asked?" He felt bad for cutting off the man in the midst of their prattling but guilty as he was about his mistreatment of the man he didn't have the luxury of time to spare them the kindness of a good ramble.
Rocking a bit more Regi seemed almost like they were losing themselves to their own thoughts though his question did snap them back, if just so. "Quiet possibly, yes. I can have that finished soon if..."
"Good. Do that. No worry over expense, I'll need that soon, yeah?" For what purpose he wouldn't say but then he was sure, moreso than before, that the madsci wouldn't approve. Hells, he barely approved though it was something he knew he had to do. One of those last orders of business. "Just let me know when it's done and I'll pick it up... Thanks." He held on that last word just a little longer, another pang of guilt washing over him though as he'd grown so accustomed to as of late he pushed it down to deal with, well, never. And with that he quickly pushed through the bead curtain before any more could be exchanged.
Re: The Hunter's Life
Midnight Oil
Originally Posted: December 25, 2019
A wary sigh escaped the schmooze as he tipped back into plush leather that had been flattened with use, the chair giving off a complaintive groan which pitched into a whine as he kicked off into a lazy spin. That lone cobalt eye didn't focus on anything in particular as the small room blurred around him, a long moment taken simply to dissociate from everything as he gave his mind a much needed break. Going for a few more rounds he finally let his gaze drop to the glowing triplet of monitors that passed in and out of his vision, a menagerie of documents plastered across the electronic canvas. Case files, news stories, journal articles, dossiers, records both legal and medical – all revolving around the grainy, mussy looking fellow in the photo placed smack dab in the middle. The last known photo of Gaines Roybal Clyfer.
Research wasn't the sort of work he was suited to as it lacked that certain amount of sex, violence, and/or explosions as was his wheelhouse, but it was a necessary part of the job. Oh sure, there was nothing more satisfying than absolutely gutting a mad cult of mages worshiping some eldritch blood horror with nothing but his wit, guile, and an exorbitant amount of rage fueled violence... except for maybe anything else. His handling and 'resolution' of the Sanguine Hunt was an absolute fluster cuck of an operation that literally saw his handsome mug sandpapered off which was an experience he would have been glad never to have. If anything it was sheer dumb luck he was still walking and talking after such a royal screw up when other hunters had paid the ultimate price for less.
But luck, dumb or otherwise, was not going to get him through this hunt. If anything nothing was likely to get him through this alive. The unassuming madsci; middle aged, lanky build, merely middling megalomania; from a ho-hum background had nonetheless chewed up and left more than two dozen hunter corpses in half so many years. The man was a certified hunter killer, but other than the occasional 'experiment' on folks of the normy population they were rather inactive for being a mad scientist. And so they had been branded a minor threat to society which was why they'd never ranked as a high priority target and never warranted the true might of the hammer that was the U.T.R.A.. Oh sure they had a hefty bounty on their head but the general consensus was - dangerous enough not to mess with but benign enough to ignore. If anything most of the hunters killed had happened upon Gaines by accident. That's what had happened to Gin after all - wrong place, wrong time, wrong mark and for that... yeah.
No, he didn't have any misconceptions about his odds of coming out of this alive, but by the hells he would take that bastard with him. And when one went into a no win situation without any need to plan for an exit, well, it opened up all kinds of new possibilities to screw up things for all involved. That was his hope at least though enacting this bit of Art of War-esque clever was going to be much harder than he'd expected. 'Know your enemy' was well and good when your enemy was prolific and highly visible but Gaines was proving to be anything but. First popping up on radars two decades prior the madsci was hardly prolific nor highly visible. They didn't cause massive amounts of damage, didn't disturb the public, didn't monologue, didn't have some grand world changing scheme. They didn't even have an MO, not really anyway. Mostly folks just disappeared and occasionally dissected remains reappeared. Rarer still folks reappeared driven mad by the... work... done to them by the madsci and usually had to be put down before answering any questions. And between those two options sat the third option mostly reserved for hunters: being found with a bowling ball sized hole punched out of their chests.
Those unfortunate enough not to be killed outright were usually forcibly augmented with prosthesis and organs of poor quality, had bits and bobs removed, and usually suffered from massive amounts of brain trauma and psychotropic torture. As for targets there wasn't any real pattern other than random normy humans... and the occasional hunter. Worse still the man didn't operate continuously vanishing before any serious investigation could ever get under away, staying so for months or years, and when they surfaced it was never in the same place twice. Tanga, neighboring nations, and now even Rhy'Din was fair game for the madsci's brand of horror.
Given all this it almost seemed Gaines Clyfer were just some run of the mill psychopath than a madsci, but then there was a certain clinical methodicalness to the tragedies they left in their wake. And what more there was a definite... hunger... to be seen in their work if one looked close enough. Gaines was searching for something though he nor any of the profilers that had worked up their case had ventured a good guess as to what.
So they had no patterns, no ticks, no idiosyncrasies, and a penchant for killing folks that just happen on them by accident. And what more his usual contacts either didn't seem to know about the man or were suddenly struck by a crisis of conscious in regards to his well-being. Yeah... this hunt was really looking like it was going to end with him getting a new chest piercing at this rate. Kicking off for another few spins he finally lurched out of the chair, hand snatching his phone with a displeased groan. Looks like he was going to have to eat crow and hit up some.. less usual... contacts.
Originally Posted: December 25, 2019
A wary sigh escaped the schmooze as he tipped back into plush leather that had been flattened with use, the chair giving off a complaintive groan which pitched into a whine as he kicked off into a lazy spin. That lone cobalt eye didn't focus on anything in particular as the small room blurred around him, a long moment taken simply to dissociate from everything as he gave his mind a much needed break. Going for a few more rounds he finally let his gaze drop to the glowing triplet of monitors that passed in and out of his vision, a menagerie of documents plastered across the electronic canvas. Case files, news stories, journal articles, dossiers, records both legal and medical – all revolving around the grainy, mussy looking fellow in the photo placed smack dab in the middle. The last known photo of Gaines Roybal Clyfer.
Research wasn't the sort of work he was suited to as it lacked that certain amount of sex, violence, and/or explosions as was his wheelhouse, but it was a necessary part of the job. Oh sure, there was nothing more satisfying than absolutely gutting a mad cult of mages worshiping some eldritch blood horror with nothing but his wit, guile, and an exorbitant amount of rage fueled violence... except for maybe anything else. His handling and 'resolution' of the Sanguine Hunt was an absolute fluster cuck of an operation that literally saw his handsome mug sandpapered off which was an experience he would have been glad never to have. If anything it was sheer dumb luck he was still walking and talking after such a royal screw up when other hunters had paid the ultimate price for less.
But luck, dumb or otherwise, was not going to get him through this hunt. If anything nothing was likely to get him through this alive. The unassuming madsci; middle aged, lanky build, merely middling megalomania; from a ho-hum background had nonetheless chewed up and left more than two dozen hunter corpses in half so many years. The man was a certified hunter killer, but other than the occasional 'experiment' on folks of the normy population they were rather inactive for being a mad scientist. And so they had been branded a minor threat to society which was why they'd never ranked as a high priority target and never warranted the true might of the hammer that was the U.T.R.A.. Oh sure they had a hefty bounty on their head but the general consensus was - dangerous enough not to mess with but benign enough to ignore. If anything most of the hunters killed had happened upon Gaines by accident. That's what had happened to Gin after all - wrong place, wrong time, wrong mark and for that... yeah.
No, he didn't have any misconceptions about his odds of coming out of this alive, but by the hells he would take that bastard with him. And when one went into a no win situation without any need to plan for an exit, well, it opened up all kinds of new possibilities to screw up things for all involved. That was his hope at least though enacting this bit of Art of War-esque clever was going to be much harder than he'd expected. 'Know your enemy' was well and good when your enemy was prolific and highly visible but Gaines was proving to be anything but. First popping up on radars two decades prior the madsci was hardly prolific nor highly visible. They didn't cause massive amounts of damage, didn't disturb the public, didn't monologue, didn't have some grand world changing scheme. They didn't even have an MO, not really anyway. Mostly folks just disappeared and occasionally dissected remains reappeared. Rarer still folks reappeared driven mad by the... work... done to them by the madsci and usually had to be put down before answering any questions. And between those two options sat the third option mostly reserved for hunters: being found with a bowling ball sized hole punched out of their chests.
Those unfortunate enough not to be killed outright were usually forcibly augmented with prosthesis and organs of poor quality, had bits and bobs removed, and usually suffered from massive amounts of brain trauma and psychotropic torture. As for targets there wasn't any real pattern other than random normy humans... and the occasional hunter. Worse still the man didn't operate continuously vanishing before any serious investigation could ever get under away, staying so for months or years, and when they surfaced it was never in the same place twice. Tanga, neighboring nations, and now even Rhy'Din was fair game for the madsci's brand of horror.
Given all this it almost seemed Gaines Clyfer were just some run of the mill psychopath than a madsci, but then there was a certain clinical methodicalness to the tragedies they left in their wake. And what more there was a definite... hunger... to be seen in their work if one looked close enough. Gaines was searching for something though he nor any of the profilers that had worked up their case had ventured a good guess as to what.
So they had no patterns, no ticks, no idiosyncrasies, and a penchant for killing folks that just happen on them by accident. And what more his usual contacts either didn't seem to know about the man or were suddenly struck by a crisis of conscious in regards to his well-being. Yeah... this hunt was really looking like it was going to end with him getting a new chest piercing at this rate. Kicking off for another few spins he finally lurched out of the chair, hand snatching his phone with a displeased groan. Looks like he was going to have to eat crow and hit up some.. less usual... contacts.
Re: The Hunter's Life
Playing with Fire
Originally Posted: June 08, 2020
He hated how familiar the cobbles beneath his booted heels seemed. Meant he'd been here far too often for his liking though in honesty once was more than enough. Still, he couldn't help but feel just a little relief as the omnipresent pressure of being monitored eased into the less suffocating merely being observed. The dead drop message he'd sent earlier indicating his imminent visit ensured this with the need for the eyes of the U.T.R.A. to be guided away from his more... explicitly illegal bordering on treasonous dealings. It had been surprising and annoying to learn that the surveillance of his purity which had caused him so much grief early on in Rhy'Din was being conducted by a single intelligence officer who rarely left the satellite office and a few local subcontracted private detectives who themselves subcontracted to a small host of informants. Hardly the omnipresent law enforcement surveillance network or the galvanized public willing and able to report on the wrong doings, perceived or real, of hunters and neighbors alike such as how things were back in Tanga. He'd simply assumed that the ever present eye was an always and there weren't a thing he could do about it while still coming off as somewhat normal socially. Clandestine worked when meeting with the odd madsci who was already keen on avoiding the eye of the law to begin with, not so much when trying to build a relationship or at least score a warm body to share a bed. And so when his perspective was adjusted by his newfound... associates... it left a very bitter taste in his mouth. Would he have been treated the villain after the debacle of the Sanguine Hunt if his superiors hadn't had so much ammo against his purity thanks to the snooping of a few detectives? Would he simply have been slapped on the wrist for general negligence and sent right back on post once he regrew his teeth? Well, probably not, given this was still him and all but still, things probably would have been much easier without the hounding specter of purity always breathing down his neck if only in his own imagination.
Stepping up to the storefront he steeled himself as always, a force of habit which grew into a need to show he wasn't complacent in his underhanded dealings; even if only to himself. Setting gloved hand on the heavy weight of his caster he pushed through the door, the cadence of bells announcing his arrival. To the left Phineas and Rolo looked up from their game of Blind Hughie, the bone crushers sizing him up momentarily before greeting him with an all too familiar up-nod. Damn it. Returning the gesture in kind he passed down the central aisle flanked by shelves of jars, bottles, and vials containing a myriad of ingredients. At the end sat that old oaken counter with the proprietor of the shop sitting behind the bulwark piece of furniture wearing a well kept if not aged looking burgundy suit which would have been the vogue of fashion back on 1880's Earth. If you ran an apothecary might as well look the part they'd once told him. Of course dress them up as much as you like you just couldn't hide the predatory nature which hid within the stout, rotund frame.
They flashed a wolfishly 'pleasant' smile at him, opening up heavy hands in a broad gesture. "Aaaah, Mr. Turner! What a rare surprise for the hunter to come to me on their own terms!" The man's voice sounded like a well educated cement mixer and was about as warm and friendly. Obviously it wasn't their fine manner which brought them business.
"Yeah, odd times lead to surprises..." His own tone was muted, lacking that usual cocky bombast as he really wasn't in the mood to play the fool today. Raising his left hand would show the fellow that intricate circuit tattoo of his which scrawled up the inside of his wrist. The motion was a sign of greeting between those of the syndicate while also acting as a reminder of his place and the debt he owed. Like a dog giving it's paw up for a shake, or that's how it felt at least. Didn't help how the madsci so lit up as they mirrored the gesture back; their own tattoo much more intricate than his for what could be seen from beneath their sleeve.
With the formalities out of the way the larger man motioned eagerly. "Surprises indeed! Come, walk with me to the back, I'm sure we have much to discuss. How do you take tea...?" Already they turned to the flap door which lead off into the back rooms of the store. "...Other than with alcohol." And another cold grin curled on their porcine features, malevolent as it was cheery with humor.
He waved away that hospitality with his still raised hand. "No, no tea. I just need some simple information and I'll get out of your hair."
"Oh no, that will not do! It is rare for you to come so amicably to me. Surely I must enjoy such little pleasantries when they arise. Come. I promise I will not eat you." That grin of theirs only grew yet the humor drained.
Pushing a little smile upon his rugged features he reaffirmed that hand still resting on the butt of his caster, "This ain't amicable and I've not come for a cordial visit Delorno, I've come for business."
The air grew thick as he could just feel Phineas and Rolo's gaze as they stood, the mirthless smile that held to the madsci's features dimming just a little. "Come now, where are your manners Mr. Turner?" They motioned with a broad hand, demanding in it's purposefulness. "Join me for tea."
"Sorry, my mama never taught me these 'manners' you speak of, and I didn't come down here to play tea time. We doing business or should I go elsewhere?"
He tracked the movement of the two toughs as they slid as inconspicuous as buffalo through the aisles, making their way to loom before him in a threatening manner. Had to give them credit, he could tell that neither of them wanted to tangle with the likes of him. Unlike the usual shakedowns they were probably used to hunters were wild-cards and he was well known to be one of the more volatile ones - nobody was leaving such a tussle better for wear. Those tense few moments stretched in deafening silence as neither side gave ground. A battle of wills to see who would cave first but then again Mach didn't have any skin in this particular game.
So rather than continue that face off of dominance he opted not to play, a mild shrug given. "Alrighty then. See you Delorno." And with that he did probably the stupidest thing he could have done and turned his back on the bruising wall of tough, hand firmly on his caster as he made for the door.
There was a shuffle of feet behind him causing that grip to tighten, lone cobalt eye scoping potential cover to dive behind when silence fell. He took another step, then another until his retreat was halted by the sound of a cement mixer clearing it's throat. "Have it your way Mr. Turner, we will keep this strictly business. It is a pity, though, that you refuse to meet us on more cordial terms. Such would be beneficial to the both of us you know."
Mach felt his teeth grind at that thought – cordial. He contemplated just keeping on walking out of that shop to spite the madsci but that wouldn't serve any purpose but to unnecessarily antagonize an underworld mob boss over a little bit of pride and principle. Testing an underworld mob boss for the sake of pride and principle, while not smart, was acceptable... according to him at least. Besides, he didn't exactly have the luxury of time to waste on such pettiness and so swallowing his distaste for the umpteenth time today he turned about, a thin smile curling upon handsome features. "I doubt as much."
Waking back to the counter he gave Phineas and Rolo a jaunty little smile, his free hand shooing the walls of muscle out his way. They didn't take kindly to his antics but there really wasn't much to say once their boss had spoken. Lackeys through and through, a fate his continuous defiance hoped to buck though he knew with each little favor he danced more and more in the syndicate's palm. Delorno seemed to know as much too as despite his defiance they still welcomed him back with a smile, wolfishly friendly as it may have been. "We will not know until you try... but enough of such. Business, yes? You want to know about a particular 'madsci' as I understand..." Dancing indeed as he felt the wind leave his sails when the man beat him to his own request – damn it! This seemed to please the madsci as a little humor finally returned to their broad smile. "Come now, you came to me because you seek information. Is it not prudent of me then to know exactly what that information may be before my clients even walk through my door? That is the mark of a professional, no?"
They had a point... one which they used to great effect needling him. Still, he kept his composure refusing to let the man rattle him so easily as he offered a gracious nod. "True. Suppose if you didn't know you'd be a pretty shitty info broker, yeah?" A daring smile cracked on his face as he chuckled in forced humor on the madsci's expense, one they seemed less keen for as he pressed forward. "I'm looking for Gaines Clyfer. Setup shop somewhere in Rhy'Din a while ago but has been laying low. I need info on where to find them."
He watched the others' heavy features for any sort of tell though he knew he'd not be so lucky. Madscis were many things but one of the key binding threads was apathy and a lack of emotions. One could say they were just fancy psychopaths save that psychopathy didn't tend to drive folks to breaking the very nature of the world seeking to understand and manipulate it via magic which they did not possess. 'The Focus', as it was unimaginably called, which blunted a person's psychology into a mere tool for achieving whatever their focus was and robbed them of their ability or want to connect with folks.Oh it was all in degrees of course, Delorno was probably much more psychopath than madsci, but across the board they were just harder to read as they lost those social habits and tells to their obsessions. For their part the broad man moved the way they always did, ham hands sliding out across the countertop as their smile broadened. "Ah! Yes, Gaines Clyfer, as they go by now. I am familiar with them."
"Do you know where to find them?" He tried not to sound over eager but given this had been the only break he'd hadd in months it was hard not to be. Gaines was proving to be as unassuming a psychotic murder as their dossier painted them as. It was no wonder they tended to surprise hunters who just accidently came across them… only to kill them.
“Their whereabouts? Yes. They arrived in Rhy’Din a few years ago for their research. As with anyone who's used our… services.... I’ve kept tabs on them.” Broad hands moved in a set motion over the worn wooden counter causing the shadowy corners of the store to whir and sparkle to life materializing a holographic keyboard and screen before the information broker. A few taps and swipes and a face appeared: lean, boney, handsome in a boyishly ragamuffin way.
Gaines… and a much more recent photo than Mach had! He was nearly salivating as he pulled out his cellphone casually. "How much for the info and demo?” He keyed up the blackmarket app he had to make off books transactions from his own personal slush fund. A necessity in his line of work.... honest folks need not apply to be peacekeepers.
Large hands clapped happily. “Oh there is no charge amongst friends, yes?” Their smile grew as they peered at him through the ghostly image that floated in the air. “Just our usual arrangement will do. Bring them in and we will dispose of them. We'll even send Mr. Poppler to assist given Gaines' nature."
Mach shuttered lightly at that wholly inappropriate name for the fixer in purple gloves he'd had the displeasure of working with. There was just something wrong with that person though he hadn't quite worked it out… and wasn't keen on having opportunities to either. Still, it wasn't that which had him shaking his head. "Nah, no thanks, this one’s mine."
Once more the madsci’s smile faltered. “Oh? Come now, Mr. Clyfer is not someone to grow a conscious over. And they are dangerous, wouldn’t want you to get killed over something as silly as a government contract now would we?”
“This ain’t got nothing to do with being consciousable or any sorta contract, this is personal.”
That lone cobalt watched as the man tried to work through this, ‘the numbing’ which often came with the spark of madscism obviously hindering them in this regard. There was nothing personal to a full blown madsci, only hard logic and their pursuit. So it was little surprise his reason came off as simply bizarre, their head tilting. “Surely you jest. Why what benefit could there be in you risking yourself as such? And simply to bring such a man in-”
“I’m not bringing Gaines in, I’m putting them down.” He felt a little venom coating those words as they left him, his fingers flexed to try and let go of that tension.
“But they are wanted alive. If you kill them you’ll be in direct violation of your rules of engagement.”
He rolled his shoulders, the artificial one in particular. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done such, yeah? Worked out pretty swell for you lot too.”
“Yes, but your worth to us is on the outside, not the in.” The man considered this more, shaking their head. “And besides, they are a hunter killer and you, pardon the disrespect, are not an exceptional hunter. It is very likely they will end you and for what? Now, what I offer is very generous-”
“To you.”
“To us!” There was a snap to their words, a pressure which had the man stepping back now, hands moving to grease back their already pristinely greased hair finding their dead wolf smile once more. “You would get to live and that which you hate would be dealt with.No more of your ‘comrades’ would suffer any sort of ill fate to them again. What is the downside?”
Mach let a dirty smirk cross him, dark and malicious. “I wouldn’t be the one pulling the trigger. Like I said, this is personal. I don’t expect you to understand, I just expect you to sell me what I came here for and get out of my way.”
“You will die.”
“So folks are keen to note. But you never know, maybe I’ll surprise.”
The man considered him for a long moment before their large hand swiped over the holographic keyboard sending everything scattering into shattering pixels. “I’m sorry, I can not sell you this information.”
Mach felt his hand flex once again, teeth grinding as he throttled back the snarl that rose. “What do you mean you can’t sell me that? That’s what you do as an information broker, you broker information.”
Delorno seemed non-pulsed by his outrage, hands sweeping as though to dust away the last remnants of holographic light. “To whom I so choose. I choose not to sell this to you Mr. Turner. I’ve got to look out for my investments, after all.”
“Don’t give me that bull Delorno. You tell me all the time you’re disposing those I bring you, so what matter is it if I kill them or not!?”
This had the man chuckling. “That is up to you, yes?” Their smile grew as they needled him on his own willful ignorance on just what could be defined as ‘dispose of.’ “Regardless, we still wish to speak with Mr. Clyfer and we would not be able to do so were you to… pull the trigger yourself. As well, if you go after them and were… not… to surprise us then we would lose you as an asset as well. There really is no benefit to us simply to sell this information to you.”
His teeth hurt from the effort it took not to just reach out and throttle the underworld boss. Instead he forced a thin smile to his features. “And what about being cordial, to a friend?”
Bushy brown brows rose a hair at that offer, fingers drumming a moment upon the hard wooden counter before their face cracked wide with humor. “Oh, don’t sell yourself so highly Mr. Turner, you are not integral and neither are what you are and what you offer. You are simply a very handy, if somewhat temperamental, tool. No more, and you should hope never less. Now if you were a more… willing participant in our interests then yes, there could be much room for you to be more than just a tool. But, at very least on this matter, you do not seem capable of such.”
A low growl rumbled at the back of his throat prompting a look from Rolo and Phineas though he was already turning, anger in his steps as he stormed for the door. Gloved hand reached to wrench the portal open when he heard that concrete mixer clear its throat once more. “Mr. Tuner, the request still stands. I would very much like to speak with Mr. Gaines Clyfer.”
“Yeah, well, hate to be temperamental but fuck you.” Grabbing the knob he gave it a nasty twist, hand-
“I’m sorry, let me rephrase that. You will bring me Mr. Clyfer to speak with, I will provide you with those who can help you in that task. This is ‘one of those’ kinds of request.”
Pausing to work on throttling back his rage he finally shot a glare back at the man. “And I already said this is personal, the only way they’re coming back is cold.” A shrug rose glibly even has that hand on his caster tightened. “Guess this is a ‘hope I never’ situation, yeah? So what’re you gonna do?”
“To you? Nothing. That wouldn’t be worth the resources. But there are… others… whom I can influence. Like that red head of yours in Marketplace…”
The madsci’s wolfish smile tarnished at the bitterly humored snort that escaped at the attempted threat. “Sorry Danman, Foxy got tired of my shit long ago and I ain’t bothered none to replace them, yeah? Woulda thought an information broker would’ve known that but guess you are kinda shit at your job.” A breezy smile crossed him before his features hardened. “And I know you ain’t a big enough fish to cross the line of blood back home.So no, I ain’t taking your ‘request’, find another tool you think you got one though I’m gonna venture you don’t.” And with that he threw open the door and stepped out.
“Mr. Tuner!”
He just flipped the man, and his chances of getting that info he direly needed, off full of petty pride and everything. Damnit! Where was he going to shake information out of now!? The thought stuck firmly in his mind as he quickly retreated from the man’s turf, his footfalls carrying him off in search of that ever elusive information… and for another leather mask for what would surely be his last Beltane.
Originally Posted: June 08, 2020
He hated how familiar the cobbles beneath his booted heels seemed. Meant he'd been here far too often for his liking though in honesty once was more than enough. Still, he couldn't help but feel just a little relief as the omnipresent pressure of being monitored eased into the less suffocating merely being observed. The dead drop message he'd sent earlier indicating his imminent visit ensured this with the need for the eyes of the U.T.R.A. to be guided away from his more... explicitly illegal bordering on treasonous dealings. It had been surprising and annoying to learn that the surveillance of his purity which had caused him so much grief early on in Rhy'Din was being conducted by a single intelligence officer who rarely left the satellite office and a few local subcontracted private detectives who themselves subcontracted to a small host of informants. Hardly the omnipresent law enforcement surveillance network or the galvanized public willing and able to report on the wrong doings, perceived or real, of hunters and neighbors alike such as how things were back in Tanga. He'd simply assumed that the ever present eye was an always and there weren't a thing he could do about it while still coming off as somewhat normal socially. Clandestine worked when meeting with the odd madsci who was already keen on avoiding the eye of the law to begin with, not so much when trying to build a relationship or at least score a warm body to share a bed. And so when his perspective was adjusted by his newfound... associates... it left a very bitter taste in his mouth. Would he have been treated the villain after the debacle of the Sanguine Hunt if his superiors hadn't had so much ammo against his purity thanks to the snooping of a few detectives? Would he simply have been slapped on the wrist for general negligence and sent right back on post once he regrew his teeth? Well, probably not, given this was still him and all but still, things probably would have been much easier without the hounding specter of purity always breathing down his neck if only in his own imagination.
Stepping up to the storefront he steeled himself as always, a force of habit which grew into a need to show he wasn't complacent in his underhanded dealings; even if only to himself. Setting gloved hand on the heavy weight of his caster he pushed through the door, the cadence of bells announcing his arrival. To the left Phineas and Rolo looked up from their game of Blind Hughie, the bone crushers sizing him up momentarily before greeting him with an all too familiar up-nod. Damn it. Returning the gesture in kind he passed down the central aisle flanked by shelves of jars, bottles, and vials containing a myriad of ingredients. At the end sat that old oaken counter with the proprietor of the shop sitting behind the bulwark piece of furniture wearing a well kept if not aged looking burgundy suit which would have been the vogue of fashion back on 1880's Earth. If you ran an apothecary might as well look the part they'd once told him. Of course dress them up as much as you like you just couldn't hide the predatory nature which hid within the stout, rotund frame.
They flashed a wolfishly 'pleasant' smile at him, opening up heavy hands in a broad gesture. "Aaaah, Mr. Turner! What a rare surprise for the hunter to come to me on their own terms!" The man's voice sounded like a well educated cement mixer and was about as warm and friendly. Obviously it wasn't their fine manner which brought them business.
"Yeah, odd times lead to surprises..." His own tone was muted, lacking that usual cocky bombast as he really wasn't in the mood to play the fool today. Raising his left hand would show the fellow that intricate circuit tattoo of his which scrawled up the inside of his wrist. The motion was a sign of greeting between those of the syndicate while also acting as a reminder of his place and the debt he owed. Like a dog giving it's paw up for a shake, or that's how it felt at least. Didn't help how the madsci so lit up as they mirrored the gesture back; their own tattoo much more intricate than his for what could be seen from beneath their sleeve.
With the formalities out of the way the larger man motioned eagerly. "Surprises indeed! Come, walk with me to the back, I'm sure we have much to discuss. How do you take tea...?" Already they turned to the flap door which lead off into the back rooms of the store. "...Other than with alcohol." And another cold grin curled on their porcine features, malevolent as it was cheery with humor.
He waved away that hospitality with his still raised hand. "No, no tea. I just need some simple information and I'll get out of your hair."
"Oh no, that will not do! It is rare for you to come so amicably to me. Surely I must enjoy such little pleasantries when they arise. Come. I promise I will not eat you." That grin of theirs only grew yet the humor drained.
Pushing a little smile upon his rugged features he reaffirmed that hand still resting on the butt of his caster, "This ain't amicable and I've not come for a cordial visit Delorno, I've come for business."
The air grew thick as he could just feel Phineas and Rolo's gaze as they stood, the mirthless smile that held to the madsci's features dimming just a little. "Come now, where are your manners Mr. Turner?" They motioned with a broad hand, demanding in it's purposefulness. "Join me for tea."
"Sorry, my mama never taught me these 'manners' you speak of, and I didn't come down here to play tea time. We doing business or should I go elsewhere?"
He tracked the movement of the two toughs as they slid as inconspicuous as buffalo through the aisles, making their way to loom before him in a threatening manner. Had to give them credit, he could tell that neither of them wanted to tangle with the likes of him. Unlike the usual shakedowns they were probably used to hunters were wild-cards and he was well known to be one of the more volatile ones - nobody was leaving such a tussle better for wear. Those tense few moments stretched in deafening silence as neither side gave ground. A battle of wills to see who would cave first but then again Mach didn't have any skin in this particular game.
So rather than continue that face off of dominance he opted not to play, a mild shrug given. "Alrighty then. See you Delorno." And with that he did probably the stupidest thing he could have done and turned his back on the bruising wall of tough, hand firmly on his caster as he made for the door.
There was a shuffle of feet behind him causing that grip to tighten, lone cobalt eye scoping potential cover to dive behind when silence fell. He took another step, then another until his retreat was halted by the sound of a cement mixer clearing it's throat. "Have it your way Mr. Turner, we will keep this strictly business. It is a pity, though, that you refuse to meet us on more cordial terms. Such would be beneficial to the both of us you know."
Mach felt his teeth grind at that thought – cordial. He contemplated just keeping on walking out of that shop to spite the madsci but that wouldn't serve any purpose but to unnecessarily antagonize an underworld mob boss over a little bit of pride and principle. Testing an underworld mob boss for the sake of pride and principle, while not smart, was acceptable... according to him at least. Besides, he didn't exactly have the luxury of time to waste on such pettiness and so swallowing his distaste for the umpteenth time today he turned about, a thin smile curling upon handsome features. "I doubt as much."
Waking back to the counter he gave Phineas and Rolo a jaunty little smile, his free hand shooing the walls of muscle out his way. They didn't take kindly to his antics but there really wasn't much to say once their boss had spoken. Lackeys through and through, a fate his continuous defiance hoped to buck though he knew with each little favor he danced more and more in the syndicate's palm. Delorno seemed to know as much too as despite his defiance they still welcomed him back with a smile, wolfishly friendly as it may have been. "We will not know until you try... but enough of such. Business, yes? You want to know about a particular 'madsci' as I understand..." Dancing indeed as he felt the wind leave his sails when the man beat him to his own request – damn it! This seemed to please the madsci as a little humor finally returned to their broad smile. "Come now, you came to me because you seek information. Is it not prudent of me then to know exactly what that information may be before my clients even walk through my door? That is the mark of a professional, no?"
They had a point... one which they used to great effect needling him. Still, he kept his composure refusing to let the man rattle him so easily as he offered a gracious nod. "True. Suppose if you didn't know you'd be a pretty shitty info broker, yeah?" A daring smile cracked on his face as he chuckled in forced humor on the madsci's expense, one they seemed less keen for as he pressed forward. "I'm looking for Gaines Clyfer. Setup shop somewhere in Rhy'Din a while ago but has been laying low. I need info on where to find them."
He watched the others' heavy features for any sort of tell though he knew he'd not be so lucky. Madscis were many things but one of the key binding threads was apathy and a lack of emotions. One could say they were just fancy psychopaths save that psychopathy didn't tend to drive folks to breaking the very nature of the world seeking to understand and manipulate it via magic which they did not possess. 'The Focus', as it was unimaginably called, which blunted a person's psychology into a mere tool for achieving whatever their focus was and robbed them of their ability or want to connect with folks.Oh it was all in degrees of course, Delorno was probably much more psychopath than madsci, but across the board they were just harder to read as they lost those social habits and tells to their obsessions. For their part the broad man moved the way they always did, ham hands sliding out across the countertop as their smile broadened. "Ah! Yes, Gaines Clyfer, as they go by now. I am familiar with them."
"Do you know where to find them?" He tried not to sound over eager but given this had been the only break he'd hadd in months it was hard not to be. Gaines was proving to be as unassuming a psychotic murder as their dossier painted them as. It was no wonder they tended to surprise hunters who just accidently came across them… only to kill them.
“Their whereabouts? Yes. They arrived in Rhy’Din a few years ago for their research. As with anyone who's used our… services.... I’ve kept tabs on them.” Broad hands moved in a set motion over the worn wooden counter causing the shadowy corners of the store to whir and sparkle to life materializing a holographic keyboard and screen before the information broker. A few taps and swipes and a face appeared: lean, boney, handsome in a boyishly ragamuffin way.
Gaines… and a much more recent photo than Mach had! He was nearly salivating as he pulled out his cellphone casually. "How much for the info and demo?” He keyed up the blackmarket app he had to make off books transactions from his own personal slush fund. A necessity in his line of work.... honest folks need not apply to be peacekeepers.
Large hands clapped happily. “Oh there is no charge amongst friends, yes?” Their smile grew as they peered at him through the ghostly image that floated in the air. “Just our usual arrangement will do. Bring them in and we will dispose of them. We'll even send Mr. Poppler to assist given Gaines' nature."
Mach shuttered lightly at that wholly inappropriate name for the fixer in purple gloves he'd had the displeasure of working with. There was just something wrong with that person though he hadn't quite worked it out… and wasn't keen on having opportunities to either. Still, it wasn't that which had him shaking his head. "Nah, no thanks, this one’s mine."
Once more the madsci’s smile faltered. “Oh? Come now, Mr. Clyfer is not someone to grow a conscious over. And they are dangerous, wouldn’t want you to get killed over something as silly as a government contract now would we?”
“This ain’t got nothing to do with being consciousable or any sorta contract, this is personal.”
That lone cobalt watched as the man tried to work through this, ‘the numbing’ which often came with the spark of madscism obviously hindering them in this regard. There was nothing personal to a full blown madsci, only hard logic and their pursuit. So it was little surprise his reason came off as simply bizarre, their head tilting. “Surely you jest. Why what benefit could there be in you risking yourself as such? And simply to bring such a man in-”
“I’m not bringing Gaines in, I’m putting them down.” He felt a little venom coating those words as they left him, his fingers flexed to try and let go of that tension.
“But they are wanted alive. If you kill them you’ll be in direct violation of your rules of engagement.”
He rolled his shoulders, the artificial one in particular. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done such, yeah? Worked out pretty swell for you lot too.”
“Yes, but your worth to us is on the outside, not the in.” The man considered this more, shaking their head. “And besides, they are a hunter killer and you, pardon the disrespect, are not an exceptional hunter. It is very likely they will end you and for what? Now, what I offer is very generous-”
“To you.”
“To us!” There was a snap to their words, a pressure which had the man stepping back now, hands moving to grease back their already pristinely greased hair finding their dead wolf smile once more. “You would get to live and that which you hate would be dealt with.No more of your ‘comrades’ would suffer any sort of ill fate to them again. What is the downside?”
Mach let a dirty smirk cross him, dark and malicious. “I wouldn’t be the one pulling the trigger. Like I said, this is personal. I don’t expect you to understand, I just expect you to sell me what I came here for and get out of my way.”
“You will die.”
“So folks are keen to note. But you never know, maybe I’ll surprise.”
The man considered him for a long moment before their large hand swiped over the holographic keyboard sending everything scattering into shattering pixels. “I’m sorry, I can not sell you this information.”
Mach felt his hand flex once again, teeth grinding as he throttled back the snarl that rose. “What do you mean you can’t sell me that? That’s what you do as an information broker, you broker information.”
Delorno seemed non-pulsed by his outrage, hands sweeping as though to dust away the last remnants of holographic light. “To whom I so choose. I choose not to sell this to you Mr. Turner. I’ve got to look out for my investments, after all.”
“Don’t give me that bull Delorno. You tell me all the time you’re disposing those I bring you, so what matter is it if I kill them or not!?”
This had the man chuckling. “That is up to you, yes?” Their smile grew as they needled him on his own willful ignorance on just what could be defined as ‘dispose of.’ “Regardless, we still wish to speak with Mr. Clyfer and we would not be able to do so were you to… pull the trigger yourself. As well, if you go after them and were… not… to surprise us then we would lose you as an asset as well. There really is no benefit to us simply to sell this information to you.”
His teeth hurt from the effort it took not to just reach out and throttle the underworld boss. Instead he forced a thin smile to his features. “And what about being cordial, to a friend?”
Bushy brown brows rose a hair at that offer, fingers drumming a moment upon the hard wooden counter before their face cracked wide with humor. “Oh, don’t sell yourself so highly Mr. Turner, you are not integral and neither are what you are and what you offer. You are simply a very handy, if somewhat temperamental, tool. No more, and you should hope never less. Now if you were a more… willing participant in our interests then yes, there could be much room for you to be more than just a tool. But, at very least on this matter, you do not seem capable of such.”
A low growl rumbled at the back of his throat prompting a look from Rolo and Phineas though he was already turning, anger in his steps as he stormed for the door. Gloved hand reached to wrench the portal open when he heard that concrete mixer clear its throat once more. “Mr. Tuner, the request still stands. I would very much like to speak with Mr. Gaines Clyfer.”
“Yeah, well, hate to be temperamental but fuck you.” Grabbing the knob he gave it a nasty twist, hand-
“I’m sorry, let me rephrase that. You will bring me Mr. Clyfer to speak with, I will provide you with those who can help you in that task. This is ‘one of those’ kinds of request.”
Pausing to work on throttling back his rage he finally shot a glare back at the man. “And I already said this is personal, the only way they’re coming back is cold.” A shrug rose glibly even has that hand on his caster tightened. “Guess this is a ‘hope I never’ situation, yeah? So what’re you gonna do?”
“To you? Nothing. That wouldn’t be worth the resources. But there are… others… whom I can influence. Like that red head of yours in Marketplace…”
The madsci’s wolfish smile tarnished at the bitterly humored snort that escaped at the attempted threat. “Sorry Danman, Foxy got tired of my shit long ago and I ain’t bothered none to replace them, yeah? Woulda thought an information broker would’ve known that but guess you are kinda shit at your job.” A breezy smile crossed him before his features hardened. “And I know you ain’t a big enough fish to cross the line of blood back home.So no, I ain’t taking your ‘request’, find another tool you think you got one though I’m gonna venture you don’t.” And with that he threw open the door and stepped out.
“Mr. Tuner!”
He just flipped the man, and his chances of getting that info he direly needed, off full of petty pride and everything. Damnit! Where was he going to shake information out of now!? The thought stuck firmly in his mind as he quickly retreated from the man’s turf, his footfalls carrying him off in search of that ever elusive information… and for another leather mask for what would surely be his last Beltane.
Re: The Hunter's Life
Burned
Occurred: Monday, June 8th, 2020
It took a steady gait to stalk on rain mirrored streets, moreso to do such without raising suspicions. The warehouses down in the docks district were always damp but rain from the day still clung to every surface, pooled and gathered on the ground, and filled the air with a muggy humidity as spring grew long, harkening to the fast approaching summer. A stark contrast to the festivities brewing down in the seaside district, a place he once lived before he got that all too familiar reminder where really his lot belonged. All this only added to the dour gloom that hung over the hunter on the prowl, backup caster in hand as that lone cobalt eye surveyed every flicker and shadow.
The 'prophecy' that he would have to kill his friend to stop them from turning into a lich, laughable if not for the fact that they were still greedy for power and marrying a fanatical mage. The betrayal of his trust from a supposed friend which he was sure only robbed him of what he already had so little of. The connection he felt with another because of the shit show life they'd had which he could and would only fail because he knew he couldn't let such a connection grow. And now just right before this the fact that he got another black flag to 'deal with' who just so happened to be a hunter with a kid like Gin had been but without the sense to keep their nose out of the shit… and the one he'd fail getting to see a glimpse of the cold hunter during the preceding to boot. And all of this had just been the last few weeks! It was little wonder he'd forgotten about the high money feelers he'd put out after giving Delorno the literal finger on their 'request'... spurred also by the ever present paranoia that followed him expecting some sort of retribution for such. And yet none had come. If anything his little stunt apparently shook a few branches as after he let the black flag go and was trying to figure what to do to not get curb stomped for his incompetence in tracking as well as to speedo or not to speedo when the break came in.
It wasn't much - a one time delivery for Gaines coming in through the port but it was more than he had in months. If he could show progress on his hunt for Gaines then his botch job with Elodie could be explained away… or so the lie he told himself went. If anything putting a bullet to the young hunter was a much higher priority and his ass would twist for failing to do such which was why he was out here, alone, underprepared and ready to face a hunter killer. Sort of his plan anyway, to find himself put 'out of commission' but doing so while going after Gaines was at least in line with his end goals. Not a high probability of success but hey, he may get lucky.
Rounding a corner he slowed as he heard the muffled sounds of a voice between the wet sounds of water dripping from the overhigh warehouse eves. Another fight with a monster in a Rhy’Din warehouse, life certainly had a way with traumatic themes. Still, he couldn’t have asked for a better local for a showdown as the din of the city with those he cared about faded beneath the washing ebb of waves crashing into shipping piers. Snagging a potion from his belt he threw it back in silence, a shutter crawling up his spine as the poison took hold, heightening his senses. The smell of salt water and grease assaulted his nostrils, the wet streets shimmered, the damp soaked down to has bones… and the lone muffled voice focused into clarity.
"Yes, bring that over… there you go. Snow, help Egg get that… no, no, no, the other way! Pong, show them how it's done! " A lone voice, nasally and pressured with a lowland lilt… Gaines. Mach couldn't believe his luck! Then again he wasn't all too sure what exactly this said about such as he was so very underprepared to deal with the madsci themselves. Straining some he failed to hear any other voices coming from the warehouse, simply the sound of moving crates and the pad of feet… paws maybe? So they were potentially alone save for at least 3 organics of smallish size given the sound of how they shuffled. Better and better though from what he'd gleaned from the case files against the madsci other hunters, better hunters, had just the same advantage and still came away with empty chests. No, there was something he was missing, something that-
"Hey faceman!"
His heart leaped up, pounding, into his throat as that caster was whipped around to the voice that chriped so casually into his ear. A cockney lowland lilt attached to a wry grin and a waifish yet curvy body of woman crowned with a choppy, rainbow pixie cut. It took his brain a moment to process the information, even more to superimpose the figure before him with the one he remembered in the overly baggy orange prison jumper and dull blond bob cut. "Talila….?!"
There was only a little shocked concern being at the business end of a caster before the woman's smile cracked wide. They leapt at him, arms wrapping round his neck as they drew in for a playfully sultry kiss, a pleased purr rattling his teeth. "It's been an age stud! I see time outside has…" Leaning back they gave him a once over with large emerald eyes, their grin shrinking some. " … not done wonders for ya. What the hells!? Thought they'd 'ave fixed you up something pretty! Instead you still got a missin’ eye and a dumb fake arm!”
It was all a lot to take in, that lone cobalt staring at the woman with no small amount of bewilderment despite the rather… enthusiastic greeting. “What the hells are you doing here!?”
This apparently warranted him a flick to the brow, “Is that any way to talk to yer friend? I’m here to help you of course!” They looked almost proud as they spouted this with a grin.
“Ok, ok, but….here!?”
“I know! I was workin’ as… well, I was workin’ fer the Syndicate, yeah? And then I gotta call about a job down here helpin’ you and I just couldn’t resist that!”
Mach considered the woman for a long moment, their smug pride honest as it was misplaced. Damn it. Now he knew why Delorno hadn’t retaliated against him for his slight. Once again the waif of a half-elf was being used as both a carrot and a leash against him thanks to the machinations of the Syndicate. Just how badly did they want to talk to the rogue madsci? Why go through all this trouble? The questions only piled up. “Wait you-” Shuffling sounds to the side worked to remind him of the task at hand as again he pointed his caster at… a small ball of fluff with horns?
“Poro~!" The thing galumphed proudly; dark, vacant eyes filled with a desire for a treat as it padded about in circles. Wait...pad? That lone cobalt shot wide as his head snapped back to the warehouse, will focused as a blue light creeped out around the edges of his eyepatch. The life detect he'd downed earlier, while not able to grant him the ability to look through walls, did allow him to see vague outlines of auras. And the aura in the warehouse… was facing right at them!
"Shit!" He barely had time to unleash the spell that spun in the caster's second processor as he wrenched Talila around. A crack like a whip of lightning boomed through the air and not even a moment later he felt himself being twisted and flung to the ground by the depleted uranium round that caught him in the side like a freight train; pain searing across his back as rib after rib cracked and snapped. His coat deformed, the spell pushed through the integrated spellweave threads working to absorb or shunt as much of that kinetic force as possible but there was just so much of it. Still, the garment held though he wasn't out of the woods yet, the cantrip he'd held in hand tossed aside. The wood splintered and burned up immediately, the charged energy of the linked spell immense as a wave of pure force took him and the half-elf held in his grip careening away from the stick… and the second whip of lightning which sent another slug blasting a sizable crater into the asphalt where they would have landed. The double tap that had been the end of many a hunter though he was still in much worse shape at this point in the fight then he'd hoped for as he hit the ground, tumbling into a warehouse wall across the way all while grasping the woman now cursing beneath him.
"What the Fatanyu! What was that!? What-!" Angry words paled as his blood dribbled upon freckled, angular features; the spells, and the broken ribs, showing their toll. Damn it, magic hadn’t always been this damaging, this hard though then in the past he’d never danced this fine a line with his failing tolerance. So much raw etheric energy just saturated Rhy’Din to the point of giving him a constant headache and yet he couldn’t use a lick of it unless some mage had already been casting and processing the ether for him or he infused each spell with a thread of his very own dwindling life. The subtle but important distinction between him just being a mage with a gun and him being a hunter.
Unfortunately that made hunting a madsci like Gaines that much more dangerous a proposition as they didn’t use magic. They merely emulated some of the miraculousness of magic using esoteric, extreme, and often dangerous science and technology. But that which was miraculous and not easily understood may as well just be magic for all intents and purposes, especially if it was being applied in the pursuit of putting an over large hole in his person. So that meant everything was Mach powered and his life as a battery was pretty much done but that wasn’t going to stop him. Pushing himself up off the woman he snagged a verdant green potion from his belt and downed it, a little steam rolling from his lips. “Get outta here Tali, this ain’t something you ought get involved in!” He all but pulled them up with his right hand, his gaze shifting back to the warehouse, the aura of life missing. Damn!
“Like I’m gonna run, you’re friggin’ bleeding! Come on, we gotta get outta here together!” Long fingers wrapped around his gloved hand, pulling yet he wouldn’t, couldn’t run with them. No, the fight had already started and if he ran now there was a very good chance Gaines would run, go to ground and given the restrictiveness of his posting he’d not be able to give chase. He’d lose them… and that was something he just couldn’t do. “Mach!” They pulled harder but he held his ground, his gaze still wild as he looked for that aura once more. He’d spy it rounding about the corner, coming right for them.
“Go!” The command left him, booming along with that whip of lightning as he pushed the woman away. A moment and suddenly he was being wrenched around, broken ribs screaming as they failed against that torsion. Panic crossed him as he saw the woman being wrenched along with him though the reason was soon evident as a spray of hydraulic fluid and leather, carbon, and titanium shrapnel filled the void between them as the slug tore apart his prosthetic. A flash of agonizing pain blitzed through his mind before the processors cut off the cyber nerves though where the limb entered his shoulder still throbbed metal pulled away from flesh tearing some of those coaxed connections.
The color drained from the woman’s face as she stumbled but didn’t fall, his gloved hand still held among thin fingers. The look she gave him was one he was all too used to - a look of horror at what his life could entail, could be, was. It took a monster to take down monsters and he filled the roll with aplomb. “Go!” The command snarled with venom and rage as he snapped that caster back towards the shadowy figure aiming back at him. He jerked back on the trigger, a menacing electromechanical growl rumbling from the handcannon as it whirled to life…
But that whip of lightning was much faster, a flash of electricity and plasma flaring before the boom. A moment later and he felt his body being ripped the other way, the slug catching his side, arresting in his coat as that spellweave flared though it the kinetic barrier shattered as the processor in his caster crackled and fried under the stress. The slug had lost a lot of its kinetic energy but still had plenty to rip into and out of the tender flesh of his side sending him sprawling to the wet asphalt. And what more he felt the web of his spell shatter apart as the primary processor of that backup caster, his primary given to the idiot hunter in a stupid moment of sentimentality, cooked; an arc of electricity crackling about jolting the weapon free from his grasp, black noxious smoke billowing out of the newly burnt hole in the side chamber. Shit. Shit!
He hazarded a glance to the side, the last vestige of that glowing life sign that was Talila spied hiding behind a warehouse down a ways. They weren’t running but at very least they weren’t peaking back at him. Turning his attention back to the figure that closed he worked to ignore the ball of fluff that pranced around him merrily, tongue lulling as it purred and galumphed. Lone cobalt did note one of the horns had a small, filled, drill mark in it explaining much about how the madsci could target him without a direct line of sight. And so adjusting his one good arm so as to prop himself up he glared at the thin figure that came to stand before him in a worn brown suit which hung on their lean figure. Messy brown locks were kept short and untidy and in those amber eyes he could see the obvious flare of the spark as they studied him. “Oh my, oh my… a hunter, out here? Surely that’s got to be an abuse of taxes.” They spoke with a spry lilt, Northwestern with a hint of pressure from thoughts that traveled just a little too fast to keep up with. “And you’ve chosen to come after me? All the way out here. Really?”
Mach adjusted his comfy lay on the ground to roll his shoulder mildly in a shrug. “Seemed the thing to do… Gaines Clyfer.” His smile held a vicious edge to it as he stared defiantly up at the ragamuffin man, in no position to have such confidence but then if not during such down and out times then when? This garnered a curious tilt of head from the madsci as they watched him though their gaze continued to flit to the yapping creature that was still bounding around behind him. Something seemed off about the excitement the thing had, especially given as a couple more flanked the madsci now, no taller than their knee caps but just as vacant looking as the first.
Suddenly the man’s angular features shifted, brow dropping as their mouth opened in awe. They peered down at him. “Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait. a. minute!” A pair of glasses was pulled from their pocket and crammed onto their face as they peered at him more intensely, their expression splitting into a maniacal grin. “Oh this is just great! Egg, you brilliant ball of fluff and tongue! This is perfect!”
Something about the man’s excitement disturbed him as he shifted once more. “What’s that…asshole…?” He could feel his breaths grow more shallow as fluid slowly filled his lungs, a burning pain radiating out from his torn up side.
The venom in his tone was blithely ignored as their grin cracked malevolently. “Why, you of course!”
This warranted a ragged snort, his head shaking. “Sorry to disappoint...but only thing I’m doing is...avenging Gin…”
The man’s near bouncing slowed just a smidge as they considered him curiously. “Who?”
Right. His brows furrowed angrily. “Ask him when you see him…” Shifting he fell off that leaned elbow, the hand that had worked its way behind his back drawing the service 45 auto from it’s paddle holster.At this range he didn’t have to worry about aiming or bracing as the thrust the gun forward at the man, their eyes widening just a hair as he pulled the trigger.
One, two, three, four… the gunfire resounded in the relative peace of the docks, the rapid salvo lossed center of mass in the man… or should have. A roaring hiss came with the thrust of his gun, the image of the grinning madman shimmering before distorting with each bullet that surged forth only to disintegrate before the madsci. A supersonic wanterjet shield… and apparently one or both of those fluffy lackeys seemed to carry the generator of such. Damn.
He hit the ground with a wet thud, splattering the puddle of his own blood with a groan as the shock aggravated destroyed ribs. Damn it, he… didn’t have anything left! His mind raced for something, anything he could do and yet he came back with nothing as the fellow raised their hand to him, the air crackling with electrical charge. “I think not, hunter.” The air shimmered threateningly before that outstretched hand, a whip of lightning accompanying a vicious flash of arcing electricity and the world according to Mach went black.
Occurred: Monday, June 8th, 2020
It took a steady gait to stalk on rain mirrored streets, moreso to do such without raising suspicions. The warehouses down in the docks district were always damp but rain from the day still clung to every surface, pooled and gathered on the ground, and filled the air with a muggy humidity as spring grew long, harkening to the fast approaching summer. A stark contrast to the festivities brewing down in the seaside district, a place he once lived before he got that all too familiar reminder where really his lot belonged. All this only added to the dour gloom that hung over the hunter on the prowl, backup caster in hand as that lone cobalt eye surveyed every flicker and shadow.
The 'prophecy' that he would have to kill his friend to stop them from turning into a lich, laughable if not for the fact that they were still greedy for power and marrying a fanatical mage. The betrayal of his trust from a supposed friend which he was sure only robbed him of what he already had so little of. The connection he felt with another because of the shit show life they'd had which he could and would only fail because he knew he couldn't let such a connection grow. And now just right before this the fact that he got another black flag to 'deal with' who just so happened to be a hunter with a kid like Gin had been but without the sense to keep their nose out of the shit… and the one he'd fail getting to see a glimpse of the cold hunter during the preceding to boot. And all of this had just been the last few weeks! It was little wonder he'd forgotten about the high money feelers he'd put out after giving Delorno the literal finger on their 'request'... spurred also by the ever present paranoia that followed him expecting some sort of retribution for such. And yet none had come. If anything his little stunt apparently shook a few branches as after he let the black flag go and was trying to figure what to do to not get curb stomped for his incompetence in tracking as well as to speedo or not to speedo when the break came in.
It wasn't much - a one time delivery for Gaines coming in through the port but it was more than he had in months. If he could show progress on his hunt for Gaines then his botch job with Elodie could be explained away… or so the lie he told himself went. If anything putting a bullet to the young hunter was a much higher priority and his ass would twist for failing to do such which was why he was out here, alone, underprepared and ready to face a hunter killer. Sort of his plan anyway, to find himself put 'out of commission' but doing so while going after Gaines was at least in line with his end goals. Not a high probability of success but hey, he may get lucky.
Rounding a corner he slowed as he heard the muffled sounds of a voice between the wet sounds of water dripping from the overhigh warehouse eves. Another fight with a monster in a Rhy’Din warehouse, life certainly had a way with traumatic themes. Still, he couldn’t have asked for a better local for a showdown as the din of the city with those he cared about faded beneath the washing ebb of waves crashing into shipping piers. Snagging a potion from his belt he threw it back in silence, a shutter crawling up his spine as the poison took hold, heightening his senses. The smell of salt water and grease assaulted his nostrils, the wet streets shimmered, the damp soaked down to has bones… and the lone muffled voice focused into clarity.
"Yes, bring that over… there you go. Snow, help Egg get that… no, no, no, the other way! Pong, show them how it's done! " A lone voice, nasally and pressured with a lowland lilt… Gaines. Mach couldn't believe his luck! Then again he wasn't all too sure what exactly this said about such as he was so very underprepared to deal with the madsci themselves. Straining some he failed to hear any other voices coming from the warehouse, simply the sound of moving crates and the pad of feet… paws maybe? So they were potentially alone save for at least 3 organics of smallish size given the sound of how they shuffled. Better and better though from what he'd gleaned from the case files against the madsci other hunters, better hunters, had just the same advantage and still came away with empty chests. No, there was something he was missing, something that-
"Hey faceman!"
His heart leaped up, pounding, into his throat as that caster was whipped around to the voice that chriped so casually into his ear. A cockney lowland lilt attached to a wry grin and a waifish yet curvy body of woman crowned with a choppy, rainbow pixie cut. It took his brain a moment to process the information, even more to superimpose the figure before him with the one he remembered in the overly baggy orange prison jumper and dull blond bob cut. "Talila….?!"
There was only a little shocked concern being at the business end of a caster before the woman's smile cracked wide. They leapt at him, arms wrapping round his neck as they drew in for a playfully sultry kiss, a pleased purr rattling his teeth. "It's been an age stud! I see time outside has…" Leaning back they gave him a once over with large emerald eyes, their grin shrinking some. " … not done wonders for ya. What the hells!? Thought they'd 'ave fixed you up something pretty! Instead you still got a missin’ eye and a dumb fake arm!”
It was all a lot to take in, that lone cobalt staring at the woman with no small amount of bewilderment despite the rather… enthusiastic greeting. “What the hells are you doing here!?”
This apparently warranted him a flick to the brow, “Is that any way to talk to yer friend? I’m here to help you of course!” They looked almost proud as they spouted this with a grin.
“Ok, ok, but….here!?”
“I know! I was workin’ as… well, I was workin’ fer the Syndicate, yeah? And then I gotta call about a job down here helpin’ you and I just couldn’t resist that!”
Mach considered the woman for a long moment, their smug pride honest as it was misplaced. Damn it. Now he knew why Delorno hadn’t retaliated against him for his slight. Once again the waif of a half-elf was being used as both a carrot and a leash against him thanks to the machinations of the Syndicate. Just how badly did they want to talk to the rogue madsci? Why go through all this trouble? The questions only piled up. “Wait you-” Shuffling sounds to the side worked to remind him of the task at hand as again he pointed his caster at… a small ball of fluff with horns?
“Poro~!" The thing galumphed proudly; dark, vacant eyes filled with a desire for a treat as it padded about in circles. Wait...pad? That lone cobalt shot wide as his head snapped back to the warehouse, will focused as a blue light creeped out around the edges of his eyepatch. The life detect he'd downed earlier, while not able to grant him the ability to look through walls, did allow him to see vague outlines of auras. And the aura in the warehouse… was facing right at them!
"Shit!" He barely had time to unleash the spell that spun in the caster's second processor as he wrenched Talila around. A crack like a whip of lightning boomed through the air and not even a moment later he felt himself being twisted and flung to the ground by the depleted uranium round that caught him in the side like a freight train; pain searing across his back as rib after rib cracked and snapped. His coat deformed, the spell pushed through the integrated spellweave threads working to absorb or shunt as much of that kinetic force as possible but there was just so much of it. Still, the garment held though he wasn't out of the woods yet, the cantrip he'd held in hand tossed aside. The wood splintered and burned up immediately, the charged energy of the linked spell immense as a wave of pure force took him and the half-elf held in his grip careening away from the stick… and the second whip of lightning which sent another slug blasting a sizable crater into the asphalt where they would have landed. The double tap that had been the end of many a hunter though he was still in much worse shape at this point in the fight then he'd hoped for as he hit the ground, tumbling into a warehouse wall across the way all while grasping the woman now cursing beneath him.
"What the Fatanyu! What was that!? What-!" Angry words paled as his blood dribbled upon freckled, angular features; the spells, and the broken ribs, showing their toll. Damn it, magic hadn’t always been this damaging, this hard though then in the past he’d never danced this fine a line with his failing tolerance. So much raw etheric energy just saturated Rhy’Din to the point of giving him a constant headache and yet he couldn’t use a lick of it unless some mage had already been casting and processing the ether for him or he infused each spell with a thread of his very own dwindling life. The subtle but important distinction between him just being a mage with a gun and him being a hunter.
Unfortunately that made hunting a madsci like Gaines that much more dangerous a proposition as they didn’t use magic. They merely emulated some of the miraculousness of magic using esoteric, extreme, and often dangerous science and technology. But that which was miraculous and not easily understood may as well just be magic for all intents and purposes, especially if it was being applied in the pursuit of putting an over large hole in his person. So that meant everything was Mach powered and his life as a battery was pretty much done but that wasn’t going to stop him. Pushing himself up off the woman he snagged a verdant green potion from his belt and downed it, a little steam rolling from his lips. “Get outta here Tali, this ain’t something you ought get involved in!” He all but pulled them up with his right hand, his gaze shifting back to the warehouse, the aura of life missing. Damn!
“Like I’m gonna run, you’re friggin’ bleeding! Come on, we gotta get outta here together!” Long fingers wrapped around his gloved hand, pulling yet he wouldn’t, couldn’t run with them. No, the fight had already started and if he ran now there was a very good chance Gaines would run, go to ground and given the restrictiveness of his posting he’d not be able to give chase. He’d lose them… and that was something he just couldn’t do. “Mach!” They pulled harder but he held his ground, his gaze still wild as he looked for that aura once more. He’d spy it rounding about the corner, coming right for them.
“Go!” The command left him, booming along with that whip of lightning as he pushed the woman away. A moment and suddenly he was being wrenched around, broken ribs screaming as they failed against that torsion. Panic crossed him as he saw the woman being wrenched along with him though the reason was soon evident as a spray of hydraulic fluid and leather, carbon, and titanium shrapnel filled the void between them as the slug tore apart his prosthetic. A flash of agonizing pain blitzed through his mind before the processors cut off the cyber nerves though where the limb entered his shoulder still throbbed metal pulled away from flesh tearing some of those coaxed connections.
The color drained from the woman’s face as she stumbled but didn’t fall, his gloved hand still held among thin fingers. The look she gave him was one he was all too used to - a look of horror at what his life could entail, could be, was. It took a monster to take down monsters and he filled the roll with aplomb. “Go!” The command snarled with venom and rage as he snapped that caster back towards the shadowy figure aiming back at him. He jerked back on the trigger, a menacing electromechanical growl rumbling from the handcannon as it whirled to life…
But that whip of lightning was much faster, a flash of electricity and plasma flaring before the boom. A moment later and he felt his body being ripped the other way, the slug catching his side, arresting in his coat as that spellweave flared though it the kinetic barrier shattered as the processor in his caster crackled and fried under the stress. The slug had lost a lot of its kinetic energy but still had plenty to rip into and out of the tender flesh of his side sending him sprawling to the wet asphalt. And what more he felt the web of his spell shatter apart as the primary processor of that backup caster, his primary given to the idiot hunter in a stupid moment of sentimentality, cooked; an arc of electricity crackling about jolting the weapon free from his grasp, black noxious smoke billowing out of the newly burnt hole in the side chamber. Shit. Shit!
He hazarded a glance to the side, the last vestige of that glowing life sign that was Talila spied hiding behind a warehouse down a ways. They weren’t running but at very least they weren’t peaking back at him. Turning his attention back to the figure that closed he worked to ignore the ball of fluff that pranced around him merrily, tongue lulling as it purred and galumphed. Lone cobalt did note one of the horns had a small, filled, drill mark in it explaining much about how the madsci could target him without a direct line of sight. And so adjusting his one good arm so as to prop himself up he glared at the thin figure that came to stand before him in a worn brown suit which hung on their lean figure. Messy brown locks were kept short and untidy and in those amber eyes he could see the obvious flare of the spark as they studied him. “Oh my, oh my… a hunter, out here? Surely that’s got to be an abuse of taxes.” They spoke with a spry lilt, Northwestern with a hint of pressure from thoughts that traveled just a little too fast to keep up with. “And you’ve chosen to come after me? All the way out here. Really?”
Mach adjusted his comfy lay on the ground to roll his shoulder mildly in a shrug. “Seemed the thing to do… Gaines Clyfer.” His smile held a vicious edge to it as he stared defiantly up at the ragamuffin man, in no position to have such confidence but then if not during such down and out times then when? This garnered a curious tilt of head from the madsci as they watched him though their gaze continued to flit to the yapping creature that was still bounding around behind him. Something seemed off about the excitement the thing had, especially given as a couple more flanked the madsci now, no taller than their knee caps but just as vacant looking as the first.
Suddenly the man’s angular features shifted, brow dropping as their mouth opened in awe. They peered down at him. “Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait. a. minute!” A pair of glasses was pulled from their pocket and crammed onto their face as they peered at him more intensely, their expression splitting into a maniacal grin. “Oh this is just great! Egg, you brilliant ball of fluff and tongue! This is perfect!”
Something about the man’s excitement disturbed him as he shifted once more. “What’s that…asshole…?” He could feel his breaths grow more shallow as fluid slowly filled his lungs, a burning pain radiating out from his torn up side.
The venom in his tone was blithely ignored as their grin cracked malevolently. “Why, you of course!”
This warranted a ragged snort, his head shaking. “Sorry to disappoint...but only thing I’m doing is...avenging Gin…”
The man’s near bouncing slowed just a smidge as they considered him curiously. “Who?”
Right. His brows furrowed angrily. “Ask him when you see him…” Shifting he fell off that leaned elbow, the hand that had worked its way behind his back drawing the service 45 auto from it’s paddle holster.At this range he didn’t have to worry about aiming or bracing as the thrust the gun forward at the man, their eyes widening just a hair as he pulled the trigger.
One, two, three, four… the gunfire resounded in the relative peace of the docks, the rapid salvo lossed center of mass in the man… or should have. A roaring hiss came with the thrust of his gun, the image of the grinning madman shimmering before distorting with each bullet that surged forth only to disintegrate before the madsci. A supersonic wanterjet shield… and apparently one or both of those fluffy lackeys seemed to carry the generator of such. Damn.
He hit the ground with a wet thud, splattering the puddle of his own blood with a groan as the shock aggravated destroyed ribs. Damn it, he… didn’t have anything left! His mind raced for something, anything he could do and yet he came back with nothing as the fellow raised their hand to him, the air crackling with electrical charge. “I think not, hunter.” The air shimmered threateningly before that outstretched hand, a whip of lightning accompanying a vicious flash of arcing electricity and the world according to Mach went black.
Re: The Hunter's Life
Missing
“Come on now Egg, you know these things are full of squacky little apps…" Gaines depressed and held in the power rocker once more, a ten count later and the device once more blipped off. “You can only chew on it if you’re going to be careful, yes?”
The poro chirped admonished though it’s mood greatly improved as they were handed back the sliver of technology turned chew toy. Prancing around once more the creature ran around the figure strapped to an industrial metal chair, a thick cable attached to a large mainframe on one end snaking up and plugging in through a hole drilled through the back of their skull. Mach.
An IV in his arm slowly dripped a cocktail of drugs into him, keeping him unconscious and sedated though whatever dreams played out had the man squirming, a gamut of emotions pulling on tear streaked features as one word uttered painfully, repeatedly under his breath…
“Elena…”
The phone creaked in the jaws of the poro as they returned to chewing on the sliver of tech once more; a pleased purr escaping as the device flickered to life and began to vibrate with the backlog of notifications flooding in. Prancing about merrily the creature chewed some more, pausing only as it’s master reached down.Text from Sammie:Gotta -clapping hand emoji- it to ya, you sure know how to make a girl feel welcome.
Text from Shrink Dinkling: Mr. Turner, you are overdue for counseling again. Please call in when you get the chance.
Text from Sammie: -Emojis: Peach, Thumbs Up, Index Point to the Right, Fireworks-
Text from Rhy’din General Hospital: Your new billing statement is available. Please contact our Billing and Finance department if you have any questions or concerns.
Text from ReggBoo: This is my new number.
Response: Timeout Error - Autoreply Sent: We're sorry, the mobile user you are trying to reach is currently out of network or their phone is off. If this is an emergency please text 37911 to this number to initiate a forced notification. Rates and fees may apply.
Text from Sgt Tightwad: Turner, HQ wants an update on the Spencer case. Were you able to apprehend?
Response: Timeout Error - Autoreply Sent: We're sorry, the mobile user you are trying to reach is currently out of network or their phone is off. If this is an emergency please text 37911 to this number to initiate a forced notification. Rates and fees may apply.
Text from Sgt Tightwad: Force Notice Initiated - Message: Hey asshole, crawl out of whatever hole you’re fucking and get back to work.
Response: Timeout Error - Autoreply Sent: Error attempting to force push notification. Please contact your service provider for assistance.
Text from UNKNOWN - 1347-209-1-754: Ping
Response: Timeout Error - Autoreply Sent: We're sorry, the mobile user you are trying to reach is currently out of network or their phone is off.
Text from Sammie Did you really have to be so hard on Rapunzel?
Response: Timeout Error - Autoreply Sent: We're sorry, the mobile user you are trying to reach is currently out of network or their phone is off. If this is an emergency please text 37911 to this number to initiate a forced notification. Rates and fees may apply.
Text from Sammie: Force Notice Initiated - Message: WTF?! Is this the world's most complicated blow off? Look, whatever, the kid fucked up. I can guarantee she's beating herself up way worse than you ever could. Just talk to her. Ass.
Response: Timeout Error - Autoreply Sent: Error attempting to force push notification. Please contact your service provider for assistance.
Text from UNKNOWN - 1347-209-1-754: Ping
Response: Timeout Error - Autoreply Sent: We're sorry, the mobile user you are trying to reach is currently out of network or their phone is off.
Text from XuneRune: You dont have to die alone
Response: Time-out Autoreply Sent: We're sorry, the mobile user you are trying to reach is currently out of network or their phone is off. If this is an emergency please text 37911 to this number to initiate a forced notification. Rates and fees may apply.
Text from XuneRune: Force Notice Initiated - Message: don’t do this
Response: Timeout Error - Autoreply Sent: Error attempting to force push notification. Please contact your service provider for assistance.
Text from Regi: That ‘soul’ bottle you brought me should work great
Text from Regi: Still don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish with this
Response: Time-out Autoreply Sent: We're sorry, the mobile user you are trying to reach is currently out of network or their phone is off. If this is an emergency please text 37911 to this number to initiate a forced notification. Rates and fees may apply.
Text from Regi: I mean it would have to be small and you’d only have a week
Response: Time-out Autoreply Sent: We're sorry, the mobile user you are trying to reach is currently out of network or their phone is off. If this is an emergency please text 37911 to this number to initiate a forced notification. Rates and fees may apply.
Text from Lt Tightbuns: Turner, it’s been a week. I know you can go deep in whatever you're into at the moment but I need a response on the Spencer black flag you got. Get back to me or file a brief direct.
Response: Time-out Autoreply Sent: We're sorry, the mobile user you are trying to reach is currently out of network or their phone is off. If this is an emergency please text 37911 to this number to initiate a forced notification. Rates and fees may apply.
Text from XuneRune: I wish you would come home. I know this numbers not working but you’re an idiot.
Response: Timeout Error - Autoreply Sent: We're sorry, the mobile user you are trying to reach is currently out of network or their phone is off. If this is an emergency please text 37911 to this number to initiate a forced notification. Rates and fees may apply.
Text from Regi: Force Notice Initiated - Message: Your machine response system, while elegant for what it is, is annoying.
Response: Timeout Error - Autoreply Sent: Error attempting to force push notification. Please contact your service provider for assistance.
“Come on now Egg, you know these things are full of squacky little apps…" Gaines depressed and held in the power rocker once more, a ten count later and the device once more blipped off. “You can only chew on it if you’re going to be careful, yes?”
The poro chirped admonished though it’s mood greatly improved as they were handed back the sliver of technology turned chew toy. Prancing around once more the creature ran around the figure strapped to an industrial metal chair, a thick cable attached to a large mainframe on one end snaking up and plugging in through a hole drilled through the back of their skull. Mach.
An IV in his arm slowly dripped a cocktail of drugs into him, keeping him unconscious and sedated though whatever dreams played out had the man squirming, a gamut of emotions pulling on tear streaked features as one word uttered painfully, repeatedly under his breath…
“Elena…”
Re: The Hunter's Life
Lucid Memories / Vivid Dreams - part 1
The world before him washed out in warm light, his body felt heavy, tired. Reaching up he tapped the side of his head, neoprene gloves soft against his temple as the rumble of a diesel engine filled his ears. A few blinks and finally the world came into view. Before him a brilliant vista over the lazy roll of the ocean, the road he travelled upon cut… no, grown from the winding cliff. Looking down he noted the digi-gray urban camo of his service jumper, black tactical gloves hugging his hands with a wrist comp strapped to his left forearm. He scratched the mildly at his right arm, the stiff fabric itchy upon his skin.
“Looking a little out of it there Captain.” His gaze slid to the deep rumble next to him, a large black man dressed in a similar camo jumper with black combat boots and a service pistol strapped to their hip mirthless as they kept their eyes ahead and hands on the steering wheel of the transport. Gunnery Sergeant Rolands, or just Gunny Rols as everyone knew them. Stoic as any Dogaran he’d ever met.
“Oh lay off the Cap, you know how busy he can be, right?” He looked back to the grinning face of the fellow behind Rols; angular and lean with a shock of blond up top and shaved sides - Sergeant First Class Jefferies. The taskforce quartermaster, Jeff was a born and bred haggler who was the reason why a plucky peacekeeper outfit like there's as well supplied as they were.
"Not so much as you, busyboy." The caramel like voice dripped with smarm from the caramel skinned woman in the seat behind his. He could just see the playful half grin of Specialist Tenwa in his mind, a Tolirean women who could kick the ass of just about anyone in their platoon save for maybe Werebear, one of the other proper 2A hunters other than himself and the unfortunately nicknamed Battery.
"If you've got time to banter you've got time to review mission details." The gruff voice scratched in his ear from the small sound tube that snaked up behind from the mic collar strapped around his throat. Sergeant Major Gillen was exactly what you wanted from an operations NCO - a firm anchor and steadying voice for the taskforce though they were a little too humorless at times.
"Ah come on Sarge, nothing wrong with a little comradery before a mission, yeah?" Sergeant Everette spoke up in the comm with the same Minostre plainsland accent that he had but theirs had a distinctly more educated, less punky childhood vibe than his. Then again they were one of the two TS29 MOS' along with Specialist Ano attached directly to his taskforce and the military didn't just let any braindead idiot play with their tech… hunters like him excluded of course.
“’Palling around won’t stop a bullet or a fireball’” Staff Sergeant Ylgan cut in full of mirth as they channeled the operations sergeant. A wholly average grunt from the Volstyr region who’d somehow weaseled their way out of any actual combat during the war with the Vil’nyr Collective, the two were kinda like night and day given Gillen had volunteered for every forward operation he could during the five year conflict.
“It won’t.” The sergeant majors gruff voice cut back that cold barb over the comm.
“Sir...rs, please don’t.” Sergeant Gordon’s voice was soft spoken yet blunt, the comms officer obviously not finding the chatter amusing given they had to listen to all of it as part of their job. A stark difference from Specialist Bordensky whom he was sure had tuned out to their music long ago. Give target and they'd put boom on it, just don't ask anything more of them.
“Alright everybody, let’s clear the comms.We’re almost at the university and I’m sure Blackjack is trying to think.” This voice scratched softly in his ear, warm and gentle from the section's field medic. He couldn't help but smile just thinking of Sergeant Sapinsky… of Elena's calming presence. They just had that way about them, a natural caring sorts who should've been a doctor in the civy side of not for circumstances.
His reverie was cut short by a snort from Jefferies with a slight grin even pulling on Roland's stoic features. Jerks. Turning his attention back out the windshield he could see their destination crest out from behind the cliffside ahead - Holvath University of Arcana. Or more precisely the artifact research and scriptorium. Right, they had a mission to do out here. A disturbance report investigation at an arcane school promoting the need for hunters rather than mere police… and his section was closest. A veritable milk run of a hunt.
The world before him washed out in warm light, his body felt heavy, tired. Reaching up he tapped the side of his head, neoprene gloves soft against his temple as the rumble of a diesel engine filled his ears. A few blinks and finally the world came into view. Before him a brilliant vista over the lazy roll of the ocean, the road he travelled upon cut… no, grown from the winding cliff. Looking down he noted the digi-gray urban camo of his service jumper, black tactical gloves hugging his hands with a wrist comp strapped to his left forearm. He scratched the mildly at his right arm, the stiff fabric itchy upon his skin.
“Looking a little out of it there Captain.” His gaze slid to the deep rumble next to him, a large black man dressed in a similar camo jumper with black combat boots and a service pistol strapped to their hip mirthless as they kept their eyes ahead and hands on the steering wheel of the transport. Gunnery Sergeant Rolands, or just Gunny Rols as everyone knew them. Stoic as any Dogaran he’d ever met.
“Oh lay off the Cap, you know how busy he can be, right?” He looked back to the grinning face of the fellow behind Rols; angular and lean with a shock of blond up top and shaved sides - Sergeant First Class Jefferies. The taskforce quartermaster, Jeff was a born and bred haggler who was the reason why a plucky peacekeeper outfit like there's as well supplied as they were.
"Not so much as you, busyboy." The caramel like voice dripped with smarm from the caramel skinned woman in the seat behind his. He could just see the playful half grin of Specialist Tenwa in his mind, a Tolirean women who could kick the ass of just about anyone in their platoon save for maybe Werebear, one of the other proper 2A hunters other than himself and the unfortunately nicknamed Battery.
"If you've got time to banter you've got time to review mission details." The gruff voice scratched in his ear from the small sound tube that snaked up behind from the mic collar strapped around his throat. Sergeant Major Gillen was exactly what you wanted from an operations NCO - a firm anchor and steadying voice for the taskforce though they were a little too humorless at times.
"Ah come on Sarge, nothing wrong with a little comradery before a mission, yeah?" Sergeant Everette spoke up in the comm with the same Minostre plainsland accent that he had but theirs had a distinctly more educated, less punky childhood vibe than his. Then again they were one of the two TS29 MOS' along with Specialist Ano attached directly to his taskforce and the military didn't just let any braindead idiot play with their tech… hunters like him excluded of course.
“’Palling around won’t stop a bullet or a fireball’” Staff Sergeant Ylgan cut in full of mirth as they channeled the operations sergeant. A wholly average grunt from the Volstyr region who’d somehow weaseled their way out of any actual combat during the war with the Vil’nyr Collective, the two were kinda like night and day given Gillen had volunteered for every forward operation he could during the five year conflict.
“It won’t.” The sergeant majors gruff voice cut back that cold barb over the comm.
“Sir...rs, please don’t.” Sergeant Gordon’s voice was soft spoken yet blunt, the comms officer obviously not finding the chatter amusing given they had to listen to all of it as part of their job. A stark difference from Specialist Bordensky whom he was sure had tuned out to their music long ago. Give target and they'd put boom on it, just don't ask anything more of them.
“Alright everybody, let’s clear the comms.We’re almost at the university and I’m sure Blackjack is trying to think.” This voice scratched softly in his ear, warm and gentle from the section's field medic. He couldn't help but smile just thinking of Sergeant Sapinsky… of Elena's calming presence. They just had that way about them, a natural caring sorts who should've been a doctor in the civy side of not for circumstances.
His reverie was cut short by a snort from Jefferies with a slight grin even pulling on Roland's stoic features. Jerks. Turning his attention back out the windshield he could see their destination crest out from behind the cliffside ahead - Holvath University of Arcana. Or more precisely the artifact research and scriptorium. Right, they had a mission to do out here. A disturbance report investigation at an arcane school promoting the need for hunters rather than mere police… and his section was closest. A veritable milk run of a hunt.
Re: The Hunter's Life
Lucid Memories / Vivid Dreams - part 2
The Holvath University of Arcana had originally been a scholarly monastery dating all the way back to the dark ages. It was situated in a remote and secluded alcove in the region north of the Deganbacks both for it's natural fortification and the current of wild etheric energies washing over it driven by the churning waves of the ocean making it an ideal place to study magic. Of course nowadays it was mostly kept active because of its seclusion from population centers making it easy to just bomb into a crater if any of the arcane research that occurred there got out of hand. Oh how times could twist and change the importance for a location.
Stepping out of the armored prisoner transport he couldn't help but be taken in by the old world majesty of the ancient stone buildings that surrounded them. Even though every building had that simple monastic look despite additions throughout the centuries it was still easy to pick out which had been originals given the swirly, grainy pattern on the surface of the blocks used to build them. The telltale markings of the ancient, primitive magic manipulations used to grow the blocks, sewn deep to the very heart of the stone so no amount of weathering could ever polish or wear such features clean. It gave the buildings an almost coldly organic look, a garish corruption of the warmer wooden longhalls and cathedrals depicted in the histories which these were based on though none of those had survived to the modern day, decaying away millennia ago. A living fossil, a throwback to a bygone eon where humans lived under the yolk of oppression by the ancient races, arcane monsters, and even the demi-gods themselves… or so the textbooks said.
He didn't care much for any of that, all he knew was that the buildings gave him the heebie jeebies. Doubly so for how quiet everything was. Campus security and local law enforcement had already set up a perimeter by the time they came rolling in. The situation report they'd gotten at the entrance was… unhelpful though they typically weren't given most folks were typically smart enough to turn tail when fireballs started getting bambied about. Of course the campus was apparently rather abandoned to begin with given most the students and staff were away for the inter-semester summer break. This fact along with the small size of the group likely meant that this was an artifact heist by some antagonistic group or another and not some form of demonstration.
Moving away from the gathering he quickly worked to don his ballistic vest and hip pack of potions pulled from the lockers in the transport. Next came the anti-domination helmet, G54-A bullpup assault rifle under arm, and finally his Rugen SA Caster under his other arm - the weapon of the hunter. It wasn't a lot of protection but then layers of ballistic plates weren't going to save a person from being fried by lightning. No, better to have mobility and spellweave sewn into your jumper then lots of probably useless armor.
With that done he moved back over to his colleagues; fingers wandering absently to do one last touch check of gear both holstered or affixed via webbing ensuring every cantrip, ammo clip, and ancillary tool or item he figured he needed were in their proper place. As he walked amongst his soldiers he made spot checks of their gear as well, tugging here and there to make sure everything was secured properly, a pat offered to shoulder if they passed his offhand inspection. It was such an odd feeling, his soldiers, as though he’d somehow earned the right to lead anything beyond a fireteam. And yet here he was, a 24 years old punk from Prysbil and already the rank of Captain with his very own command. It hadn’t been an easy road for a natural dumbass hothead like him but a cooler, calmer head had helped him by providing a goal for him… for them to work towards. A future, not predicated on the shit lot in life either of them had been born to.
Finishing his self check he found his fingers lingering over one vial in particular - a regeneration potion. Muscle memory spurred by trauma was obviously a bitch to erase as he forced himself away from that potion, from all of them. No, he wasn't going to get himself snacked on by a dragon, stop it PTSD! On top of the ludicrousness of that whispered scream from the back of his mind though he was trying to cut back on potions, regens in particular as they had a tendency to sterilize hunters with enough use and he had plans that required a working dongle!
His meandering pace finally carried him up to the other two hunters in the section, 1st Lt. Raol 'Werebear' Ulvir who was pretty much an ogre in human skin and 2nd Lt. Peter 'Battery' Bartrim who was pretty much a weevil in human skin… yeah, they were very much night and day. In all accords really Werebear was just finishing sinking a battle stim potion, the fellow a brewster like him. Battery, like a true archanist, was triple checking their stock of cantrips and caster rounds which they could power for much greater effect than Ulvir or himself ever could. In honesty this should have made Battery more useful though in practice most folks tended to surrender when they had an angry looking Werebear charging like a freight train at them. "So, what do we think?"
Werebear gave him a sideways glance. "Looks like it aughta be very educational…" Their stoic expression held for a long moment before their lips cracked into a grin.
"Oh har, har…" Battery shot them a withered glare which only seemed to delight the walking mountain of a hunter. "At least you don't gotta worry none about potioning so hard you burn a place down."
"Sounds like someone's got a problem prematurely poppin' off." His own grin grew as Battery took just as much offense to his little jab.
They looked like they were about to snipe back when he felt the heavy presence of Sergeant Major Gillen stalk up from behind; their voice a low, thunderous growl. "It sounds like our three principles have got a problem with their threat assessment."
Despite outranking the curmudgeon he… all three of them couldn't help but stiffen up a little. The man had been in the military longer than some of them had even been alive, they'd earned the respect they were granted from everyone and he wasn't going to stand in the way of them helping him keep them all alive. "You have us there Master Gillen, us lot ain't ever been well learned on threat other than what sorta hammer to bring to bear."
This warranted a dismissive snort from the man as they fell in line next to him. "Well here's hoping all we have are small nails to deal with then today. So we have a plan?" They shot each of them a look. They might have been the most experienced one there but that didn't mean they just steamrolled over their superiors. The man was well aware of the give and take face of being in the military. There were no efforts that weren't team efforts as the motto went.
"I'd say a three way sweep." Werebear motioned to the largest, oldest building that was the reported last known location of the aggressors.
"What about any splitoffs?"
They shrugged at the Master Sergeants loaded question. "Don't want to dilute down our strength too much. If we're all in the same building we can help each other out if things get hairy. For splitoffs we can deal with them systematically afterwards. Not like there's a lot of ways in or outta here.”
“For us.” Battery interjected, ever the pessimist though they liked to call it realism. Then again they had a point, mages had far more ways of slipping in and out of a situation than normies or even augmented normies did.
“Both valid points. Sir?” The Gillen looked to him, both respectful and quizzing.
While his close council was always welcome to make suggestions as commanding officer the final say was always his to make. Just one of those things that came with command though if he didn’t think… if they didn’t think he was up to the task he’d never have pushed for this. Considering his options for a moment he looked back to the ancient building. “We play this by the book - three team concentrated sweep. We’ll watch our backs, make sure we all come back, and if any get away, well, guess I’ll get my ass massaged by the tender teeth of Major Bently.”
Gillen seemed to approve of this as they almost let their lips curl upward. “Right. Any objections?”
Both Werebear and Batter shook their heads, easy to agree to such when their asses weren’t in the crosshairs if things didn’t go right! Regardless he couldn’t help but smile at the confidence they put in his judgement. “Looks like we’re in agreement.”
All of them turned back towards the gathered troops, Gillen stepping forward as their voice rose to a bark. “Alright ladies and gents, we’re going to split into three fireteams, each led by a hunter. We’ll sweep the last known location of our three perpetrators.
Wraith 1 will be Ulvir, Ylgan 2, Bordensky 3, Ano 4 - you will take the upper floor, left side offices and scriptoriums.
Phantom 1 will be Battery, Rolands 2, Everette 3, Tenwa 4 - you will take the upper floor, right side offices and research halls.
Spector 1 will be Turner, myself 2, Jefferies 3, Gordon 4, Sapinsky 5 - we will take the first floor lecture halls and offices.
All teams will enter from the north and make their way south to grand library hall. Once we finish our sweep we’ll reconvene in the storage area and decide if we need to sweep the other buildings. RoE is capture but survival comes first. Any questions?”
The gathering shook their head, their answer coming in unison. “No sir!”
He stepped forward as Gillen stepped aside. “Alright then, keep your heads on a swivel and lets do this. Good hunting.”
“Hurrah!” His team chanted in unison before breaking apart into their respective groups as they made their way for the large, ominous stone building. Passing by a stone statue of a Mangdrell circling the central fountain of the courtyard he felt a tug at the sleeve of his jumper, a look back caught sight of soft walnut brown hair.
“Sir, a moment?” It was all business as Sergeant Sapinsky looked up at him with gray flecked hazels. He had to force himself to keep a professional face as well as he looked up at the rest of his squad. He could see the coy amusement on Jefferies' face as they turned to play catchup with the disinterested Gordon leaving only Gillen to level a disapproving look at the pair. Staring them down a moment longer the man grunted, turning to follow-up the rear of the squads.
They barely made it around the ferocious granite beast when the woman slid into his arms, leaning up to share a greedy kiss with him. He savored the stolen moment, the taste of her lapsinberry lip balm and the gentle aroma of habidrys that wafted from her short, curly locks.
The punk and the gentle princess, it was almost laughable that the two were a pair and yet… there they were. A wedding was still a ways off because they hadn’t quite worked out how they were going to do that since they’d rushed into pulling strings and favors to end up in the same platoon and even the same section despite the U.T.R.A,’s strict policies on fraternization between officers and NCO’s or their unwillingness to put families together. But the promise was made; the fancier, matching chain used to hold their dog tags speaking volumes of such.
Breaking that kiss he smiled down at the woman who mirrored the warmth back at him. “You be extra careful Len.”
“Oh, I should be careful Tia?” She giggled softly at the notion, the both of them knowing he was much more likely to fly off the handle at things than the battlefield medic. Part of the reason she used that same nickname that his brother Mike used rather than the much preferred Eli. Still, it was by her own insistence that she was part of a hunter team rather than as a nurse in a VA so she didn’t have much of a leg to stand on.
“Yes you should.” He gave her as stern a look as he could muster but it fell apart the instant her lips lifted to brush against his once more before she pulled away.
“I will. I got my hero with me after all, yeah?” Such a cheeky smile as she prodded him with that little term of endearment. He didn't’ see it, especially given that she’d been the one to save his life when he’d been munched near in two by a dragon during the war yet she still insisted that his punk ass self had done just the same and more back when they were just teens on the mean streets of Prysbil.
Rounding about the statue she was all business again, same as him… save for that little eep he garnered when he smacked her bottom while passing to catch up with the rest of the troops.
* * * * * *
It had been a cozy stay at home night for the new couple. Upon learning Alexia had never seen a television in her life, Danny exuberantly suggested a trash tv night. Bad sitcoms and poorly written drama series that took themselves too seriously, and lots and lots of junk food. She was only too happy to have a reason to snuggle up with him for hours. This time, she had stolen one of his shirts, despite having plenty of her own clothes, with the argument that it was just so soft and smelled like him. Greatly amused, he smiled and opened up his arms to her from his spot on the couch. Eventually, they both fell asleep in each other’s embrace. The channel they had been watching defaulted back to the color bar test screen, casting a soft glow upon them.
Sometime after, the little fae stirred. It started with a soft groan as though she might awake, instead resulting in a furrowing of her pretty brow and a frown pulling at her lips. In her dreams flashed the faces of people she had never met in what looked like some type of battle gear. They were looking at her as a voice somewhere near her barked orders after giving a last minute rundown of their mission. As they continued to stare at her, she became unnerved.
Soon the faces blurred and new images swirled into semi focus. A large building loomed ahead. She could hear broken static signals and the frantic sounds of crackly voices corresponding and then suddenly falling silent. Inside the building, books lined the walls all the way to the ceiling and would have been enticing to the vociferous reader that was the little halfling, but for the sudden burst of flames. They licked at every surface, singing her nostrils with acrid smoke. In the back of her subconscious, she wondered at the sensation. This was supposed to be a dream, a nightmare to be specific, so why did it feel like she was actually inhaling smoke?
Before she could ponder on it another moment, she felt strong hands on her shoulders. A familiar voice called out softly.
“Alexia? Alexia!” Her eyes flew open and Danny’s face came into focus, concern etched deeply into his handsome features. He held her upright by her biceps, steadying her while she battled a small coughing fit. Idly she wondered when she had sat up. As her breathing slowed and the nightmare faded, her deeply scarred little hands rose to rest on his shoulders.
“Wh-What…” Her voice trailed off as the upsetting visions began to fade.
“You were having a nightmare, love.” His thumbs gently massaged her shoulders, grounding her back into the here and now.
“N-Nightmare?” She echoed. Slowly, her little body began to slacken in his grasp. Danny nodded in response to her question.
“Are you okay? Do you remember what it was about?” Although Danny didn’t know too many of the specifics, he knew, just like him, she’d had more trauma than one person should have to bear. His intense green eyes searched her rich dark brown ones.
“N-No, I can’t say that I d-do…” With a small shake of her head, she managed a sweet smile for him. “I th-think I’m alright now, mo chroí.”
He looked at her with uncertainty for a moment or two before softening his expression as well. Smiling warmly right back at her, he released her arms and reached up to take her face in his hand, his thumb gently tracing her eyebrow.
“What say we go to bed, then, yeah?” He said, almost whispering. She nodded sleepily and, after placing a soft kiss on her lips, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her off to his bed. Within moments, they were both fast asleep, nestled happily in each other's arms.
(A special thank you to Alexia Longbow for writing in this scene!)
The Holvath University of Arcana had originally been a scholarly monastery dating all the way back to the dark ages. It was situated in a remote and secluded alcove in the region north of the Deganbacks both for it's natural fortification and the current of wild etheric energies washing over it driven by the churning waves of the ocean making it an ideal place to study magic. Of course nowadays it was mostly kept active because of its seclusion from population centers making it easy to just bomb into a crater if any of the arcane research that occurred there got out of hand. Oh how times could twist and change the importance for a location.
Stepping out of the armored prisoner transport he couldn't help but be taken in by the old world majesty of the ancient stone buildings that surrounded them. Even though every building had that simple monastic look despite additions throughout the centuries it was still easy to pick out which had been originals given the swirly, grainy pattern on the surface of the blocks used to build them. The telltale markings of the ancient, primitive magic manipulations used to grow the blocks, sewn deep to the very heart of the stone so no amount of weathering could ever polish or wear such features clean. It gave the buildings an almost coldly organic look, a garish corruption of the warmer wooden longhalls and cathedrals depicted in the histories which these were based on though none of those had survived to the modern day, decaying away millennia ago. A living fossil, a throwback to a bygone eon where humans lived under the yolk of oppression by the ancient races, arcane monsters, and even the demi-gods themselves… or so the textbooks said.
He didn't care much for any of that, all he knew was that the buildings gave him the heebie jeebies. Doubly so for how quiet everything was. Campus security and local law enforcement had already set up a perimeter by the time they came rolling in. The situation report they'd gotten at the entrance was… unhelpful though they typically weren't given most folks were typically smart enough to turn tail when fireballs started getting bambied about. Of course the campus was apparently rather abandoned to begin with given most the students and staff were away for the inter-semester summer break. This fact along with the small size of the group likely meant that this was an artifact heist by some antagonistic group or another and not some form of demonstration.
Moving away from the gathering he quickly worked to don his ballistic vest and hip pack of potions pulled from the lockers in the transport. Next came the anti-domination helmet, G54-A bullpup assault rifle under arm, and finally his Rugen SA Caster under his other arm - the weapon of the hunter. It wasn't a lot of protection but then layers of ballistic plates weren't going to save a person from being fried by lightning. No, better to have mobility and spellweave sewn into your jumper then lots of probably useless armor.
With that done he moved back over to his colleagues; fingers wandering absently to do one last touch check of gear both holstered or affixed via webbing ensuring every cantrip, ammo clip, and ancillary tool or item he figured he needed were in their proper place. As he walked amongst his soldiers he made spot checks of their gear as well, tugging here and there to make sure everything was secured properly, a pat offered to shoulder if they passed his offhand inspection. It was such an odd feeling, his soldiers, as though he’d somehow earned the right to lead anything beyond a fireteam. And yet here he was, a 24 years old punk from Prysbil and already the rank of Captain with his very own command. It hadn’t been an easy road for a natural dumbass hothead like him but a cooler, calmer head had helped him by providing a goal for him… for them to work towards. A future, not predicated on the shit lot in life either of them had been born to.
Finishing his self check he found his fingers lingering over one vial in particular - a regeneration potion. Muscle memory spurred by trauma was obviously a bitch to erase as he forced himself away from that potion, from all of them. No, he wasn't going to get himself snacked on by a dragon, stop it PTSD! On top of the ludicrousness of that whispered scream from the back of his mind though he was trying to cut back on potions, regens in particular as they had a tendency to sterilize hunters with enough use and he had plans that required a working dongle!
His meandering pace finally carried him up to the other two hunters in the section, 1st Lt. Raol 'Werebear' Ulvir who was pretty much an ogre in human skin and 2nd Lt. Peter 'Battery' Bartrim who was pretty much a weevil in human skin… yeah, they were very much night and day. In all accords really Werebear was just finishing sinking a battle stim potion, the fellow a brewster like him. Battery, like a true archanist, was triple checking their stock of cantrips and caster rounds which they could power for much greater effect than Ulvir or himself ever could. In honesty this should have made Battery more useful though in practice most folks tended to surrender when they had an angry looking Werebear charging like a freight train at them. "So, what do we think?"
Werebear gave him a sideways glance. "Looks like it aughta be very educational…" Their stoic expression held for a long moment before their lips cracked into a grin.
"Oh har, har…" Battery shot them a withered glare which only seemed to delight the walking mountain of a hunter. "At least you don't gotta worry none about potioning so hard you burn a place down."
"Sounds like someone's got a problem prematurely poppin' off." His own grin grew as Battery took just as much offense to his little jab.
They looked like they were about to snipe back when he felt the heavy presence of Sergeant Major Gillen stalk up from behind; their voice a low, thunderous growl. "It sounds like our three principles have got a problem with their threat assessment."
Despite outranking the curmudgeon he… all three of them couldn't help but stiffen up a little. The man had been in the military longer than some of them had even been alive, they'd earned the respect they were granted from everyone and he wasn't going to stand in the way of them helping him keep them all alive. "You have us there Master Gillen, us lot ain't ever been well learned on threat other than what sorta hammer to bring to bear."
This warranted a dismissive snort from the man as they fell in line next to him. "Well here's hoping all we have are small nails to deal with then today. So we have a plan?" They shot each of them a look. They might have been the most experienced one there but that didn't mean they just steamrolled over their superiors. The man was well aware of the give and take face of being in the military. There were no efforts that weren't team efforts as the motto went.
"I'd say a three way sweep." Werebear motioned to the largest, oldest building that was the reported last known location of the aggressors.
"What about any splitoffs?"
They shrugged at the Master Sergeants loaded question. "Don't want to dilute down our strength too much. If we're all in the same building we can help each other out if things get hairy. For splitoffs we can deal with them systematically afterwards. Not like there's a lot of ways in or outta here.”
“For us.” Battery interjected, ever the pessimist though they liked to call it realism. Then again they had a point, mages had far more ways of slipping in and out of a situation than normies or even augmented normies did.
“Both valid points. Sir?” The Gillen looked to him, both respectful and quizzing.
While his close council was always welcome to make suggestions as commanding officer the final say was always his to make. Just one of those things that came with command though if he didn’t think… if they didn’t think he was up to the task he’d never have pushed for this. Considering his options for a moment he looked back to the ancient building. “We play this by the book - three team concentrated sweep. We’ll watch our backs, make sure we all come back, and if any get away, well, guess I’ll get my ass massaged by the tender teeth of Major Bently.”
Gillen seemed to approve of this as they almost let their lips curl upward. “Right. Any objections?”
Both Werebear and Batter shook their heads, easy to agree to such when their asses weren’t in the crosshairs if things didn’t go right! Regardless he couldn’t help but smile at the confidence they put in his judgement. “Looks like we’re in agreement.”
All of them turned back towards the gathered troops, Gillen stepping forward as their voice rose to a bark. “Alright ladies and gents, we’re going to split into three fireteams, each led by a hunter. We’ll sweep the last known location of our three perpetrators.
Wraith 1 will be Ulvir, Ylgan 2, Bordensky 3, Ano 4 - you will take the upper floor, left side offices and scriptoriums.
Phantom 1 will be Battery, Rolands 2, Everette 3, Tenwa 4 - you will take the upper floor, right side offices and research halls.
Spector 1 will be Turner, myself 2, Jefferies 3, Gordon 4, Sapinsky 5 - we will take the first floor lecture halls and offices.
All teams will enter from the north and make their way south to grand library hall. Once we finish our sweep we’ll reconvene in the storage area and decide if we need to sweep the other buildings. RoE is capture but survival comes first. Any questions?”
The gathering shook their head, their answer coming in unison. “No sir!”
He stepped forward as Gillen stepped aside. “Alright then, keep your heads on a swivel and lets do this. Good hunting.”
“Hurrah!” His team chanted in unison before breaking apart into their respective groups as they made their way for the large, ominous stone building. Passing by a stone statue of a Mangdrell circling the central fountain of the courtyard he felt a tug at the sleeve of his jumper, a look back caught sight of soft walnut brown hair.
“Sir, a moment?” It was all business as Sergeant Sapinsky looked up at him with gray flecked hazels. He had to force himself to keep a professional face as well as he looked up at the rest of his squad. He could see the coy amusement on Jefferies' face as they turned to play catchup with the disinterested Gordon leaving only Gillen to level a disapproving look at the pair. Staring them down a moment longer the man grunted, turning to follow-up the rear of the squads.
They barely made it around the ferocious granite beast when the woman slid into his arms, leaning up to share a greedy kiss with him. He savored the stolen moment, the taste of her lapsinberry lip balm and the gentle aroma of habidrys that wafted from her short, curly locks.
The punk and the gentle princess, it was almost laughable that the two were a pair and yet… there they were. A wedding was still a ways off because they hadn’t quite worked out how they were going to do that since they’d rushed into pulling strings and favors to end up in the same platoon and even the same section despite the U.T.R.A,’s strict policies on fraternization between officers and NCO’s or their unwillingness to put families together. But the promise was made; the fancier, matching chain used to hold their dog tags speaking volumes of such.
Breaking that kiss he smiled down at the woman who mirrored the warmth back at him. “You be extra careful Len.”
“Oh, I should be careful Tia?” She giggled softly at the notion, the both of them knowing he was much more likely to fly off the handle at things than the battlefield medic. Part of the reason she used that same nickname that his brother Mike used rather than the much preferred Eli. Still, it was by her own insistence that she was part of a hunter team rather than as a nurse in a VA so she didn’t have much of a leg to stand on.
“Yes you should.” He gave her as stern a look as he could muster but it fell apart the instant her lips lifted to brush against his once more before she pulled away.
“I will. I got my hero with me after all, yeah?” Such a cheeky smile as she prodded him with that little term of endearment. He didn't’ see it, especially given that she’d been the one to save his life when he’d been munched near in two by a dragon during the war yet she still insisted that his punk ass self had done just the same and more back when they were just teens on the mean streets of Prysbil.
Rounding about the statue she was all business again, same as him… save for that little eep he garnered when he smacked her bottom while passing to catch up with the rest of the troops.
* * * * * *
It had been a cozy stay at home night for the new couple. Upon learning Alexia had never seen a television in her life, Danny exuberantly suggested a trash tv night. Bad sitcoms and poorly written drama series that took themselves too seriously, and lots and lots of junk food. She was only too happy to have a reason to snuggle up with him for hours. This time, she had stolen one of his shirts, despite having plenty of her own clothes, with the argument that it was just so soft and smelled like him. Greatly amused, he smiled and opened up his arms to her from his spot on the couch. Eventually, they both fell asleep in each other’s embrace. The channel they had been watching defaulted back to the color bar test screen, casting a soft glow upon them.
Sometime after, the little fae stirred. It started with a soft groan as though she might awake, instead resulting in a furrowing of her pretty brow and a frown pulling at her lips. In her dreams flashed the faces of people she had never met in what looked like some type of battle gear. They were looking at her as a voice somewhere near her barked orders after giving a last minute rundown of their mission. As they continued to stare at her, she became unnerved.
Soon the faces blurred and new images swirled into semi focus. A large building loomed ahead. She could hear broken static signals and the frantic sounds of crackly voices corresponding and then suddenly falling silent. Inside the building, books lined the walls all the way to the ceiling and would have been enticing to the vociferous reader that was the little halfling, but for the sudden burst of flames. They licked at every surface, singing her nostrils with acrid smoke. In the back of her subconscious, she wondered at the sensation. This was supposed to be a dream, a nightmare to be specific, so why did it feel like she was actually inhaling smoke?
Before she could ponder on it another moment, she felt strong hands on her shoulders. A familiar voice called out softly.
“Alexia? Alexia!” Her eyes flew open and Danny’s face came into focus, concern etched deeply into his handsome features. He held her upright by her biceps, steadying her while she battled a small coughing fit. Idly she wondered when she had sat up. As her breathing slowed and the nightmare faded, her deeply scarred little hands rose to rest on his shoulders.
“Wh-What…” Her voice trailed off as the upsetting visions began to fade.
“You were having a nightmare, love.” His thumbs gently massaged her shoulders, grounding her back into the here and now.
“N-Nightmare?” She echoed. Slowly, her little body began to slacken in his grasp. Danny nodded in response to her question.
“Are you okay? Do you remember what it was about?” Although Danny didn’t know too many of the specifics, he knew, just like him, she’d had more trauma than one person should have to bear. His intense green eyes searched her rich dark brown ones.
“N-No, I can’t say that I d-do…” With a small shake of her head, she managed a sweet smile for him. “I th-think I’m alright now, mo chroí.”
He looked at her with uncertainty for a moment or two before softening his expression as well. Smiling warmly right back at her, he released her arms and reached up to take her face in his hand, his thumb gently tracing her eyebrow.
“What say we go to bed, then, yeah?” He said, almost whispering. She nodded sleepily and, after placing a soft kiss on her lips, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her off to his bed. Within moments, they were both fast asleep, nestled happily in each other's arms.
(A special thank you to Alexia Longbow for writing in this scene!)
Last edited by Mach on Sat Jul 04, 2020 4:30 am, edited 1 time in total.
Re: The Hunter's Life
Lucid Memories / Vivid Dreams - part 3
The weight of gravity pulled harshly against his limbs, causing the joints to scream. Blearily that lone cobalt eye, crusted with salt, cracked open as he groaned around a moist sponge shoved into his mouth. "W-Wger…?"
The muffled word seemed to catch the attention of the wiry man in the corner, staring raptly at the wall of displays glaring too painfully for him to focus on. Gaines turned, a look of surprise crossing them as they rushed over. "Oh no, no, no Mr. Turner… you still have work to do…" He tried to track them, a burning pain and pressure in the back of his head preventing him from following their movement to his side as they adjusted something with a few bips. He did spy a white… thing chewing on what looked like his cellphone though parts of the cover and display were obviously strewn about on the ground, the device destroyed.
And then he felt a shock of cold pushing into his arm, his gaze lethargic as he turned to look at his suspended arm, a blue liquid running through an IV taped into his veins. Shit, no, this was bad! He had to get up! Had to.. get out of.. this… Had to...
- - - - -
Silence shrouded the building, the crashing waves of the ocean and the call of the cliff dwelling birds uninterrupted by words or the bustle of habitation. It lent an eerie feeling to the large, monolithic structure as though death had come to the organic stone and they were some grisly cravens here to defile it's Leviathan corpse. Stacking up on the massive cathedral style door Phantom 1 pulled out their caster, a round manually fed into the chamber before they made a gesture back to the other two. Wraith team rounded the corner to the left side entrance while he and the rest of Spector stacked up on the much more sensibly sized entrance to the right, a quick check making sure the door was unlocked. A touch to the base of his left thumb would key up his comm, a soft 'S1 open' mumbled softly through closed lips. This was picked up, translated, and broadcast out in a soft robotic voice to all team members much like the 'W1 open' that whispered into his ear. With that Battery lifted their caster into the air and pulled the trigger, a soft electromechanical whir emanating from the device as it spun up. It took a moment for the spell to build before it released with an anemic, uninspiring pop. Inside the massive wooden doors mechanisms suddenly came to life, knocking and thudding as lock bolts slid, levers flipped, and finally a heavy clinking filled the air as chains were pulled along by counterweights causing the massive two story door to slowly swing open.
It was at that moment that he tipped open the door, Jefferies twisting the top off a canister they'd pulled from their chest webbing before lobbing it in through the gap. Similar actions occurred with the other two teams, a five count passing before… silence. The cathedral door reverberated a hollow thud exposing the large, empty atrium. 'Clear' whispered in tandem through the sound tube, in stereo for the third as Jefferies spoke while depressing a button on the canister top they still held deactivating the smart flashbang which obviously didn't detect any eyes. Still he gave the signal for everyone to sweep in; each soldier quickly slipping through the door in time, bullpup rifles up, with him bringing up the rear.
He swept his aim over the large room high and low as he entered, sighting above the scope as he looked for any threat or movement, not him or his. The rest of his team did the same, each covering a different quadrant of the room though there was no movement to be seen. It could almost have been mistaken for everything being as it should save for the body to right strewn out on the ground half out of a security vestibule. Dressed in the simple gray and black uniform of campus security, the poor bastard was missing half their head, hand still holding the melted remains of their radio to the crater that was once their left ear. The first responder that had called in the suspicious individuals to security dispatch.
"Shit, poor bastard…" Battery's tone was mild as they spoke, eyeing the corpse warily.
"Cut the chatter and focus on the task..." Gillen spoke in a hard hiss which had the hunter waving them off.
"Right, right…” Motioning lazily, their team proceeded up the right stairway as Werebear’s headed up the right. "Call me if your ass gets in too much of a sling, right Cap?"
He couldn't help but smirk at the glib, smug smile from the other as they made that jab in passing even as Gillen stared daggers into both of them. "Sure, sure. Let me know if the boom gets too much for you..." Now it was the others turn to chuckle mildly as they bound up the stair two at a time to catch up with the rest of their team which had already joined Werebear's at the top to sweep the balcony. A duo of ‘clears’ hummed in his ear before the group separated off down their respective sides of the building. For his part he waited for Jefferies to retrieve their smart grenade, the safety twisted back on before he motioned silently for his team to take the central hall which ran down the first floor. As the hunter he would take point, his rifle held level as he reached to depress the trigger once on his caster causing it to hum to life as it fed energy into the spellweave in his jumper. If shit hit the fan a hunter was most likely to walk away from it given each one was practically a walking swiss army mortar artillery. That and he had the means to protect himself from fireballs so he made a pretty hand hat on a stick.
This theory was tested out time and time again as he was the first into every room now, pushing in carefully to the empty offices and lecture halls, sweeping with the aim of his rifle before stepping in to allow the rest of his team to rush in so as to secure the space. Performing a thorough enough sweep of the area they’d ease back out into the hallway, the room just swept sealed with a piece of bang tape which would detonate if removed forcefully or broken. As the voices buzzed softly in his ear so too would be give brief, periodic reports over the comms to the others. ‘L2 Office swept, clean.’ ‘R3 Lecture swept, clean.’ ‘L3 Office swept, clean’ So on and so forth him, his team, and the other squads under his command moved as they worked to investigate the building.
It wasn’t till they’d just finish clearing the sixth lecture hall, Jefferies putting a strip of danger red bang tape between the frame and sliding door when the next report came in different from the rest:
“Wraith 1 - UL8 Scriptorium, bodies found 8 adults, all DoA.”
The report sent a chill down his spine as he considered this. “CoD?”
“Wraith 1 - they all appear to be hit by fireballs… Fuck, none of them stood a chance, nothing but defensive burns on them…”
He felt a frown pulling on him as he absorbed this information, a look and he quickly motioned his team to the next office suddenly feeling very exposed in that hallway. Crossing over quickly he pushed into the office only to be assaulted by the putrid stench of curdled rust. He smelled the body well before catching sight of it, a woman in her mid thirties slouched in the corner, blood oozing slowly out of a rather gnarly looking hole in their shoulder. “Shit!” His eyes widened, rifle leveled instinctively though he shook away the notion as he saw the slow, barely there pulse of blood from them. “Sapin… Spector 4, Spector 5, down and out, I need a status. Spector 1 All - body found L9 Office, 1 adult possibly still ali-”
Muffled by the walls and ceiling above he could still pick out the staccato bark of a burst from a G54-A, one, two, and then there was a chorus as others joined in. “Phantom 1? Wraith 1!? Report!” His call was met only with the rapport of more gun fire before more voices squawked in through the sound tube.
"T-This is Wr-Wraith 4... w-we've bee-"
"Wraith 2! Taking casualties! We're fuc-"
"Ano? ANO!? Shit, on my way!"
"Phantom 3! Get you're ass back in position! Phantom 3!"
"Werebear! Battery! Answer me, dammit!" He felt his teeth grit, a look back to his team who all looked to him expectantly. What was the right call? What should he do!? The thoughts buzzed in his head as the radio continued to buzz in his ear. Finally he had to pull the sound tube out, a shake of his head. "Gillen, Sapinsky, Gordon - stay here with the civvy. Jefferies, you're with me."
"Sir-" He heard the tension in Gillens gruff voice, whatever disapproval they were going to voice cut off by the hard glare he shot them.
"That's an order. If you can save them or you lose radio contact with all hunters then double back to the fire exit by L4 Scriptorium. Understood?"
The mans fingers flexed on the handrail of their rifle a moment, their jaw flexing before they gave a curt nod. "Roger."
"Jefferies-"
"I got it!" The man was already tossing the webbing containing their proximity kit to Gordon before they palmed a second magazine in hand for a hot swap. "Ready!"
There was no smiles for this situation but he offered the man who gave him so much crap... and understood him so well... a knowing nod as he joined them by the door. "Let's go."
* * * * *
Not long after the little fae had fallen back asleep, the same scene snapped right back into view. Grim, expectant faces awaiting command, the looming building with rows and rows of books. Only this time she could feel a tightness around her chest and her head felt heavy and enclosed. It was enough to induce a claustrophobic panic, yet somehow she pressed on. Something dangerous weighed heavily in her arms. She looked down to see a pair of deadly looking weapons, what she could only assume were firearms. Her stomach rolled at the sight.
She tried to close her eyes, so certain hot tears would begin to build and roll down her face, but they never came. And everytime she tried to close her eyes, the images would not disappear, but instead shift jarringly from one to the other. Until a soft, beautiful face came into view. A face with captivating hazel eyes, speckled with grey, framed by hair as dark as her own. All manner of emotions churned within her breast. The stranger’s smile simultaneously brought her boundless joy and reeling fear. She felt a deep, inexplicable longing to reach out and touch her cheek, but soon she too dissipated and gave way to the sight of that same stone building once more.
Suddenly, she was inside the building, pointing, giving orders in a voice that was not her own but still sounded strangely familiar. Groups broke off into fours in stealth.
“Wraith 1, upper floor, left side offices and scriptoriums, go.” Her eyes followed as the first group departed.
“Phantom 1, upper floor, right side offices and research halls, go.” Only when the second group disappeared did she turn to the remaining four faces that awaited her word.
“Jefferies, Gordon, you take the right hall and circle about the dead and stuffed exhibit. Call in if the boom gets too much.” With a single curt nod, they were on the move.
She tried to steady herself as the world around her whirled like images on microfilm coming into focus. The sound of staticky airwaves buzzed in her head, broken only by the sound of panicked voices on the other end. Difficult as it was to make out what they were saying, it was clear they were in trouble. Then, suddenly, they fell silent.
“Werebear! Battery! Answer me, dammit!” She felt the words tear from lips that were not hers. Desperation pervaded her mind as she pressed on into the next wing of the great library.
Suddenly, she saw her. That tender, loving face from before with the hazel eyes that were now wide with terror. Her heart dropped and a chill spread through her chest. She wanted to run to her, reach for her, this stranger with the speckled eyes, but before she could even breathe her next breath, there was a flash, a fireball exploded, and... blood. Her eyes shot wide with grief and fury searching wildly for the source, finally resting on what looked like a mage. A primal shriek rang in her ears, full of rage and despair as hands that she had no control over tore into their body, a wail of anguish pouring forth as she could see only red.
Then everything grew dark, the images of blood coating her hands and the frightened hazel eyes lingering, even as the nightmare faded. And the screaming. The screaming still pierced her ears until finally a familiar voice called out to her.
“Alexia! ALEXIA!” Her eyes snapped open and for a moment the mage’s face still filled her vision, slowly giving way to Danny’s face, wrought with fear and deep concern. He had been trying to hold her by the shoulders but her hands flailed wildly, nearly striking him. Thanks to quick thinking, and even quicker hands, he darted out and snatched her gnarled little hands, easily engulfing them within his own. One, he brought down firmly on the center of his chest, the spot where her soul had settled when he and the witch, Sammie, brought her back from the ether.
“Look at me! Look at me! It's alright! It's alright. Breathe, love. Just breathe.” As soon as her hand touched his chest, the screaming stopped. Her eyes slowly focused and the high pitched ragged breathing of an impending panic attack quickly quieted until she sagged in his arms. Finally, the tears came. Pulling her to his chest, he held her tight and stroked her hair gently while she sobbed uncontrollably.
(A special thank you to Alexia Longbow for writing in this scene!)
The weight of gravity pulled harshly against his limbs, causing the joints to scream. Blearily that lone cobalt eye, crusted with salt, cracked open as he groaned around a moist sponge shoved into his mouth. "W-Wger…?"
The muffled word seemed to catch the attention of the wiry man in the corner, staring raptly at the wall of displays glaring too painfully for him to focus on. Gaines turned, a look of surprise crossing them as they rushed over. "Oh no, no, no Mr. Turner… you still have work to do…" He tried to track them, a burning pain and pressure in the back of his head preventing him from following their movement to his side as they adjusted something with a few bips. He did spy a white… thing chewing on what looked like his cellphone though parts of the cover and display were obviously strewn about on the ground, the device destroyed.
And then he felt a shock of cold pushing into his arm, his gaze lethargic as he turned to look at his suspended arm, a blue liquid running through an IV taped into his veins. Shit, no, this was bad! He had to get up! Had to.. get out of.. this… Had to...
- - - - -
Silence shrouded the building, the crashing waves of the ocean and the call of the cliff dwelling birds uninterrupted by words or the bustle of habitation. It lent an eerie feeling to the large, monolithic structure as though death had come to the organic stone and they were some grisly cravens here to defile it's Leviathan corpse. Stacking up on the massive cathedral style door Phantom 1 pulled out their caster, a round manually fed into the chamber before they made a gesture back to the other two. Wraith team rounded the corner to the left side entrance while he and the rest of Spector stacked up on the much more sensibly sized entrance to the right, a quick check making sure the door was unlocked. A touch to the base of his left thumb would key up his comm, a soft 'S1 open' mumbled softly through closed lips. This was picked up, translated, and broadcast out in a soft robotic voice to all team members much like the 'W1 open' that whispered into his ear. With that Battery lifted their caster into the air and pulled the trigger, a soft electromechanical whir emanating from the device as it spun up. It took a moment for the spell to build before it released with an anemic, uninspiring pop. Inside the massive wooden doors mechanisms suddenly came to life, knocking and thudding as lock bolts slid, levers flipped, and finally a heavy clinking filled the air as chains were pulled along by counterweights causing the massive two story door to slowly swing open.
It was at that moment that he tipped open the door, Jefferies twisting the top off a canister they'd pulled from their chest webbing before lobbing it in through the gap. Similar actions occurred with the other two teams, a five count passing before… silence. The cathedral door reverberated a hollow thud exposing the large, empty atrium. 'Clear' whispered in tandem through the sound tube, in stereo for the third as Jefferies spoke while depressing a button on the canister top they still held deactivating the smart flashbang which obviously didn't detect any eyes. Still he gave the signal for everyone to sweep in; each soldier quickly slipping through the door in time, bullpup rifles up, with him bringing up the rear.
He swept his aim over the large room high and low as he entered, sighting above the scope as he looked for any threat or movement, not him or his. The rest of his team did the same, each covering a different quadrant of the room though there was no movement to be seen. It could almost have been mistaken for everything being as it should save for the body to right strewn out on the ground half out of a security vestibule. Dressed in the simple gray and black uniform of campus security, the poor bastard was missing half their head, hand still holding the melted remains of their radio to the crater that was once their left ear. The first responder that had called in the suspicious individuals to security dispatch.
"Shit, poor bastard…" Battery's tone was mild as they spoke, eyeing the corpse warily.
"Cut the chatter and focus on the task..." Gillen spoke in a hard hiss which had the hunter waving them off.
"Right, right…” Motioning lazily, their team proceeded up the right stairway as Werebear’s headed up the right. "Call me if your ass gets in too much of a sling, right Cap?"
He couldn't help but smirk at the glib, smug smile from the other as they made that jab in passing even as Gillen stared daggers into both of them. "Sure, sure. Let me know if the boom gets too much for you..." Now it was the others turn to chuckle mildly as they bound up the stair two at a time to catch up with the rest of their team which had already joined Werebear's at the top to sweep the balcony. A duo of ‘clears’ hummed in his ear before the group separated off down their respective sides of the building. For his part he waited for Jefferies to retrieve their smart grenade, the safety twisted back on before he motioned silently for his team to take the central hall which ran down the first floor. As the hunter he would take point, his rifle held level as he reached to depress the trigger once on his caster causing it to hum to life as it fed energy into the spellweave in his jumper. If shit hit the fan a hunter was most likely to walk away from it given each one was practically a walking swiss army mortar artillery. That and he had the means to protect himself from fireballs so he made a pretty hand hat on a stick.
This theory was tested out time and time again as he was the first into every room now, pushing in carefully to the empty offices and lecture halls, sweeping with the aim of his rifle before stepping in to allow the rest of his team to rush in so as to secure the space. Performing a thorough enough sweep of the area they’d ease back out into the hallway, the room just swept sealed with a piece of bang tape which would detonate if removed forcefully or broken. As the voices buzzed softly in his ear so too would be give brief, periodic reports over the comms to the others. ‘L2 Office swept, clean.’ ‘R3 Lecture swept, clean.’ ‘L3 Office swept, clean’ So on and so forth him, his team, and the other squads under his command moved as they worked to investigate the building.
It wasn’t till they’d just finish clearing the sixth lecture hall, Jefferies putting a strip of danger red bang tape between the frame and sliding door when the next report came in different from the rest:
“Wraith 1 - UL8 Scriptorium, bodies found 8 adults, all DoA.”
The report sent a chill down his spine as he considered this. “CoD?”
“Wraith 1 - they all appear to be hit by fireballs… Fuck, none of them stood a chance, nothing but defensive burns on them…”
He felt a frown pulling on him as he absorbed this information, a look and he quickly motioned his team to the next office suddenly feeling very exposed in that hallway. Crossing over quickly he pushed into the office only to be assaulted by the putrid stench of curdled rust. He smelled the body well before catching sight of it, a woman in her mid thirties slouched in the corner, blood oozing slowly out of a rather gnarly looking hole in their shoulder. “Shit!” His eyes widened, rifle leveled instinctively though he shook away the notion as he saw the slow, barely there pulse of blood from them. “Sapin… Spector 4, Spector 5, down and out, I need a status. Spector 1 All - body found L9 Office, 1 adult possibly still ali-”
Muffled by the walls and ceiling above he could still pick out the staccato bark of a burst from a G54-A, one, two, and then there was a chorus as others joined in. “Phantom 1? Wraith 1!? Report!” His call was met only with the rapport of more gun fire before more voices squawked in through the sound tube.
"T-This is Wr-Wraith 4... w-we've bee-"
"Wraith 2! Taking casualties! We're fuc-"
"Ano? ANO!? Shit, on my way!"
"Phantom 3! Get you're ass back in position! Phantom 3!"
"Werebear! Battery! Answer me, dammit!" He felt his teeth grit, a look back to his team who all looked to him expectantly. What was the right call? What should he do!? The thoughts buzzed in his head as the radio continued to buzz in his ear. Finally he had to pull the sound tube out, a shake of his head. "Gillen, Sapinsky, Gordon - stay here with the civvy. Jefferies, you're with me."
"Sir-" He heard the tension in Gillens gruff voice, whatever disapproval they were going to voice cut off by the hard glare he shot them.
"That's an order. If you can save them or you lose radio contact with all hunters then double back to the fire exit by L4 Scriptorium. Understood?"
The mans fingers flexed on the handrail of their rifle a moment, their jaw flexing before they gave a curt nod. "Roger."
"Jefferies-"
"I got it!" The man was already tossing the webbing containing their proximity kit to Gordon before they palmed a second magazine in hand for a hot swap. "Ready!"
There was no smiles for this situation but he offered the man who gave him so much crap... and understood him so well... a knowing nod as he joined them by the door. "Let's go."
* * * * *
Not long after the little fae had fallen back asleep, the same scene snapped right back into view. Grim, expectant faces awaiting command, the looming building with rows and rows of books. Only this time she could feel a tightness around her chest and her head felt heavy and enclosed. It was enough to induce a claustrophobic panic, yet somehow she pressed on. Something dangerous weighed heavily in her arms. She looked down to see a pair of deadly looking weapons, what she could only assume were firearms. Her stomach rolled at the sight.
She tried to close her eyes, so certain hot tears would begin to build and roll down her face, but they never came. And everytime she tried to close her eyes, the images would not disappear, but instead shift jarringly from one to the other. Until a soft, beautiful face came into view. A face with captivating hazel eyes, speckled with grey, framed by hair as dark as her own. All manner of emotions churned within her breast. The stranger’s smile simultaneously brought her boundless joy and reeling fear. She felt a deep, inexplicable longing to reach out and touch her cheek, but soon she too dissipated and gave way to the sight of that same stone building once more.
Suddenly, she was inside the building, pointing, giving orders in a voice that was not her own but still sounded strangely familiar. Groups broke off into fours in stealth.
“Wraith 1, upper floor, left side offices and scriptoriums, go.” Her eyes followed as the first group departed.
“Phantom 1, upper floor, right side offices and research halls, go.” Only when the second group disappeared did she turn to the remaining four faces that awaited her word.
“Jefferies, Gordon, you take the right hall and circle about the dead and stuffed exhibit. Call in if the boom gets too much.” With a single curt nod, they were on the move.
She tried to steady herself as the world around her whirled like images on microfilm coming into focus. The sound of staticky airwaves buzzed in her head, broken only by the sound of panicked voices on the other end. Difficult as it was to make out what they were saying, it was clear they were in trouble. Then, suddenly, they fell silent.
“Werebear! Battery! Answer me, dammit!” She felt the words tear from lips that were not hers. Desperation pervaded her mind as she pressed on into the next wing of the great library.
Suddenly, she saw her. That tender, loving face from before with the hazel eyes that were now wide with terror. Her heart dropped and a chill spread through her chest. She wanted to run to her, reach for her, this stranger with the speckled eyes, but before she could even breathe her next breath, there was a flash, a fireball exploded, and... blood. Her eyes shot wide with grief and fury searching wildly for the source, finally resting on what looked like a mage. A primal shriek rang in her ears, full of rage and despair as hands that she had no control over tore into their body, a wail of anguish pouring forth as she could see only red.
Then everything grew dark, the images of blood coating her hands and the frightened hazel eyes lingering, even as the nightmare faded. And the screaming. The screaming still pierced her ears until finally a familiar voice called out to her.
“Alexia! ALEXIA!” Her eyes snapped open and for a moment the mage’s face still filled her vision, slowly giving way to Danny’s face, wrought with fear and deep concern. He had been trying to hold her by the shoulders but her hands flailed wildly, nearly striking him. Thanks to quick thinking, and even quicker hands, he darted out and snatched her gnarled little hands, easily engulfing them within his own. One, he brought down firmly on the center of his chest, the spot where her soul had settled when he and the witch, Sammie, brought her back from the ether.
“Look at me! Look at me! It's alright! It's alright. Breathe, love. Just breathe.” As soon as her hand touched his chest, the screaming stopped. Her eyes slowly focused and the high pitched ragged breathing of an impending panic attack quickly quieted until she sagged in his arms. Finally, the tears came. Pulling her to his chest, he held her tight and stroked her hair gently while she sobbed uncontrollably.
(A special thank you to Alexia Longbow for writing in this scene!)
Re: The Hunter's Life
Lucid Memories / Vivid Dreams - part 4
The sound of Jefferies' and his boots thundered in the empty halls as they raced forward to the next stairway up, the butt of his rifle nestled firmly against his shoulder in a fighter stance. There was no stealth or grace in their flight down the hall, his head on a swivel rather than leading with his weapon. Tactically it was the stupidest way to proceed but it was the fastest way to cover ground and had them mounting the stairs in less than a minute, bounding up them two at a time as the sergeant first class dropped a smart frag that would hopefully kill or at least warn them of anyone with ill intent creeping up from behind.
Reaching the top he barely did a sweep before charging off down the hall, Jefferies bringing up the rear in a much more controlled manner as they dropped another friend or foe frag at the top of the stairs before bringing up the rear. They had crossed the spine of the building on their way up, reacting to the sharp rapport of fresh assault rifle fire… and the crackling, vacuous thud of fireballs. He knew Werebear and their team were in trouble but… but they had gone silent. That could mean anything but in the heat of the moment he knew he had to support the team still fighting… right? The uncertainty of the decision gnawed at him but he tamped it down as he heard the familiar snap, crackle, and boom of Battery's thunderwhip, their trademark spell for bringing the hurt.
Weaving this way and that, his mad dash was suddenly halted by a hot lick of searing heat while rounding one last corner, flames and smoke filling the hall. Behind Jefferies slammed into him, their hazel eyes going wide at the sight of the flames. Still, like a properly trained professional they were already reaching for a void grenade to deal with the issue though he was quicker on the draw with his cantrip, the carved bone crackling with energy as he snapped it. For an instant the hallway grew unbearably hot as the heat from the flames reacted to the etheric command, forced to dissipate into the air leeching the life from the flames, energizing air which rushed forth to equilibrate with the surroundings. It was a gamble hoping that the fires weren't so hot that the dissipated heat would just cause the baked material to light fire again or, worse, start other flammable material nearby on fire. Luckily he'd gauged things right and the vibrant flames fizzled out leaving only acrid smoke which sucked away with the hot air revealing a half charred corpse sprawled out across the hall in the remains of a digi-gray camo jumper… Gunny Rols.
Angry pink, crimson red, and bone white showed prominently against the dark hue of their charred flesh; the man apparently had taken a fireball to the side of the head… two it seemed as their helmet with slagged visor lay ravaged by flames further down the hall, blown clean off in a moment off. Damnit! It was a grim sight that was all too familiar to him from the war but there was something so much more visceral and disturbing about this death. It made his stomach roll as he gravitated towards the fallen soldier when suddenly he felt himself being shoved hard towards the wall, a fresh gulch of flames flaring before him as a fireball hurled through the burnt remains of a laboratory doorway. Looking back he saw Jefferies clenching their jaw as they locked their gaze forward, trying their best to avoid looking at their stricken comrade… their dead friend. Shit, this wasn't a time for him to lose his focus! Gritting his teeth he flattened against the wall, sliding up to the ruined door frame as he worked the trigger of his holstered caster. "Two up!"
The call into the laboratory was met with a vacuous thud which rattled the very wall against his back, fiery tendrils spattering through the doorway before the sharp rapport of suppressing fire roared to life. Amid this his caster whirred softly before a crackling pop emanated from the device prompting his roll through the doorway. Time stretched out before him, driven by the adrenaline pounded through his veins as he scoped the room through tunneled vision. Battery was situated behind a knocked over lab bench with Tenwa crouched behind another, their left arm hanging limply from a bloodied shoulder forcing the woman to brace her rifle against the table edge as she squeezed off burst after burst of fire at the far doorway leading into a storage room. Taking their cue he loosed a spray of rounds through the door as he rushed up next to Battery, Jefferies following suit as they slid into cover next to the woman.
“You’re late!” The fellow hunter sneered at him with strained glibness, blood running down the right side of their face from under their helmet.
“You’re hurt!” He reached for the small field medical kit strapped to his thigh though the other quickly waved away his concern.
“I’ll live so long as I can kill this fucker!” Gritting their teeth they pulled back on the trigger of their caster, the device whirring threateningly to life in their hands as the air around them grew still and lifeless. A moment of charge and they pulled the trigger through its final break; a snap and crackle emanating as they jerked the handcannon up just as a jet of electricity leapt forth from it’s tip, arcing about over the makeshift cover towards the back storage room like a whip. He knew magic could be tied to familiar physical actions allowing a person to really bend the laws of nature over a rail though he couldn’t do such things himself being neither as talented with etheric manipulation nor intimately familiar with using a whip like Battery was having grown up on a rigen ranch. Still, as impressive as the display was he still felt the scratchy ebb of shifting etheric forces from the storeroom as a hand appeared just long enough to hurl a shot of flames out at them, the lances of fire spitting and sputtering as they splattered against their cover sending flames raining on the floor behind scorching the linoleum.
“Bastard’s pretty well entrenched, didn’t even know they was back there till they potshoted Rols while he were chasin’ and yellin’ his fool head after Everett…” Their jaw flexed angrily as they manually cycled another round into the chamber of their caster. “Me and Tenwa thought we could smoke the fucker but they’re pretty wiley. Det’d her grenade right out of the air…” They tapped mildly at their gnarled helmet now, the shrapnel damage evident. Looking back at Tenwa the woman had apparently stolen Jefferies' rifle so as to keep heat on the storeroom while the quartermaster worked on their torn up arm.
“Shit…”
“Nice assessment.” He turned a glare back to the sharp tongued bastard who simply smiled toothily at him before shifting around into a crouch. “Think you could place a focus three to the right? Do it myself but that fucker’s pretty good at sniping, think they got a third eye setup or something.”
Which was probably why they hadn’t tried to just slag the storeroom by now. If such were the case the mage might run when they had to wait while charging such a devastating spell... or make a concentrated effort to kill the hunter. Considering the idea a moment he keyed up his direct comm to Jefferies so as to avoid having to yell over the intermittent report of rifle fire. “You got any dazzlers?”
The man across the way thought on this a moment, a few pats on their person, a few words to the angry woman, a few pats on their person and finally they produced a small cylinder which they held up for him to see the purple and silver stripe along its length. Nodding, shouldered his rifle as he pulled out his own caster, a cartridge pulled from his belt and manually fed it into the chamber before cocking the firing hammer. Battery just watched all this unfold, their expression mild before understanding crossed their angrily sleepy features. “You know what’ll happen if the timing’s off.”
“Then don’t fuck up the timing, yeah? Go is on you.” And with that he moved to the man’s other side, caster held close in a classic shooter's crouch.
Battery watched him for a long moment before shaking their head. “Your funeral…” The words were glib but their expression was one of focused determination as they centered themselves, evening out their breathing before they looked to Jefferies and nodded. The sergeant first class pulled the pin on the grenade as the other hunter pulled back on the trigger of their caster bringing it to life once more. The device whirled and growled angrily, charging for a long moment before they nodded again to Jefferies, the safety bar released and sent flying aways as they lobbed the small cylinder towards the back doorway.
The air filled with a maelstrom of competing energies, the holed up mage’s hand appeared just long enough to do exactly as Battery said - a single finger directing a focused lance of flame through the soaring cylinder detonating it in a brilliant, shimmering flash. A dazzler grenade meant only to draw attention away from the hunter as he popped up then, caster thrust forward to snap off that single shot into the wall. It was a blink and you’d miss it move but he still wasn’t quick enough to crouch again as another lance of flame caught his shoulder, splashing hotly next to his face but not piercing or burning through the fire protected jumper, the secondary processor of his caster whirring in complaint. A meager sound to the ferocious growl of Battery’s caster as they pulled the trigger through the final break; a snap, crackle, whip, and finally a teeth rattling boom as a bolt of lightning arced from their caster and right to the focus he’d buried into the wall too the side of the storeroom doorway. A keen crackle echoed from the room mixed with a surprised and pained yelp as the electricity ripped through the hidden mage.
Falling back on his ass he rolled with the hot wave of force letting it push him out of it’s way. The burning heat and bell toll ringing in his ears made it hard to focus yet he still felt himself shouting ‘go go go’ to the other soldiers prompting them to break from their cover, Tenwa and Jefferies rushing across the laboratory and through the storeroom doorway. Scrambling to right himself Battery caught his gloved hand, hauling him up to his feet as they too moved for the storeroom with much less urgency than the other two, their features twisted in a hard grimace likely from the feeling of having their head in a vice… spell overdraw. An arguably worse cost than the ‘mere’ vomiting of his own dead blood if he overdrew for a spell but both were sure signs that neither man were ever really meant to manipulate the ether as they did.
Filing into the room last he saw Jefferies sighting their rifle down at a woman clad in a ratty robe who looked barely older than twenty with dreadlocks, face tattoos, multiple piercings, and chains connecting their nose to their ears in an alt-neo classic shaman look. Not exactly the hardened murderous looking sort but then that was exactly what they’d proven to be even as they cried out against Tenwa grinding their hand beneath a booted heel.
“You fucking killed Rols!” The short, tan skinned woman sputtered in fury down at the girl, their depleted rifle slung as they’re left arm still sat limply at their side.
“Y-You p-pigs have killed m-many of m-mYAH!” They screeched as the specialist ground their boot harder, shutting down the obviously well practiced pro-mage diatribe. A sentiment that they as military hunters had come across many times before though not yet with so much vitriol.
“Shut up! You don’t get a fucking say in anything!” He couldn’t fault the specialists' wrath, not with what had shaken out.
Still, it wasn’t up to them to make such decisions as he shook his head. “Alright Specialist, point proven. But we’re to detain these fuckers, not judge, jury, and execute them. Not our place.”
“Spoken like a true dog of thAAH!”
Tenwa sneered down at the woman as they viciously ground their boot once more, a glare or equal measure shot at him next. “Sir! Respectfully-”
“Respectfully nothing, Tenwa.” He shut down the argument with a tired look, sympathetic to what they were feeling but still coldly detached; as objective as he could muster given the circumstances and the still unknown status of Werebear’s team. “We take them in for interrogation, those are our orders. But if they so much as flinch aggressively… then we protect us and ours, got it?”
The woman glowered at him for a moment longer before removing their boot from the mages hand… and sending it swiftly into their ribs. The crunchy mage whiffled in pain, curling under the abuse. “Crystal, sir.”
He looked to Battery who looked back to him, a mild shrug and a sympathetic smile offered obviously glad that they weren’t the woman’s commanding officer. “Sounds kinda like M.R.L.M. bull-” The sound of scraping shuffling drew both their attention back to the mage who had taken the opportunity while in that fetal position to lunge for a nearby teardrop dagger.
“Don’t!” Jefferies barked down at the woman though it was Tenwa who was on top of things as they viciously snatched the blade from the woman's hand… before dropping to a knee and sinking it into their chest.
“That’s for Rols you fis nachyl drathzyack d'ell'sanrak bitch!” A look of stunned shock spread across the woman’s features, a wheezing gurgle rising up as their lungs filled with their own blood.
Damnit! Shaking his head he looked to the hot headed specialist, an exasperated sigh escaping him as he considered just how much he had to admonish them. Looking back to the woman though he noted a sudden shift in their gasping expression as stunned pain gave way to a smile even as the light extinguished from their eyes… and their lips moved.
“Jeff-!” Even as he reached for the sergeant he felt himself being shoved back through the door, the world slowing as he turned to catch the look of apologetic panic on Battery’s face. He stumbled once, twice, his hand trying to reach for them…
And then the world screamed in agonizing silence as a wash of crimson and bone washed across the doorway he had just barely fell through, and the shockwave which perpetrated this launched him across the laboratory. A necromancer death keen - corpse bomb. Battery, Tenwa, and Jefferies didn’t stand a chance, and he had not wind in his lungs to scream out his impotent sorrow as he slammed into the far wall and forcefully met the cold, burnt floor.
* * * * *
Danny paced a small path in the space behind the couch. Every few steps, he looked over to where Alexia and Sammie sat. It had only taken a few minutes between the time Danny sent a concerned text message to the witch and her arrival, her expression dead serious. After a thorough sweep of the apartment for hex bags, talismans, cursed sigils, even dark totems, yielded no findings, she now sat sideways, staring at the little fae through the square she made with her fingers. Meeting index to index and middle finger to middle finger, she peered through the square and muttered a simple one-word incantation.
“Adaperio…” It was a low level magic for the experienced Sammie, but one she relied on for good reason. To the naked eye, nothing changed, but she moved the square all along Alexia’s petite form like a viewfinder.
“Anything?” Danny had stopped mid pace to peek over Sammie’s shoulder, trying to see through the square her fingers made, too, until he realized he had no clue what she was doing or what she was looking for. While taking great care to remain still, Alexia gave him a small, reassuring smile even as he took up pacing once again.
In any other situation, Sammie would have given quite the snarky remark, or even bitten his head clean off. Right now, however, she had her task. Mumbling mostly to herself, she ran through her thoughts out loud.
“No hidden runes… no scratches, no bites… not dosed with anything… Everything looks normal, princess.” The witch lowered her hands and turned to arch an eyebrow at Danny, effectively halting his movement.
“Of course, it would help to know exactly what happened.” She looked pointedly at Alexia who cast her large dark eyes down to her hands neatly folded in her lap.
“I-I’m n-not really sure. It w-wasn’t a typical n-nightmare. It was m-more… real. It w-was as though I was r-re-living m-memories that weren’t m-mine.” Her brows knit and a tiny frown pulled at the corners of her mouth.
“Whose were they, babe?” Sammie’s uncharacteristically soft voice pulled her gaze back up.
“I… d-don’t know.” A small frown marred the little fae’s pretty face as she tried to make sense of the dizzying images that still swirled in her head. “I saw s-soldiers, I think. Th-They looked like s-soldiers. And there was this b-building, a l-library and…” She closed her eyes against the memory of the woman with the speckled eyes.
“Do you remember the names, love?” Danny finally stopped pacing and moved to stand behind the diminutive beauty, his strong hands reaching for her shoulders. With slow deliberate movements, he began gently massaging her neck and shoulders.
“N-Names?” Large dark eyes fluttered open, confusion still etched in her features.
“Yeah, you said… Jeffries and Gordon… Battery? I think… Ulvir and-”
“Elena.” Her gaze grew distant as the terrible, bloody vision sharpened. “Y-Yes, now I remember… And th-there was s-s-screaming. So much s-screaming…”
“That was you, love…” He said quietly. Tears welled up in those large dark eyes. Alexia swallowed hard and took a long shaky breath.
“Hey, princess, why don’t you splash some cold water on your face, huh? Give me and lover boy a nice peek at your adorable ass when you go.” Sammie winked, a decent attempt at a reassuring smile to follow. Nodding slowly, the little fae stood, letting Danny’s hands softly trail off her back as she walked silently to the bathroom.
True to her word, Sammie watched her go, mostly out of concern… and also to catch a glimpse of her backside. When she was fairly certain she was out of earshot, she turned back to Danny with a serious expression to match his.
“Are you sure you two are telling me everything? She didn’t try any new spells or anything? Nobody strange or new had any contact with her?” A single eyebrow arched and her arms crossed under her bust, plumping it up. She tried to keep the accusation out of her voice.
Danny still stared after the little fae, his eyes now on the closed bathroom door. He shook his head, concern etched deep in his features.
“No. It was...it was just a normal day. Sitting around, reading, TV...just the two of us curled up on the couch." Finally, he tore his eyes away and looked into the witch’s unwavering gaze. She could see the weight of it all in every movement of his body. His hands gripped the back of his couch, his shoulder's sagging.
His eyes slid shut as his fists clenched. “Sammie, something is wrong with my girlfriend and I don’t know what it is or how to help her. If you could have seen her face… heard her screaming…” His eyes were pleading as he turned them up to her. The witch softened, her shoulders slumped with a small sigh and she lifted one hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. After a moment, she finally spoke, lowering her hand slowly as she did.
“Alright, lover boy, I get it. Some Big Bad is happening to Rapunzel again and it’s up to this fucked up version of the Scooby gang to figure it out. I’m in, okay? One hundred percent. We’ll start over, I’ll do another, more thorough sweep, put up some protective spells and then maybe-”
A sudden clatter from the bathroom caught both their attention. Sammie was closer and sprang from her seat, but Danny’s long legs proved to be the better advantage. All he could think of on the short sprint to the door was ‘Please, don’t be locked!’ Short lived relief washed over his face as the knob easily turned.
“Oh, thank God… Alexia? Love?” He pushed the door in and was startled to find it empty. Or so he thought. A quick glance down would find a very terrified looking Alexia curled up in the corner against the shower door.
(A special thank you to Alexia Longbow for writing in this scene!)
The sound of Jefferies' and his boots thundered in the empty halls as they raced forward to the next stairway up, the butt of his rifle nestled firmly against his shoulder in a fighter stance. There was no stealth or grace in their flight down the hall, his head on a swivel rather than leading with his weapon. Tactically it was the stupidest way to proceed but it was the fastest way to cover ground and had them mounting the stairs in less than a minute, bounding up them two at a time as the sergeant first class dropped a smart frag that would hopefully kill or at least warn them of anyone with ill intent creeping up from behind.
Reaching the top he barely did a sweep before charging off down the hall, Jefferies bringing up the rear in a much more controlled manner as they dropped another friend or foe frag at the top of the stairs before bringing up the rear. They had crossed the spine of the building on their way up, reacting to the sharp rapport of fresh assault rifle fire… and the crackling, vacuous thud of fireballs. He knew Werebear and their team were in trouble but… but they had gone silent. That could mean anything but in the heat of the moment he knew he had to support the team still fighting… right? The uncertainty of the decision gnawed at him but he tamped it down as he heard the familiar snap, crackle, and boom of Battery's thunderwhip, their trademark spell for bringing the hurt.
Weaving this way and that, his mad dash was suddenly halted by a hot lick of searing heat while rounding one last corner, flames and smoke filling the hall. Behind Jefferies slammed into him, their hazel eyes going wide at the sight of the flames. Still, like a properly trained professional they were already reaching for a void grenade to deal with the issue though he was quicker on the draw with his cantrip, the carved bone crackling with energy as he snapped it. For an instant the hallway grew unbearably hot as the heat from the flames reacted to the etheric command, forced to dissipate into the air leeching the life from the flames, energizing air which rushed forth to equilibrate with the surroundings. It was a gamble hoping that the fires weren't so hot that the dissipated heat would just cause the baked material to light fire again or, worse, start other flammable material nearby on fire. Luckily he'd gauged things right and the vibrant flames fizzled out leaving only acrid smoke which sucked away with the hot air revealing a half charred corpse sprawled out across the hall in the remains of a digi-gray camo jumper… Gunny Rols.
Angry pink, crimson red, and bone white showed prominently against the dark hue of their charred flesh; the man apparently had taken a fireball to the side of the head… two it seemed as their helmet with slagged visor lay ravaged by flames further down the hall, blown clean off in a moment off. Damnit! It was a grim sight that was all too familiar to him from the war but there was something so much more visceral and disturbing about this death. It made his stomach roll as he gravitated towards the fallen soldier when suddenly he felt himself being shoved hard towards the wall, a fresh gulch of flames flaring before him as a fireball hurled through the burnt remains of a laboratory doorway. Looking back he saw Jefferies clenching their jaw as they locked their gaze forward, trying their best to avoid looking at their stricken comrade… their dead friend. Shit, this wasn't a time for him to lose his focus! Gritting his teeth he flattened against the wall, sliding up to the ruined door frame as he worked the trigger of his holstered caster. "Two up!"
The call into the laboratory was met with a vacuous thud which rattled the very wall against his back, fiery tendrils spattering through the doorway before the sharp rapport of suppressing fire roared to life. Amid this his caster whirred softly before a crackling pop emanated from the device prompting his roll through the doorway. Time stretched out before him, driven by the adrenaline pounded through his veins as he scoped the room through tunneled vision. Battery was situated behind a knocked over lab bench with Tenwa crouched behind another, their left arm hanging limply from a bloodied shoulder forcing the woman to brace her rifle against the table edge as she squeezed off burst after burst of fire at the far doorway leading into a storage room. Taking their cue he loosed a spray of rounds through the door as he rushed up next to Battery, Jefferies following suit as they slid into cover next to the woman.
“You’re late!” The fellow hunter sneered at him with strained glibness, blood running down the right side of their face from under their helmet.
“You’re hurt!” He reached for the small field medical kit strapped to his thigh though the other quickly waved away his concern.
“I’ll live so long as I can kill this fucker!” Gritting their teeth they pulled back on the trigger of their caster, the device whirring threateningly to life in their hands as the air around them grew still and lifeless. A moment of charge and they pulled the trigger through its final break; a snap and crackle emanating as they jerked the handcannon up just as a jet of electricity leapt forth from it’s tip, arcing about over the makeshift cover towards the back storage room like a whip. He knew magic could be tied to familiar physical actions allowing a person to really bend the laws of nature over a rail though he couldn’t do such things himself being neither as talented with etheric manipulation nor intimately familiar with using a whip like Battery was having grown up on a rigen ranch. Still, as impressive as the display was he still felt the scratchy ebb of shifting etheric forces from the storeroom as a hand appeared just long enough to hurl a shot of flames out at them, the lances of fire spitting and sputtering as they splattered against their cover sending flames raining on the floor behind scorching the linoleum.
“Bastard’s pretty well entrenched, didn’t even know they was back there till they potshoted Rols while he were chasin’ and yellin’ his fool head after Everett…” Their jaw flexed angrily as they manually cycled another round into the chamber of their caster. “Me and Tenwa thought we could smoke the fucker but they’re pretty wiley. Det’d her grenade right out of the air…” They tapped mildly at their gnarled helmet now, the shrapnel damage evident. Looking back at Tenwa the woman had apparently stolen Jefferies' rifle so as to keep heat on the storeroom while the quartermaster worked on their torn up arm.
“Shit…”
“Nice assessment.” He turned a glare back to the sharp tongued bastard who simply smiled toothily at him before shifting around into a crouch. “Think you could place a focus three to the right? Do it myself but that fucker’s pretty good at sniping, think they got a third eye setup or something.”
Which was probably why they hadn’t tried to just slag the storeroom by now. If such were the case the mage might run when they had to wait while charging such a devastating spell... or make a concentrated effort to kill the hunter. Considering the idea a moment he keyed up his direct comm to Jefferies so as to avoid having to yell over the intermittent report of rifle fire. “You got any dazzlers?”
The man across the way thought on this a moment, a few pats on their person, a few words to the angry woman, a few pats on their person and finally they produced a small cylinder which they held up for him to see the purple and silver stripe along its length. Nodding, shouldered his rifle as he pulled out his own caster, a cartridge pulled from his belt and manually fed it into the chamber before cocking the firing hammer. Battery just watched all this unfold, their expression mild before understanding crossed their angrily sleepy features. “You know what’ll happen if the timing’s off.”
“Then don’t fuck up the timing, yeah? Go is on you.” And with that he moved to the man’s other side, caster held close in a classic shooter's crouch.
Battery watched him for a long moment before shaking their head. “Your funeral…” The words were glib but their expression was one of focused determination as they centered themselves, evening out their breathing before they looked to Jefferies and nodded. The sergeant first class pulled the pin on the grenade as the other hunter pulled back on the trigger of their caster bringing it to life once more. The device whirled and growled angrily, charging for a long moment before they nodded again to Jefferies, the safety bar released and sent flying aways as they lobbed the small cylinder towards the back doorway.
The air filled with a maelstrom of competing energies, the holed up mage’s hand appeared just long enough to do exactly as Battery said - a single finger directing a focused lance of flame through the soaring cylinder detonating it in a brilliant, shimmering flash. A dazzler grenade meant only to draw attention away from the hunter as he popped up then, caster thrust forward to snap off that single shot into the wall. It was a blink and you’d miss it move but he still wasn’t quick enough to crouch again as another lance of flame caught his shoulder, splashing hotly next to his face but not piercing or burning through the fire protected jumper, the secondary processor of his caster whirring in complaint. A meager sound to the ferocious growl of Battery’s caster as they pulled the trigger through the final break; a snap, crackle, whip, and finally a teeth rattling boom as a bolt of lightning arced from their caster and right to the focus he’d buried into the wall too the side of the storeroom doorway. A keen crackle echoed from the room mixed with a surprised and pained yelp as the electricity ripped through the hidden mage.
Falling back on his ass he rolled with the hot wave of force letting it push him out of it’s way. The burning heat and bell toll ringing in his ears made it hard to focus yet he still felt himself shouting ‘go go go’ to the other soldiers prompting them to break from their cover, Tenwa and Jefferies rushing across the laboratory and through the storeroom doorway. Scrambling to right himself Battery caught his gloved hand, hauling him up to his feet as they too moved for the storeroom with much less urgency than the other two, their features twisted in a hard grimace likely from the feeling of having their head in a vice… spell overdraw. An arguably worse cost than the ‘mere’ vomiting of his own dead blood if he overdrew for a spell but both were sure signs that neither man were ever really meant to manipulate the ether as they did.
Filing into the room last he saw Jefferies sighting their rifle down at a woman clad in a ratty robe who looked barely older than twenty with dreadlocks, face tattoos, multiple piercings, and chains connecting their nose to their ears in an alt-neo classic shaman look. Not exactly the hardened murderous looking sort but then that was exactly what they’d proven to be even as they cried out against Tenwa grinding their hand beneath a booted heel.
“You fucking killed Rols!” The short, tan skinned woman sputtered in fury down at the girl, their depleted rifle slung as they’re left arm still sat limply at their side.
“Y-You p-pigs have killed m-many of m-mYAH!” They screeched as the specialist ground their boot harder, shutting down the obviously well practiced pro-mage diatribe. A sentiment that they as military hunters had come across many times before though not yet with so much vitriol.
“Shut up! You don’t get a fucking say in anything!” He couldn’t fault the specialists' wrath, not with what had shaken out.
Still, it wasn’t up to them to make such decisions as he shook his head. “Alright Specialist, point proven. But we’re to detain these fuckers, not judge, jury, and execute them. Not our place.”
“Spoken like a true dog of thAAH!”
Tenwa sneered down at the woman as they viciously ground their boot once more, a glare or equal measure shot at him next. “Sir! Respectfully-”
“Respectfully nothing, Tenwa.” He shut down the argument with a tired look, sympathetic to what they were feeling but still coldly detached; as objective as he could muster given the circumstances and the still unknown status of Werebear’s team. “We take them in for interrogation, those are our orders. But if they so much as flinch aggressively… then we protect us and ours, got it?”
The woman glowered at him for a moment longer before removing their boot from the mages hand… and sending it swiftly into their ribs. The crunchy mage whiffled in pain, curling under the abuse. “Crystal, sir.”
He looked to Battery who looked back to him, a mild shrug and a sympathetic smile offered obviously glad that they weren’t the woman’s commanding officer. “Sounds kinda like M.R.L.M. bull-” The sound of scraping shuffling drew both their attention back to the mage who had taken the opportunity while in that fetal position to lunge for a nearby teardrop dagger.
“Don’t!” Jefferies barked down at the woman though it was Tenwa who was on top of things as they viciously snatched the blade from the woman's hand… before dropping to a knee and sinking it into their chest.
“That’s for Rols you fis nachyl drathzyack d'ell'sanrak bitch!” A look of stunned shock spread across the woman’s features, a wheezing gurgle rising up as their lungs filled with their own blood.
Damnit! Shaking his head he looked to the hot headed specialist, an exasperated sigh escaping him as he considered just how much he had to admonish them. Looking back to the woman though he noted a sudden shift in their gasping expression as stunned pain gave way to a smile even as the light extinguished from their eyes… and their lips moved.
“Jeff-!” Even as he reached for the sergeant he felt himself being shoved back through the door, the world slowing as he turned to catch the look of apologetic panic on Battery’s face. He stumbled once, twice, his hand trying to reach for them…
And then the world screamed in agonizing silence as a wash of crimson and bone washed across the doorway he had just barely fell through, and the shockwave which perpetrated this launched him across the laboratory. A necromancer death keen - corpse bomb. Battery, Tenwa, and Jefferies didn’t stand a chance, and he had not wind in his lungs to scream out his impotent sorrow as he slammed into the far wall and forcefully met the cold, burnt floor.
* * * * *
Danny paced a small path in the space behind the couch. Every few steps, he looked over to where Alexia and Sammie sat. It had only taken a few minutes between the time Danny sent a concerned text message to the witch and her arrival, her expression dead serious. After a thorough sweep of the apartment for hex bags, talismans, cursed sigils, even dark totems, yielded no findings, she now sat sideways, staring at the little fae through the square she made with her fingers. Meeting index to index and middle finger to middle finger, she peered through the square and muttered a simple one-word incantation.
“Adaperio…” It was a low level magic for the experienced Sammie, but one she relied on for good reason. To the naked eye, nothing changed, but she moved the square all along Alexia’s petite form like a viewfinder.
“Anything?” Danny had stopped mid pace to peek over Sammie’s shoulder, trying to see through the square her fingers made, too, until he realized he had no clue what she was doing or what she was looking for. While taking great care to remain still, Alexia gave him a small, reassuring smile even as he took up pacing once again.
In any other situation, Sammie would have given quite the snarky remark, or even bitten his head clean off. Right now, however, she had her task. Mumbling mostly to herself, she ran through her thoughts out loud.
“No hidden runes… no scratches, no bites… not dosed with anything… Everything looks normal, princess.” The witch lowered her hands and turned to arch an eyebrow at Danny, effectively halting his movement.
“Of course, it would help to know exactly what happened.” She looked pointedly at Alexia who cast her large dark eyes down to her hands neatly folded in her lap.
“I-I’m n-not really sure. It w-wasn’t a typical n-nightmare. It was m-more… real. It w-was as though I was r-re-living m-memories that weren’t m-mine.” Her brows knit and a tiny frown pulled at the corners of her mouth.
“Whose were they, babe?” Sammie’s uncharacteristically soft voice pulled her gaze back up.
“I… d-don’t know.” A small frown marred the little fae’s pretty face as she tried to make sense of the dizzying images that still swirled in her head. “I saw s-soldiers, I think. Th-They looked like s-soldiers. And there was this b-building, a l-library and…” She closed her eyes against the memory of the woman with the speckled eyes.
“Do you remember the names, love?” Danny finally stopped pacing and moved to stand behind the diminutive beauty, his strong hands reaching for her shoulders. With slow deliberate movements, he began gently massaging her neck and shoulders.
“N-Names?” Large dark eyes fluttered open, confusion still etched in her features.
“Yeah, you said… Jeffries and Gordon… Battery? I think… Ulvir and-”
“Elena.” Her gaze grew distant as the terrible, bloody vision sharpened. “Y-Yes, now I remember… And th-there was s-s-screaming. So much s-screaming…”
“That was you, love…” He said quietly. Tears welled up in those large dark eyes. Alexia swallowed hard and took a long shaky breath.
“Hey, princess, why don’t you splash some cold water on your face, huh? Give me and lover boy a nice peek at your adorable ass when you go.” Sammie winked, a decent attempt at a reassuring smile to follow. Nodding slowly, the little fae stood, letting Danny’s hands softly trail off her back as she walked silently to the bathroom.
True to her word, Sammie watched her go, mostly out of concern… and also to catch a glimpse of her backside. When she was fairly certain she was out of earshot, she turned back to Danny with a serious expression to match his.
“Are you sure you two are telling me everything? She didn’t try any new spells or anything? Nobody strange or new had any contact with her?” A single eyebrow arched and her arms crossed under her bust, plumping it up. She tried to keep the accusation out of her voice.
Danny still stared after the little fae, his eyes now on the closed bathroom door. He shook his head, concern etched deep in his features.
“No. It was...it was just a normal day. Sitting around, reading, TV...just the two of us curled up on the couch." Finally, he tore his eyes away and looked into the witch’s unwavering gaze. She could see the weight of it all in every movement of his body. His hands gripped the back of his couch, his shoulder's sagging.
His eyes slid shut as his fists clenched. “Sammie, something is wrong with my girlfriend and I don’t know what it is or how to help her. If you could have seen her face… heard her screaming…” His eyes were pleading as he turned them up to her. The witch softened, her shoulders slumped with a small sigh and she lifted one hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. After a moment, she finally spoke, lowering her hand slowly as she did.
“Alright, lover boy, I get it. Some Big Bad is happening to Rapunzel again and it’s up to this fucked up version of the Scooby gang to figure it out. I’m in, okay? One hundred percent. We’ll start over, I’ll do another, more thorough sweep, put up some protective spells and then maybe-”
A sudden clatter from the bathroom caught both their attention. Sammie was closer and sprang from her seat, but Danny’s long legs proved to be the better advantage. All he could think of on the short sprint to the door was ‘Please, don’t be locked!’ Short lived relief washed over his face as the knob easily turned.
“Oh, thank God… Alexia? Love?” He pushed the door in and was startled to find it empty. Or so he thought. A quick glance down would find a very terrified looking Alexia curled up in the corner against the shower door.
(A special thank you to Alexia Longbow for writing in this scene!)
Re: The Hunter's Life
Lucid Memories / Vivid Dreams - part 5
The oppressively hissing ring which drowned his sense of hearing was barely punctuated by the pounding thrum of his own racing pulse and the rasping crackle of his breath. The taste of plaster and iron permeated the air as he struggled up off the floor, his hip where he’d clipped a lab bench and his shoulder which took the brunt of his wall slam screaming though he pushed through the pain. He had to get up, had to get back into the fight, had to get to his men.
His men.
Forcing himself to look back toward the door frame the only movement he could make out was crimson dust swirling as it settled, small bits of debris falling from the ceiling. There was no movement from the mangled corpse of Battery… from Bartrim. Damnit. Damnit!
“Specter 1 to Wraith, come in!” His voice cut through the blaring bells as his hearing slowly recovered though there was no response. “Specter 1 to Specter Actual, do you read!?” Silence. It was only by pure, ingrained muscle memory that he twisted his arm to check the minicomp system on his forearm though he already knew the device was smashed beyond all hope. A few taps to the thin, crumpled membrane only confirmed his suspicions of the tech that was notoriously not as 'grunt proof' as it ought to have been. Biting back a curse he struggled to his hands and knees though his balance was still far too scrambled by the concussive wave to stand properly. Damnit!
Reaching to his belt he hesitated a bare moment before plucking one of those green vials from its place - a regeneration potion. He’d been trying to limit his reliance on these as they could cause sterility and dependency and he had plans that would be hindered by such but they would all be for not if he… if she died! Popping the top he threw back the neon green concoction, a shutter rolling through his body as the potion took hold. It felt as though an icy wave of water rushed out over him from his core, washing away the pain and fatigue. The throbbing pain eased, the dull ringing ceasing as his balance restored allowing him to finally stand, shaking off the last vestiges of that brutal impact. It was little wonder hunters were considered monsters themselves when they could pull off such unnatural feats.
A few steps were taken towards the doorway to that storage though he stopped himself with a shake of his head. No… with how mangled Battery was he was sure that Tenwa and Jefferies, as normies, were much more broken. And he knew he didn’t have it in him to face such a cruel failure on his part, not yet, not while he still had men alive to get through this. So instead he moved for the smoldering door leading back out to the hallway, a pause as he touched off against his forehead. “May The Way find you and guide you.”
And with those words he pushed back out into the hallway, his steps still shaky as he busied himself with doing a spot check of his gear while the potion knit and mended the remaining insults done to his body. He was half back to the stairs leading back down to the first floor when a sole, sharp pop halted his steps, echoing through the halls from the other side of the building. Wraith team… someone was still alive! With renewed vigor he set off down a side hall, his bullpup rifle shrugged off his shoulder and brought back into a ready position as he snaked down the corridor; his knee popping once, twice before finally setting properly, the torn ligaments stitching together allowing him to hustle once more.
By the time he rounded that last bend he was moving at a full rush, the rifle swung in a sharp arc sighting the first door not sealed with a piece of danger red bang tape - the eighth scriptorium where they’d lost contact. Stacking up on the door he cursed at himself as he automatically signalled for a flashbang from the supporter who was no longer there. Shaking back that loathing that creeped in he snagged a cantrip from a pouch, the piece of wood readied in the same hand he held his rifle, freeing up his other to ever so slowly work the door lever just enough to push the door out of frame, catching the break with his toe. With that he held the rifle proper once more, the cantrip readied as he took one breath, two, and on the third he toed the door open fast and hard, rushing through.
Falling back on his training he swept the room down his sights, targets identified though there was no movement. Still, the cantrip creaked under his fingers as he moved over to the first piece of furniture that could grant him some modicum of cover before he took stock of the grim sight before him. Five dead civilians ranging in age from early twenties to late sixties were strewn about, their bodies charred in classic fireball scorch patterns. And among them were the lifeless bodies of Ylgen and Bordensky, both men pale and bloody with a savage burn pattern across Ylgans chest and what remained of Bordensky’s face. Brass glimmered from the sticky blood that pooled around both men, the initial report of fire apparently having come from them. Damn it!
Another sweep of the room spied a mess of figures shrouded in shadows in the corner, motionless though he heard the strained, gurgling rasp of labored breathing. He snapped the barrel of his rifle to the inky mess as he dropped behind concealment. “Hunter! Identify!”
Doctrine stated he should have shot first but there were still three unaccounted for… or at least two as he noted a pair of U.T.R.A. issued boots splayed motionless at the edge of the shadows. He thrust the rifle forward, angrily as he mustered every last ounce of his rage to try and focus while looking as intimidating as he could. He could just make out six more figures before the largest one gurgled and coughed, a familiar voice grumbling out. “T-Turner.... shit, never l-let it be said I ain’t ever b-been glad to hear your voice…”
Ruining whatever advantage he had he stood and thumbed on the light beneath the barrel of his rifle illuminating the grizzly scene. In the corner were three more adults, two dead by more fireball damage though one had a military issued combat knife sticking out of their eye. At the foot of the wretched totem was sprawled Everette, their form bloodied by at least a dozen puncture marks though there was no evidence as to what had caused them. And to the side slouched Werebear, the man bloodied but breathing as they cradled the corpse of Specialist Ano, the woman’s head blown apart… by the caster held in the hunter's hand, an incendiary grenade held in the other.
“Werebear…?” The sight of the specialist slowed his approach, his rifle trained on the downed soldier. Hunters and supporters were given training on how to resist arcane domination but without a circlet of clarity it was a touchy defense at best and of little comfort given how many soldiers were turned into unwilling ‘sleepers’ during the war.
“D-Don’t get too close… y-you’ll end up like J-Josh there…” The man motioned to Everette’s hole riddled corpse. “Or me…” Looking closer he did see splatters of blood upon the man's uniform unaccounted for by the specialist but there were no open wounds… not that that meant anything to a brewster who could heal at quiet the clip with a regen potion on board.
His approach halted at that direction as he looked about trying to piece everything together. “What happened?”
“A-mmm-Amending report sir, s-seven dead adults found… o-one fucking m-mage playing at it.” They motioned lightly towards the fellow with the blade in their face. “C-Cooked Ylg… two and three when they n-noticed ‘em still breathing… c-cut down f-four before I could p-put the fucker down…”
“Doesn’t look cut down to-” He eyed the dead woman more closely only now seeing that the slow ebb and pulse wasn’t of their blood draining. No, it was much worse than that as their wounds twitched, knitting and growing in wholly unnatural ways… like watching cancer grow. There was no need to look for the empty potion vial to know what the man had done.
“Th-the wound wasn’t… wasn’t that bad… to us. T-Tried to cut it… with my flask.” A dark humored smirk curled upon their features. “S-Still too strong… sh-she begged me… to end it…”
Potions were a dangerously doubled edged blade to begin with and regeneration ones in particular as they were essentially bottled magical cancer; a means to make the body put itself together again at breakneck speeds. Such had to be carefully balanced, tailored to the user else they would cause the body to repair and grow out of control; and there was nothing balanced about a hunter’s potion for such, particularly for a brewster as Werebear and he were. Theirs were concentrated well beyond the point of toxicity so they could carry a multitude upon their person with a special organ implanted to aid their livers in processing the toxins safely. It was a cruel system but one that could give a man an array of super abilities at but a sip. But it was a boon applicable only to hunters - to normies or even mages their potions were nothing but the poison. Poison Ulivar had tried to use to treat Ano even knowing the consequences, but then could he say he wouldn’t have tried the same thing to save one of his? Looking back to the riddled corpse of Everette he motioned slightly with his rifle. “And them?”
“A-Ah… th-they got too close. O-Our friend here h-had a rather nasty surprise…” Dropping their caster the man moved slowly to pull at their jumper, ripping the blood soaked garment to reveal a mess of black veiny tendrils snaking along the man’s core.
“Wh-?”
“D-Don’t really know… s-some sort of… thing... in my veins. The b-bastard was a bl-blood mage… caught us o-off guard by hitting us with… with bloody spears from th-the bodies. It was a trap…” A cold chill ran down his spine ending in a leaden weight in his stomach as he thought back to the barely alive person his own squad had come upon on the first floor. “Th-they cursed me with it wh-when I prettied them up with my boot blade. Everette came a-and rush for Ano b-but…” And they tapped at the woundless holes in their jumper. “F-Fella that can heal up makes f-for a fine mine…”
“Shit… shit!” He turned for the door wanting, needing to run down and check on his men, to check on Elena but he had to help Werebear! “Wh-what can I do. What can I-!” His gaze snapped back to the incendiary grenade in the other hunters grasp. “Wait, you-”
The man nodded slowly. “It f-fucking hurts Blackjack… a-and having this thing in me is… is just…”
He shook his head. “N-No, Werebear… Raol! There’s got to be something we can do, something-!” His voice fell silent as the man slowly shook their head sympathetically.
“L-Look what it did to Phant… to Everette. E-Even now it’s f-fighting me f-for control. I-I’ve been trying to pull th-the pin b-but I just f-fucking can’t.” They looked up at him, a gentle smile upon them. “I-I don’t wanna let it win T-Turner… please… give m-me the mercy I gave J-Jillian here…”
The man’s hand quaked, the grenade slowly slipping from their loosening grasp. “You…” They answered his unspoken question with a determined yet pleading look. It was cruel but every hunter that had been around the block knew of the possibility… they just hoped it never came to such.
“I-I can hold it… I think… j-just pull the pin…” They met his gaze, a nod offered along with that damnable smile of theirs that said everything was alright even when it wasn’t. Damn it!
Despite his inner protests he moved to shoulder his rifle while trading out the cantrip in hand for another, holding it out towards his comrade, his friend. This… this was a mercy, right? On their signal he moved forward swiftly, the others stomach rumbling and writhing at him causing them to cringe and groan yet they grit their teeth and fought back. He quickly snatched the ring of the grenade and yanked it out before dashing back, stick held ready to shield himself from any bloody tendrils yet none came though the effort exhausted the other hunter who panted heavily, blood dribbling from their lips. They took a moment to recover before finally looking up to him, nodding once more. “Alright… j-just give me a tap and… I’ll do the rest.”
He felt his head shaking with uncertainty. “Raol… I-”
“I-It’s okay… Turner… th-this isn’t your fault. I... I’m asking you to do this… p-please… th-this is my choice… my boots t-to fill.” That old hunter idiom had him unslinging his bullpup rifle once more, shouldering the weapon as he trained the sights down at his friend. The bastard, with all their devil may cry attitude, simply smiled. “Th-thank you… Turner… t-tell Imogen… I-I’m sorry…”
Those last words struck like a club winding him more than the blast had earlier. His teeth ground hard as he took steady aim. “Y-yeah… I’ll let Tenwa know she’ll need to kick your ass next time she sees you…” This drew a smirk from the other hunter even as it left him feeling windless. “May The Way find you and guide you…”
They offered him one last cocky smile. “And y-” The report of his rifle was deafening as it snapped the fellow hunters head back, slamming them against the wall they rested upon jostling the grenade from their hand. He didn’t wait to watch the safety lever snapping free as he turned and bolted for the door. He didn’t turn to look back when he hit the doorframe or when he heard the pyrotechnic thud of the ordnance detonation spraying burning white phosphorus over that morbid totem and all the bodies around. He didn’t dare look back as he raced for the stairs, vaulting down them as though fleeing from the ghosts of those he failed, or perhaps more fitting scrambling so he didn’t fail the one person he couldn’t.
* * * * *
Alexia let the door close behind her with a soft click. With a deeply scarred hand on either side, she leaned on the sink and stared down the small dark drain and took a deep breath. Her eyes went out of focus as her mind began to race.
Things were just starting to settle down. What if Danny doesn’t want any part of this? What if he decides being with me is just too much?
As if on cue, Danny’s muffled voice just barely registered in those delicately pointed and incredibly keen ears.
“... something is wrong with my girlfriend and I don’t know what it is or how to help her…” Alexia shook her head and smiled at his words. Should have known better… given him more credit.
She took another deep breath and straightened her stance, her scarred little hands leaving the edges of the sink. One reached out to turn on the cold water and she cupped them both under the tap, gathering a decent amount. Leaning over the sink, she splashed the cool water on her lightly freckled face and lingered a moment, letting the excess drip off her nose and chin. Her hand reached blindly for a clean towel and brought it to press gently into her face.
Finally straightening her posture, she pulled the towel down her face and neck, and peered into the mirror. But instead of the sweet, pretty face with the light smattering of freckles across her nose and the apples of her cheeks, a much more grim sight awaited her.
The figure that stared back at her in the mirror was ghastly. Right eye missing, right hand withered and charred down to the bone, blood the color of ink sprayed across his face and dripping from his mouth. On his chest, the more familiar bright red of blood leading to the outer edges of a deep, rotting wound that sunk in his abdomen. Frightening as the image was, it was the smile that shook her to her core. That familiar almost half smirk, tired, defeated, but unmistakable.
A high pitched, shuddering gasp tore from her pink lips. Her dark brown eyes impossibly wide, she stumbled backward until she hit the opposing wall and followed it toward the shower, as far away from the mirror as she could get. Her knees buckled, sending her sliding down the shower door, the movement sending soap and shampoo bottles tumbling down within the empty shower. Frightened and at the precipice of a panic attack, she pulled her knees to her modest chest and hugged them tight, the faint sound of Danny calling her name only vaguely registering.
(A special thank you to Alexia Longbow for writing in this scene!)
The oppressively hissing ring which drowned his sense of hearing was barely punctuated by the pounding thrum of his own racing pulse and the rasping crackle of his breath. The taste of plaster and iron permeated the air as he struggled up off the floor, his hip where he’d clipped a lab bench and his shoulder which took the brunt of his wall slam screaming though he pushed through the pain. He had to get up, had to get back into the fight, had to get to his men.
His men.
Forcing himself to look back toward the door frame the only movement he could make out was crimson dust swirling as it settled, small bits of debris falling from the ceiling. There was no movement from the mangled corpse of Battery… from Bartrim. Damnit. Damnit!
“Specter 1 to Wraith, come in!” His voice cut through the blaring bells as his hearing slowly recovered though there was no response. “Specter 1 to Specter Actual, do you read!?” Silence. It was only by pure, ingrained muscle memory that he twisted his arm to check the minicomp system on his forearm though he already knew the device was smashed beyond all hope. A few taps to the thin, crumpled membrane only confirmed his suspicions of the tech that was notoriously not as 'grunt proof' as it ought to have been. Biting back a curse he struggled to his hands and knees though his balance was still far too scrambled by the concussive wave to stand properly. Damnit!
Reaching to his belt he hesitated a bare moment before plucking one of those green vials from its place - a regeneration potion. He’d been trying to limit his reliance on these as they could cause sterility and dependency and he had plans that would be hindered by such but they would all be for not if he… if she died! Popping the top he threw back the neon green concoction, a shutter rolling through his body as the potion took hold. It felt as though an icy wave of water rushed out over him from his core, washing away the pain and fatigue. The throbbing pain eased, the dull ringing ceasing as his balance restored allowing him to finally stand, shaking off the last vestiges of that brutal impact. It was little wonder hunters were considered monsters themselves when they could pull off such unnatural feats.
A few steps were taken towards the doorway to that storage though he stopped himself with a shake of his head. No… with how mangled Battery was he was sure that Tenwa and Jefferies, as normies, were much more broken. And he knew he didn’t have it in him to face such a cruel failure on his part, not yet, not while he still had men alive to get through this. So instead he moved for the smoldering door leading back out to the hallway, a pause as he touched off against his forehead. “May The Way find you and guide you.”
And with those words he pushed back out into the hallway, his steps still shaky as he busied himself with doing a spot check of his gear while the potion knit and mended the remaining insults done to his body. He was half back to the stairs leading back down to the first floor when a sole, sharp pop halted his steps, echoing through the halls from the other side of the building. Wraith team… someone was still alive! With renewed vigor he set off down a side hall, his bullpup rifle shrugged off his shoulder and brought back into a ready position as he snaked down the corridor; his knee popping once, twice before finally setting properly, the torn ligaments stitching together allowing him to hustle once more.
By the time he rounded that last bend he was moving at a full rush, the rifle swung in a sharp arc sighting the first door not sealed with a piece of danger red bang tape - the eighth scriptorium where they’d lost contact. Stacking up on the door he cursed at himself as he automatically signalled for a flashbang from the supporter who was no longer there. Shaking back that loathing that creeped in he snagged a cantrip from a pouch, the piece of wood readied in the same hand he held his rifle, freeing up his other to ever so slowly work the door lever just enough to push the door out of frame, catching the break with his toe. With that he held the rifle proper once more, the cantrip readied as he took one breath, two, and on the third he toed the door open fast and hard, rushing through.
Falling back on his training he swept the room down his sights, targets identified though there was no movement. Still, the cantrip creaked under his fingers as he moved over to the first piece of furniture that could grant him some modicum of cover before he took stock of the grim sight before him. Five dead civilians ranging in age from early twenties to late sixties were strewn about, their bodies charred in classic fireball scorch patterns. And among them were the lifeless bodies of Ylgen and Bordensky, both men pale and bloody with a savage burn pattern across Ylgans chest and what remained of Bordensky’s face. Brass glimmered from the sticky blood that pooled around both men, the initial report of fire apparently having come from them. Damn it!
Another sweep of the room spied a mess of figures shrouded in shadows in the corner, motionless though he heard the strained, gurgling rasp of labored breathing. He snapped the barrel of his rifle to the inky mess as he dropped behind concealment. “Hunter! Identify!”
Doctrine stated he should have shot first but there were still three unaccounted for… or at least two as he noted a pair of U.T.R.A. issued boots splayed motionless at the edge of the shadows. He thrust the rifle forward, angrily as he mustered every last ounce of his rage to try and focus while looking as intimidating as he could. He could just make out six more figures before the largest one gurgled and coughed, a familiar voice grumbling out. “T-Turner.... shit, never l-let it be said I ain’t ever b-been glad to hear your voice…”
Ruining whatever advantage he had he stood and thumbed on the light beneath the barrel of his rifle illuminating the grizzly scene. In the corner were three more adults, two dead by more fireball damage though one had a military issued combat knife sticking out of their eye. At the foot of the wretched totem was sprawled Everette, their form bloodied by at least a dozen puncture marks though there was no evidence as to what had caused them. And to the side slouched Werebear, the man bloodied but breathing as they cradled the corpse of Specialist Ano, the woman’s head blown apart… by the caster held in the hunter's hand, an incendiary grenade held in the other.
“Werebear…?” The sight of the specialist slowed his approach, his rifle trained on the downed soldier. Hunters and supporters were given training on how to resist arcane domination but without a circlet of clarity it was a touchy defense at best and of little comfort given how many soldiers were turned into unwilling ‘sleepers’ during the war.
“D-Don’t get too close… y-you’ll end up like J-Josh there…” The man motioned to Everette’s hole riddled corpse. “Or me…” Looking closer he did see splatters of blood upon the man's uniform unaccounted for by the specialist but there were no open wounds… not that that meant anything to a brewster who could heal at quiet the clip with a regen potion on board.
His approach halted at that direction as he looked about trying to piece everything together. “What happened?”
“A-mmm-Amending report sir, s-seven dead adults found… o-one fucking m-mage playing at it.” They motioned lightly towards the fellow with the blade in their face. “C-Cooked Ylg… two and three when they n-noticed ‘em still breathing… c-cut down f-four before I could p-put the fucker down…”
“Doesn’t look cut down to-” He eyed the dead woman more closely only now seeing that the slow ebb and pulse wasn’t of their blood draining. No, it was much worse than that as their wounds twitched, knitting and growing in wholly unnatural ways… like watching cancer grow. There was no need to look for the empty potion vial to know what the man had done.
“Th-the wound wasn’t… wasn’t that bad… to us. T-Tried to cut it… with my flask.” A dark humored smirk curled upon their features. “S-Still too strong… sh-she begged me… to end it…”
Potions were a dangerously doubled edged blade to begin with and regeneration ones in particular as they were essentially bottled magical cancer; a means to make the body put itself together again at breakneck speeds. Such had to be carefully balanced, tailored to the user else they would cause the body to repair and grow out of control; and there was nothing balanced about a hunter’s potion for such, particularly for a brewster as Werebear and he were. Theirs were concentrated well beyond the point of toxicity so they could carry a multitude upon their person with a special organ implanted to aid their livers in processing the toxins safely. It was a cruel system but one that could give a man an array of super abilities at but a sip. But it was a boon applicable only to hunters - to normies or even mages their potions were nothing but the poison. Poison Ulivar had tried to use to treat Ano even knowing the consequences, but then could he say he wouldn’t have tried the same thing to save one of his? Looking back to the riddled corpse of Everette he motioned slightly with his rifle. “And them?”
“A-Ah… th-they got too close. O-Our friend here h-had a rather nasty surprise…” Dropping their caster the man moved slowly to pull at their jumper, ripping the blood soaked garment to reveal a mess of black veiny tendrils snaking along the man’s core.
“Wh-?”
“D-Don’t really know… s-some sort of… thing... in my veins. The b-bastard was a bl-blood mage… caught us o-off guard by hitting us with… with bloody spears from th-the bodies. It was a trap…” A cold chill ran down his spine ending in a leaden weight in his stomach as he thought back to the barely alive person his own squad had come upon on the first floor. “Th-they cursed me with it wh-when I prettied them up with my boot blade. Everette came a-and rush for Ano b-but…” And they tapped at the woundless holes in their jumper. “F-Fella that can heal up makes f-for a fine mine…”
“Shit… shit!” He turned for the door wanting, needing to run down and check on his men, to check on Elena but he had to help Werebear! “Wh-what can I do. What can I-!” His gaze snapped back to the incendiary grenade in the other hunters grasp. “Wait, you-”
The man nodded slowly. “It f-fucking hurts Blackjack… a-and having this thing in me is… is just…”
He shook his head. “N-No, Werebear… Raol! There’s got to be something we can do, something-!” His voice fell silent as the man slowly shook their head sympathetically.
“L-Look what it did to Phant… to Everette. E-Even now it’s f-fighting me f-for control. I-I’ve been trying to pull th-the pin b-but I just f-fucking can’t.” They looked up at him, a gentle smile upon them. “I-I don’t wanna let it win T-Turner… please… give m-me the mercy I gave J-Jillian here…”
The man’s hand quaked, the grenade slowly slipping from their loosening grasp. “You…” They answered his unspoken question with a determined yet pleading look. It was cruel but every hunter that had been around the block knew of the possibility… they just hoped it never came to such.
“I-I can hold it… I think… j-just pull the pin…” They met his gaze, a nod offered along with that damnable smile of theirs that said everything was alright even when it wasn’t. Damn it!
Despite his inner protests he moved to shoulder his rifle while trading out the cantrip in hand for another, holding it out towards his comrade, his friend. This… this was a mercy, right? On their signal he moved forward swiftly, the others stomach rumbling and writhing at him causing them to cringe and groan yet they grit their teeth and fought back. He quickly snatched the ring of the grenade and yanked it out before dashing back, stick held ready to shield himself from any bloody tendrils yet none came though the effort exhausted the other hunter who panted heavily, blood dribbling from their lips. They took a moment to recover before finally looking up to him, nodding once more. “Alright… j-just give me a tap and… I’ll do the rest.”
He felt his head shaking with uncertainty. “Raol… I-”
“I-It’s okay… Turner… th-this isn’t your fault. I... I’m asking you to do this… p-please… th-this is my choice… my boots t-to fill.” That old hunter idiom had him unslinging his bullpup rifle once more, shouldering the weapon as he trained the sights down at his friend. The bastard, with all their devil may cry attitude, simply smiled. “Th-thank you… Turner… t-tell Imogen… I-I’m sorry…”
Those last words struck like a club winding him more than the blast had earlier. His teeth ground hard as he took steady aim. “Y-yeah… I’ll let Tenwa know she’ll need to kick your ass next time she sees you…” This drew a smirk from the other hunter even as it left him feeling windless. “May The Way find you and guide you…”
They offered him one last cocky smile. “And y-” The report of his rifle was deafening as it snapped the fellow hunters head back, slamming them against the wall they rested upon jostling the grenade from their hand. He didn’t wait to watch the safety lever snapping free as he turned and bolted for the door. He didn’t turn to look back when he hit the doorframe or when he heard the pyrotechnic thud of the ordnance detonation spraying burning white phosphorus over that morbid totem and all the bodies around. He didn’t dare look back as he raced for the stairs, vaulting down them as though fleeing from the ghosts of those he failed, or perhaps more fitting scrambling so he didn’t fail the one person he couldn’t.
* * * * *
Alexia let the door close behind her with a soft click. With a deeply scarred hand on either side, she leaned on the sink and stared down the small dark drain and took a deep breath. Her eyes went out of focus as her mind began to race.
Things were just starting to settle down. What if Danny doesn’t want any part of this? What if he decides being with me is just too much?
As if on cue, Danny’s muffled voice just barely registered in those delicately pointed and incredibly keen ears.
“... something is wrong with my girlfriend and I don’t know what it is or how to help her…” Alexia shook her head and smiled at his words. Should have known better… given him more credit.
She took another deep breath and straightened her stance, her scarred little hands leaving the edges of the sink. One reached out to turn on the cold water and she cupped them both under the tap, gathering a decent amount. Leaning over the sink, she splashed the cool water on her lightly freckled face and lingered a moment, letting the excess drip off her nose and chin. Her hand reached blindly for a clean towel and brought it to press gently into her face.
Finally straightening her posture, she pulled the towel down her face and neck, and peered into the mirror. But instead of the sweet, pretty face with the light smattering of freckles across her nose and the apples of her cheeks, a much more grim sight awaited her.
The figure that stared back at her in the mirror was ghastly. Right eye missing, right hand withered and charred down to the bone, blood the color of ink sprayed across his face and dripping from his mouth. On his chest, the more familiar bright red of blood leading to the outer edges of a deep, rotting wound that sunk in his abdomen. Frightening as the image was, it was the smile that shook her to her core. That familiar almost half smirk, tired, defeated, but unmistakable.
A high pitched, shuddering gasp tore from her pink lips. Her dark brown eyes impossibly wide, she stumbled backward until she hit the opposing wall and followed it toward the shower, as far away from the mirror as she could get. Her knees buckled, sending her sliding down the shower door, the movement sending soap and shampoo bottles tumbling down within the empty shower. Frightened and at the precipice of a panic attack, she pulled her knees to her modest chest and hugged them tight, the faint sound of Danny calling her name only vaguely registering.
(A special thank you to Alexia Longbow for writing in this scene!)
Re: The Hunter's Life
Lucid Memories / Vivid Dreams - part 6
NSFW/TW - Graphic Violence
He took the steps in bounds, flying down them at such a clip that had he not caught the rail at the turnabout he’d have carrened straight into the stone wall… not that such would have slowed him any. Adrenaline and regenerative surged in his veins, pushed by his pounding heart which drove him forward in a panic. Still, despite this, bootcamp had done well to hammer the basics of combat into his very bones so even in that rush he still checked his corners while leading with his weapon. Barreling down the hall the first thing he noticed was that the door Jefferies and he had left was now ajar. Shit! Skidding to a halt just outside he barely took a moment to catch his breath before kicking and rolling his way in.
The musty office looked much the same as it had before, disarrayed by some scuffle though a desk had been overturned now, the thick wooden top pocked with divots. In the corner the woman they’d found still lay, now a corpse but with a single crimson tentacle reaching forth… piercing through the slouched form of Sergeant Major Gillen bv. “No…” The word escaped even as he rushed to the man, blue eyes blue snapping about for any movement, any other bodies though thankfully there were none. Just the barely there rise and fall of the stricken operations officer, the man who had the most experience avoiding this sort of thing, the most experience surviving now ran through and slouched in a puddle of their own blood. “Todd!”
A rasping wheeze escaped the man as they jerked at the name, the sidearm in hand snapping back to point at him in a well trained motion. Eyeing him for a long moment the older man finally grunted as they let the weapon drop. “That's… Sergeant Major Gillen. Still… alive?… Surprising.” They spoke slowly, a sucking crackle underlying their already craggly voice but they metered their words in such a way that they didn’t stutter. The platoons anchor even to the end. “We lost… long distance comms… after you and Specter 3 left… to render aid…" Half lidded they looked around him, their grim expression pulling just a hair more taut at the lack of Jefferies at his side. "Waited until… we couldn't hear you… before starting somatic phrasing. I… pushed Sp…" They paused to take a few struggling breaths prompting him to approach though the man swiped at him. "Don't! I'm… done for. Damage… too great.."
Swallowing down the lump in his throat he nodded slowly as he looked the man over. "I know…" The answer was mild, anemic even given how low the other had been brought because of his bad call. Reaching to a hip pouch he pulled out a syringe, the other glaring a moment at him before they realized what it was. With a grunt their arm dropped, giving him access to inject the bolus of painkiller into their bicep. Despite the clawing need to find Elena he gave the man a moment to find relief.
"Forgot you have that designation too. Field medic... her doing I imagine." The man scoffed softly at that, his disapproval of what Elena and he were apparent but despite how military they were they still let it happen, had never said anything to his superiors even if they had the clout to get away with such. "I… felt something was off… shoved Sapinsky out of the way just before… the trap sprung. Hit my… aorta, been slowly bleeding out since."
Reaching down they pawed mildly at their chest pocket, a glare offered though they let him help pull a cigar out to clasp between their teeth - about the only vice he'd ever known the man to partake in. Settling between their teeth he light it with his silver refuelable snap lid lighter which just warranted a snort from the dying man. "Just kill the flavor why… don't you…" Regardless his heresy they took a few tentative puffs, savoring the thick smoke. "Gordon freaked… out while Sapinsky was trying to render aid… When there was an explosion… they ran… toward the library. I sent Sapinsky after them cause they… were just as dangerous to you as… they were to themselves… in such a state…"
They took another few puffs from their cigar, a smirk escaping as they attempted to lift their hand to ash it but only made it half way up before their arm flopped back down. "Go after her… Turner… get her… get them home."
"Gillen…" He gave the man another look but the both of them knew the sergeant needed a trauma team and they wouldn't survive until one arrived; the red flashing of their arm comp said as much. No, there wasn't a damn thing he could do for them other than give relief as he reached back to his hip pack but they shook their head.
"Save it, I still got my… gun if I need it… won't be that long… anyway." They offered him a rare grin that ended in a cough which shocked the cigar from their lips. He could see them holding back their curse. "Go!"
There was no dignity to be found in death but that didn't mean they weren't going to try to have some. A sentiment he didn't really understand but he would honor none the less as he grabbed their cigar and tucked it back in. "Sir! Thank you… for everything. Ma-"
"Yeah yeah, just… get outta here… don't fuck this up Turner." They gave him a hard look, trying to convey...something. Grit? An apology? Forgiveness? It was impossible to tell and neither of them had the time to figure it out as he stood. Giving them one final salute, crisp and military as they liked them, he made for the door. A glance was hazarded back just caught the man slouched but uptight, giving the middle finger to life as their cigar smoldered. If he made it to 35 he could only hope to be half the man Todd Gillen was… had been.
Pushing that thought out of his mind he turned the bend and rushed down the hallway, covering his corners as he could though to be honest it would have been easy for someone to get the drop on him. He just wasn't paying that much attention, his focus on that lone panicked thought closing the world in around him, the staccato burp of automatic fire only fueling that single minded charge down the hall. He didn’t even bother to gather himself before charging through the large wooden, rifle raised.
Before him hot flames licked up the large bookshelves blasting heat and filling the musty air with a black, acrid smoke that curled the nose and stung the eyes. He recoiled a moment but the burp of automatic rifle fire and the thud of fireballs shoved that primal instinct away. “Elena!” Shielding his face he moved forward, just as a fireball splattered against the door behind him blasting his back with heat.
“Eli!” A rush of relief washed over him hearing that lone word, that voice which guided him through the smoke. Behind an overturned table he saw a figure splayed on the ground, bloodied, charred, and bandaged… Melissa Gordon. Despite the emergent care administered though he noted that the figure was too still, too peaceful for the injuries sustained - the sergeant had not survived. This left only Elena, crouched behind cover, a haunted look clinging to them which cracked into harrowed hope as they saw him. Sliding up to the edge of the burning bookcase he signaled across to them.
“Elena! Stay put!” The command barked out full of authority as he popped from cover, a burst of automatic fire in a sweep peppering the tables and bookcases down along the cavernous hall. He didn’t see any obvious threat as he scanned down along the sight of his rifle, the tingle at the back of his neck the only warning he had to slide back just as a figure popped out from a bookcase, a sole bang barely preceding the whiz of the bullet that whipped past burying into the wall behind. Magic was powerful but guns were quicker. Another shot knocked a tome from its perch dropping it upon his head while a third brought a sharp sting of pain as it ripped through the tip of his shoulder. A burning bookshelf made for very poor cover it seemed but none of the tables between him and Elena had been knocked over. “Shit. Hold-”
“Covering fire!” He could see the determination in those gray flecked hazel eyes, the pain seeing the blossom of crimson soak through his sleeve, the anger at the situation. No! He threw his hand at the woman even as they popped up from their cover. He felt the tingle at the back of his neck flare before he saw it, heard the vacuous fwoomp of a fireball flare to life. His feet felt like lead as he tore from cover, the air thick as honey. A bloom of pain shook him, a bullet lodging into his shoulder, the second shot missing it’s mark all together but neither slowed him more than time itself as that flare of mottled orange rolled into view, slamming square into the woman's chest… and punching out the back.
Wind rushed from him, his throat vibrating though he knew not what words he screamed as he sloughed forward, diving into a slide as the woman crumpled. They'd collapse into his arms, the curly locks bouncing though the smell of burnt flesh and rust ruined the gentle aroma of habidrys which so usually adorned her. That lovely look of determination, of anger, of life that had so graced those gently curved features just a moment before were now twisted into a grotesque grimace of shock and pain. He was dimly aware of the heat that licked at the top of his head as another fireball struck at their cover though he paid it no mind as his hand shakily tried to cover the hole in the woman’s chest. No… No!
Words spilled from him, senseless and pleading as he cradled the woman even as the life drained from them, their figure growing blurry through the veil of tears that rolled hotly from his eyes. Weakly their lips mouthed words though there were no sounds save the sickly gurgle of liquid sucking and filling the lungs from that grievous insult. But he didn’t need to hear to know what she said. “My… hero… I… please…” No! Nononononono!! He shook his head, he begged for her to stay with him, implored her to remember their dozens of unfulfilled promises, pleaded to whatever ancient gods may be listening, cursed those that ignored him. Sinking in he pressed his lips against hers, the taste of lapsinberry now filled with dread at the coolness of the tender contact, at the shivered breath that was barely there one moment… and gone the next. Strength left the woman's form as they finally went limp in his lap, stained crimson even as he wailed like a stricken beast. He’d failed her, the one he cared for most of all in the world, the one he promised himself to. Now what was he to do!?
Looking at his hands stained with bright crimson he felt that despair flare into rage, the last shreds of his humanity burning away as he tenderly set the woman down. What matter was it if he died? What sort of life could he lead without Elena? Standing he ripped his caster from it’s holster and thrust it accusingly towards the mage. His body jerked as a bullet ripped through his side but his focus was solely on that spell that weaved angrily in his mind, electricity arcing and sparking about the caster as it whirred to life, howled with electromechanical menace. He sucked up every stray ounce of processed magicka from around him and threw his very soul into the furnace, the air warping and distorting before him as it superheated from red to orange, yellow, blue, white. Grotesque shadows cast and danced in the warbling light, the very air burning away as he held the trigger in charge.
The mage saw this and stood, crafting their own spell quickly, their somatic chants fast and needy as they shot off another gulch of flames which flew straight for his head… only to veer into the menacing whirlpool of destruction crackling before him. He didn’t see what expression crossed their face at this nor did he care as he jerked the trigger back, collapsing the spell matrix in on itself. Hot tendrils whipped back and carved into his body, blowback even as that white hot lance speared forth barely catching the man and yet barely was enough. Their arm vaporized as that flame shot past, destroying tables, tomes, bookcases, and even stone walls that got in its way. From his lips erupted a gulch of black, dead vitae, his payment for such a spell he had no right to cast yet cast he did anyway. But why not? All he had to preserve himself for now lay in a bloody heap on the floor at his feet.
Again. Charging another spell he strode out from cover, aiming now at the cover the man fell behind. The caster creaked and groaned complaintively under the load but he paid it no mind as he pulled the trigger again, more blowback ripping at his flesh as a white lance speared forth again blowing apart that table and catching the man square in the leg as they tried to make an escape, separating it from them with a howl.
Again! He pulled the trigger on the caster, the etheric capacitor revving up once more before it crackled and ripped itself apart, black smoke pouring from the caster as it burned out and all but detonated in his hand. This barely warranted a growl as he threw the smoldering device away, rifle caught from it’s precarious sling and raised at the barely struggling figure still trying to pull themselves away. A burp of automatic fire tore up their back, the last round snapping them forward as it caught the back of their head. Striding forward he closed ground, hitting them with another burst of fire, and another which caused their body to quiver and writhe. Coming to loom over them he sighted his rifle down at them, teeth grinding as he kicked them over to face him. Their lips barely moved, trying to mouth something but he didn’t give them any ground to cast on as he pulled that trigger one last time emptying the remainder of his clip square into their face. The man slumped into that bloody heap which he proceeded to kick once, twice, again and again as a slur of curses and bilge poured out from him.
He’d gotten revenge and yet it did nothing to sate him. His command squad was dead, she was dead… he’d failed them all. And would that have been enough punishment for his avarice, for his stupidity but he knew it wouldn’t be. He’d be charged with negligence, held accountable for the wholesale destruction of that library and the death of the men and women under his command. They’d lock him up and when he was released he’d be devoid of humanity, would make the nickname Blackjack into something to be feared. And it wouldn’t be until another failure that he would retire that bloodsoaked name for the namesake of Mach whom so many know him as… and where he would fail so many again and again up to those he failed by not killing Gaines Clyfer.
Once more his rage boiled even as he felt himself crumble at his loss, the warmth he had just been holding, the radiant smile he had just bathed in. Oh, he would make them pay, he would-
- - - - -
The world before him washed out in warm light, his body heavy as tiredness clung to him. Reaching up he scrubbed the remaining sleep from his eyes, gazing out at the brilliant vista of the lazy roll of the ocean that lapped far below the road he travelled upon grown from the winding cliff.
“Looking a little out of it there Captain.” His gaze slid to the deep rumble next to him, the large black man dressed in a similar camo jumper as he was with black combat boots and a service pistol strapped to their hip mirthless as they kept their eyes ahead and hands on the steering wheel of the transport. Gunny Rols, as stoic a Dogaran as any he’d ever met.
“Oh you know me, just catching a little nap before this milk run…”
* * * * *
Back in the safety of the couch, Danny on one side, his arm wrapped around her, Sammie on the other, holding one of her deeply scarred little hands, Alexia stared in front of her, her voice soft and trembling.
“I-It was him, I’m s-sure of it. It w-was M-Mach, only…” Her eyes shut tight as her words trailed off.
“It’s okay, love, take your time.” Danny took her free hand and brought it to his lips to brush a gentle kiss to her knuckles. After a shaky breath or two, she finally continued.
“O-Only he was… b-broken. I… I d-don’t think he’s al-r-right. I-I think he’s in d-danger.” She looked to him, her eyes filled with confusion and concern.
“I’ll say he’s not.” Sammie had been quiet for some time, seemingly allowing the little fae to sort through her latest vision. In reality, she was looking her over with a different approach. Danny and Alexia turned to her, matching looks of confusion on their faces. With a single nod, she murmured a single word before letting go of the little fae’s hand.
“Ostendeo…” Immediately, a light flashed from Alexia’s chest. It shone brilliantly for a moment before subsiding to a soft and steady glow. As it dimmed, Sammie nodded again.
“Alright, my little bunnies, pay attention. See this?” The witch pointed to a vibrant green cord, strong and vine-like with little curls weaving in and out, some ending in tiny leaves or delicate little flowers. It began from the left side of Alexia’s chest and rooted firmly in the left side of Danny’s, just above their hearts.
“This is where you two are tethered. Huh… seems a little older than just a few weeks. Must have started forming before you pulled your vanishing soul act, princess.” Ever so gently, she reached out to touch it, her eyes narrowing in assessment.
“Anyway, now this one… this one is from when I was in your body. But we don’t need that anymore.” She winked at the little fae and, with pinching thumb and forefinger, she plucked at a withered and blackened tether, shroud-like and severed, and tossed it aside where it wisped away like a piece of ash.
“But this one… I think this is your culprit.” The final tether sputtered faintly, pulsing now and again with renewed strength, only to dip and dim. Was it indicative of how the person on the other end fared? It was certainly possible. Seemingly made of fiber optic strings, exposed and fragile, broken in many places. A stark contrast to the ethereal nature of the little fae. Sammie tried to touch, but thought better of it.
“You said this was probably just a simple curse. This sounds bad.” Danny finally spoke, a serious tone rarely ever heard in his voice. Green eyes turned up to her, all business.
“I mean, she’s still attached to the hunter, so… not great?” Even Sammie failed to find humor in her own attempt at a joke. Danny’s lips didn’t so much as twitch. He just eyed her with that unusually stoic game-face of his. With a small defeated sigh, she turned back to the little fae.
“Look, all I can say for sure is that these nightmares you’re having are probably not really nightmares...”
“They’re visions…” Alexia finished softly.
“Looks like it, babe. Which means-”
“Which means we find the source.” Danny cut her off, his voice uncharacteristically stern. “Right? We find wherever…he is, and we deal with the situation.”
Danny was woefully out of his element when it came to magic. He had no idea how difficult any of that might actually be. Luckily, his take charge attitude seemed to bolster the group morale. Alexia nodded, here eyes shining with relief and gratitude while Sammie gave an unreadable smirk.
“Aww, aren’t you cute when you’re all fired up. Look, it’s great that you’re on board, lover boy, but it’s just not that easy. She's having the visions because he's having them and they're still linked. He'd have to be cognizant enough to understand his surroundings or what's being asked of him. It’s not like when I scryed for Rapunzel here in the ether. She was still enough of herself to answer the call.” Sammie began to shake her head.
Danny stood suddenly, the desperation finally creeping into his face. "Then we find a way. We...get whoever or whatever we need and we try to get through to him."
"That's assuming he's mentally capable of responding. You heard what they were doing to him. Do you know what that can do to a mind?" Her voice became tight, revealing some long forgotten personal experience.
His hands went to his forehead as he spoke. His teeth clamped lightly upon his upper lip as he turned his gaze upon Alexia. "Sammie…” He said in a soft, vulnerable voice. Green eyes turned back up to her. “We have to try. Even if it doesn't work, we have to at least try.”
Sammie stared at him hard for a long time until finally she let out a long sigh. With a quick glance over to the little fae, who had been staring at her hands folded neatly in her lap, she knew she was outnumbered. She rolled her eyes with as much exaggeration as possible.
“Alright, stud, I’ll gather some basic supplies, and we’ll get started.” Sammie’s voice dripped with saccharine and condescension as she rose and headed toward the door, stopping with her hand upon the knob. “Don't do anything I wouldn't do. And everything I would. Also, record it."
Sammie gave them a theatrically hopeful look, but the pair of them responded only with withering stares. “No? Damn. Well, a girl can dream, right? ‘Kay, I’m out.” With a little smirk, she stepped through the doorway, leaving the young couple to regroup in private.
(A special thank you to Alexia Longbow for writing in this scene!)
NSFW/TW - Graphic Violence
He took the steps in bounds, flying down them at such a clip that had he not caught the rail at the turnabout he’d have carrened straight into the stone wall… not that such would have slowed him any. Adrenaline and regenerative surged in his veins, pushed by his pounding heart which drove him forward in a panic. Still, despite this, bootcamp had done well to hammer the basics of combat into his very bones so even in that rush he still checked his corners while leading with his weapon. Barreling down the hall the first thing he noticed was that the door Jefferies and he had left was now ajar. Shit! Skidding to a halt just outside he barely took a moment to catch his breath before kicking and rolling his way in.
The musty office looked much the same as it had before, disarrayed by some scuffle though a desk had been overturned now, the thick wooden top pocked with divots. In the corner the woman they’d found still lay, now a corpse but with a single crimson tentacle reaching forth… piercing through the slouched form of Sergeant Major Gillen bv. “No…” The word escaped even as he rushed to the man, blue eyes blue snapping about for any movement, any other bodies though thankfully there were none. Just the barely there rise and fall of the stricken operations officer, the man who had the most experience avoiding this sort of thing, the most experience surviving now ran through and slouched in a puddle of their own blood. “Todd!”
A rasping wheeze escaped the man as they jerked at the name, the sidearm in hand snapping back to point at him in a well trained motion. Eyeing him for a long moment the older man finally grunted as they let the weapon drop. “That's… Sergeant Major Gillen. Still… alive?… Surprising.” They spoke slowly, a sucking crackle underlying their already craggly voice but they metered their words in such a way that they didn’t stutter. The platoons anchor even to the end. “We lost… long distance comms… after you and Specter 3 left… to render aid…" Half lidded they looked around him, their grim expression pulling just a hair more taut at the lack of Jefferies at his side. "Waited until… we couldn't hear you… before starting somatic phrasing. I… pushed Sp…" They paused to take a few struggling breaths prompting him to approach though the man swiped at him. "Don't! I'm… done for. Damage… too great.."
Swallowing down the lump in his throat he nodded slowly as he looked the man over. "I know…" The answer was mild, anemic even given how low the other had been brought because of his bad call. Reaching to a hip pouch he pulled out a syringe, the other glaring a moment at him before they realized what it was. With a grunt their arm dropped, giving him access to inject the bolus of painkiller into their bicep. Despite the clawing need to find Elena he gave the man a moment to find relief.
"Forgot you have that designation too. Field medic... her doing I imagine." The man scoffed softly at that, his disapproval of what Elena and he were apparent but despite how military they were they still let it happen, had never said anything to his superiors even if they had the clout to get away with such. "I… felt something was off… shoved Sapinsky out of the way just before… the trap sprung. Hit my… aorta, been slowly bleeding out since."
Reaching down they pawed mildly at their chest pocket, a glare offered though they let him help pull a cigar out to clasp between their teeth - about the only vice he'd ever known the man to partake in. Settling between their teeth he light it with his silver refuelable snap lid lighter which just warranted a snort from the dying man. "Just kill the flavor why… don't you…" Regardless his heresy they took a few tentative puffs, savoring the thick smoke. "Gordon freaked… out while Sapinsky was trying to render aid… When there was an explosion… they ran… toward the library. I sent Sapinsky after them cause they… were just as dangerous to you as… they were to themselves… in such a state…"
They took another few puffs from their cigar, a smirk escaping as they attempted to lift their hand to ash it but only made it half way up before their arm flopped back down. "Go after her… Turner… get her… get them home."
"Gillen…" He gave the man another look but the both of them knew the sergeant needed a trauma team and they wouldn't survive until one arrived; the red flashing of their arm comp said as much. No, there wasn't a damn thing he could do for them other than give relief as he reached back to his hip pack but they shook their head.
"Save it, I still got my… gun if I need it… won't be that long… anyway." They offered him a rare grin that ended in a cough which shocked the cigar from their lips. He could see them holding back their curse. "Go!"
There was no dignity to be found in death but that didn't mean they weren't going to try to have some. A sentiment he didn't really understand but he would honor none the less as he grabbed their cigar and tucked it back in. "Sir! Thank you… for everything. Ma-"
"Yeah yeah, just… get outta here… don't fuck this up Turner." They gave him a hard look, trying to convey...something. Grit? An apology? Forgiveness? It was impossible to tell and neither of them had the time to figure it out as he stood. Giving them one final salute, crisp and military as they liked them, he made for the door. A glance was hazarded back just caught the man slouched but uptight, giving the middle finger to life as their cigar smoldered. If he made it to 35 he could only hope to be half the man Todd Gillen was… had been.
Pushing that thought out of his mind he turned the bend and rushed down the hallway, covering his corners as he could though to be honest it would have been easy for someone to get the drop on him. He just wasn't paying that much attention, his focus on that lone panicked thought closing the world in around him, the staccato burp of automatic fire only fueling that single minded charge down the hall. He didn’t even bother to gather himself before charging through the large wooden, rifle raised.
Before him hot flames licked up the large bookshelves blasting heat and filling the musty air with a black, acrid smoke that curled the nose and stung the eyes. He recoiled a moment but the burp of automatic rifle fire and the thud of fireballs shoved that primal instinct away. “Elena!” Shielding his face he moved forward, just as a fireball splattered against the door behind him blasting his back with heat.
“Eli!” A rush of relief washed over him hearing that lone word, that voice which guided him through the smoke. Behind an overturned table he saw a figure splayed on the ground, bloodied, charred, and bandaged… Melissa Gordon. Despite the emergent care administered though he noted that the figure was too still, too peaceful for the injuries sustained - the sergeant had not survived. This left only Elena, crouched behind cover, a haunted look clinging to them which cracked into harrowed hope as they saw him. Sliding up to the edge of the burning bookcase he signaled across to them.
“Elena! Stay put!” The command barked out full of authority as he popped from cover, a burst of automatic fire in a sweep peppering the tables and bookcases down along the cavernous hall. He didn’t see any obvious threat as he scanned down along the sight of his rifle, the tingle at the back of his neck the only warning he had to slide back just as a figure popped out from a bookcase, a sole bang barely preceding the whiz of the bullet that whipped past burying into the wall behind. Magic was powerful but guns were quicker. Another shot knocked a tome from its perch dropping it upon his head while a third brought a sharp sting of pain as it ripped through the tip of his shoulder. A burning bookshelf made for very poor cover it seemed but none of the tables between him and Elena had been knocked over. “Shit. Hold-”
“Covering fire!” He could see the determination in those gray flecked hazel eyes, the pain seeing the blossom of crimson soak through his sleeve, the anger at the situation. No! He threw his hand at the woman even as they popped up from their cover. He felt the tingle at the back of his neck flare before he saw it, heard the vacuous fwoomp of a fireball flare to life. His feet felt like lead as he tore from cover, the air thick as honey. A bloom of pain shook him, a bullet lodging into his shoulder, the second shot missing it’s mark all together but neither slowed him more than time itself as that flare of mottled orange rolled into view, slamming square into the woman's chest… and punching out the back.
Wind rushed from him, his throat vibrating though he knew not what words he screamed as he sloughed forward, diving into a slide as the woman crumpled. They'd collapse into his arms, the curly locks bouncing though the smell of burnt flesh and rust ruined the gentle aroma of habidrys which so usually adorned her. That lovely look of determination, of anger, of life that had so graced those gently curved features just a moment before were now twisted into a grotesque grimace of shock and pain. He was dimly aware of the heat that licked at the top of his head as another fireball struck at their cover though he paid it no mind as his hand shakily tried to cover the hole in the woman’s chest. No… No!
Words spilled from him, senseless and pleading as he cradled the woman even as the life drained from them, their figure growing blurry through the veil of tears that rolled hotly from his eyes. Weakly their lips mouthed words though there were no sounds save the sickly gurgle of liquid sucking and filling the lungs from that grievous insult. But he didn’t need to hear to know what she said. “My… hero… I… please…” No! Nononononono!! He shook his head, he begged for her to stay with him, implored her to remember their dozens of unfulfilled promises, pleaded to whatever ancient gods may be listening, cursed those that ignored him. Sinking in he pressed his lips against hers, the taste of lapsinberry now filled with dread at the coolness of the tender contact, at the shivered breath that was barely there one moment… and gone the next. Strength left the woman's form as they finally went limp in his lap, stained crimson even as he wailed like a stricken beast. He’d failed her, the one he cared for most of all in the world, the one he promised himself to. Now what was he to do!?
Looking at his hands stained with bright crimson he felt that despair flare into rage, the last shreds of his humanity burning away as he tenderly set the woman down. What matter was it if he died? What sort of life could he lead without Elena? Standing he ripped his caster from it’s holster and thrust it accusingly towards the mage. His body jerked as a bullet ripped through his side but his focus was solely on that spell that weaved angrily in his mind, electricity arcing and sparking about the caster as it whirred to life, howled with electromechanical menace. He sucked up every stray ounce of processed magicka from around him and threw his very soul into the furnace, the air warping and distorting before him as it superheated from red to orange, yellow, blue, white. Grotesque shadows cast and danced in the warbling light, the very air burning away as he held the trigger in charge.
The mage saw this and stood, crafting their own spell quickly, their somatic chants fast and needy as they shot off another gulch of flames which flew straight for his head… only to veer into the menacing whirlpool of destruction crackling before him. He didn’t see what expression crossed their face at this nor did he care as he jerked the trigger back, collapsing the spell matrix in on itself. Hot tendrils whipped back and carved into his body, blowback even as that white hot lance speared forth barely catching the man and yet barely was enough. Their arm vaporized as that flame shot past, destroying tables, tomes, bookcases, and even stone walls that got in its way. From his lips erupted a gulch of black, dead vitae, his payment for such a spell he had no right to cast yet cast he did anyway. But why not? All he had to preserve himself for now lay in a bloody heap on the floor at his feet.
Again. Charging another spell he strode out from cover, aiming now at the cover the man fell behind. The caster creaked and groaned complaintively under the load but he paid it no mind as he pulled the trigger again, more blowback ripping at his flesh as a white lance speared forth again blowing apart that table and catching the man square in the leg as they tried to make an escape, separating it from them with a howl.
Again! He pulled the trigger on the caster, the etheric capacitor revving up once more before it crackled and ripped itself apart, black smoke pouring from the caster as it burned out and all but detonated in his hand. This barely warranted a growl as he threw the smoldering device away, rifle caught from it’s precarious sling and raised at the barely struggling figure still trying to pull themselves away. A burp of automatic fire tore up their back, the last round snapping them forward as it caught the back of their head. Striding forward he closed ground, hitting them with another burst of fire, and another which caused their body to quiver and writhe. Coming to loom over them he sighted his rifle down at them, teeth grinding as he kicked them over to face him. Their lips barely moved, trying to mouth something but he didn’t give them any ground to cast on as he pulled that trigger one last time emptying the remainder of his clip square into their face. The man slumped into that bloody heap which he proceeded to kick once, twice, again and again as a slur of curses and bilge poured out from him.
He’d gotten revenge and yet it did nothing to sate him. His command squad was dead, she was dead… he’d failed them all. And would that have been enough punishment for his avarice, for his stupidity but he knew it wouldn’t be. He’d be charged with negligence, held accountable for the wholesale destruction of that library and the death of the men and women under his command. They’d lock him up and when he was released he’d be devoid of humanity, would make the nickname Blackjack into something to be feared. And it wouldn’t be until another failure that he would retire that bloodsoaked name for the namesake of Mach whom so many know him as… and where he would fail so many again and again up to those he failed by not killing Gaines Clyfer.
Once more his rage boiled even as he felt himself crumble at his loss, the warmth he had just been holding, the radiant smile he had just bathed in. Oh, he would make them pay, he would-
- - - - -
The world before him washed out in warm light, his body heavy as tiredness clung to him. Reaching up he scrubbed the remaining sleep from his eyes, gazing out at the brilliant vista of the lazy roll of the ocean that lapped far below the road he travelled upon grown from the winding cliff.
“Looking a little out of it there Captain.” His gaze slid to the deep rumble next to him, the large black man dressed in a similar camo jumper as he was with black combat boots and a service pistol strapped to their hip mirthless as they kept their eyes ahead and hands on the steering wheel of the transport. Gunny Rols, as stoic a Dogaran as any he’d ever met.
“Oh you know me, just catching a little nap before this milk run…”
* * * * *
Back in the safety of the couch, Danny on one side, his arm wrapped around her, Sammie on the other, holding one of her deeply scarred little hands, Alexia stared in front of her, her voice soft and trembling.
“I-It was him, I’m s-sure of it. It w-was M-Mach, only…” Her eyes shut tight as her words trailed off.
“It’s okay, love, take your time.” Danny took her free hand and brought it to his lips to brush a gentle kiss to her knuckles. After a shaky breath or two, she finally continued.
“O-Only he was… b-broken. I… I d-don’t think he’s al-r-right. I-I think he’s in d-danger.” She looked to him, her eyes filled with confusion and concern.
“I’ll say he’s not.” Sammie had been quiet for some time, seemingly allowing the little fae to sort through her latest vision. In reality, she was looking her over with a different approach. Danny and Alexia turned to her, matching looks of confusion on their faces. With a single nod, she murmured a single word before letting go of the little fae’s hand.
“Ostendeo…” Immediately, a light flashed from Alexia’s chest. It shone brilliantly for a moment before subsiding to a soft and steady glow. As it dimmed, Sammie nodded again.
“Alright, my little bunnies, pay attention. See this?” The witch pointed to a vibrant green cord, strong and vine-like with little curls weaving in and out, some ending in tiny leaves or delicate little flowers. It began from the left side of Alexia’s chest and rooted firmly in the left side of Danny’s, just above their hearts.
“This is where you two are tethered. Huh… seems a little older than just a few weeks. Must have started forming before you pulled your vanishing soul act, princess.” Ever so gently, she reached out to touch it, her eyes narrowing in assessment.
“Anyway, now this one… this one is from when I was in your body. But we don’t need that anymore.” She winked at the little fae and, with pinching thumb and forefinger, she plucked at a withered and blackened tether, shroud-like and severed, and tossed it aside where it wisped away like a piece of ash.
“But this one… I think this is your culprit.” The final tether sputtered faintly, pulsing now and again with renewed strength, only to dip and dim. Was it indicative of how the person on the other end fared? It was certainly possible. Seemingly made of fiber optic strings, exposed and fragile, broken in many places. A stark contrast to the ethereal nature of the little fae. Sammie tried to touch, but thought better of it.
“You said this was probably just a simple curse. This sounds bad.” Danny finally spoke, a serious tone rarely ever heard in his voice. Green eyes turned up to her, all business.
“I mean, she’s still attached to the hunter, so… not great?” Even Sammie failed to find humor in her own attempt at a joke. Danny’s lips didn’t so much as twitch. He just eyed her with that unusually stoic game-face of his. With a small defeated sigh, she turned back to the little fae.
“Look, all I can say for sure is that these nightmares you’re having are probably not really nightmares...”
“They’re visions…” Alexia finished softly.
“Looks like it, babe. Which means-”
“Which means we find the source.” Danny cut her off, his voice uncharacteristically stern. “Right? We find wherever…he is, and we deal with the situation.”
Danny was woefully out of his element when it came to magic. He had no idea how difficult any of that might actually be. Luckily, his take charge attitude seemed to bolster the group morale. Alexia nodded, here eyes shining with relief and gratitude while Sammie gave an unreadable smirk.
“Aww, aren’t you cute when you’re all fired up. Look, it’s great that you’re on board, lover boy, but it’s just not that easy. She's having the visions because he's having them and they're still linked. He'd have to be cognizant enough to understand his surroundings or what's being asked of him. It’s not like when I scryed for Rapunzel here in the ether. She was still enough of herself to answer the call.” Sammie began to shake her head.
Danny stood suddenly, the desperation finally creeping into his face. "Then we find a way. We...get whoever or whatever we need and we try to get through to him."
"That's assuming he's mentally capable of responding. You heard what they were doing to him. Do you know what that can do to a mind?" Her voice became tight, revealing some long forgotten personal experience.
His hands went to his forehead as he spoke. His teeth clamped lightly upon his upper lip as he turned his gaze upon Alexia. "Sammie…” He said in a soft, vulnerable voice. Green eyes turned back up to her. “We have to try. Even if it doesn't work, we have to at least try.”
Sammie stared at him hard for a long time until finally she let out a long sigh. With a quick glance over to the little fae, who had been staring at her hands folded neatly in her lap, she knew she was outnumbered. She rolled her eyes with as much exaggeration as possible.
“Alright, stud, I’ll gather some basic supplies, and we’ll get started.” Sammie’s voice dripped with saccharine and condescension as she rose and headed toward the door, stopping with her hand upon the knob. “Don't do anything I wouldn't do. And everything I would. Also, record it."
Sammie gave them a theatrically hopeful look, but the pair of them responded only with withering stares. “No? Damn. Well, a girl can dream, right? ‘Kay, I’m out.” With a little smirk, she stepped through the doorway, leaving the young couple to regroup in private.
(A special thank you to Alexia Longbow for writing in this scene!)
Re: The Hunter's Life
A Fleeting Rest
Mach floated mercifully in the inky black of unconsciousness, a respite from that terrible nightmare… that terrible memory he’d endured over and over again. But even this slight mercy was stolen from him as he felt the vicious intrusions of the waking world dragging him away from that comfortable nothing. He could taste the hot air on his tongue; smell the mixture of machine oil, sea salt, and sick flesh that permeated the air; hear the soft whine of a computer and a peristaltic pump pushing cold fluids into his arm; feel the agonized screams of his body strung up and wasting from disuse. How long had he been here?
Playing possum he assessed his crap situation and would have kept to this if not for the sound of a few keystrokes on a mechanical keyboard which clued him in to the fact he wasn’t alone. It took considerable effort to pryse open his eye sealed shut by layers of crusted salt, moreso to do so stealthily though the smiling face that greeted him told him his efforts were in vain. “Finally giving up on acting unconscious?” Gaines smiled in a thin, prescribed manner, their fingers folded upon their lap as they watched him from their seat at what looked to be a large computer… a mainframe?
“Th-thoth…” He was surprised how hoarse and weak his voice was, his neck straining to formulate words after so long being silenced and gagged given how his jaw felt at once weak and yet taut, cramped in that slack jawed position. Grunting some he forced those throat muscles to cooperate while working his jaw to break apart the stiffness before he flashed an anemic smile up at the man. “Th-Thought I’d waste y-your time some ch-chuckles…”
“Oh, do not worry about us, we have all the time in the world. No, I wanted to make sure you recovered as you needed. You’ve actually done so at a remarkable pace! I’d have thought your psyche would be more… degraded at this point.” Turning they typed a few things into the mainframe. “Yes…. Yes… very interesting…” As they took a moment to mutter to themselves he opted to try and get a better grasp of things, his blurry vision shifting about lazily to take in his surroundings. It appeared he was in an abandoned machine room… yay, his favorite. Strapped face down on what looked like a portable masseuse chair the remnants of his blood soaked clothing were tossed into a corner, the garments looking rusted which had to have meant they'd been dessicating for some time. Below him he spied one of those horned fluffballs that seemed to be owned… worked?... for the madsci crunching away at his destroyed cell phone. Great, looks like there wouldn't be any cavalry calls made using that. Turning he looked at his hand, the burnt remains of his caster suspended just before his-!!!
The madsci looked back to him as he growled against the shockingly sudden sensation of his skull splitting open and his brains trying to dribble out. "Don't jostle your head too much, I've got you wired pretty deeply."" They motioned to a cord two fingers thick which lead from the terminal and off behind him… shit. That pressured pain at the back of his skull spiked once more as he shook his head in a testing manner. Great, so he was hooked up to the damn computer, and missing his right eye to boot as he saw the wires leading away from his face and saw a bunch of nothing when he hazarded to open those lids.
"When I… get outta here I'm going to fucking rip y-your head off, shit down your thr-roat, and b-beat you t-to death with your fucking arms…" Despite his condition he could still hear, feel the seething rage behind those words. "You'll… regret not just… finishing me off…"
Gaines simply observed him during his tirad; long, lean fingers stroking their chin thoughtfully as they watched. After a moment of consideration a smile finally cracked across their angular features. "Yes, this must be what the others have been missing. Rage. Rage in the face of adversity. Rage at the hands of trauma. Oh how could I ever possibly regret meeting such a fine specimen!"
Something about that word, 'trauma', triggered a thought, a memory even as he glowered. Werebear. Gillen. His one and only command. A… the beach. A library. Burning flesh. Her. Her! Elena! He could hear the squeak of his teeth as they ground together, feel the pain in his hand as it balled and quivered. The memories were so fresh, so vivid, so raw. They felt like he'd just lived through them yesterday even though it had been over a decade since those grim events had occurred. Close to a decade since he'd felt the full brunt of their crushing sting, of their accusation and guilt.
The full extent of his reality came crashing down on him as the embers of that painful memory flared, echoed discordantly in his mind. It had been just yesterday since he'd lived that, or re-lived such over and over again. A tidal wave of emotion washed over him, threatening to drown him in anger and pain, in joy and loss, in love and failure. His own personal hell, tailored and fed straight into his head by that damnable cable. "You sonuvabitch!"
Those words, full of asperity, drew a smile from the madsci. "And you remember! I was afraid you might have suppressed my work or wouldn't be able to integrate the memories which would have been most unfortunate." Their words came out pressured, excited and impatient. "I wonder if it is your anger which drives your resilience or whether your anger is a symptom of such natural resilience. I very much look forward to exploring this."
"Fuck you!" He strained against his bindings, reaching for that burnt out husk of a caster to... what? Beat the gainly man to death with the worthless hunk of metal and carbonized circuitry? God's damn right he would! If he could only just reach, only just break free! Yet his muscles were just too wasted, his energy too sapped to put up any real fight; but this didn't stop him from trying, the restraints creaking slightly until his get up and go got up and went leaving him panting and slack. "Why… what the hells do you expect to get from me you psychotic fucking bastard…?"
Amber eyes watched him carefully as he struggled, their expression excited right up to the point he went slack. Almost disappointedly they made a few more notes into the computer terminal. “Data, of course.” With a final keystroke they turned to him; long, thin fingers steepling before the hook of their nose. “My pursuit is… probably beyond you. Suffice to say what I require are nodes of stress in the psyche of my subjects. I’ve found that stimulating these nodes illicites-”
“A great need to put a boot up your ass?” He spat the word at the man who simply smiled at the barbed quip.
“A desirable response. Wants for retribution from my subjects is just an occupational hazard. A necessity of progress.”
“Fuck your progress.”
The madsci lifted their shoulders mildly. “Hmm. But progress is the way of life Mr. Hunter. Progress is what lets us move forward. I feel you are quite aware of this right now… yes?”
Something about the tilt of their words made that seething pit of fury at this core shutter and writhe. “You fucking know what you’re making me do!”
“Not at first, no. I could only trigger the node… the memory. But with repetition I’ve been able to rebuild it, make it into an interactive simulation for you. To this point you’ve run through the simulation…” They peered mildly at their terminal. “Two thousand, six hundred, and fifty seven times. Of that you’ve completely failed as you originally did two thousand, two hundred, and eighty five times. Three hundred and seventy two times though you’ve succeeded to some degree… though fifty three of those times you refused to participate in the simulation in one way or another. Why I took you out you see, you’d committed suicide twelve times in very short succession, thought that meant you needed a reality check.”
“Oh how fucking gracious of you…”
“But of course, anything for progress. Just as with you Mr. Hunter with your two hundred and twelve successes.”
His dark glare only deepend at that number. “Successes…?”
“Why yes, successes. Out of the two thousand, six hundred, and fifty seven times you underwent the simulation you were able to successfully save everyone in your squad two hundred and twelve times - an eight percent success rate.”
That sort of goading revelation should have infuriated him beyond measure and yet all he could feel was the floor getting ripped out from beneath that rage leaving him feeling hollow and devoid of breath. Eight percent. It had been a bad situation but… but it hadn’t been a hopeless one. This line if thought had haunted him for a long time, haunted him to this very day about whether he could have successfully lead his command and not gotten his men killed… gotten her killed. In time he’d come to an uneasy peace that no, there wasn’t anything he could have done differently and yet… eight percent. And as much as he wanted to howl at the man, scream at them about their lies deep down he knew they were speaking the truth. What point was there in them lying, especially as a madsci? But beside that rational explanation he could just feel the truth of the words, feel the faded memory of a him celebrating a milk run done right with his squad, with Elena. “You fucking monster.” The words left him shakily, that fiery indignation extinguished.
“This coming from a hunter.” They smiled as they turned back to their console, fingers setting back to the keys. “But regardless, progress. I wonder how knowing this on a conscious level will affect your future runs of the scenario. Or if the knowledge of your current predicament will affect testing on the other potential node I found when probing through your subconscious."
Their fingers began to fly across the keys once more, the cold, clinical clicking prompting him to strain once again against his shackles. "Just fucking finish this you soulless asshole! He knew trying to goad the madsci was pointless, one needed emotions to be goaded, but still anything was better than suffering having his mind ran repeatedly through the grinder for this bastards curiosity! "By The Way if I get out of this…!!!"
"Don't worry, once I've completed running my experiments I fully plan to dissect your brain and body to see if there's any structural reasons for your resilience. Perhaps you would even make a fine puppet! Oh, you are quite the subject…"
And with a few keystrokes he heard the soft whir of several peristaltic pumps spinning to life, felt the cold chill of the drugs pushing into his veins once more. Shit! He scraped what energy he could to buck against the chair he was strapped upon, to strain out for the burnt out caster suspended just out of his reach. Out of reach but still he could feel it, feel his connection to it. Maybe it still had a functional core left, or could discharge something to help him, or anything just, just-!
He strained again but this time his body didn't heed the call to action, his muscles loosening as the will to fight was stolen by that cocktail of sedatives, anesthetics, and relaxants. Slowly his head sank back down, his vision drooping and losing focus until at long last he felt himself sinking in darkness once more to face the failures of his past.
Mach floated mercifully in the inky black of unconsciousness, a respite from that terrible nightmare… that terrible memory he’d endured over and over again. But even this slight mercy was stolen from him as he felt the vicious intrusions of the waking world dragging him away from that comfortable nothing. He could taste the hot air on his tongue; smell the mixture of machine oil, sea salt, and sick flesh that permeated the air; hear the soft whine of a computer and a peristaltic pump pushing cold fluids into his arm; feel the agonized screams of his body strung up and wasting from disuse. How long had he been here?
Playing possum he assessed his crap situation and would have kept to this if not for the sound of a few keystrokes on a mechanical keyboard which clued him in to the fact he wasn’t alone. It took considerable effort to pryse open his eye sealed shut by layers of crusted salt, moreso to do so stealthily though the smiling face that greeted him told him his efforts were in vain. “Finally giving up on acting unconscious?” Gaines smiled in a thin, prescribed manner, their fingers folded upon their lap as they watched him from their seat at what looked to be a large computer… a mainframe?
“Th-thoth…” He was surprised how hoarse and weak his voice was, his neck straining to formulate words after so long being silenced and gagged given how his jaw felt at once weak and yet taut, cramped in that slack jawed position. Grunting some he forced those throat muscles to cooperate while working his jaw to break apart the stiffness before he flashed an anemic smile up at the man. “Th-Thought I’d waste y-your time some ch-chuckles…”
“Oh, do not worry about us, we have all the time in the world. No, I wanted to make sure you recovered as you needed. You’ve actually done so at a remarkable pace! I’d have thought your psyche would be more… degraded at this point.” Turning they typed a few things into the mainframe. “Yes…. Yes… very interesting…” As they took a moment to mutter to themselves he opted to try and get a better grasp of things, his blurry vision shifting about lazily to take in his surroundings. It appeared he was in an abandoned machine room… yay, his favorite. Strapped face down on what looked like a portable masseuse chair the remnants of his blood soaked clothing were tossed into a corner, the garments looking rusted which had to have meant they'd been dessicating for some time. Below him he spied one of those horned fluffballs that seemed to be owned… worked?... for the madsci crunching away at his destroyed cell phone. Great, looks like there wouldn't be any cavalry calls made using that. Turning he looked at his hand, the burnt remains of his caster suspended just before his-!!!
The madsci looked back to him as he growled against the shockingly sudden sensation of his skull splitting open and his brains trying to dribble out. "Don't jostle your head too much, I've got you wired pretty deeply."" They motioned to a cord two fingers thick which lead from the terminal and off behind him… shit. That pressured pain at the back of his skull spiked once more as he shook his head in a testing manner. Great, so he was hooked up to the damn computer, and missing his right eye to boot as he saw the wires leading away from his face and saw a bunch of nothing when he hazarded to open those lids.
"When I… get outta here I'm going to fucking rip y-your head off, shit down your thr-roat, and b-beat you t-to death with your fucking arms…" Despite his condition he could still hear, feel the seething rage behind those words. "You'll… regret not just… finishing me off…"
Gaines simply observed him during his tirad; long, lean fingers stroking their chin thoughtfully as they watched. After a moment of consideration a smile finally cracked across their angular features. "Yes, this must be what the others have been missing. Rage. Rage in the face of adversity. Rage at the hands of trauma. Oh how could I ever possibly regret meeting such a fine specimen!"
Something about that word, 'trauma', triggered a thought, a memory even as he glowered. Werebear. Gillen. His one and only command. A… the beach. A library. Burning flesh. Her. Her! Elena! He could hear the squeak of his teeth as they ground together, feel the pain in his hand as it balled and quivered. The memories were so fresh, so vivid, so raw. They felt like he'd just lived through them yesterday even though it had been over a decade since those grim events had occurred. Close to a decade since he'd felt the full brunt of their crushing sting, of their accusation and guilt.
The full extent of his reality came crashing down on him as the embers of that painful memory flared, echoed discordantly in his mind. It had been just yesterday since he'd lived that, or re-lived such over and over again. A tidal wave of emotion washed over him, threatening to drown him in anger and pain, in joy and loss, in love and failure. His own personal hell, tailored and fed straight into his head by that damnable cable. "You sonuvabitch!"
Those words, full of asperity, drew a smile from the madsci. "And you remember! I was afraid you might have suppressed my work or wouldn't be able to integrate the memories which would have been most unfortunate." Their words came out pressured, excited and impatient. "I wonder if it is your anger which drives your resilience or whether your anger is a symptom of such natural resilience. I very much look forward to exploring this."
"Fuck you!" He strained against his bindings, reaching for that burnt out husk of a caster to... what? Beat the gainly man to death with the worthless hunk of metal and carbonized circuitry? God's damn right he would! If he could only just reach, only just break free! Yet his muscles were just too wasted, his energy too sapped to put up any real fight; but this didn't stop him from trying, the restraints creaking slightly until his get up and go got up and went leaving him panting and slack. "Why… what the hells do you expect to get from me you psychotic fucking bastard…?"
Amber eyes watched him carefully as he struggled, their expression excited right up to the point he went slack. Almost disappointedly they made a few more notes into the computer terminal. “Data, of course.” With a final keystroke they turned to him; long, thin fingers steepling before the hook of their nose. “My pursuit is… probably beyond you. Suffice to say what I require are nodes of stress in the psyche of my subjects. I’ve found that stimulating these nodes illicites-”
“A great need to put a boot up your ass?” He spat the word at the man who simply smiled at the barbed quip.
“A desirable response. Wants for retribution from my subjects is just an occupational hazard. A necessity of progress.”
“Fuck your progress.”
The madsci lifted their shoulders mildly. “Hmm. But progress is the way of life Mr. Hunter. Progress is what lets us move forward. I feel you are quite aware of this right now… yes?”
Something about the tilt of their words made that seething pit of fury at this core shutter and writhe. “You fucking know what you’re making me do!”
“Not at first, no. I could only trigger the node… the memory. But with repetition I’ve been able to rebuild it, make it into an interactive simulation for you. To this point you’ve run through the simulation…” They peered mildly at their terminal. “Two thousand, six hundred, and fifty seven times. Of that you’ve completely failed as you originally did two thousand, two hundred, and eighty five times. Three hundred and seventy two times though you’ve succeeded to some degree… though fifty three of those times you refused to participate in the simulation in one way or another. Why I took you out you see, you’d committed suicide twelve times in very short succession, thought that meant you needed a reality check.”
“Oh how fucking gracious of you…”
“But of course, anything for progress. Just as with you Mr. Hunter with your two hundred and twelve successes.”
His dark glare only deepend at that number. “Successes…?”
“Why yes, successes. Out of the two thousand, six hundred, and fifty seven times you underwent the simulation you were able to successfully save everyone in your squad two hundred and twelve times - an eight percent success rate.”
That sort of goading revelation should have infuriated him beyond measure and yet all he could feel was the floor getting ripped out from beneath that rage leaving him feeling hollow and devoid of breath. Eight percent. It had been a bad situation but… but it hadn’t been a hopeless one. This line if thought had haunted him for a long time, haunted him to this very day about whether he could have successfully lead his command and not gotten his men killed… gotten her killed. In time he’d come to an uneasy peace that no, there wasn’t anything he could have done differently and yet… eight percent. And as much as he wanted to howl at the man, scream at them about their lies deep down he knew they were speaking the truth. What point was there in them lying, especially as a madsci? But beside that rational explanation he could just feel the truth of the words, feel the faded memory of a him celebrating a milk run done right with his squad, with Elena. “You fucking monster.” The words left him shakily, that fiery indignation extinguished.
“This coming from a hunter.” They smiled as they turned back to their console, fingers setting back to the keys. “But regardless, progress. I wonder how knowing this on a conscious level will affect your future runs of the scenario. Or if the knowledge of your current predicament will affect testing on the other potential node I found when probing through your subconscious."
Their fingers began to fly across the keys once more, the cold, clinical clicking prompting him to strain once again against his shackles. "Just fucking finish this you soulless asshole! He knew trying to goad the madsci was pointless, one needed emotions to be goaded, but still anything was better than suffering having his mind ran repeatedly through the grinder for this bastards curiosity! "By The Way if I get out of this…!!!"
"Don't worry, once I've completed running my experiments I fully plan to dissect your brain and body to see if there's any structural reasons for your resilience. Perhaps you would even make a fine puppet! Oh, you are quite the subject…"
And with a few keystrokes he heard the soft whir of several peristaltic pumps spinning to life, felt the cold chill of the drugs pushing into his veins once more. Shit! He scraped what energy he could to buck against the chair he was strapped upon, to strain out for the burnt out caster suspended just out of his reach. Out of reach but still he could feel it, feel his connection to it. Maybe it still had a functional core left, or could discharge something to help him, or anything just, just-!
He strained again but this time his body didn't heed the call to action, his muscles loosening as the will to fight was stolen by that cocktail of sedatives, anesthetics, and relaxants. Slowly his head sank back down, his vision drooping and losing focus until at long last he felt himself sinking in darkness once more to face the failures of his past.
Re: The Hunter's Life
Kokomo
Sammie tapped the door of the studio apartment with her foot, an odd feeling of deja vu washing over her. Her arms were laden with supplies. Slung over her shoulder was a stolen designer bag that held a map of Rhy’Din, a few crystals, amethyst, fluorite, and tourmaline, rain water from a full moon, chalk, a silver dagger, and a single tarot card. The fool. In one hand a large plastic bag filled with takeout, and in the other a large bottle of Jameson. When Danny appeared at the door with the same grim expression, she smirked at him as she brushed past.
“Relax, lover boy. We’ll all work better if we’re not running on fumes.” Without looking, she pressed the bag of food into his hands and set the rest of her cargo down beside the coffee table. Danny opened his mouth to protest, but the sudden overwhelming scent of lo mein made him reconsider.
Not long after, the trio sat around the coffee table, all manner of takeout boxes empty and tossed away. After a brief explanation of what a fortune cookie was, Alexia opened hers and scrunched her nose.
“Y-You will be successful in your n-next endeavor…”
“In bed.” Sammie and Danny chorused, bringing Alexia’s brows together in knitted confusion.
With a snort, Sammie began setting out her supplies on the makeshift altar the coffee table had become. Protective sigils drawn in chalk, black cloth spread on top with crystals, dagger, and water filled bowl placed with great care, and finally the bottle Jameson off in the corner.
“Not that I’m complaining, but what’s with the booze?” Danny asked as he pulled his rolling desk chair toward the couch next to his girlfriend and sat with his elbows on his knees.
“If this works, we celebrate.” Sammie’s tone was even as she checked over her work.
“And if it d-doesn’t?” Alexia’s voice was soft and plagued with worry. Danny reached for her scarred little hand and pulled it toward his lips to brush a light kiss across her knuckles.
“Then we drown our sorrows.” Sammie said with another snort. She looked up to the couple and immediately faltered.
“Uh… but, we won’t have to worry about that, princess. Not with that kick ass fortune you just got.” With a surprisingly genuine smile, the witch sat on the other side of the nervous little fae. Everything was set. Alexia turned to Danny for one last boost of reassurance and was rewarded with a tender kiss.
“You’ll do great, love, I know it.” He murmured softly to her before reluctantly pulling away. With a deep breath, Alexia squared her thin shoulders and nodded at the waiting Sammie.
Danny watched as the two women began the intricate spell work, the restless feeling that came with having to sit and wait already building. It suddenly occurred to him that, aside from a couple of brief interactions and what Alexia and Sammie had told him, he knew very little about the hunter. As they wove their spellwork, Danny reached for his laptop and began a few basic searches. Background information, work history, possible missing person report, last known whereabouts, all easy enough but time consuming searches for the experienced journalist.
Sammie broke the surface tension of the water in the stone bowl with the amethyst and then placed the crystal in Alexia’s gnarled little hand. As soon as she made contact, she closed her eyes and was immediately pulled through a tunnel of swirling lights and shadows that whispered incoherently. After what seemed like several minutes, everything stopped. As her vision focused, they went wide with the bleak scene before her.
*****
"O-Off th-th-th-the Florida kee~eeys, th-th-there's a pl-plac-c-ce called Ko-Ko-Ko-kokom-mo~" The cheery song that had assailed and grated upon the woman played in a wobbly timber, skipping as though the record it played off of were damaged and warped. A fitting soundtrack to the horribly alerted beach. What once was inviting now grotesque, twisted, broken.
The sand took on an almost bonemeal color, sharply contrasted by the oily black waters which ebbed and lapped eerily silently. Charred beach blankets, destroyed lounge chairs... even the tiki bar was a dilapidated and ruined husk of what it had been before. And everything was painted over in sanguine hues as a roiling overcast now churned malevolently in the sky above.
The inhabitants of the beach were no longer the bikini clad babes and cabana boys from before. No, all such had been replaced by shadowy apparitions; silhouettes both strange and familiar. Each murmured in hushed tones, sharing accusations or degradations against hunters or schmoozes. One in particular looked almost like the fae themselves, a shadowy waif of woman adding whispered derisions to the hissing cacophony which permeated the air.
And upon one bloodied beach towel sat the lone other figure in this bleak world... Mach. But no longer the Hawaiian shirt clad coconut drink sipping schmooze as he had been before. Oh no, this was the ghastly husk of a man who'd stared back at her in the mirror, axe and rifle strewn beside. Staring out to the horizon with that lone cobalt eye he barely registered the woman, hand spattered in blood flexing as they recounted... something though she could probably guess given the recurrent nightmares which had plagued her for weeks.
In a swirling mass of deep purple electric sparks, the little fae suddenly appeared, bursting forth in a small shower of broken fiber optic lights. As before, she was the epitome of ethereal beauty hovering just a few feet above the ground, her wings fluttering slowly, her hair soft and flowing along with the rich linens that enrobed her pristine body.
As soon as her bare foot touched down, a grey mist blew past her and she was as she always appeared. Small and vulnerable with wild unruly hair, hard bone-like parallel ridges where her wings should have been, and wearing a simple blouse and leggings. The sudden absence of those long pearlescent wings, she tumbled forth, coming down on one knee with a hand down on either side.
Rising slowly, her face fell as she began to recognize the once cheery scene. The destruction tore so fiercely at something deep within her, she instinctively looked down and could plainly see the fragile tether pulling toward the broken figure just a few feet away. She gasped at the sight of him, her fears of that vision in the mirror woefully true.
"M-Mach…" She whispered softly as she took the few steps that would put her at his side. Sinking slowly to her knees, she gently called his name once more.
"M-Mach?"
A mild expression held to those worn features; natural, comfortable even in the hellish landscape. The voice though, distinct from those that whispered and hissed like dead leaves in the autumn, did warrant a jerk, hand reaching for the rifle half buried in the sand though it fell short as he seemed to remember that the charred digits and leathered sinew of that ruined hand could no longer grasp anything. Weary he looked at her and then the place beside him she occupied, his gaze holding for a long moment on that impression in the sand.
Finally he seemed to remember himself as he pushed that familiar, cocksure smile of his upon his tattered features. "That's me." Spoken gingerly, carefree as he looked back to the horizon once more. "Whaddya got for me?" His tone was markedly less interested now, bored and disengaged. "Oh there's two of you, clever..."
On his otherside the overly familiar silhouette kneeled as well, the shadow silent though Mach scoffed mildly at something apparently only he heard. "Been a while since I've heard that one. Oldie but goody..." Again his tone was drab, listless as he watched the morbid ebb and flow of the dark seas before them.
Confused at first, she searched his features, gaining nothing until she caught sight of the ghastly figure on his other side. Her gaze narrowed dangerously at the apparition with the threat of something ancient and powerful blazing in those large dark eyes.
She wasted not a second more and instead turned back to the hunter, her face softening with concern. With a deeply scarred little hand, she reached to place a light touch on his good shoulder, her skin warm and soothing.
"Oh, Mach... Wh-What happened?" Her voice wrought with empathy and compassion.
The shadow seemed unperturbed by the daggers she cast at it with her gaze. Then again the thing felt no different than any other piece of destroyed furniture on the beach - simply a construct of the man's imagination. Though it had to make one wonder just what dark views he held to see folks as such vicious apparitions.
Likely some of the same malignant notions which had the man recoiling from that gentle physical contact. Or perhaps it was more shock as he gave her a wild eyed look, seemingly seeing her for the first time since she arrived. Though even this surprise seemed to twist and tarnish in this hostile world as the shock swung to anger as he rolled back, suddenly pushing the scrawny fae away though his attack seemed to stop at that as he stared down at the bloody sand she'd just been kneeling in. That lone cobalt eye grew misty as he muttered soft and sorrowfully. "Shit... shit!" The man tried to straighten out the sand, to make it as it had been and his desperation only grew as it became obvious he wouldn't succeed. "Shit!"
Finally falling back Mach curled in on himself, blood dribbling from the gnarled wound that wrapped around his torso nearly bifurcating him into top and bottom halves. "Shit..." He shook his head, knees drawn to chest as he collapsed into himself for a good long while. Yet even in his distraught state he held that smile of his, a grotesque caricature of who he was supposed to be.
Rocking for a bit the man slowly began to unwind, the palpably apathetic exhaustion that clung to him making even distress too much effort to maintain. Still, that one good hand returned to trying to fix the overly granular positioning of the sand. Just one of many details that seemed a little off for being just a construct of his imagination. No… this place had existed in reality, the snapshot of such stored in his memories.
"Think the bigger question is what happened to you, yeah? This… this ain't a place for you… you don't belong here..." He spoke mildly, focused on the impossible task.
Sent sprawling, a small mangled cry of surprise tore from her lips. Gnarled little hands planted firmly in the sand as she twisted and landed to one side. Slowly, she righted herself, once more kneeling, this time her hands resting in her thighs. Startled, yes, but nothing she hadn't experienced before.
As he broke down and subsequently dissociated further, she resisted the urge to reach out to him again lest she send him spiraling again. Her face still etched with sympathy, she watched him at his Sisyphean task. She recalled the first time he'd told her she was in a place she shouldn't be. When he had brought her back from the ether.
"Wh-Where are we, Mach? Wh-What is this p-place?" She asked not out of curiosity, but out of a grim understanding.
"We're at the beach..." He waved about with his ruined right for emphasis while still patting the sand this way and that, adjusting even how the blood stained the bleached white grains making sure you sweep away any of his which may have contaminated that seat. "Hovathsen Beach..." The name was spoken softly, almost with reverence. "She loved the beach... the ocean... said it was so much different from the shitty plains we came from..."
He chuckled softly at the rememberance, patting the sand lovingly. "Proposed to her on this beach..." That little flutter of warmth extinguished. "Spent our last day together on this beach..."
Patting at his breast pocket brought a growl to the man's lips as he felt nothing through that charred flesh. Anger rolled stormily across those rugged features, his left hand flexing in an obvious attempt to throttle back the desire to simply rip the offending limb off and chuck it into the surf. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to have a smoke would you?"
He looked at her expectantly, his gaze dead. "Tried to quit but..." A roll of shoulder as he turned back to his task, his mind seeming unable to stick with one thought. "Thought it was a bad omen when Serah said she wanted to live down by Seaside... called that one..." An amused chuff escaped as finally he let his attention turn back to the lapping waves apparently okay enough with his job on the spot next to him. Her spot by the sound of things.
Large dark eyes slowly left his lone blue and drifted down to the spot he so carefully adjusted. She nodded slowly, a deep frown marring her face.
"Elena?" Her voice was barely above a whisper as she lifted her gaze. It was more seeking confirmation than an actual question.
The man's jaw flexed at that name as his teeth ground. "Why are you here..." His tone was cold, unfriendly. "This place ain't for you, it's my reward. My beach, my vacation spot away from it all. Thaaat's where I wanna go. Way down in Kokomo..."
Those lyrics left him wearily as he worked to push a smile on his face. It was like all the different parts of Mach we're warring within that desiccated husk of a man, ripping him apart from the inside out.
"M-Mach, look at me... Please, l-look at me." Her soft pleas barely carried over his pained singing.
"I-I'm here because w-we're still connected somehow. A-And this isn't a r-reward. Th-This isn't the afterlife you d-deserve. Y-You're still alive somewhere and p-probably in a lot of t-trouble. I j-just want to help…" It seemed the longer she stayed, her thoughts would start to fragment as well and she was fairly certain he had tuned her out, but none of that would not stop her from trying.
He fell silent listening to her. "So that's it huh..." He smirked softly. "Gotta say I'm real talented screwing things up and all I am is just a brain in a box..." He was almost chortling now when his expression collapsed. "And what do you know about what I deserve? If you're here now then you've seen... seen it..." He looked away once more, back to the dark waves as he thought.
After a bit of silence the man finally shifted, moving to struggle to his feet before he started for the bar. "You should head back, Lexi, forget about any of this. You don't belong here...ain't a place for folks who belong."
Scrambling to stand, she brushed the coarse grains of sand from her legs and, taking great care to step around the ruined beach towel, began to follow him.
"I-I've seen... p-pieces, yes." she kept a few paces behind him.
"Then you know what I am... you know what I've done... how all I can do is fail folks. Think you might have 'bout as shit luck as me getting tethered so..." He stopped mid stride, hand coming down to trace along that massive wound along his torso thoughtfully before he shook his head, continuing for the dilapidated tiki bar.
Reaching the bar he stepped around and would begin rummaging about, picking his way through the debris and broken bottles.
"Y-You didn't fail me…" She reached the bar just as he went behind it and stood there, those large dark eyes unwavering.
"It's b-because of being tethered to you I w-was able to c-come back. M-My soul might have stayed l-lost in the ether if it w-weren't for you."
He paused at that, his jaw flexing some as he worked through his thoughts. "Well... I'm glad for that... glad more you found yourself a place to belong."
Standing up from behind the bar he hauled up a familiar sight to the woman who'd been witnessing the nightmares he had been repeatedly forced to endure - a caster. "Give me time though, I'm sure I'll find a way..."
With that smile of his he aimed the handcannon square at her chest.
Her lovely face paled dangerously, even the light smattering of freckles became translucent. Her eyes wide, lower lip trembling, she slowly shook her head, pleading.
"D-Don't do this... P-Please... I'll... I-I'll just keep c-coming back... s-somehow. I'll f-find a way. I-I'll find y-you. I w-won't give up on you... Elitia." His name came out as a whisper just before she closed her eyes tight and turned her head away, flinching in advance.
"You'll stop... got a good feeling on that..." He squeezed the trigger though that uttered name did give him pause, the hunk of uncaring tech creaking softly in his crushing grip. "You will... their ain't no Elitia left…!" There was bitterness in those last words though it sounded more... angry? Something about it felt different, as through lacking some of that cold, crushing apathy as before.
Still, the next sound was the snap of the trigger break, a cold electromechanical growl whirring to life momentarily before there was a pop and just as suddenly as she had come she would be expelled back to that comfortable apartment, back to her warm body where she belonged with the only disturbance being a dull crack as the stone bowl broke in half dumping it's contents upon the floor.
It was like falling in a dream and waking up at the last possible moment before hitting the ground, and instead feeling that brief feeling of the world moving before waking up in safety and softness. Her scarred little hands flew to her sides to steady herself, gasp tearing from her lips. Large dark brown eyes snapped open and focused just in time to see the spell bowl break. With a quivering lip, she drew in a shuddering breath and wept.
The connection was severed, the fiber optics between them shattered into a million discordant flecks of light. The only mercy Mach knew how to give, the only solution that made sense. Still, the man stared at the void where the girl had been, the sound of the waves crashing and rolling filling the emptiness. Letting the caster drop to his side the man chuffed softly. "Elitia huh..."
The name, and its implications, were considered as he looked back to the ocean as it's swells and ebbs grew in vigor and power. It was almost time to dream again, to be Blackjack or Mach once more... or maybe even Elitia?
A growl escaped him as he stuffed the caster into his pants, marching out from behind the counter and straight to the lapping waves. "Meddlesome little shit…" His tone was ascrebic and yet a mild grin held to him even as he let the aphotic waves drag him back for another dream, another reliving of that terrible day but now with renewed piss and vinegar as he met the waves head on.
*****
Danny searched diligently, finding a decent enough amount of information, although he knew he was merely scratching the surface. Occasionally, he glanced up to the pair working in silence. Whatever they were doing seemed to be working well enough, at least no one seemed in any immediate danger. After one of these glances, he turned back to his laptop to find an instant message open and addressed to him by name. To say it was disconcerting was quite the understatement as he did not have this particular messaging program on his computer, much less signed in and able to receive messages.
UNKNOWN at 23:22:36: Daniel Franklin Dubek, Journalist, Earth, Texas. Reported on humility first counter movement - photo monkey. You are looking up information on the hunter Mach. Why?
As Danny warred back and forth between responding and simply shutting it down and disconnecting it, there was a sudden dull crack from the direction of the coffee table followed by the sounds of dripping water and soft, defeated sobs.
It had been a difficult time for all three as Alexia recounted what she saw and the conversation she had with the despairing hunter. Wracked with guilt, and pain, she cried herself into exhaustion, soon submitting to a deep troubled sleep. Sammie gathered her things back into her bag and waited while Danny tucked the grief stricken fae into bed and motioned for him to follow her just outside the front door. The door closed with a soft click and he turned to find the witch staring at him intently, her arms crossed just under her bust.
“Alright, lover boy. Let it out.” Her serious expression set in stone.
“What? Me? Oh, I'm great, but y'know what would be really nice? I mean, y'know what would be REEEEEEALLY nice?! It would be really GREAT if that man could stop SHOOTING MY FUCKING GIRLFRIEND!” His intense green eyes were wide with anger and frustration.
Sammie smirked. “Well, technically the first time he shot her, he really shot me… and she wasn’t your girlfriend ye- er… right,” with a small clear of her throat, she uncharacteristically held back. “Not the point, I know. Do go on.”
“You know what I don’t get? How he keeps treating her like this and instead of getting angry, she has shown that son of a bitch infinite fucking patience and grace at every god damned turn.” He talked, more animated than she’d ever seen him, finger pointing to no one and his jaw clenched so tight, the muscles at his cheeks bulged.
Sammie simply smiled wearily. “Yeah, it’s almost like she’s an empath with a seemingly limitless supply of compassion that made you fall for her in the first place.” She blinked. Once.
Danny turned those usually warm, green eyes up to her, but somehow they seemed darker, accusatory.
“Don’t.” he said.
"Don’t what?"
"Don't do that. Don't try to make me seem like the irrational one here."
"Then don't be the irrational one. Rapunzel's already got that covered.” She said with a light scoff. “Look, I get it. I'd be frustrated, too. Personally, I'd have 86'd the guy in a heartbeat if I were her. But that's not HER. You know that! Fuck, you know it better than ME! Fucking ACT like it, dude!"
"Wait... so you're-"
"I'm out. I've had more than my preferred share of hunter bullshit. Call me if shit really hits the fan, but unless someone is actively dying? I’m done." Before he could protest, Sammie turned on her heel and headed for the stairwell, pausing for just a moment to murmur over her shoulder.
“Take care of our girl, Charming.” With that, she disappeared down the stairs with a fading clackclackclack of her heels. Danny watched her go, suddenly feeling very alone and incredibly out of his depth.
Suddenly, a faint creaking noise from within the apartment pulled his attention back. When he opened the door, he was greeted with the sight of a very tired, very confused looking Alexia, standing behind his empty rolling chair, squinting at his laptop screen. She turned her bleary-eyed gaze on him for a moment before turning back to the screen.
“It kept m-making a s-s-sound. A b-beeping sound…” As he neared, he could see clearly what had awoken her. In addition to the first message, several more had appeared, each one more insistent than the last.
UNKNOWN at 00:07:53: I require your answer, why are you looking up information on the hunter Mach.
UNKNOWN at 00:17:53: I have information on the hunter Mach.
UNKNOWN at 00:29:14: Answer me or I will systematically wipe out everything you own that connects to a network. You have 1 hour.
UNKNOWN at 00:31:25: You have 13 minutes.
With a heavy sigh, he nodded, placed a soft kiss on her forehead, and sat down to respond.
(A special thank you to Alexia Longbow for writing in this scene!)
Sammie tapped the door of the studio apartment with her foot, an odd feeling of deja vu washing over her. Her arms were laden with supplies. Slung over her shoulder was a stolen designer bag that held a map of Rhy’Din, a few crystals, amethyst, fluorite, and tourmaline, rain water from a full moon, chalk, a silver dagger, and a single tarot card. The fool. In one hand a large plastic bag filled with takeout, and in the other a large bottle of Jameson. When Danny appeared at the door with the same grim expression, she smirked at him as she brushed past.
“Relax, lover boy. We’ll all work better if we’re not running on fumes.” Without looking, she pressed the bag of food into his hands and set the rest of her cargo down beside the coffee table. Danny opened his mouth to protest, but the sudden overwhelming scent of lo mein made him reconsider.
Not long after, the trio sat around the coffee table, all manner of takeout boxes empty and tossed away. After a brief explanation of what a fortune cookie was, Alexia opened hers and scrunched her nose.
“Y-You will be successful in your n-next endeavor…”
“In bed.” Sammie and Danny chorused, bringing Alexia’s brows together in knitted confusion.
With a snort, Sammie began setting out her supplies on the makeshift altar the coffee table had become. Protective sigils drawn in chalk, black cloth spread on top with crystals, dagger, and water filled bowl placed with great care, and finally the bottle Jameson off in the corner.
“Not that I’m complaining, but what’s with the booze?” Danny asked as he pulled his rolling desk chair toward the couch next to his girlfriend and sat with his elbows on his knees.
“If this works, we celebrate.” Sammie’s tone was even as she checked over her work.
“And if it d-doesn’t?” Alexia’s voice was soft and plagued with worry. Danny reached for her scarred little hand and pulled it toward his lips to brush a light kiss across her knuckles.
“Then we drown our sorrows.” Sammie said with another snort. She looked up to the couple and immediately faltered.
“Uh… but, we won’t have to worry about that, princess. Not with that kick ass fortune you just got.” With a surprisingly genuine smile, the witch sat on the other side of the nervous little fae. Everything was set. Alexia turned to Danny for one last boost of reassurance and was rewarded with a tender kiss.
“You’ll do great, love, I know it.” He murmured softly to her before reluctantly pulling away. With a deep breath, Alexia squared her thin shoulders and nodded at the waiting Sammie.
Danny watched as the two women began the intricate spell work, the restless feeling that came with having to sit and wait already building. It suddenly occurred to him that, aside from a couple of brief interactions and what Alexia and Sammie had told him, he knew very little about the hunter. As they wove their spellwork, Danny reached for his laptop and began a few basic searches. Background information, work history, possible missing person report, last known whereabouts, all easy enough but time consuming searches for the experienced journalist.
Sammie broke the surface tension of the water in the stone bowl with the amethyst and then placed the crystal in Alexia’s gnarled little hand. As soon as she made contact, she closed her eyes and was immediately pulled through a tunnel of swirling lights and shadows that whispered incoherently. After what seemed like several minutes, everything stopped. As her vision focused, they went wide with the bleak scene before her.
*****
"O-Off th-th-th-the Florida kee~eeys, th-th-there's a pl-plac-c-ce called Ko-Ko-Ko-kokom-mo~" The cheery song that had assailed and grated upon the woman played in a wobbly timber, skipping as though the record it played off of were damaged and warped. A fitting soundtrack to the horribly alerted beach. What once was inviting now grotesque, twisted, broken.
The sand took on an almost bonemeal color, sharply contrasted by the oily black waters which ebbed and lapped eerily silently. Charred beach blankets, destroyed lounge chairs... even the tiki bar was a dilapidated and ruined husk of what it had been before. And everything was painted over in sanguine hues as a roiling overcast now churned malevolently in the sky above.
The inhabitants of the beach were no longer the bikini clad babes and cabana boys from before. No, all such had been replaced by shadowy apparitions; silhouettes both strange and familiar. Each murmured in hushed tones, sharing accusations or degradations against hunters or schmoozes. One in particular looked almost like the fae themselves, a shadowy waif of woman adding whispered derisions to the hissing cacophony which permeated the air.
And upon one bloodied beach towel sat the lone other figure in this bleak world... Mach. But no longer the Hawaiian shirt clad coconut drink sipping schmooze as he had been before. Oh no, this was the ghastly husk of a man who'd stared back at her in the mirror, axe and rifle strewn beside. Staring out to the horizon with that lone cobalt eye he barely registered the woman, hand spattered in blood flexing as they recounted... something though she could probably guess given the recurrent nightmares which had plagued her for weeks.
In a swirling mass of deep purple electric sparks, the little fae suddenly appeared, bursting forth in a small shower of broken fiber optic lights. As before, she was the epitome of ethereal beauty hovering just a few feet above the ground, her wings fluttering slowly, her hair soft and flowing along with the rich linens that enrobed her pristine body.
As soon as her bare foot touched down, a grey mist blew past her and she was as she always appeared. Small and vulnerable with wild unruly hair, hard bone-like parallel ridges where her wings should have been, and wearing a simple blouse and leggings. The sudden absence of those long pearlescent wings, she tumbled forth, coming down on one knee with a hand down on either side.
Rising slowly, her face fell as she began to recognize the once cheery scene. The destruction tore so fiercely at something deep within her, she instinctively looked down and could plainly see the fragile tether pulling toward the broken figure just a few feet away. She gasped at the sight of him, her fears of that vision in the mirror woefully true.
"M-Mach…" She whispered softly as she took the few steps that would put her at his side. Sinking slowly to her knees, she gently called his name once more.
"M-Mach?"
A mild expression held to those worn features; natural, comfortable even in the hellish landscape. The voice though, distinct from those that whispered and hissed like dead leaves in the autumn, did warrant a jerk, hand reaching for the rifle half buried in the sand though it fell short as he seemed to remember that the charred digits and leathered sinew of that ruined hand could no longer grasp anything. Weary he looked at her and then the place beside him she occupied, his gaze holding for a long moment on that impression in the sand.
Finally he seemed to remember himself as he pushed that familiar, cocksure smile of his upon his tattered features. "That's me." Spoken gingerly, carefree as he looked back to the horizon once more. "Whaddya got for me?" His tone was markedly less interested now, bored and disengaged. "Oh there's two of you, clever..."
On his otherside the overly familiar silhouette kneeled as well, the shadow silent though Mach scoffed mildly at something apparently only he heard. "Been a while since I've heard that one. Oldie but goody..." Again his tone was drab, listless as he watched the morbid ebb and flow of the dark seas before them.
Confused at first, she searched his features, gaining nothing until she caught sight of the ghastly figure on his other side. Her gaze narrowed dangerously at the apparition with the threat of something ancient and powerful blazing in those large dark eyes.
She wasted not a second more and instead turned back to the hunter, her face softening with concern. With a deeply scarred little hand, she reached to place a light touch on his good shoulder, her skin warm and soothing.
"Oh, Mach... Wh-What happened?" Her voice wrought with empathy and compassion.
The shadow seemed unperturbed by the daggers she cast at it with her gaze. Then again the thing felt no different than any other piece of destroyed furniture on the beach - simply a construct of the man's imagination. Though it had to make one wonder just what dark views he held to see folks as such vicious apparitions.
Likely some of the same malignant notions which had the man recoiling from that gentle physical contact. Or perhaps it was more shock as he gave her a wild eyed look, seemingly seeing her for the first time since she arrived. Though even this surprise seemed to twist and tarnish in this hostile world as the shock swung to anger as he rolled back, suddenly pushing the scrawny fae away though his attack seemed to stop at that as he stared down at the bloody sand she'd just been kneeling in. That lone cobalt eye grew misty as he muttered soft and sorrowfully. "Shit... shit!" The man tried to straighten out the sand, to make it as it had been and his desperation only grew as it became obvious he wouldn't succeed. "Shit!"
Finally falling back Mach curled in on himself, blood dribbling from the gnarled wound that wrapped around his torso nearly bifurcating him into top and bottom halves. "Shit..." He shook his head, knees drawn to chest as he collapsed into himself for a good long while. Yet even in his distraught state he held that smile of his, a grotesque caricature of who he was supposed to be.
Rocking for a bit the man slowly began to unwind, the palpably apathetic exhaustion that clung to him making even distress too much effort to maintain. Still, that one good hand returned to trying to fix the overly granular positioning of the sand. Just one of many details that seemed a little off for being just a construct of his imagination. No… this place had existed in reality, the snapshot of such stored in his memories.
"Think the bigger question is what happened to you, yeah? This… this ain't a place for you… you don't belong here..." He spoke mildly, focused on the impossible task.
Sent sprawling, a small mangled cry of surprise tore from her lips. Gnarled little hands planted firmly in the sand as she twisted and landed to one side. Slowly, she righted herself, once more kneeling, this time her hands resting in her thighs. Startled, yes, but nothing she hadn't experienced before.
As he broke down and subsequently dissociated further, she resisted the urge to reach out to him again lest she send him spiraling again. Her face still etched with sympathy, she watched him at his Sisyphean task. She recalled the first time he'd told her she was in a place she shouldn't be. When he had brought her back from the ether.
"Wh-Where are we, Mach? Wh-What is this p-place?" She asked not out of curiosity, but out of a grim understanding.
"We're at the beach..." He waved about with his ruined right for emphasis while still patting the sand this way and that, adjusting even how the blood stained the bleached white grains making sure you sweep away any of his which may have contaminated that seat. "Hovathsen Beach..." The name was spoken softly, almost with reverence. "She loved the beach... the ocean... said it was so much different from the shitty plains we came from..."
He chuckled softly at the rememberance, patting the sand lovingly. "Proposed to her on this beach..." That little flutter of warmth extinguished. "Spent our last day together on this beach..."
Patting at his breast pocket brought a growl to the man's lips as he felt nothing through that charred flesh. Anger rolled stormily across those rugged features, his left hand flexing in an obvious attempt to throttle back the desire to simply rip the offending limb off and chuck it into the surf. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to have a smoke would you?"
He looked at her expectantly, his gaze dead. "Tried to quit but..." A roll of shoulder as he turned back to his task, his mind seeming unable to stick with one thought. "Thought it was a bad omen when Serah said she wanted to live down by Seaside... called that one..." An amused chuff escaped as finally he let his attention turn back to the lapping waves apparently okay enough with his job on the spot next to him. Her spot by the sound of things.
Large dark eyes slowly left his lone blue and drifted down to the spot he so carefully adjusted. She nodded slowly, a deep frown marring her face.
"Elena?" Her voice was barely above a whisper as she lifted her gaze. It was more seeking confirmation than an actual question.
The man's jaw flexed at that name as his teeth ground. "Why are you here..." His tone was cold, unfriendly. "This place ain't for you, it's my reward. My beach, my vacation spot away from it all. Thaaat's where I wanna go. Way down in Kokomo..."
Those lyrics left him wearily as he worked to push a smile on his face. It was like all the different parts of Mach we're warring within that desiccated husk of a man, ripping him apart from the inside out.
"M-Mach, look at me... Please, l-look at me." Her soft pleas barely carried over his pained singing.
"I-I'm here because w-we're still connected somehow. A-And this isn't a r-reward. Th-This isn't the afterlife you d-deserve. Y-You're still alive somewhere and p-probably in a lot of t-trouble. I j-just want to help…" It seemed the longer she stayed, her thoughts would start to fragment as well and she was fairly certain he had tuned her out, but none of that would not stop her from trying.
He fell silent listening to her. "So that's it huh..." He smirked softly. "Gotta say I'm real talented screwing things up and all I am is just a brain in a box..." He was almost chortling now when his expression collapsed. "And what do you know about what I deserve? If you're here now then you've seen... seen it..." He looked away once more, back to the dark waves as he thought.
After a bit of silence the man finally shifted, moving to struggle to his feet before he started for the bar. "You should head back, Lexi, forget about any of this. You don't belong here...ain't a place for folks who belong."
Scrambling to stand, she brushed the coarse grains of sand from her legs and, taking great care to step around the ruined beach towel, began to follow him.
"I-I've seen... p-pieces, yes." she kept a few paces behind him.
"Then you know what I am... you know what I've done... how all I can do is fail folks. Think you might have 'bout as shit luck as me getting tethered so..." He stopped mid stride, hand coming down to trace along that massive wound along his torso thoughtfully before he shook his head, continuing for the dilapidated tiki bar.
Reaching the bar he stepped around and would begin rummaging about, picking his way through the debris and broken bottles.
"Y-You didn't fail me…" She reached the bar just as he went behind it and stood there, those large dark eyes unwavering.
"It's b-because of being tethered to you I w-was able to c-come back. M-My soul might have stayed l-lost in the ether if it w-weren't for you."
He paused at that, his jaw flexing some as he worked through his thoughts. "Well... I'm glad for that... glad more you found yourself a place to belong."
Standing up from behind the bar he hauled up a familiar sight to the woman who'd been witnessing the nightmares he had been repeatedly forced to endure - a caster. "Give me time though, I'm sure I'll find a way..."
With that smile of his he aimed the handcannon square at her chest.
Her lovely face paled dangerously, even the light smattering of freckles became translucent. Her eyes wide, lower lip trembling, she slowly shook her head, pleading.
"D-Don't do this... P-Please... I'll... I-I'll just keep c-coming back... s-somehow. I'll f-find a way. I-I'll find y-you. I w-won't give up on you... Elitia." His name came out as a whisper just before she closed her eyes tight and turned her head away, flinching in advance.
"You'll stop... got a good feeling on that..." He squeezed the trigger though that uttered name did give him pause, the hunk of uncaring tech creaking softly in his crushing grip. "You will... their ain't no Elitia left…!" There was bitterness in those last words though it sounded more... angry? Something about it felt different, as through lacking some of that cold, crushing apathy as before.
Still, the next sound was the snap of the trigger break, a cold electromechanical growl whirring to life momentarily before there was a pop and just as suddenly as she had come she would be expelled back to that comfortable apartment, back to her warm body where she belonged with the only disturbance being a dull crack as the stone bowl broke in half dumping it's contents upon the floor.
It was like falling in a dream and waking up at the last possible moment before hitting the ground, and instead feeling that brief feeling of the world moving before waking up in safety and softness. Her scarred little hands flew to her sides to steady herself, gasp tearing from her lips. Large dark brown eyes snapped open and focused just in time to see the spell bowl break. With a quivering lip, she drew in a shuddering breath and wept.
The connection was severed, the fiber optics between them shattered into a million discordant flecks of light. The only mercy Mach knew how to give, the only solution that made sense. Still, the man stared at the void where the girl had been, the sound of the waves crashing and rolling filling the emptiness. Letting the caster drop to his side the man chuffed softly. "Elitia huh..."
The name, and its implications, were considered as he looked back to the ocean as it's swells and ebbs grew in vigor and power. It was almost time to dream again, to be Blackjack or Mach once more... or maybe even Elitia?
A growl escaped him as he stuffed the caster into his pants, marching out from behind the counter and straight to the lapping waves. "Meddlesome little shit…" His tone was ascrebic and yet a mild grin held to him even as he let the aphotic waves drag him back for another dream, another reliving of that terrible day but now with renewed piss and vinegar as he met the waves head on.
*****
Danny searched diligently, finding a decent enough amount of information, although he knew he was merely scratching the surface. Occasionally, he glanced up to the pair working in silence. Whatever they were doing seemed to be working well enough, at least no one seemed in any immediate danger. After one of these glances, he turned back to his laptop to find an instant message open and addressed to him by name. To say it was disconcerting was quite the understatement as he did not have this particular messaging program on his computer, much less signed in and able to receive messages.
UNKNOWN at 23:22:36: Daniel Franklin Dubek, Journalist, Earth, Texas. Reported on humility first counter movement - photo monkey. You are looking up information on the hunter Mach. Why?
As Danny warred back and forth between responding and simply shutting it down and disconnecting it, there was a sudden dull crack from the direction of the coffee table followed by the sounds of dripping water and soft, defeated sobs.
It had been a difficult time for all three as Alexia recounted what she saw and the conversation she had with the despairing hunter. Wracked with guilt, and pain, she cried herself into exhaustion, soon submitting to a deep troubled sleep. Sammie gathered her things back into her bag and waited while Danny tucked the grief stricken fae into bed and motioned for him to follow her just outside the front door. The door closed with a soft click and he turned to find the witch staring at him intently, her arms crossed just under her bust.
“Alright, lover boy. Let it out.” Her serious expression set in stone.
“What? Me? Oh, I'm great, but y'know what would be really nice? I mean, y'know what would be REEEEEEALLY nice?! It would be really GREAT if that man could stop SHOOTING MY FUCKING GIRLFRIEND!” His intense green eyes were wide with anger and frustration.
Sammie smirked. “Well, technically the first time he shot her, he really shot me… and she wasn’t your girlfriend ye- er… right,” with a small clear of her throat, she uncharacteristically held back. “Not the point, I know. Do go on.”
“You know what I don’t get? How he keeps treating her like this and instead of getting angry, she has shown that son of a bitch infinite fucking patience and grace at every god damned turn.” He talked, more animated than she’d ever seen him, finger pointing to no one and his jaw clenched so tight, the muscles at his cheeks bulged.
Sammie simply smiled wearily. “Yeah, it’s almost like she’s an empath with a seemingly limitless supply of compassion that made you fall for her in the first place.” She blinked. Once.
Danny turned those usually warm, green eyes up to her, but somehow they seemed darker, accusatory.
“Don’t.” he said.
"Don’t what?"
"Don't do that. Don't try to make me seem like the irrational one here."
"Then don't be the irrational one. Rapunzel's already got that covered.” She said with a light scoff. “Look, I get it. I'd be frustrated, too. Personally, I'd have 86'd the guy in a heartbeat if I were her. But that's not HER. You know that! Fuck, you know it better than ME! Fucking ACT like it, dude!"
"Wait... so you're-"
"I'm out. I've had more than my preferred share of hunter bullshit. Call me if shit really hits the fan, but unless someone is actively dying? I’m done." Before he could protest, Sammie turned on her heel and headed for the stairwell, pausing for just a moment to murmur over her shoulder.
“Take care of our girl, Charming.” With that, she disappeared down the stairs with a fading clackclackclack of her heels. Danny watched her go, suddenly feeling very alone and incredibly out of his depth.
Suddenly, a faint creaking noise from within the apartment pulled his attention back. When he opened the door, he was greeted with the sight of a very tired, very confused looking Alexia, standing behind his empty rolling chair, squinting at his laptop screen. She turned her bleary-eyed gaze on him for a moment before turning back to the screen.
“It kept m-making a s-s-sound. A b-beeping sound…” As he neared, he could see clearly what had awoken her. In addition to the first message, several more had appeared, each one more insistent than the last.
UNKNOWN at 00:07:53: I require your answer, why are you looking up information on the hunter Mach.
UNKNOWN at 00:17:53: I have information on the hunter Mach.
UNKNOWN at 00:29:14: Answer me or I will systematically wipe out everything you own that connects to a network. You have 1 hour.
UNKNOWN at 00:31:25: You have 13 minutes.
With a heavy sigh, he nodded, placed a soft kiss on her forehead, and sat down to respond.
(A special thank you to Alexia Longbow for writing in this scene!)
Who is online
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 0 guests