DM POST
[member="Oran Shule"] / [member="Liya"] - So they had chosen, Oran Shule would endure the Current. An interesting choice, something small and simple that would leave the residents of the New City gossiping for weeks on what would have happened had it gone the other way? Would it have changed the game? Would everything had remained the same? How did this one choice affect every aspect that would follow?
They watched on, the song now ended - hope they had been paying attention, it’d not repeat. Replaced instead by the constant dull thud and muffled roar of the deranged behind the barricade. Oran was strapped in, belts tightened, current rods modified in to to rest around the shape of his head, with two protruding points that would touch the skin on the sides.
Liya, moved to the machine silently and with purpose, gave it’s controls a simple once over glance then flicked the nodule that corresponded with the male picture. But there was hesitation, it couldn’t have been so simple; Receive a shock and the door opens? No. The Current Dial. . hmm. . . . it didn’t have any recognizable symbols or numbers that made sense for the sort of machine it was. A combination?
The hesitancy thickened, New City watched on, fully enticed. Oh how they yearned to watch Liya make a mistake, cruel Matsu how they wished to watch Liya sear and fry the mans brain.
The combination was not obvious in any way. But somehow clear. How many Patients were in this room? Suddenly Liya had fled from the Electroconvulsive Machine’s controls. Counting out each one twice, it seemed. Ten. . . but what could another clue be? The Silver. Half of them had Silver buckles attached to their securing straps!
Five.
But wait, it was a trick. Oran Shule had also been secured with a Silver Buckle. And the Electroconvulsive Machine had two Silver nodules. Eight.
The song?
Strange. . . how did it go? It had to be the song. It was so clear now, and the repetitive drone of that word. That single word. Seventeen times.
Liya returned to the machine, when Oran was ready, she’d begin.
17 - 10 - 8. Three jolts. Three seizures. No anaesthesia. The
beautiful pain was going to be. . . significant.
[member="Zahori Denko"] / [member="Asheda Tyr"] - The basement was the forgotten part of a house, likened to the part of the mind where all the worst memories were stored - those things one would rather forget and leave to collect dust where it was impossible to run across them by accident. It might be years until they were found again. Such seemed to be the fate of every item resting in the room in which Zahori & Asheda found themselves, the door slamming behind them as if to resign them to the same dessicated, dust-covered fate.
One other had found such an end here, or at least nearly. Lina had found herself in the same pit, but unlike Zahori & Asheda had been frozen by fear once she’d escaped its maw and started looking around. She’d found herself in this room too, the door slamming behind her and locked from the inside, and she’d somehow just...stayed here. Lily must have forgotten about her or something, and thus Lina had seen the room as refuge. She’d taken to...eating...the rats that scurried through the room, fast and savage with her fingers as hunger spurred her to catch them. She hovered beneath exposed pipes in the ceiling, catching the condensation off them to get water.
However, as she uncurled herself, revealing she was a human and not a pile of rags in the corner, it was obvious she wasn’t doing well. Her hair looked like straw, eyes sunken in to a face so emaciated it looked more like a skull than anything else.
She’d been too afraid to escape on her own. But if these two would help her…
“Hey - hey!” she said, having to repeat herself to get the sound out through a dehydrated, scratchy throat.
“I know how to get the door open. I’ll let us out if you promise to take me with you.”
She’d have a better chance with these two escorting her.
[member="Jorryn Fordyce"] - Audible shouts of joy or groans of irritation could be heard all throughout Maena as gamblers in every den of disrepute saw their guesses as to what the dolls would reveal prove right or wrong. Mechanisms in the walls whined in protest as the switch within the doll’s head activated them, causing one set of walls to depress in and then pull to either side...revealing a small space, slightly larger than a traditional closet, stuffed with small holosets displaying things in grainy black-and-white. It wasn’t marked on the map Jorryn had picked up, though it was the only place not marked. This was Bill’s control, the brain that lay quietly at the center of a manor he considered his enormous playground.
It was, of course, a little bit stereotypical. Bill was aware of that. But wasn’t a man entitled to a place to escape? He hadn’t put it on the map for that very purpose, and sometimes one just wanted to retreat and watch his games unfold from a place of absolute solitude. He wouldn’t apologize for that!
In order to view his various games he’d set up over the years, he hadn’t skimped on the camera systems. Every room and hallway in the place was under surveillance. To someone trapped within it, this would be a goldmine of information. Jorryn of course, had already found a paper map. The layout of the house and all its rooms and secret passages was at her disposal. But the map didn’t tell her what those places looked like, nor what lurked within them. The cameras showed every staircase, hallway...and every door. From here, the best route of escape could be plotted with nearly all the information to make it a more possible success.
From here, Jorryn would be able to see the other contestants making their own way out. Zahori Denko & Asheda Tyr plumbed through the basement depths looking for escape, flashlights swinging through murky darkness. Fire rose high and blinded the camera that viewed Kyrel Ren & Halron Corr as the Master made his choice, horrid as it was. Beautiful, delicious games.
Using the map and cameras together, things could be pieced together. Right outside Momma’s Doll Collection, there was a landing overlooking a winding staircase that descended in to a living room. From the living room there was a dining room, and then a large foyer that opened to the front door of all things. It looked mostly clear save for an enormous
massiff sleeping in front of the fireplace in the dining room.
The other route was to take a right out of the Doll Room, follow a hallway that trailed right and passed several closed doors (the cameras inside recording mostly darkness and silence within), and take a back staircase that would lead to door out the right side of the house. One presented the obvious challenge of the massiff, while the other held unknown danger behind doors to dark rooms.
Time was ticking.
And then all the sudden, one beautiful blue eye appeared blinking in the lens of the camera pointing in to the hallway to the right. Backing up slightly, Lily Hawkins’ face came in to view, a disturbingly cheerful smile tugging on her mouth as she waved in to the camera. She disappeared, slinking to the left in the direction of the Doll Room.
Time was definitely ticking.
[member="Zul Grimm"] - Hank was dead, and the Hawkins who might one day run this facility were away on their various ventures elsewhere on the planet. It would be some time before they saw to overtaking what their father was no longer capable of doing.
But there was still…
Nobody really talked about Cletus. He’d been born later than the rest of them, and he’d inherited something of his Father’s porcine appearance. On top of that, he’d been born with absolutely no smarts, replaced by an obscene amount of muscle. It had led to a temper with no logic to keep it in check and enough strength to snap the object of his ire right in half.
Hank had set him to disposing of the less choice cuts of meat, tending to a room with a giant industrial grinder set in the floor. A chute ran from the main processing rooms in to the one where Clyde worked, rotten or poor cuts riding a conveyer belt and shooting wildly from its track on to the floor below. It was Clyde’s job to take his rake and pull things towards the grinder in the center. In its jaws everything was shredded to pieces - muscle, tendon, fat, and bone. Unceasing, mechanical turns. He heard the gears in his dreams.
So the sound of Zul’s chains dragging along the floors outside was a welcome, deliciously different sound. Cletus paused, a pig-like grunt escaping him as he listened carefully.
There was almost no warning as he ran out of the room, a massive shape nearly eight-feet-tall and all muscle, carrying a metal rake. His momentum carried him in to the opposite wall as he attempted to slam Zul in to it, the tiles cracking under his weight as he ran in to it himself. And just to be safe, he swept his metal rake around in a wide arc, looking to impale the stranger should he have escaped his headlong rush in to the hallway.
[member="Kyle Raymus"] / [member="Causstik Rahn"] - Zul had chosen his own direction, perhaps leaving Kyle alone - or perhaps not, if his Trandoshan companion chose to stick with him.
Several enormous rats screeched as the puddle in which they’d been walking - for rats cared little for the differences between water, blood, and thick black ooze - was electrocuted by the stranger, falling dead in the puddle as the man appeared in the otherwise silent and motionless room.
A storage bay was, in truth, an excellent place to seek escape. There were several large delivery bays, all controlled by one central panel with switches that would lift the desired bay. Encased in a small plexiglass unit for a worker to stand in, reaching the panel would most likely allow someone to open a bay and run for their lives.
However...it was quickly apparent that Kyle & Causstik were not alone. One of the crates rattled, something inside disturbed by the screech of the rats. The rattling of the first crate seemed to trigger a chain reaction, each crate rattling as its neighbor battered around inside it. A held breath and complete stillness would return them all to rest but one thing was clear: complete, total silence was required here. Whatever was inside the crates had been disturbed by something as simple as the screeching of rats. Something louder? Most likely, it would send them in to a frenzy that no enclosure would stop them from.
Stealth was the name of the game in this room...
[member="Jacob Crawford"] / [member="Imogen Daniels"] - A single bite, that’s all that it required. They had been on Maena when they were taken. Jacob had a residence - somewhere - on Maena now. If it had not been obvious that they were trapped somewhere in the New City before. It surely would be now. From the specific color of the Apples - Ash Grey - to the very sudden sensations that arose after the flesh was pierced.
It started as numbness. Warmth. The loss of pain. Colors changed, blues became red. Yellow turned purple. Green vibrantly shifting orange. The walls began to breathe. Patterns drift behind open and closed eye alike. Paranoia rose. The wires that hung down from the ceilings became slithering serpents. The shadows something to avoid.
Left or right? How could one choose?
The left Hall was long, shockingly long. It’s immense depth almost paralyzing to behold as the kiss of the Maenan Ash Apple grasped them ever more tightly. In this direction the Science Loft could be found, Stairs, and the Cafeteria with a set of halls that connected the Gymnasium and Pool to the rest of the School.
The right Hall was far less long, but rather, had a sharp elbow bend at the furthest point from Jacob and Imogen. This path would walk them towards the History Wing, Library, Main Office and Math Corridor. Follow this maze far enough and the Headmistresses Office itself could be located.
But then that sound. Was it real?
It sounded like pounding, a heartbeat - maybe. Something that would echo in the ears, something that surged with power so great it could make the hair on neck and arms stand on end. The light was dying.
Boom. Boom. BOOM. BOOM!!
With each pound a stretch of hallway darkened until the place they had come from was lost entirely in shadow, and that thick blackness was rapidly approaching them as the drum banged on in their head.
Boom.
Blackness.
Boom.
Blackness. .
Eyes, glowing. Glowing. Eyes. Hundreds. . . thousands. . demons. Monsters. Things of the shadow they were coming. A thousand voices whispering. A million cries echoing. Which path was safe? They had to choose. The darkness was going to take them. They had to choose!
Left,
or Right?!
[member="Aria Vale"] / [member="Greta Kohler"] - The switch came suddenly, too suddenly. Or perhaps, the Sith had simply uncovered something that was not meant to be known. Something that was not in every way obvious at first glance. The Doctor was approaching, heavy and swift. Spittle misting from behind his clenched teeth and securely curled lips. His breathing husky and wet.
As he drew nearer, however, the disposition of his Orderly changed - significantly.
“DON’T LOOK! NO!” He cried pathetically at first, body modified in unspeakably cruel ways. His face left torn and tattered with the scars of a thousand surgeries. The mutilation of a million scalpel cuts.
Then he was stabbed, Greta lunging upon him as if she were a wild beast while she and Aria bought milliseconds to make up their mind and erase that unease boiled within them. The point of the scissors entered his cheek with jarring roughness, hanging in the meat of his face and gashing open a wound that drained blood at a shocking pace.
He’d gasped at first penetration - not in pleasure, not in pain. Surprise. Utter surprise as the metal coolly grinded against his teeth and jabbed the bone of his jaw. But as he reeled away, letting the momentum of Greta’s ambush carry her and the weapon clutched in her hand a few steps beyond where he stood.
That change occurred.
“We have such sights to show you, “ His voice suddenly boomed louder than a microphone could project,
“The Doctor has. . . such pain to share. “
Aria and Greta were lifted, left hanging in the air for what seemed an eternity, before finally crashing down upon the hard floor a solid thirty paces down what would have been the Right-Hand Hall.
“Oh what sensuous Hells, you two will witness. “ Said The Orderly, no joined on his own right by The Doctor.
“What beauty my Doctor will give!"
[member="Xin Boa"] - More than likely, Cab would either not make it out of the building or he would and he’d run right in to the arms of the Kintan Kings Revival with enough accrued interest to make it easier to kill him and sell him for parts than wait for his repayment.
But the promise of karma was most likely not a great comfort to the Nautolan at the moment.
An operation as global as Hawkins Meat Hook could not be run alone, and though this original location no longer provided Maena at large, it did serve a very particular clientele. Therefore, the employees who were hired were best kept to the very criminal, or those too stupid to really think about the work.
Picker was both. So named for one of his filthy habits surrounding his nose, he was absolutely not intelligent. But his size had made him highly sought after when it came to groups looking for muscle. His sheer ability to stop someone that a gang found inconvenient was worth thousands of credits as far as the Lower Levels of the City were concerned. However, Picker had sought retirement. It was getting tiring killing people! And boring! He’d taken a job with Hank, learning the careful skill of butchery. He wasn’t exactly perfect as instinct was important when it came to breaking down an animal but it also required artistry and improvisation - something Picker wasn’t great with.
However, his shift was almost over, and he was leaving the room he usually worked in, enormous buzzsaw covered in blood swinging in a meaty fist. His beady little eyes looked down from his 9-foot-height, narrowing as he saw the Nautolan. The gears could almost be heard turning in his head as he tried to figure out if he recognized the ali-- no, he’d never seen this one before. Which meant he shouldn’t be here.
The buzzsaw roared to enraged life in Picker’s hand, and he didn’t hesitate to immediately swing it in the Nautolan’s direction, the blade flecking hundreds of sparks in to the air as it hit the tile wall opposite him. He would chase down the alien until he was pieces.
[member="Vulpesen"] / [member="Lark"] - Eloise, now 45, had no formal training in the Force. She’d had no Master. Most of those who were born in the lowest levels of Maena simply did not escape. Transportation this far down was non-existent in the public sense, and those floor-wide elevators were often more a risk than they were worth. The poor flow of electricity meant they could just stop working, and the thought of being inside one when it shut down - trapping one in there for hours, days - was unappealing except in emergencies. And so while she was vaguely aware of the Force as a concept, its history, she’d taught herself.
It had first manifested when she’d been angry with her little brother. A flash of anger had turned in to complete control of his mind. He’d cleaned up all his idiotic toys from the hallway in a flash as she’d tugged at strings and made suggestions to his feeble intellect that perhaps he should show his big sister more respect.
From then on, he had.
But she’d caught the bug, and she’d tried more and more to push her power and see what it could do. If the thought occurred, she asked of the Force whether it was possible. And she’d found those disciplines she’d liked the most.
Thirty-five years of diligent, studious practice had turned Eloise in to what most would easily call a very seasoned Master.
There was some part of her that harbored a dream of finding the most promising students, and that - by some miracle - those with the most promise would also have the Force in their grasp. How far could her school go if it churned out the smartest, most cunning, most adept Force-Users in the galaxy? They could make Sith temples obsolete! They could outlast the greatest Jedi academies! But the Force did not run strong in these disgusting places, and those that found their gift rather bothered with Hawkins High. So Vulpesen and Lark were of particular interest to Eloise. It could be the start of something wonderful! She could convince them to stay, learn - go out in the galaxy and tell others of her instruction. The halls would be so full…
“Hello,” she said kindly as they arrived, noting the smile on the red-haired one. Warm at first glance, but hollow and empty behind. Her smile faltered but she couldn’t be stopped from her goal.
“I must admit, I’ve taken great interest in your futures. I’d like to offer one of you a full scholarship to my school - every expense paid. I think you both could be great, with the right training. But only the one who survives can enroll!”
The rush of power that rolled out from her small form was surprising, gargantuan. Her hands moved subtly, lifting just a bit to shove three cafeteria tables up and forward to knock down and crush her guests. If they managed to knock one of the men down, they’d drive down in to the ground, flattening them utterly to a blood, pulpy pancake. Most likely, she assumed, the scholarship would actually be tempting and her two potential students would try to kill each other for it. But if not...she would kill them both.
[member="Kyrel Ren"] / [member="Halron Corr"] - Bill hadn’t been sure which of the two outcomes he preferred: them burning the girl, or both of his contestants burning when they didn’t have the heart to make the decision? Actually, that wasn’t true. Either would have been okay, but the former was WAY more fun. That meant both his contestants survived to continue his game AND he got to witness their moral crumblings! Ah, it was a good night already. He stood outside for a moment, watching the aftermath through the lens of the camera he’d installed obsessively in every area of the house. He took a deep breath, smelling burning hair and accelerant, heady and high.
By the time he kicked the door open, his eyes were glassy and wild.
Closing the door behind him with a foot, he clapped slow and sarcastic, whistling in amazement as he took in the scene in front of him. Tears glistening on the cheeks of one, stunned disbelief writ on the other’s face, and the smoking corpse of the girl in the center of it all. What a perfect tableau! He couldn’t have written the scene better himself. His clapping was loud, abrasive, irritating.
“Bravo...BRAvo! I gotta say fellas,” he intonated, stepping closer to his contestants and around them as he studied their emotions, seemingly without fear of reprisal,
“this really couldn’t have gone better than it did. The emotion, the passion, the tragedy, the depth! I’m sure there’s some sort of moralistic tripe to be made in to philosophy here but really...when it comes down to it… you guys are just garbage you know? And when it comes down to it, we’re all garbage. I think you’ve both really gotten my message without me having to spell it out.”
He swaggered between them, one hand on his belt buckle. He looked to Kyrel first.
“You? You’ve got spirit. You saw what had to be done, and you did it. Respect for that. But do you think you’ll smell her in your dreams? That stench of burning hair….hooooooo-ee! Really gets lodged in the nose, you know?” And then to Halron.
“And you. You know, you should kill him for this. A real monster right there. You tried, but now you have to smell this too, hear her screaming in your nightmares. Not very fair if you ask me. Take away a man’s autonomy, his right to choose, and he’s just an animal, you know? Is that what you are? Just an animal?”
Well, animals needed to be put down.
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Venthis Zambrano
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