Items of value? Surely this couldn't have been a problem for the Chosen Undead. Or so he thought, standing up from his seat on the floor. The walking, talking corpse stepped through the mysterious orange light and felt his reanimated body warp across time and space, soon depositing itself in the building, inside a dark hall. The Undead could barely see more than a scant few feet in front of him. Readying his spear in his hand, he raised his shield, and carefully proceeded onward towards mad treasure.

After all, this was just some entertainment company. A bunch of minstrels and actors.

What could possibly go wrong?

The gas mask came as a slight shock, but after those dark shapes' appearance Aoi was willing to accept it as necessary protective equipment. While his voice was understandable through the muffling of the mask, she still slightly misheard his introduction.

"Ronald... of the Gilgamesh Federation? Is that some branch of Fenrir that I haven't heard about?" Aoi tilted her head as she ran down the list of Fenrir branches. When she came back with nothing, she simply decided it was something she didn't know. "Whatever. Here, let me get that for you, Ronald."

She approached the strangely suited man cautiously, as she was still shaken by the shapes. She set the tip of her God Arc on the ground behind him, leaning the hilt on her shoulder (well, above her shoulder, but you get the idea). She took his hands in her own and, saying, "Relax your shoulders," she pulled them back to cleave the chain. Luckily, the man seemed to be wearing a non-biological-material suit, which would prevent the God Arc from taking a bite out of him if he fell onto it.

Then came the explosions.

"Ronald... of the Gilgamesh Federation? Is that some branch of Fenrir that I haven't heard about?"

The soldier wasn't surprised by the mispronunciation of his name, what with the gas-mask, but the rest of what the girl said raised yet another question. Said question being 'what the devil is a Fenrir?' Judging by what she said, it was some sort of organization. Furthermore, given her ignorance of Gilgamesh's existence, she was either uneducated, or from a place entirely outside the Astragius Galaxy. The former seemed unlikely, but the latter was preposterous. Then again, so were aliens and absurdly oversized swords. Deciding that strange was the word of the day, Ranald figured it was better for his health to just roll with the punches.

"Whatever. Here, let me get that for you, Ronald."

Besides, he had more important things to attend to at present. Like freeing his arms, for example. Calmly complying with the girl's instruction to relax his shoulders, the soldier simply waited for the matter to be over and done with. Thankfully, that blade of hers was sharp, and cut through the chain in one go. With his hands now unrestrained, Ranald took a moment to stretch, relieving the stiff feeling in his arms. Much better, now I just need to find my gun, my AT, and a way off this rock. But first.

"Thank you, ma'am. Now, I don't believe I ever got your na-"

Before he could finish, the pilot was rather rudely interrupted by a series of explosions, followed by the earth violently shaking. Despite Ranald's best efforts to stay steady, another spike of pain sent him tumbling to the ground. On second thought, finding some painkillers first might be a good idea.

Booregard sighed. He'd read through at least four chapters of a boring book on engine maintenance. He'd read through a newspaper with job opportunities, circa 1947 (one of the articles had actually said "ways to keep coloreds from your business."). And there was still no one in the records office yet. He might as well see about evolving to make the haunting more effective. He shoved the contents of the desk before him into a big pile, still invisible, and began going through them. He tossed the duds behind him into a garbage can, the bottom caked with chewing gum that was probably older than most people currently in the prison.

"Pencil? Junk. 1949 dirty mag? Junk. Adding machine? Junk. Dead Spider?"

He thought for a moment, placing it to the side. He wasn't sure if he could evolve using living things, even if they were dead. Everyone he knew used either a tool or weapon.

"...Keep in mind. Brick? Naaah. Lamp? Nope. Uh... Calendar? Paper? Chair? Desk?"

Booregard leaned back in his chair, sighing in frustration and giving it a light spin. These objects were all pretty lackluster. Shouldn't there have been a key or something? At least then he could do spooky stuff with doors. He clenched his fist in determination.

"I need something that'll bring my level of spookiness to new heights! I've got to be the best I can be! The boss says that's what being a Monster's all about- doing your very best for your friends! And damn it, they hired me because I'm spooky- I've got to be spookier than ever!"

He slammed his fist onto the desk, scattering papers. It was then he felt a prick and looked up- to see pooling blood. But... he was a ghost. He didn't bleed. He moved the papers hastily out of the way, to see an ancient fountain pen leaking blood-red ink. Booregard looked at it. This was a sign. A sign from the patrons of spookiness. From every vengeful spirit in this hellhole. It was his time. It was time... to get spooky. Raising the pen, he tossed it into the air, watching it form into a jacket for him- the sleeves and back made of rolling currents of blood-red ink, with sleeves formed from the wooden halves of the pen over his arms. Even the head of the pen joined in, forming a crown and mask facing downward. Looking over his new outfit in a dusty window, he nodded, and began writing in the air. When nothing happened, he looked disappointed, going through various hand motions. The hook'em horns, various religious handsigns, even going so far as to snap his fingers. But still, nothing happened. Eventually, he came upon the correct one- a simple wave- and the message appeared, seemingly bleeding through the wall.

GET OUT

Laughing with glee, he walked through the wall, using his invisibility to search for those still lost in the prison.

---

"...That once you receive it you'll agree to being dead."

Chain Shadow had been taking guns he'd found around the basement and removing most of the ammo, putting it in his coffin. If he and his friends were going to be the monsters, they were pretty much immune to bullets- except his seniors, the Hominids. Well, at least Swamp Hominid, but he had regenerative healing. But just because the bullets were useless, that didn't mean the shot of the protagonist unloading a gun uselessly should go on for too long. He was interrupted by the sound of an explosion. He shrugged and got back to work.

"...Well, that's none of my business. I've brought this lovely coffin..."

---

Lightning Hominid stood atop the dockhouse, moving his arms around overhead, groaning. Translation is provided below.

"GRAAAAAGH, GRAOAAORARGROAAA! UNGAAOKAN, AOARAORAOOOOOAAAG, GOAOAAYAAAOA, AOROEAAAAAGH! ARGAOR, ORAR! GREAAAAONK! GROOAAOAD! GAAAAROOO-"
World, hear the cries of the Mu Empire, we who are born from the Earth! I, Lightning Hominid, born of the clouds, ask for a mighty storm! Lightning above, strike fear into the hearts of humans! Rains and wind, drench the earth in terror! And thunder-

It was then that he heard the explosion, staggering backwards and looking around in shock. Swamp Homind floated to the surface, stunned from the shockwave like a trout in a lake that just got a lit stick of dynamite shoved in. The Mummy Hominid, being the most experienced actor, did not break character as it sat in an electric chair within the prison, looking like a charred corpse.

Clearing his throat, Lightning Hominid returned to the ritual.

"...Greaog, araog?"
...T-Thunder, please tone it down a little.

Abbott Penitentiary Exercise Yard

The sulphurous air around the ominous rifts gouged into the ground crystallized as, against all logic, the night got colder. A deathly chill wormed its way into the penitentiary, seeping through windows and doors as if they weren't there. An air of tangible emotion rose from the weathered concrete, dimming the lights wherever it concentrated.

From dozens of phantom mouths, an anguished scream filled the halls, shaking the building's foundations as it roiled and bubbled. Then, like a geyser of scalding lava bursting forth, the border between the afterlife and the real world split apart and delivered its deadly cargo.



Like rats fresh out of a sinking ship, a tide of monstrous creatures leaped, climbed, burrowed, and scuttled out of the many crevices surrounding the prison. Though there were dozens of them, they each seemed to fit into one of four unusually-specific archetypes.
Slayers. Limbless humanoids adorned with signs of some unknown surgical experiments. Their necks and extremities have been replaced with wicked metal objects.
Mainliners. Sickly, bloated humanoids bent double and atrophied. Large, glowing syringes have been uniformly inserted into each of their joints and sensitive areas.
Marksmen. Hulking amalgamations of human corpses formed into a hunchbacked being. Ancient rifles jammed haphazardly into their back twitch like insectoid feelers, aimlessly searching for something to shoot.
Burrowers. Faceless figures bound tightly in burlap and rusted chains. The ground itself seems to shy away from their presence, allowing them to tunnel through the earth as if it was air.

The juddering stream of evil rushed towards the prison's entrance. A brief flicker of a cloud obscured the moonlight, and the monsters were gone. With dreamlike speed, the legion of malefactors had disappeared. The sound of screeching metal and stomping feet echoed through the penitentiary, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere.

@IncredibleBee
From down the hall came a deep, sighing hiss. Hobbling unsteadily, a Slayer rounded the corner. Through a ragged blindfold, it glared at the Chosen Undead with searing envy. Drawing a sharp intake of breath, it slid one bladed arm along another, showering the floor with sparks. The Slayer breathed out, hardly roaring through its ruined neck stump. Grinning liplessly, the Slayer charged down the hall at the Chosen Undead.

@Moonman @Sodium
A dense, meaty thud sounded at the door at the lower-right corner of the room. Reinforced metal and finely-aged wood rattled like a plank of plywood in a gale. What was meant to withstand a trio of men gave way under the assault of a single creature, and flew right off its hinges. Through the threshold, a scarred, musclebound Marksman forced its immense bulk inside. Roaring incoherently, the Marksman got down on all fours... exposing the gun battery placed on its back. The fire team of rifles clacked threateningly as they aimed themselves directly at Aoi Kasakawa.

At the same time, what few windows the room had cracked and shattered, showering the room in glass and twisted wire. With agility hitherto thought impossible for quadriplegics, a quintet of Slayers dove into the room from these newly-opened entrances. Each of the Slayers quickly got into a battle-ready stance, and brandished their deadly arms with staggering quickness.

@HHShetland
A particularly large Slayer, its skin blackened and charred, took aim at Rugal Bernstein. It took one step backward, and immediately dove forward. Completely parallel to the ground and spiraling wildly, the spinning Slayer rocketed towards Rugal at break-neck speeds.

@Rick Sanchez
A pair of comparatively small Slayers, each only about as large as a grown man, opted to weigh their options. They could attempt to compete with their strongest peers in the room to earn a kill, or they could rush to stake a trophy... together. They both seemed to have reached the same conclusion, as each of them leaped straight towards Toad, aiming to catch him on their blades.

@clanjos
The chaos in the facility above did not take long to reach the basement. Asbestos and concrete dust showered down over Chain Shadow as wicked shadows played along the wildly-swinging lamps. At last, the quakes subsided and the basement went quiet.

Suddenly, a worried-looking man wearing the standard-issue obnoxious-orange jumpsuit of the Michael Reynolds foundation rounded the corner. The man clearly looked concerned about something, but recognized Chain Shadow.
"Hey, you're one of the guys Mister Reynolds hired, right?" he said, scratching the back of his neck. The man breathed out through his teeth, and looked at Chain Shadow with soulful eyes. "Things aren't going well. Long story short, we need you and your friends over at the docks. We're making some final preparations, and then we'll leave this place to the dogs."

Meanwhile, the room Swamp, Mummy, and Lightning Hominid were situated in stood strangely quiet, all things considered. When hell was literally breaking loose all over the place, this execution chamber had somehow managed to insulate itself from all of it.

A clammy hand grabbed at Mummy Hominid's shoulder. Its owner, a brown-haired man crackling with electricity, stared glumly at the Hominid.
"Hey," said Horace, through a face still pink with second-degree burns. "You're in my seat."


@LordInquisitor

Thick clouds of yellowish gas billowed up from below, obscuring the sky in a miasma of sulphur and brimstone.

The voice of the scientist came on over the communications device. Despite Trunks' altitude, it barely came through without interference.
"Can--- me? ----ing on?! ---tting large amounts---logical and thau---ercise yard! Could you----estigate? Be careful, it might--------er!"

The transmission cut out suddenly. For whatever reason, there seemed to be a truly ludicrous amount of interference surrounding the island.


@Conibear
Robert beamed with pride. He had never experienced such interest in his work before! With a light, nervous tinge to his tone, he continued.
"We~~ll, I ain't at liberty to discuss company secrets, but we're prepping this quarry for a special cameo. Ever watch Revenge Of Queen Worm, honey? Well, we still got the props from that movie in storage, and they might be making a comeback." Robert gave Koizumi a knowing wink.

"Anyway, my life ain't all that special. I was born in Boston, Massachusetts, I got an education in mechanical engineering at..." Robert's monologue trailed off.

"Hey, do you hear that? Sounds like... Iunno. Kids playin' hopscotch or somethin'. You got any crotch-goblins I gotta know about, lady? Listen, I oughtta deal with this 'fore they get hurt. If ya want, you can come with!"

Robert gave Koizumi a suggestive grin, and ambled off in the direction of the noise, into the foggy woods beyond.