BCTheEntity

CONTAINMENT: Welcome to Facility B

@Nyxira@Bazmund@Randomness@Bartimaeus@t2wave@duskshine749@AelitaJezebelle@TheMushroomLord@Rabidporcupine

Blade

The punching didn't work. What was worse, it felt like he was kind of yanked away from the creature at some point; when he lashed out at the thing, person, whatever pulling him, he was promptly... hurled.

'AI-!' He didn't really get much more time than that to emote his surprise, since within a couple of seconds, he was skidding along his back, kind of curling his arms and legs up to prevent them from being ripped off as well. The concrete was pretty rough; he slowed down quickly, but the shirt was definitely not going to stand up to punishment like that over and over again. Was he bleeding? His back hurt, because of course it did, but he had no idea about the blood situation. Still, whatever part of his brain was working at the moment allowed his back to melt briefly, hidden as it was, before resolidifying in what felt like the right form. Yeah, that was fine. He'd work it out later if he needed to, but he felt like he had a good sense of how his body was "meant" to look.

Unlike this whole situation. Finally finding the sense to sit up, he blinked as he took everything in: Dolly kneeling over him, doing her damndest to be protective; the shadow monster on the ground, apparently unharmed by his attacked- though if it bruised, he'd never have been able to tell- and standing over it, some black-haired lady and a ginger, was she, she was a teenager. That was a teenage girl. Had she thrown him?

'Ay... ay what the fu- ...whuwhat the Hell was that?' he asked them, pushing himself back to his feet - and, as an aside, petting Dolly's hair as a show of appreciation whilst murmuring 'Yeah, I'm good, thanks.' She wasn't really going to help if they wanted him dead, but she meant well. She'd make a good gang member.

Wait what the shit kind of thought was that. Whatever no time to think about it.

'A'ight, a'ight, look,' he continued, 'I dunno what in- what is happening, how I got tossed, why you're protecting that, that, that... what- what is that?' he asked, gesturing aggressively at the shadow creature with more than a bit of concern. 'Dear God, it's scary as shit, it's... seriously, what... I... uhhh.'

By now, he'd calmed down enough to realise that if they were protecting the thing, then maybe it wasn't as bad as he had immediately thought. And had he heard it talking before? He thought he'd heard something like that. Shit, he hadn't even realised they might just be looking at him like he was bugnuts. He wasn't bugnuts, that was Druggie Dougie. Who... was he still in the room with the bodies? Fuuuuck. With nothing better for the skinny guy to do, he nudged Sticks, and gestured for him to go get Dougie. Might as well, if he was just going to stand around like a lump.

Warhammer 40k: It's A Wonderful Life! An Imperial Guard (40K) RP

415633-983223-17-Zhatka had observed the rest of the Command Squad over the weeks spent in their company. He was not impressed.

Lieutenant Sithech. Elderly. Weak, and weakening further. A superior- in absence of the Captain, the squad's presiding officer- but not important enough for life extension. Inappropriately jovial. Willing to die for the Emperor, at least.

Trooper Charlene. Undisciplined. Unmotivated. Feckless. Lazy if not compelled. Unacceptable weakness. At least the Captain was willing to do so.

Trooper Telaci. Nearly incomprehensible. Undisciplined. Untrustworthy. Jittery. Likely the sort to shoot those who couldn't shoot him back, if he decided to do so unjustly. Weakness. Such traits were incompatible with cohesion in a command squad.

Trooper Richard. Heavy gunner. Strong. Focused. Arrogant, however. Inefficient use of a heavy bolter. It was designed to kill large numbers of enemies. It was not designed for precise shooting. Foolishness.

Trooper Deacon. Gunner's mate. Improper focus. Too keen on survival. Attempted to spread his cult at any opportunity. Not interested. The Emperor asks that you die in his name. This would not include gathering supposed holy trinkets. Weakness.

Corporal Tharn. Slow for a corporal. Partially deaf. Undisciplined. Unmotivated. Talked too much. Poor etiquette. Barely able to hold his lasgun properly. Weakness.

It was hard to tell which of these was worst. Only Captain Di Fieroccu and Sergeant Cestarn seemed anywhere close to competent. The former was Mordian. Too intent on drama. Insistent that he not "walk to his death" on the battlefield. Nonetheless, disciplined. Willing to die for the Emperor. Firm leadership skills. Did not allow incompetence. Any Watchmaster would be proud, but for her failure to punish sufficiently. The latter was put together. Veteran. Still too jovial, but intelligent in his approaches. Fearless, as a grenadier ought to be. Neither was perfect, but they were impressive compared to the rest.

The rest of the company were neither green nor veteran, mostly. Their training was impersonal. Their attitude was lax. Weakness. Training progressed too slowly, not harsh enough, albeit firmer for the command squad. It was necessary. It was appreciated. Still, too much time passed. One month before redeployment; two weeks in the Warp, a much greater span of months in realspace; days more moving to the destination in realspace. Incompetency. Much too slow. Vocintis might well have been gone by the time they arrived.

Arrive they did, however. 415633-983223-17-Zhatka remained utterly silent in the straps of his harness, patiently awaiting the gunship's touchdown. His weapon was attached to the ship's wall; one strap of his pack remained over a free shoulder, firmly held in place; his outfit remained unchanged, down to the rebreather, but for nine squares of checker patterning placed upon the topmost segment of his breastplate. This latter idiosyncracy had been insisted upon by several squad members for identification purposes. Sensible enough. It was nonetheless undesirable. It marked him as an individual. That wasn't his purpose. None of this ought to have been his purpose. He was to die for the Emperor. This position, placement within Captain Di Fieroccu's command squad and her instructions to him, ran counter to this.

He had tried to content himself. As long as he died doing the Emperor's will, he would ablate Krieg's shame but marginally. Yet it seemed insufficient, especially given... the rest of the command squad.

'It's been too long. In life, war. In death, peace. In life, shame. In death, atonement.' This was his response to the Lieutenant. He had not needed to steel himself. He was ever-steeled.

CONTAINMENT: Welcome to Facility B

@Nyxira@Bazmund@Randomness

Blade

'Sure, kid, whatever makes you happy,' he replied brusquely, to both her name request and her name for him. He'd honestly not had the knife on his arm in mind very much... did it mean something? How could he figure it out? It was familiar, anyway - as was the thorny heart on his other arm, though somehow the impression that gave him was a fair bit worse. It was all kinds of fuc-

...weird. It was all kinds of weird. He might have said it was all kinds of fucked-up, if he'd had half a second of thought more. No, actually, turned out that would have been overselling it. The scene he just walked in on? Four corpses - three guards shot through the heads, a scientist clearly ripped open by some animal, and then just one guy eating some fucking cereal like nothing had happened? Nah, nah. This was all kinds of fucked up.

'Awww, santa mierda, esto es todo tipo de jodido, what the fuck?' he blurted out, kind of putting his hand up half-heartedly so that Dolly wouldn't see any of it... but shit, man, what the hell was he going to do about that? Christ. Even Druggie Dougie- or Hoodie, whoever- realised shit was fucked up here. Backing up, he sort of, pushed Dolly away from the cafeteria by her face, back into the hall, door closing behind Dougie... ehh, Dougie could leave if he wanted. Point was, he'd need to do some cleanup if Dolly didn't want to be traumatised or whatever. If she wasn't already.

Were those voices? He turned round to see-

@Bartimaeus

-what the fuck was that shadow thing?!

'JESUS CHRIST-!'

The thing was threatening. He needed to kill it. Though he'd jolted back at first, he almost immediately sprinted past Sticks and toward the monster with a furious roar, crossing the distance in mere seconds, and leaping at it to knock it to the floor, straddling its body and levelling blow after blow on its face once it was down! Ha, it was solid, and that meant he could beat it to death! As he punched it over and over, he shouted out '¡TOMA ESE, HIJO DE PUTA! ME APUNTÉ A MATAR A ESAS PERSONAS, ¿VERDAD? ¡NO ME MIENTAS!' Man, this was hard on his fists for some reason!

@t2wave@duskshine749@AelitaJezebelle@TheMushroomLord@Rabidporcupine

He really hadn't noticed the other people present yet. Furthermore, it'd be clear to Casey in particular that his outburst was fuelled by fear as much as rage - at least assuming he was able to coordinate his thoughts throughout the storm of fists the Spaniard was laying down.

The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP

@Blitzy We are, though given the timeframes presently involved in sheet creation, I will ask that you craft your sheets as quickly as you're able to. The link to the Discord server is in the first post, of course, so feel free to jump in there at will.

CONTAINMENT: Welcome to Facility B

@Bazmund@Randomness@Nyxira

Lotta questions. Lotta bullshit he didn't have time for. And apparently, the guy was way happier to be out of the cell than he ought to be. He was only "free" once he was out and away... but whatever. Sticks caught him on the door thing, too - and the prison thing. Shit.

'Uh... I dunno, mate, my memory is all kinds of shot,' he admitted, half the truth and half deflection to avoid the topic. 'I'm just sayin', if neck collars and kids are normal in prison, then this all-' A quick gesture around him, toward the whole prison situation. '-ain't as fucky as it ought to be.' Speaking of kids, there was the little girl again!

And some druggie. Holy fuck, it all made sense now: they weren't in a prison, they were in a loony bin! Which apparently made him a lunatic... no, that couldn't be it. He could think straight, he had his... wait. Shit. He had amnesia. He didn't know if he was mad or not. Fucking God damn it.

'Uh... the li'le girl is, yeah. Hey there.' He waved to her, glancing at the... the guy. Totally out of it, definitely on drugs. Not very pleasant to look at anyway. He had a hoodie. How the hell did he have a hoodie? Fucker was more dressed up than anyone else in the place so far. Pointing a thumb at the newbie, he said 'So this guy was still locked in 'is cell. Apparently, ours were all electronic, his was manual. I got him out no problem, though. An' this girl is... er, the li'le girl I mentioned.' He still didn't know anybody's names, even as he gestured toward her... that needed fixing. And they needed feeding, at that.

'Right, so I don't normally listen to big voices tellin' me what to do, but I'ma do what the speaker said, because I am hungry as fff- as a moth- ...I'm hungry, okay? I'm gonna get food.' As he began to walk in the general direction he, somehow, knew he should, he announced 'By the way, if you guys don't care what I call ya, you're Sticks, you're Tiny, an' he's Druggie Dougie,' pointing first to the new guy, then the girl, and then the guy in the hoodie- oh, Hoodie, that'd be way better. Well, too late for it now. The guy wasn't there enough to give his own name, anyway.

CONTAINMENT: Welcome to Facility B

@Bazmund

'Wait, yer door's still locked?' he asked, frowning as he realised that that was why it was still closed. It had never opened. And this guy had been trying to pick it, which meant it was a manual lock. Which meant... huuuh...

'...you know what, I might be able to help pick it from this side,' he agreed, thinking about what that might be able to do here. It had struck him that, sure, he could do it with the right tools. No idea how, and that was really pissing him off, but he could. Problem was, no tools. And yet, if that let him do it...

Immediately, he decided he didn't want anyone to know he could do that, though. The guy had mentioned "weird shit", which clearly meant he had an idea about that; no way was he going to show off to the guy, though. He could want to use that against him. That was why he hadn't slipped the collars yet, either; if the kid had seen, she might have blabbed. So, as if to warn, he said 'Er, you might wanna back off a bit, just in case the door's rigged to blow up or summin'.' Once the guy had moved far enough back to avoid seeing too much, even from a weird shallow angle, he pressed a finger against the lock-

And the entire facility shrieked a bit. Wow, that was loud. And then it went totally dark. Oh boy, fun!

...this was the time. He didn't like the collar, or the wristbands. He could get them off his wrists, at least, right? That wouldn't be noticed by anybody, right? Concentrating, he willed his hands to start... well, he could only describe it as a feeling of melting. And as some noise started building up in the background, he could honestly feel the bones in his hands turn to liquid, the meat stop being so resistant, and a few seconds later, he found he could sort of squeeze them into themselves and... yes, down they went! The noise was covered by the noise that was building up, but before he could think too hard about trying the same thing with the neck collar, the lights suddenly went back on. Yellow, now, instead of flickering white. Eugh.

'Esa fue una mierda de culo raro,' he muttered to himself, putting on half an act to make it seem like he'd been a bit... well, put off. He had, but he'd also been kind of focused on the wrist things- Jesus, that looked gross. Yeah, no, they'd definitely melted, even if it felt like he could still move them a bit. Maybe... yeah, unmelt them. Not fast, but it was happening. And he probably wouldn't get the chance to get rid of the collar now, if he could even survive his brain turning to goo like his hands, so... fuck it. Maybe later, if he could ditch these idiots.

'Sorry, man, that whole setup was distracting. Can't- can't pick locks in pitch black an' all,' he called through the door, using a foot to slide the bands off to the hinge side of the locked door as he yelled, just enough to make sure they'd be hidden behind it. 'Right, so...' His hands had mostly unmelted, but he kept one finger a bit gooey, and... eugh... pushed it into the lock... holy shit, how? What the fuck, how could he do that? That was... that was gross.

But it did the trick. Even if it felt like digging a bunch of pencils into his finger, he could force the pins to go up, to hit the right points- all at once, even. Way more effective than trying to use a normal pick. Still no idea how he knew that, but after a couple of moments, the lock clicked, turned-

'Okay, now hold on, this is the dangerous part,' he stated again, pulling the door slowly both to make a scene of the danger and to keep the lock from latching again, before pulling his goo-finger out of the lock and willing it to go back to normal as fast as possible. God, that was disturbing it look at. It was all deformed, but he could still move it, and even as he did that it flowed back to where it should be like... like butter? No, butter was way more liquidy. Lava? But lava was hot, right? Rubber? What the hell did melted rubber look like?! Fuck it, whatever, he didn't like it, and thank fuck he could turn that melting off, even if it was slow as hell. Yeah, "melting". He wasn't gonna keep calling it that, that was for fucking sure.

'...oookay, we're prolly good,' he announced once all was back where it should be, swinging the door fully open now that he had "confirmed" it wouldn't blow either of them up. 'Welcome to wherever the fuck this place is, mate. Looks like a prison to me, but then I ain't never been in a prison that let us all run around in the dark. Or that trapped lit'le girls in it. By the way, there's a lit'le girl waitin' for me somewhere back this way-' he pointed back the way he'd come, thankfully not past the door with the discarded wristbands. '-an' I'm pretty sure she's gonna be pissin' herself after that shit. Grab what you want, let's go.' Once the guy had done that, he'd start heading back in that direction, back towards the girlie in question. Ugh, if she'd run off squealing, that'd probably be blamed on him.

MHA: Bot Ten Heroes!

So right away, he got singled out. Yeah, go figure, right? Fuckin' hell. First off, some fat kid tried to get his attention, forcing Mark to look down at him. Or was that just a coat... no, no, he was definitely chunky as shit.

'...hey,' Mark replied sullenly, only to be immediately cut off by- oh goody, turbine douche was loud and way too proud! Seriously, fuck that guy, and fuck his speeches. At least one of the fitter girls pointed out that, yeah, he ranked lower than her. Oh, hang on... didn't he rank lower than Mark, too? He couldn't help but let out a grim chuckle with that realisation, before again getting distracted by... some loud, muscular guy, with lions for hands- okay, what the hell was he trying to say? Something about whether he saw anything up... dare? Dare, dere- oh, "there". If he had the features for it, Mark would have looked genuinely confused. Instead it just looked like more of a grimace than anything. The, uh, actual roaring lions didn't help, either.

'Er, yeah, I did see something, actually. The field.' He folded his lower set of arms, tilting his head as if to say "stupid question". Because it was. 'But I mean, if I saw anything important, which I guess is whatcha meant, I'd have said I saw something, man.' Was he being a bit rude? Yes, and furthermore, fuck that guy. He was stressed, he could be given a break.

CONTAINMENT: Welcome to Facility B

@Randomness

So she didn't remember anything either? Figures. He'd remember if he'd ever met a little girl. But then, if he didn't remember her... fuck, weird memory shit was stupid as hell. And it kind of occurred to him that he might be in trouble if he started throwing out swears around the kid, too. Damn.

'Yeah, you and me both,' he shrugged, grimacing. 'I guess we'll have to figure out what's up. First... well, come out in the corridor with me. Take any toys you want, too, I guess.' Motioning for her to follow along, he stepped back out, trying to remember where he'd heard that other voice calling from... was it a fair distance away? Maybe? Shit. And then there were a bunch of other cells...

'Alright, kid, you're gonna need to trust me on this,' he said to her, trying to sound sort of reasonable, 'but I'm gonna go check out where that other voice came from. In the meantime, you look in the other ce- rooms, and see if there's anybody who hasn't come out yet, okay? And... uh... if something tries to get you, you run back to me? Sound like a plan?' The correction about the cells was something he probably didn't need to do, but then if this was a prison, the kid didn't need to know it. Nor did she need to think he was immediately abandoning her. He wasn't some crazy who left kids to die... he didn't think he was, anyway. Had he said "something" earlier? No, that would've scared her, he must've said "somebody"... yeah, that sounded right. "If somebody tries to get you", and so on.

@Bazmund

Once she'd agreed to that- or hell, if she clung to him like a scared puppy, he wasn't going to handhold her through all of this- he'd start walking off, trying to find where that voice had called out from earlier. If he was right, it was a little ways away... and sure enough, he eventually found a door that was for some reason still closed, and clearly containing somebody who was trying his damndest to get out.

'Ay, mate,' he called through the door, tapping on it to make sure he got the guy's attention. From the glass window looking in, he seemed like... well, a bit of a skinny weirdo. Bicho raro flaco. 'You, uh, need some help? You look like yer stuck in there.'

Warhammer 40k: It's A Wonderful Life! An Imperial Guard (40K) RP

Early morning. More speeches. Unnecessary. 415633-983223-17-Zhatka knew already that it was his duty to fight and die in the Emperor's name. That was his lot. That was their lot, and somehow they didn't know better yet. Weakness.

Moreover, their company had not been issued proper vestments. All others dressed in black and white camouflage. Fewer than half of C Company shared this outfitting. 415633-983223-17-Zhatka had not been asked to redress. He found he did not wish to. Weakness, failure to integrate? Strength, preserving expected standards? Uncertain. Individuality, either way, that ought to be intolerable. He could not see any other survivors from his regiment. No rebreathers were present. Foolishness. An intolerable atmosphere left no room for glory in death.

Perhaps leniency was the merit of veterancy. He ought to have died on Vernum. He would likely die elsewhere anyway. Death alongside strangers was hardly acceptable. But it would have to do. As benefits of the Company's laxity, he retained his melta gun and bayonet. They would serve well in taking the Imperium's enemies with him.

Dismissal from ordered lines. New orders: meeting forty five minutes, not eight hours. Time to address needs, and to ensure proper form. Not much longer.

...time, perhaps, to sneak a chapter of reading in. The words he had halted at previously came to mind unbidden. "You are as beautiful and pungent as the corpse of a burning heretic," Krieg Unit 69-42 Model 0 announced to his lover, who stood up slightly straighter at the compliment to her smell. He could reserve his energy, briefly. For the assessment. That would make sense, yes. With that decided, he marched to his quarters, keeping his own shoulders as straight as he could. He would need sustenance too, naturally.

CONTAINMENT: Welcome to Facility B

@Randomness

A couple of things caught his attention. First, a yelp as he called out; and then, as he moved toward it with low, concerned muttering, another voice. Muffled, but clearly upset. Clearly wanting out.

'...a'ight,' he quietly decided to himself, 'maybe I oughta check things out. They're prolly people like me, right?' "Like him." Immediately, he figured that was wrong. He had some way of working himself, sort of... something that wasn't normal. Right, that might be why he was here. And, for that reason, he figured he should keep that to himself until he had to show it off.

But first, the source of the yelp. The door he was pretty sure it came from was open, anyway; stepping to up it, he pushed it open and leaned in, taking a look around the place. It had more stuff in it than where he'd woken up, anyway: dresser, desk, night light, a bookcase, the hell happened with him that meant he didn't have that? Why the fuck didn't he have a bookcase? Whatever motherfucker put him in that prison did him dirty, that was for damn sure! But, clearly there were toys, too, dolls and shit... was this- were there kids in here too? Was that lump under the blanket a little girl? Shit, he didn't want to be a babysitter for some toddler, and he sure as fuck didn't want to be in some place that kept fuckin' children in jail!

...he had a quick think about what to do next outside of the cell. Clearly, there was some reason he was here. If it was that, then maybe he wasn't wrong to start with: maybe this kid, and anyone else in here, also had that, or something like that. So... would the kid go anywhere if he just left them there? Probably not. Which meant he had to be babysit a toddler after all. Fuck him stupid. Sighing aggressively, he moved back into the room, pushing the door wide and leaning against it as he sort of went over what he needed to say. If everyone else was too scared to do anything, then he had to be the guy who made them do things. And for a scared little girl...

'Uh, look, kid,' he began awkwardly, 'I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm not the sorta guy who'd hit a child or nothing, you hear?' Shit, this was dumb. He had no idea what the fuck he was doing. 'So, err, you know. You need to come outta there, and, like... eh, como digo esto... you know, stuff needs doing, a'ight? And you need to help me out with that, I guess.' Yeah, he was no good with kids. He really wasn't going to be getting any awards for being a great dad here.