Location: Woods near the Hidden Airstrip, Grimm, Indiana
Debris was the least of their problems. Directly, anyway. The trees, on the other hand, had much to fear. A random chunk of what used to be a skyworthy vehicle tumbled and spun well over their heads, descending earthward in a ballistic arc. The shaggy piece of aircraft aluminum and fiberglass must have been propelled straight up, or nearly so, in the last big detonation, just now properly finding its way back to the earth from whence it came. It clipped the top third off of a white spruce overhead, dropping the chunk of majestic evergreen down to the earth below. Unfortunately, that space of earth was occupied by a Miss Kingston and a Mr. Ross.
The smell of green woodsmoke and fresh sap permeated Iris's nostrils, the only clear piece of sensory input she could detect at first. After what seemed like a hour (but was probably only a few seconds), she became aware that she was laying on the ground and a voice kept calling to her, repeatedly insisting that she wake up. Was she asleep? Yes, she might have been. This could easily have all been some stupid dream, a byproduct of all that "exotic Californian cuisine" to which she had been subjected recently. Honestly, there are some things broccoli shouldn't be a part of. Ever.
Perception became jolted into a much clearer state of awareness as Ross took hold of Iris's arm and gave it a slow, steady pull. The resulting flash of unparalleled agony that erupted from Iris's leg and midsection fully brought her back into the world of the living, a state which she immediately regretted. Sheared branches had impaled her abdomen and the bulk of the trunk's weight pressed down upon her, pinning her to the ground. Though the downed foliage prevented any inspection lower than that, there was grave and sharp suspicion that at least one of her legs were broken, and quite badly. There was a taste of copper in her mouth, faint but quite present. It was unmistakably blood.
Ross let her arm go the instant he realized the state of the young woman and looked around frantically, hoping for some miracle to have occurred or for something he could improvise into a lifesaving apparatus, a lever,
something. There was the barest, most desperate chance if he could get Iris out of there immediately. Cut the branches, pull her free, drag her down to the nearest place with antibiotics and surgical equipment. It had been a long while since he had been around this area, but he was pretty sure there was a veterinarian's office somewhere down the hill. They could make it. They had to.
Ross's concentration was snatched away from the emergency at hand by a rustling sound off to his left. Though Iris could not see from her vantage, she could hear a breathy, whuffing sound, loud enough to be detected over the distant sound of fire crackling. The grunting, baying sound that followed unmistakably marked the source of the sound as one of Indiana's slowly rebounding Black Bear population. Even if one had never seen a black bear in person, it could be nothing else. The older mercenary froze in place, one hand drifting to his sidearm. This was not something he needed - that either of them needed - to deal with right then. The damn thing was probably curious about the loud noises in its foraging grounds, and upon coming to inspect the source of them, smelled blood. A hungry bear is a dangerous, unpredictable thing. Ross and Iris didn't have time to wait and see what it was going to do, either. With a steady hand, he raised his gun and took aim at the ursine beast.
In response, the animal sneezed once, made an odd
rawrk-ing sound, then began scraping dirt and loose pine needles over a recently deposited pile of "bear leavings". Ross sighed heavily and lowered his weapon. "It's okay... It's okay. Bear shitting in the woods. He doesn't care about us. Alright girl, I'm going to find something to cut these branches, and we're getting out of here. You're going to be just fi-" A sharp metallic sound, like a freeweight clapping onto another cut his sentence short. Ross's eyes went wide for a second. He slumped to his knees, and then fell over to one side. A single, perfectly round hole decorated the back of his head, venting blood and cerebrospinal fluid in a steady stream onto the dirt below.
"No, no, no, no NO." came a voice from behind him.
"No, we can't do that at all. Not at all, not at all, not at all. Less fun when they're fully dead - need them to kick a little bit, hmmm... Kicking. Screaming. Squeeeealing. Just... just a little. Just a little ...bit." The voice was oddly feminine, but colored in a way that made it sound grotesquely cartoonish.
The source of the unsettling words stepped around and into Iris's view. Through the haze of pain and shock, she could see something that made her long for the possibility of being food for woodland predators. It was a clown. Mama June on a strict regimen of anabolic steroids and cooking lard, somehow crossed with the neglected diesel engine of a late model garbage barge. She was huge. A kind of morbid obesity common only to hoarders and shut-ins, yet impossibly this one was active. Even agile. The puffy costume common to those in the clowning profession clung tightly to her, plastered down with a horrifying state of unwash to the point that it was semitransparent, showing the disturbing folds of corpulent skin underneath. Ruffles and folds of cloth that once bounced about with light and airy movement now hung limp and soiled, mortifying stains set with indelible permanency underneath her arms and around the neckline, with mildly dissimilar ones radiating from her crotch. The skin of her face seemed to hang off of her skull in a way that suggested, rather than promised, that it was still attached. Filthy blonde hair framed her chunky, sweat streaked features, divided from a ripped bald portion of scalp above and braided into pigtails that slapped the sides of her face as she breathed heaving, labored lungfuls of air. The grease paint that was once thickly applied had mostly rubbed off, though a shadow of what was could be sussed out among the grime and cracked dermis. She held an older model of captive bolt gun, a pneumatic device used for the quick and repetitive knocking of herd animals for slaughter. It dripped tiny blobs of crimson that once belonged to Ross.
The tiniest giggle escaped her. She looked down at the pinned and horribly wounded Iris, and gave her a broad, toothy
smile.
"Girl time! Yes, girl time, girl time, all the time in the world, time. I've sooooo missed being with the girls. So very, very much. But we must keep them alive this time, yes. Aliiiiive. Your mister didn't stay alive, but that's okay, girly girl. I can have so much fun with them for a while after. After. Yes, after..." She stepped a little closer to Iris, breasts heaving with excitement at meeting a new friend.
"And after, plaything, little plaything, make me feel so jolly and gooey and..." She stopped suddenly, sniffing the air. She detected something nearby.
Still at the scene, the black bear raised onto its hind legs and roared loudly, staring down the strange events unfolding in its claimed territory. Clown-Lady began to cackle, a lingering and piercing sound that jarred bones and set teeth to grind. The bear suddenly fell silent and dropped to all fours, giving serious consideration to picking out a new spot on the hill to call home. One could almost hear the bear enunciate "NOPE!" as it turned around and began to exit the area with decided haste.
No! no, no, no... No, it saw us. It saw. SAW US. Little girl, you stay here. Right here. Riiiight... Nanny will be back. Promise. Then we can have our... girl time. Hmm, yes... Talk about television and hairstyles and..." she stomped heavily on Ross's dead skull, screaming,
"NO BOYS ALLOWED!!! WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE? Your turn next. Next, fun... but bear..." The clown turned fully in the direction of the retreating bear and ran, impossibly fast for her ungainly bulk, laughing and promising awful things to the woodland mammal in her wake.
Iris had lost blood. A lot. Too much. Eyes fluttered closed, and considering the circumstances it would be a blessing if it was indeed the last time that they did. But even this last mercy was denied. From nowhere, a heavy slap sounded from her cheek, delivered by a grimy, fetid hand. Clown-Lady was back, covered all down her front with splashes of drying crimson. How much time had past? The fire had gotten closer; the air around them was drier and the small of smoke was almost all encompassing. Almost. The rot and animal smells of the clown seemed unaffected by even this.
"No! Girls stick together. You can't go yet. Not yet, no. Can't go yet. Not until I let you. Girls. Stick. Together." The thing that likely used to be a woman took iron hold upon Iris's shoulders and yanked with unforeseen strength, actually moving her some from underneath the downed tree. The problem was, she was still impaled by several branches. The holes made by them widened and tore unmercifully, apparently away from the notice of the monstrous clown who merely tugged harder and harder. The last thing that Iris heard aside from the ripping of her own flesh and internal organs, was this awful, insane thing scolding her:
GIRLS STICK TOGETHER! STICK TOGETHER! YOU DIDN'T STICK TOGETHER, LITTLE GIRL! DID YOU? NO! NO! DIDN'T! ...not as much fun... but some. Not as much ..."
Caesar & Keystone
Location: Queensguard R&D Complex
Skills: N/A
Skills: Stamina
Of all the things that Keystone had done in his life, all of the hurt and damage that he had both inflicted and personally suffered were nothing as compared to the horror that lay before him. It was a baby.
His baby, a thing which just yesterday he would have deemed next to impossible, but here he was. More importantly, here lay his diaper, filled to bursting with something vaguely resembling a septic system backup that invaded a Play-Doh factory and tried to run away with the unfinished products therein. Point of fact, the experience made a marked change in the man, altering his respect for the average stay-at-home Mom to something more elevated, even exalted.
"Gravy's fonging, piss-weathered sake, Miss Santiago..." He looked up at the mature yet vital woman, nodding.
"I understand now." His voice was filled with the certainty of a man that just uncovered a fundamental truth for himself. Grimly, he set to task.
Meanwhile, Caesar was doing as Caesar did, which mostly revolved around reading site reports, asking the occasional technical question, and intimidating the employees in small but meaningful ways. Having made quick rounds in the Hub, he settled on the Tech Crew from Seattle. He hadn't seen them in a long while; not since coming to California. But he recognized them all, and they certainly recognized him. The only person who didn't know anybody here was Thalia.
"It has been a long time. Thank you for coming down this way. As you well know, being here constitutes hazard work. You will be compensated accordingly. As you also know, you have been waiting for your team lead. That in a moment." He took the time to address the deaths on site, but he kept it quick.
"Director Keystone has already told me what went happened recently. I need you to know that none of this was your fault. There are things at play in Justice that appear to remove a lot of choice in our actions. It's like we're cursed. And you are adjusting to a very bad situation. As long as you are loyal, as long as you give me your best, you have a place here. Alicia has earned your trust and respect. It's why we are all here. It's why you will always have a place with us. Now," He waved his niece over to join them, which she did with neutral expression.
"This is Thalia Carmichael. She comes to us from the Boston branch. Youngest department lead that we have ever had at MSS. You will hear rumors. You remember, she earned her position here. I wouldn't put her on this unless she didn't." Thalia noted that he left out the part where they were of direct relation. Truly, she could pass as a stranger almost as easily as a member of La Familia; she could thank her mother for that. If one were to look closely, they would see the telltale hazel eyes with the same shape as her cousin and uncle, and the sometimes unruly black hair, but otherwise, she looked mostly Caucasian, if of uncertain complexion under artificial light. A very pale skinned lady of Scottish descent birthed her, and it was her features that warred with those of Benicio Gonzalez, her father by blood. Thalia gave Caesar a sideways look, but turned her slightly narrowed eyes to her new team instead.
"Big introductions latah, alright?" she spoke with authority, her New England accent getting the batter of her.
Get me up to speed, and someone find me Alicia's machine. That last part's on the now. "And someone let me know the second my take-out gets here." Priorities.
