Melissa
Qia
udonoodles
Half Pint
Sep
stormphrax
shylarah
Hound55
FestiveWhat degrees of the supernatural are acceptable, and how much leeway in rewriting backstories are we granted?
Status
Recent Statuses
1 yr ago
Current
Ribbit.
4
likes
Bio
Watch out.
The gap in the door... it's a separate reality.
The only me is me.
Are you sure the only you is you?
The gap in the door... it's a separate reality.
The only me is me.
Are you sure the only you is you?
DON'T TOUCH THAT DIAL NOW, WE'RE JUST GETTING STARTED
Most Recent Posts
Location: Before
Human #5.078 To Have Been Once
Interaction(s): N/A
Vanessa's party was the other night. I thought it went pretty well but I definitely saw a couple kids barfing in the bushes and if I know Mr and Mrs Bordeaux they're not gonna be happy when they go out to water their roses. No way Van and Vik are wriggling out of that one. Who can you blame though - most of Mather Memorial was there, and their plus ones, and their plus ones' plus ones. That's Vanessa for you - Queen Bee. I sound bitter but I'm not really, she doesn't even do it intentionally - people have just always gravitated towards her. I gravitated towards her so I can't really complain. I think I'm just jealous. Ugly of me but again, who can you blame. The heart wants what it wants.
Anyway that's not what this was meant to be about. I'm not one for journaling usually but this isn't something I can talk to mom and dad about, or Van or Vik or Aiden or Autumn or Minnie or anyone, really. I'd just sound nuts, but I know something's going on, so I'm just going to write it all down. Exorcise my thoughts. And then I can read it back to myself and either I'll connect the missing pieces, or I really will decide I'm crazy and then I'll just need to wait out high school graduation before committing myself. It's a better 5-year plan that any other I've got at the moment anyway.
I'm getting side-tracked again. Look, diary, journal, blog - I'm writing this because bugs are acting weird. Which in itself is an odd thing to notice but I swear they want me to notice. Flies orbit my head and land on my fingers. Crickets leap from the grass onto my legs and stay there. Caterpillars actively drop themselves from trees onto my shoulders! I woke up yesterday morning and the spider in the corner of my room had spun a web across the ceiling and down the wall and was sat - stood? - on my bedpost, looking at me.
What really cinched it - what made me decide to record any of this - was today in the garden. There was a small line of ants crossing the patio by dad's greenhouse in the back corner - nothing unusual, for ants at least, they were carrying little pieces of twig and leaf and chopped up fruit and some of mom's cake from where the dog had gotten a piece out the back door. But then a few of them started depositing them by my feet. I wasn't doing anything, really, just sitting and watching them, but this tiny pile of debris grew and grew and then, and then, one of them came out from the hill and dropped a larvae in front of me. A fat wriggling white thing, writhing and squirming and baking in the sun on the patio tile. I felt bad for it - removed, abandoned, forcibly taken from underground and deserted by its supposed carer. It revolted me. I wanted it gone. I wanted it back in its colony.
And then a different ant - or maybe the same one - came back. Picked it up. Took it back underground.
I don't know what's happening to me.
The evening pulsed with heat and sound spilling out into the garden from the Bordeaux house. When Abelle regarded it from the patio bench it seemed like its own self-contained world, monolithic and enveloping her whole, but she also surmised that might be the bottle-and-a-half of rosé and the fact that literally everyone she knew bar her own parents was currently in or around said house.
Tonight was Vanessa Bordeaux's eighteenth birthday party, and her parents had finally capitulated and given her the full house in its entirety to host the social event of the semester, if not school year. It was also, of course, Viktor Bordeaux's eighteenth birthday party too, but while their parents had dutifully paid for the extra letters on the banners, Viktor himself would be the last person to remind you. It was just the way the twins were; Vanessa was magnetic, captivating, a social event horizon so to speak, and Viktor was happy to avoid the attention and just catch whatever reflected off her. It worked well as a combo, and to her credit, Vanessa had never let it go to her head. She was effectively the acme of popularity in the less-than-hallowed halls of Mather Memorial High, but she was never preachy or self-absorbed or aloof. Abelle had more than a sneaking suspicion that was quite why she was as well-regarded as she was.
Abelle herself was a close friend to both twins, but these days found she spent more time with Viktor than his fairer double, owing in no small part to Vanessa's steady beau being Abelle's romantic aspiration. Her heart ached equally for herself and for Vanessa, that she should be possessed of such a demonstrable infatuation for someone so intrinsically off-limits; even if the relationship imploded, honour and simple good-nature would not allow Abelle to pursue the object of her desires. Still though, she could sit and drink and watch longingly without offending anyone, and that's exactly what she did. Or exactly what she tried to do, anyway. She'd drank her last glass in the company of Viktor, who had spotted Abelle torturing herself in the garden from the second-floor bedroom balcony, and had descended to save her from herself.
"You shouldn't be sat here watching me mope, Vik. You should be out there enjoying your party." Abelle had finally said after a lapse in small talk that had coincided with Vanessa bopping her way out of the lounge's french doors onto the patio and then the grass lawn beyond, followed closely by Summer Carlyle, equally drunk, dutifully popping-and-locking into the night air in the shamelessly awkward way only managed by white girls, and behind them both, Vanessa's smitten boyfriend.
"You know as well as I do this was never my party, 'Belle." He replied, his face flush and plastered with a small but warm smile as the night air cooled them both. "Besides," he continued, sipping a beer and giving Abelle one of those deep and knowing looks that made her uncomfortable when held for long stretches, "you're not allowed to tell me how to enjoy my party. It's my birthday."
They broke into chuckles at that, the tension dispelled and Abelle grateful he'd spotted her and arrived to retrieve her from her self-imposed funk. She was right, after all - this was a night to enjoy, the last proper night of freedom before the new semester began at Mather Memorial; their final semester. Could she really think of no better way to spend it that drinking too much and mulling on 'what-if'?
She stood abruptly and threw back the dregs of her drink, swapping the attempted elegance of the stemmed glass for the convenience of the bottle as she held her other hand out to the seated Viktor and lifted him from the bench alongside her. Through the doorway into the lounge she spotted Autumn Miracle lingering near the stereo system, undoubtedly poring over the vinyl collection to find something she deemed more suitable; she must have found it, because she seized a case from the towering rack with a ferocious fervour and loaded the record onto the turntable. Thumping tunes began to echo out from the speakers and Abelle caught her eye, gesturing with one hand to push the volume even further while beckoning her out into the garden, Viktor just laughing and shaking his head behind her as she swayed and bounced on the spot, feeling the wine and music thrum through her in equal measure. Autumn skipped and pirouetted her way across the carpeted floor to the threshold of the doors, and when Abelle stepped forward to usher her out further, she suddenly fell - there was a moment's panic, but Abelle had caught her, or Autumn had caught herself upon Abelle, and either way, the dip was completed, a graceful and mischevious movement that set both girls to giggles as they joined Viktor back across the grass, dancing their way toward Summer, and the entwined Vanessa Bordeaux and Aiden Roth.
Vanessa saw them before Abelle had to seize her attention, something she was glad for; she was wine-drunk and tact was difficult. Instead of having to pry Vanessa and Aiden apart with jealous hands, Abelle was instead enveloped whole by Vanessa and the girls spun on momentum, the pair quickly growing dizzy as the fairy-lights strung up around the garden whirled in Abelle's peripheral and the music pushing from inside orbited her ears accordingly. Finally, carefully, the two steadied themselves, and Vanessa seized Abelle's face in both hands and planted a haphazard kiss atop her button-nose; Abelle smiled wistfully, hyper-aware of the blurry figure of Aiden stood behind them, gazing on. It was all she could do to muster a voice and croak out, "Happy birthday, Vanessa," and then the two broke apart, Vanessa pleading gratitude with her eyes, the music swelling to crescendo, and they were back to dancing.
The beat pushed through the crowd and enthralled all it encompassed to join; they twisted and bounced and writhed, teenagers picking off in pairs and trios for further drinks or private spaces or leaving entirely; many of the youth would descend on Crestwood Hollow proper tonight to patronize, or at least attempt to patronize, the clubs and bars and tucked-away drinking holes that dotted the city's more bohemian districts. For now, however, the music wound down, the beat slowing and track shifting to something more solemn and lulling, a lower-tempo rhythm that had many calling for a change. Such a change would not come; Autumn made sure of that. Instead, Vanessa sighed, a smile playing on her lips but the more sedated tune obviously not as pleasing to her current sensibilities.
"A good time to fetch a cocktail." She announced to her general surroundings, breaking from the pack that had formed around her and seizing Autumn by the wrist, commanding: "And a good time for you to pore over the records again!", with a smirk on her face and a glint in her eye. Autumn resisted, momentarily stone-faced - but ultimately relented, cracking a smirk of her own and allowing Vanessa to lead her back toward the house, as the birthday girl called back to Abelle over her shoulder.
"Look after Aiden for a moment! He'll only get lost if I let him wander."
Abelle nodded, half-listening, her inebriated smile faltering as she turned and came face-to-face with the now-alone object of her unwitting desires. She chuckled nervously, a high-pitched trill that tumbled over itself and out her lips, and made to move away - but the wine bottle in her hand had only gotten lighter as she'd danced and sipped and that alcohol hadn't burned off as fast as she might have liked. A misplaced leg caught on the other and she tripped over her own feet, tumbling toward the ground-
To be caught by Aiden, who raised her back up. Abelle felt her face erupt and told herself it was the drink and the cool night air and not the way his firm, strong hands felt lifting her. She laughed again.
"Ever-graceful, 'Belle." He said, not letting go. Abelle secretly hoped he never would.
"You know what they say," Abelle replied, one of her own hands gripping Aiden's tricep to steady herself and the other against his ribs because she didn't want to remove it. "Float like a butterfly..."
Aiden laughed his own laugh now, smooth and low.
"You couldn't sting if you wanted to, 'Belle. Not a single barb in your body."
There was a pause, and neither had let go of the other; Abelle realised Aiden was slowly leading a subtle sway to the continuing music, something indiscernible in his gaze.
"Don't tell Vanessa, but I actually prefer these slower songs. They feel more...earnest."
Abelle smiled, trying her very hardest to soak in the moment in its entirety for as long as she could.
"She likes them too. But it's not very...celebratory, is it?"
Aiden furrowed his brow, pretending to be deep in thought.
"Not today, perhaps. But one day, I think I'll get Vanessa dancing just like this, and she'll be as happy as she's ever been." He said finally, looking at Abelle, who looked back and raised an eyebrow as she burrowed her stare into his, rooting out his meaning. When she found it, both eyebrows shot up, and Aiden winked, lifting a finger to his lips in a surreptitious hush.
"The long haul, then."
"The long haul." Aiden answered, nodding. Half of Abelle's heart soared, while the other crumpled like a torn-out and discarded page.
"Well then, we'd best get you some practice. Because this-" she said, gesturing to their lethargic movements, employing her joy to mask her sorrow, "- is seriously poor."
Final semester started this week. It feels strange that only a few short months stand between me and graduation. It feels like I've been attending Mather Memorial my whole life - or maybe my life only really started at Mather's. Either way, I don't know that I'm ready for it to be over yet. Give it a few weeks of Mr. Cobb droning on in Econ class and I might change my mind, though.
Anyway. Even in its final hours MM still has surprises up its sleeve. A special class started this semester, they made a big announcement about it in the return-to-school assembly - new teacher and everything, some guy I've never seen before. Complete newcomer to Crestwood but apparently got some serious credentials behind him. Mr. Lehrer. Going to be teaching 'Social Conscience' to the graduating year. Had no idea what to expect but he laid it out pretty clearly in our first class, and it's a small class too by the way (I guess he can't teach the entire year in one go, gotta fill his weekly schedule somehow). It's all about how we think about our place in the world and the impact we have on it, and our potential too. I guess it's some kind of 'we're about to release you into the wild so we better make sure you're not gonna be an asshole out there' thing. Not that that's going to stop some people. Rita for one. Minnie has her moments too. Anyway. It'll be interesting, that's for sure. And Mr. Lehrer's...compelling. He's got that kind of 'sensible but firm authority figure' thing going on.
Oh, I'm still talking to bugs. 'Talking' might not be the right word, I'm not actually speaking to them, but I'll tell you right now they're listening. Simple stuff - 'come here', 'go away', 'move that', 'get food'. I just...think it, and they do it. Slowly, mind you, they're only bugs after all, but I've spooked myself a couple times with how many I can accrue accidentally. They're everywhere. What's that statistic about ants? 2.5 million for every human on Earth? I don't really want to test it. But it's there. Something's there. I can command bugs. I have no idea what to do with this information, but I'm 100% certain of it.
Unless my mom finds this, and then haha I'm just joking! It's a creative writing assignment. Please don't put me back in therapy.
The rain pattered against the white tarpaulin of the crime scene tent that had been erected in Mather Park. The clouds hung grey and heavy over the town as police and forensics went about their muted busywork, cordoning and cataloguing and photographing. Every so often a figure made anonymous by their white covering and face mask would enter the tent for a few minutes, solemn nods exchanged at the entrance as the fabric flap was lifted, and then reappear with a sealed, labelled, and carefully-held bag, far too small to hold anything one might consider 'intact'.
The crowd had been kept at a good distance from early on; Crestwood Hollow was no stranger to the gruesome and morbid but the city's PD knew even Crestwood's citizens had their limits. The Hanging Tree loomed like a lurid and foreboding voyeur over the scene, the fenced-off police line surrounding it as if a ritual circle. No magics would undo the grisly fate that had befallen the one scattered here. Members of the public loitered at the edge of the tape, stealing sideways glances at the police guards and each other, not sure what they were hoping to see but wanting to see something, in the way only the dark half of you wants to see. Something macabre and sensational; something to share in hushed whispers huddled in the break room, or around cubicle walls, or covered by the background noise of the bar. Rumour spread quickly; if you had something to add to it, it'd spread faster.
Abelle was in the crowd too, shivering slightly in the cold rain despite the throng around her. Aiden and Summer stood clustered with her, shoulder-to-shoulder; Aiden, tallest of the three, craned his head to try and see something, but wasn't having much luck. He stretched onto his tiptoes and angled his head to see over the crowd, but dropped back to his heels with a tut and a disappointed sigh.
"I can't see anything. Heavy police presence, though. Lots of forensics."
Abelle nodded, half-listening. Summer simply stood still, her brow furrowed by concern; she had always been the most empathic of Abelle's social circle.
"We should go. I don't know what we want to see, anyway. It's ghastly, all these people here. Can't we do something a bit happier?"
"I told Vanessa I'd meet her here yesterday, and I haven't seen her yet. If we just disappear she's not going to know where we've gone."
"We only go a couple places, Roth, she's not stupid. She'll find us."
Aiden huffed, this time from frustration. Abelle smiled thinly at Summer. Empathic, but still somehow tactless.
"Alright, let's give it a few more minutes. She must just be running late. It's not like she won't see the crowd when she gets here. But if I stay out in this rain much longer I'm gonna catch my dea-"
Abelle was interrupted by Aiden suddenly and roughly pushing himself past her; she caught a glimpse of his profile as he surged forward, his face ashen and twisted by some indescribable emotion. She stumbled, then looked quickly to catch Summer's shocked stare, before going after him.
He was jostling and elbowing through the crowd with a frightening speed and uncaring violence, and Abelle pursued with a sea of "sorry"s falling from her lips; it wasn't long before they broke through the front line and Aiden was being manhandled by police, kicking and clawing to try and escape their grasp and keep pushing on. Abelle rushed up behind, ready to apologize and console Aiden, her head knowing what had spurred this sudden outburst, her heart refusing to hear it.
And then she saw one of the forensic analysts carefully bagging a distinctive jumper that had been torn and shredded and stained with blood.
"Vanessa! Vanessa...where is she, where is she?! What have you DONE to her! That's- that's her jumper! That's her's what are you doing with it?! It's HER'S I gave it to her! I gave it to her for her...for her..."
Aiden crumpled, the outburst over, his legs giving way beneath him as the police gently helped him to the ground. Abelle just knelt behind him, a hand on his back, silently weeping.
- - -
Nestled in the rear of the crowd, deliberately and surreptitiously avoiding notice, stood two solemn, portentous men. They observed with an impartial and sombre regard, and when Aiden's cries rung out over the quiet, their jaws set and stony faces gained a new level of stoicism.
"It is as I feared. The girl who-"
Jonas cut him off. "Vanessa. Her name is Vanessa. You can at least afford her the grace of her name."
Yakob nodded, pausing to allow Jonas to collect himself.
"I am sorry, Jonas. Vanessa. We will all feel her loss. But we have to consider why she, specifically, was targeted. Can it be just mere coincidence?"
Jonas shook his head, short but firm. "I don't believe in coincidence, Yakob. We have to assume she was singled out. And I can't think of a reason other than the one we both have in mind."
There was a moment of quiet; the crowd began to disperse, the perverse curiosity banished by the tragedy of love lost unfolding in front of them. Jonas dipped his head, his face inscrutable.
"Jonas, my old comrade." Yakob said, his voice gentle, his hand soft on Jonas' shoulder. "You are not to blame. More than that, you are their best chance."
Jonas looked up at Yakob, meeting his gaze.
"I was just...thinking of better times."
"That have passed us by, or are yet to come?"
"Both, my friend." Jonas said, finally breaking his stony expression with a soft smile. "Both."
We're all exhausted, and scared, and keeping secrets. Three more have died since...three more. Every fresh corpse found is another person from Social Conscience. When the last one was announced I wasn't even...wasn't even shocked. I turned up to class and someone was missing and I knew, then, exactly what had happened, and I was just waiting for someone to tell me. I feel so...dry. Shucked out. Just a husk left, shuffling about out of sheer habit, not even able to cry for the dead.
There's a curfew in effect now, and an enforced buddy system, as if two frightened teenagers are any harder to kill than one. The state of the bodies...who-whatever is doing this isn't going to be deterred by having two victims for the price of one. As for secrets, yeah. Obviously the police are everywhere at school and they're talking to everyone, students and faculty alike, but they're not getting anywhere. I'm being questioned every other day at this point and I'm tired. Tired of answering the same questions, tired of dodging around the others, tired of pretending I don't know why we're being targeted.
Oh yeah, that was obvious once Aiden and I spilled to each other. Everyone's so on-edge, I just wanted even one fraction of a secret off my chest, so I told Aiden about my bugs. I thought he was going to throw me out, tell me to stop playing stupid games and telling stupid lies - he's been so angry since- since-
He's been angry. I think we all have.
But he didn't. He didn't even ask anything, he just nodded, accepted it wholly. And then he stood up and took me out to the garden and told me to 'watch this' and shot fucking lasers out of his eyes. So I guess he was holding onto a secret too. And then it all just made sense. Everyone else must have them too, and that's why us. That's why Jonas put the class together. That's the why of everything. But Jonas won't say anything - is he waiting for something? Waiting for us to figure it out ourselves, or die trying, picked off one by one? Or just waiting for us to die, full-stop?
I can't do it. If I sit in one more class full of kids pretending nothing's wrong, like we're not dying at the clip of a couple a week, like our bodies aren't being found in pieces scattered and half-buried in dank little corners of the city, torn apart into ragged chunks-
I'll just snap. I feel it already, bubbling away under the surface. Some other dark half of me. I'm not sure what she'd do. She might kill everyone. She might just kill herself. But she's...she's a danger. I've never felt a blackness like this in my life.
Either way, I can't do it anymore. I have to get out in front of it, whatever happens as a result. I've got to talk to Jonas, confront him with the truth. And then he can decide what to do with it.
To say the atmosphere up and down the halls and classrooms of Mather Memorial High School was languishing under the tension of the killings would be to do a disservice to those forging onward with hope and pragmatism held tightly to their hearts. Yes, the hubbub was quieter, the hallway-gossip muted, faces downcast and eyes pooling with a deep, mortal concern; yet people surprise you. None would have expected the banal routines of high school to continue under such conditions, but the youth of Crestwood Hollow displayed a resilience that inspired the faculty, and combined, it created pockets of the old normalities where staff and student alike could sit and talk and act like they were not constantly terrified of the serial killer that prowled the school's corridors and the unlit streets of the city beyond. Groups would cluster in the cafeteria, gymnasium, tutor rooms, and if you listened closely you would hear chatter unburdened by the doom that hung over them. You might even hear laughter. Joy will find its way through.
Aiden and Abelle did not cluster so freely. They were careful with their socialising, their chosen peers, and always, always, regarded adolescent and adult alike with the same shared skepticism and suspicion. There were only a handful of people they would talk truth to, and that truth was spoken only within the walls of Jonas' classroom, and even then only in careful whispers; Abelle felt conspiratorial as they talked around their given subject in double-speak and inferences and conjecture.
"Even quieter today than he was last week." Aiden said, keeping his voice low as he subtly nudged Abelle's elbow with his own and carefully gestured toward Jonas with the end of his pen. Abelle didn't move her head, but her eyes flicked sideways to catch Aiden's profile, then back down to the notebook on the desk in front of her; idle scribbles and scattered notations filled the pages.
"Aren't we all?" She replied, and not untruthfully; as their numbers dwindled, those in attendance had become steadily more subdued. Their erstwhile mentor was no exception. "Everyone's either grieving, or scared they're next, or both."
Aiden sighed quietly, and Abelle could tell he was frustrated with her diplomacy. She couldn't deny that suspicion lurked within this classroom, but she wasn't ready to give up hope completely. Not yet.
"I can't shake it. It's the most obvious choice. He said himself - he brought us together for a reason. He knew - even before we did."
"And he also told us why he brought us together."
"All that 'precipice of a brand new world' rhetoric?" Aiden scoffed. "Very noble. Very high-minded. Very convenient."
Abelle left it that at; while she wasn't able to refute Aiden's theory, she had come to admire Jonas quite intensely, excited for her abilities and what they meant, what they could mean for Abelle's place in the world at large. She wanted to believe his rhetoric - wanted to lead Humanity into a new generation. Queen Bee, she thought to herself, amused at her own pun. The rest of the class passed by uneventfully; Aiden kept his eye on their peers throughout, and as ever, ensured he was the last to leave when the bell eventually rung and Jonas dismissed them with an absent-minded wave of the hand. Abelle hung back too, clutching her notebook to her chest as she walked alongside Aiden. Those romantic feelings hadn't faded, but she still saw the grief etched in the lines of his face, and couldn't bring herself to cross those thresholds. It would be a betrayal thrice over: once to Vanessa's memory, cast aside in pursuit of infatuation; once to Aiden's honour, taken advantage of in his most vulnerable state; and once to Abelle's dignity, that she'd stoop to such low levels. No - it would not do. Instead, she would hold them tight, smother them out if she had to.
The two stepped in-sync through the halls of Mather Memorial, heading toward the main campus square. Social Conscience was their last class of the day, and now they were to hurry home before curfew. As per usual, both uniformed and plain-clothed police lingered on corners and near exits, present yet - so far - ineffective. Once outside, Aiden and Abelle similarly lingered. Abelle wanted to soak up as much of the late-Fall sunshine as she could before returning to what had begun to feel like house arrest. Aiden wanted to size up the students and teachers flowing through the doors and out into Crestwood Hollow.
Abelle watched him watch them with a careful eye. He was deliberately ignoring her in favour of his continued suspicions, but Abelle wasn't the type to let that dissuade her from speaking her mind.
"This man-hunt, Aiden - I understand. I support it, even. But you're being reckless. Whoever's doing this is smarter than a couple high-schoolers with a grudge."
"Criminals aren't complicated, Abelle. We just have to figure out what it is they're after. Why they're targeting us."
"Isn't it obvious? Jonas told us himself. The world isn't ready for people like us. Race, gender...humanity doesn't have a good track record with different. What's one more hate crime?"
Aiden rolled his eyes. It was the most straightforward answer, unquestionably - but they both knew it wasn't that simple.
"No-one knows, 'Belle. So either the killer needs to be playing the lottery instead of murdering kids, or there's a wider conspiracy we're trapped in the centre of."
"I just..." Abelle faltered, not sure how to say what she felt without giving too much away. She took his hand in both of hers, making an earnest plea. "I just want you to be careful. I don't want to wake up one morning and see your face on the front page, under another ghastly headline. I've had enough of those to last me a lifetime."
Aiden finally looked at her, meeting her gaze and recognizing the pain welling behind her eyes.
"I will be. I promise. But I can't stand by and do nothing. Besides," he answered, his eyes starting to glow a subtle red, "anyone sneaking up on me is learning a new meaning to the phrase 'getting an eyeful'."
Abelle nodded, chuckling at Aiden's terrible joke despite herself. She wiped her eyes before any tears could fall.
"I know - and I wouldn't ask you to. But the others probably had powers too, and look where that got them. Don't underestimate people." She said, raising an eyebrow as Aiden reached up to swipe at a tickle across his temple; the wasp there took off and deftly dodged the hand, before landing back on Aiden's cheek and crawling carefully towards his eye. He stiffened up as it stopped with one leg amidst his eyelashes.
"Not anyone."
- - -
Scorch marks marred the brickwork of the alleyway in Crestwood Hollow's Gothic Quarter. A terrified Summer clung to Viktor's shirt from behind him, her clothes torn and slashed; several superficial cuts criss-crossed her arms and torso, and blood matted her blonde hair together from a laceration that wrapped around onto her forehead from behind her ear. Summer was hysterical, shrieking and sobbing, out of immediate danger but no less traumatized for the experience; Viktor was multi-tasking, doing his best to soothe her while simultaneously attempting to defend Aiden as well. The killer that had been stalking the city saw the situation turning; while unpracticed, Aiden and Viktor were a powerful duo, and now she was out-numbered three-to-one. Viktor's hands glowed as Aiden's eyes lit up, and more scorched brick and concrete marked Autumn's retreat, blasts of energy ricocheting down the alleyway. Aiden moved to chase, anger taking hold and making of him an engine of wrath, but Viktor yelled after him, quickly breaking away from the trembling Summer momentarily to seize hold of Aiden's arm and forcibly restrain him from pursuing.
Aiden wheeled around, fury in his heart and on his tongue, and for a moment the two boys stared at each other hard, each pair of eyes glowing, a stand-off between friends; Viktor backed down first, dropping his head and turning back to Summer to calm her. Aiden's gaze lingered on his back, before he blinked away the latent energy.
"I could have had her. I could have ended all of this."
Viktor sighed, but didn't look away from Summer as he helped her to her feet, patching and wrapping her wounds as best he could with scraps from his torn-up shirt.
"Help me with Summer. She needs a hospital."
Aiden wasn't listening.
"I had her. She was right there. Why didn't you hit her? Why did you stop me?!"
Viktor still wasn't turning to look at Aiden, concerned with getting his support under Summer's arm. It was several blocks from here to the hospital, and they didn't have a phone to call an ambulance. Viktor's improvised plaid-shirt bandages weren't holding, blood seeping out in rivulets from beneath the bindings.
"Don't ignore me! You stopped me, and now Autumn's gotten away. She'll kill again - and it's your fault!"
Viktor finally looked at Aiden, his gaze furious and stormy, eyes glowing with energy. Aiden's began to glow in kind. There were a few long, tense moments, as the jovial rivalry that the pair had previously enjoyed in the school hallways now threatened to blossom into a true and potent animosity, both able to back up their posturing, neither able to swallow their pride.
Summer tried to take a step and her leg shuddered and gave way beneath her; she cried out and Aiden moved to catch her as Viktor buckled. They helped her back to her feet, and Aiden slung Summer's other arm around his shoulders as the two young men began to carry her toward medical attention.
"If I'd let you chase her, I'd have risked trading Summer's life for yours - and I can't accept that." Viktor's voice was even and measured, consideration behind his words. "Not one more, Roth. Not even Autumn herself."
He caught Aiden's eyes across Summer's back, and the conviction in Viktor's eyes steeled both men.
"There's been enough death."
She was in our class the whole time. Watching us. Perfectly studying our schedules. Of course it made us easy pickings; the curfew, the buddy system, the police focusing attention on the school - it made it all easier for her. No one would even blink at two students leaving campus in a hurry. I've never been so angry in my life. It frightens me. That lurking blackness feels all-encompassing and I don't know what I'll do if I see her again. There's a plan forming now, silently. Autumn can be rooted out; she's only got so many places to hide, and we know her habits, her haunts. Slowly but surely we will force her into the light and make her face retribution for what she's done.
I have been pushing the limits with my abilities. Bigger swarms, more complex commands, greater varieties of species at once. To override their instinct with my will - to make them ignore prey drive, pain, mating - it's more effort than I'd given it credit for. The mental strain of it all; I can feel them pushing back against me, a thousands-strong buzzing choir of dissent. Unruly children straining in every direction. And I have been feeling...peculiar, of late. More than just exhaustion and grief and anger - strange hot flushes, spasms of pain, lapsing headaches, spats of an itch beneath the skin. I've developed a rash, inconsistent, only small patches on an arm, my back, my calf. If it gets worse I will need to see a doctor, but I don't know if there's even the right kind of doctor out there for us anymore. Jonas may be the best we have.
I think I'm pushing myself too hard, but Aiden is right - we need to be prepared. We need to leverage every advantage against the enemy. We can't be caught off-guard again. We can't lose anyone else.
"There's nowhere left to go, Autumn."
Jonas took careful steps towards Autumn Miracle, who backed away in equal measure; spread apart from Jonas were the remaining students from his Social Conscience class, Autumn's would-be victims, and they began to slowly close in, forming a semi-circle around their quarry. They had chased her from a make-shift shelter she'd set up in an abandoned part of the docks, rooted out by Aiden and Minnie, the pair brash and confident and filled with fury.
Minnie closed in further, ready to take the hard route - eager for it, even. Aiden wasn’t far behind, his own face thunderous, and Abelle herself was quietly amassing a swarm the size of which she’d not attempted before.
“Fuck this negotiation shit, ‘teach,” came the headstrong bark from Minnie; her mutated beast snarled in kind, savagery egged on through the psychic connection to its maker by the feral anger that blossomed in Minnie. “She’s just a wild animal. Wild animals get put down.”
Autumn moved to combat Minnie’s threat, make good on her words, but an arm from Jonas silenced both girls, and the students still with him stopped in their tracks.
"It doesn't have to be this way. We can still end this peacefully. We can get you help."
Abelle studied Jonas and Autumn, looking for a sign, a plan, the next action from either that might determine how this was all going to play out. They danced on a knife’s edge; Jonas’ face, inscrutable and emotionless as ever, gave nothing away. Autumn's only flashed with outrage.
“Help?! I don’t need help! I just need to understand! If you can’t turn back what she did to me -”
“You know I can’t. You know it’s not that simple! Just- stop for a second, think about what you’ve done! What you’re doing. It doesn’t have to end like this! It can be different this time!”
Jonas’ words fell on deaf ears. Autumn was too far gone; always had been. Always would be. There was no turning away from the path she had set herself down now. Not ever.
“If you can’t undo what Vanessa did - then I have no choice. I’ll make my own meaning out of it. I’ll make it make sense!”
"The fuck's she talkin' about, Jonas?" Minnie asked, the rage in her voice tempered by mounting confusion. Autumn smiled a smug, vicious little smile that chilled Abelle to the bone.
"They don't know, 'teach'? You left out that little tidbit? A white lie of omission - spoonful of sugar to help them swallow your mission?"
"You don't have to do this, Autumn. We have resources. This can all go away."
"Coward! You're a damn coward, with your secrets and your stoicism and your preaching and your partner in the shadows. Fuck you." Autumn spat. She turned to the encircling students, addressing them now instead. "Jonas likes to sermonize about how we're born - our nature, our evolution, 'the great next step'! Nature has nothing to do with it. Only one of us was born like this, and she took away the one chance we had for normal lives, as normal people. Vanessa Bordeaux! What a wonder-child. The only actual born-and-bred Hyperhuman this city's ever known! And her mutation? Making. Other. Hyperhumans."
A stillness fell over the scene, each member of the group dissecting and internalising Autumn's words, spat out with vitriol and rage and unhinged sorrow behind them, the sheer passion wiping away any hope that she might just be lying. Abelle looked to Jonas; he held only the expression of grim defeat, of terrible secrets spilled.
"Vanessa robbed all of us of normal, happy lives. I just wanted to know why - how it worked, what she was, and in turn what she had made us. It's not my fault that all the important bits to look at were on her insides! Vanessa made me a freak? Fine! I'll make myself a GOD!"
"That's enough, Autumn."
Yakob Kowalski revealed himself, flanked by armed and uniformed agents bearing the emblazoned insignias of H.E.L.P. and readying themselves for an uncooperative arrest.
"You've made quite a mess of things. Help was available - it still is - but we are not afraid to detain you by force. Don't make this harder than it has to be."
Autumn's face, momentarily, showed a forlorn sense of betrayal before hardening again; at her sides, her palms began to flicker, pilot-lights catching in the breeze. Something she'd taken from one of their fallen classmates.
"You too, Yakob?" She sneered, surveying all those that stood against her now; the game was finally done, but no one here was under any illusion that Autumn was about to come quietly.
"You've done enough damage to the Hyperhuman cause. It's time to bring an end to your horror."
Autumn broke the stalemate first; she was fast, faster than they could react to - the small flames cradled in her palms burst into great gouts of flame as she pushed herself away from her pursuers, swathes of fire creating an effective barrier between hunters and quarry. Minnie was first into the fray, charging forward with her manufactured monster galloping in front at a frightening speed, pushing through the inferno without fear and creating a gap for the rest; Aiden and Viktor didn't hesitate, unleashing their energy blasts in Autumn's direction as she fled, great flashes of red and white painting the sky and scorching the ground where they ricocheted off concrete and tarmac. Yakob and Jonas simply shared a sorrowful look, before Yakob gestured to his agents, directing them to take down the target.
Autumn fled, bursts of fire left in her wake to try and stave off her pursuers. She lead them on a merry chase, winding through Crestwood Hollow's back streets, circuiting through alleyways and market roads; the HELP agents held fire, but Jonas' students were not so reserved - Abelle's swarm whirled through the air, buzzing violently about Autumn's face, stinging and biting; flames erupted around Autumn in intervals, cutting through swathes of insects, but Abelle didn't let up. Summon more, direct more - there were millions, billions in the city, and she'd have every single one on Autumn's head if she needed to. Minnie was astride her beast, the 6-legged, fang-mawed thing hastened toward their target - as they neared, Autumn would lash out with flame or strike with a blade, her reflexes fast and the knife sharper than it had any right to be, cutting far beyond where the edge tapered to an end. Aiden and Viktor found their mark with their blasts, but she was hardy, hardier than they could have imagined; her skin bruised and singed, but it did not break, and she used her forearms like shields. The combined might of all her kills - taken apart and studied and integrated, making Autumn something greater than the sum of her parts, the sum of the parts of others. She was formidable - but they had to believe she was not indestructible.
There was the tiniest of openings, and Abelle didn't hesitate to seize her opportunity to end it. Exhausted from the chase, shakes through her body, mentally drained from her abilities, Abelle summoned the last of her strength and darted through the flame; spiders and fleas and fire-ants and even scorpions rode upon her, unable to fly like her swarms of wasps and hornets and bees but commanded by her all the same - as she got close, those that could leap were compelled to do so, delivering their bites and venoms wherever they could find purchase. Others still waited, Abelle's arms crawling tapestries of carapaces and chitins, eager for the bridge to be closed. Distracted by a galloping blow from Minnie's monster, Autumn caught glancing hits from Aiden's lasers, and she whirled from the impact. Abelle caught her, seized her arms in her hands, and the creatures poured from Abelle onto Autumn.
Autumn cast her off immediately, easily, slashing with her knife as she did so and splitting Abelle's clothes and the skin beneath - but the damage was done, the command was made, and the combined venom of the bites and stings weighed heavily upon Autumn's system. Anaphylactic shock began to set in, and Autumn collapsed next to Abelle, their frames heaving in synchronized, agonized breaths. HELP closed in, pushing Abelle's classmates back, quickly rolling Autumn over and restraining her, removing the knife from her person. She was already fading into unconsciousness. It was finally over. Yakob hung back and provided soft-spoken commands to his agents as they contained the scene; some hauled Autumn off, bundling her into an armoured truck, while others dispersed the growing crowd. Police were arriving, and questions were being asked, and the fallout would haunt Crestwood Hollow and the students of Social Conscience forever - but Autumn's terror had been brought to a close.
Jonas pushed through the throng, Aiden close behind. He knelt beside Abelle, the girl fading in and out, hyperventilating and beginning to seize. An agent knelt opposite, administering first aid. Jonas took a moment to inspect her wounds; the cuts, while deep, were oddly devoid of the heavy hemorrhaging he'd expect from such laceration. As the agent wiped away blood and debris in order to disinfect and dress, he and Jonas caught sight of strange, chitinous growths beneath the skin, a dull yellow peeking out from below the cleaved flesh.
"Your name, agent?" Jonas asked, his voice a hasty whisper and his movements hurried as he helped finish dressing the wounds. Abelle gasped and choked beneath them, but she was only half-there at best. The words shared across her supine form were hazy in her ears.
The agent looked from Abelle to Jonas and back again, his eyes wide.
"What's your name?" Jonas barked, bringing attention back to him.
"O-O'Neil, sir. James O'Neil. J-Jim."
"Get her up, Jim. Get her up, and get her to Yakob's facility. Don't tell anyone what we saw."
"S-sir, I-"
"Now!" Jonas ordered, and there was no disobeying. Jim lifted Abelle bodily in his arms, hurrying her toward another truck. Yakob raised an eyebrow in Jonas' direction, but he merely held a careful arm out toward him. It would be explained later, when there was time, not amidst this chaos.
w h i t e white wals. coats.lihts. bandage. evverywere white. remmembeeer erly age. labs docters neeeeedles testsss. probed mesured monitred.
changing. think they are trying to stop the change but feel it. in my bones and bene ath my skull it wont stop. is me becoming what nessa made me. maybe, just watching . study-learn. maybe know it can’t be.ssttopped.
let outside som etime - feel wind on face. sun on what left skin. ssshhhhines off me now.prety yellow. shell hard-tough. back splits.growing ther too. head bulge-buds. changing. changing quite a lot. doct ors smile nice say kind-warm words but am muddled.not stupid. not dimm. tried potions pils needles. OUT of ideeaas. only pause-stal, no cure. no cure for true nnaattuurree.
they know.prepared. guards watch me. grip-seize guns tight as I walk by. see to south, acrossss sea, they are bui lding - building haven-home. not for me. not for me. this island finall prison.
it is marvelus and fritening. body transf ormd.something new and more. stronger faster tougher. ssensittive in new ways. but fading - I am fading. new day.less left. rreememmber family no faces. re emmember friend no names. less and less. becoming new me. want to remain. must remeemmber which me I want to be.
this one.
thiss one.
no other.
I will miss-mourn the girl I could have been.
Aiden ran his hands through his hair as he stepped from the jet-boat onto the small jetty of Zayas Island. Across the short gap of sea, the growing campus stood proudly, recently christened as Pacific Royal Collegiate and University, or P.R.C.U. for short. A fledging academy, a sanctuary for Hyperhumans - Jonas and Yakob's true vision crystallised. It was the culmination of years of work, hundreds of people, and millions of dollars in resources. Aiden couldn't help but look on it with pride, his own small part contributed. It would be his home - perhaps the first one he wouldn't want to flee from. He was on the cusp of a new age, and eager to welcome it in.
The sea-salt stuck to his skin as they walked down the dock toward the white-concrete facility ahead of them, the only building on the isle. Aiden licked his lips clear as he and his escorting agent pushed through the front doors, giving way to a bright and airy lobby, the rear walls lined with doors leading further into the structure and elevators that went deeper underground. Aiden had yet to visit this deliberately-separated establishment, and he was struck by the clinically-white and sterile environ that this was entirely by HELP's design; this was, inherently and consciously, a place only for those who needed to be here. Aiden considered what it meant that it had taken until now for Jonas to accept his requests to see Abelle and invite him here - but the rumination was dispelled as his escort thrust a tablet and stylus toward him, a visitor's log demanding his name and signature. The agent's face betrayed nothing as Aiden signed away, and the nib had barely lifted from the screen before both were whipped away and Aiden was urged toward the back of the room, through a door and deeper into the belly of the facility.
The corridors beyond the initial antechamber were as aseptic as the entryway had been, everything a bright white. Rooms branched off and windows gave glimpses of lab equipment, research computers, server blocks, as well as break rooms, bunks, lockers; this was clearly a lived-in building, or at the very least, one where assignment meant long shifts; Aiden wondered if such an assignment was a privilege or punishment. Yakob was a strong and vocal proponent of hyperhuman research and technological advancement - perhaps this facility was what allowed him and HELP to live on the cutting-edge. There were distant sounds of activity, but Aiden found it almost eerie; the hallways he walked through and rooms he passed were sparsely-populated, if at all, the most frequent figures being posted armed guards at irregular intervals. This was contrary in nature to the inviting and open-access academy campus that he'd left behind on Dundas.
Finally, they rounded a corner and pushed through another set of doors and Aiden was greeted by a welcome familiar face. Jonas smiled his particular smile as he caught sight of Aiden, and nodded politely to his escort, who took the opportunity to pass custody over and then turn and disappear.
"Aiden," Jonas said, taking his guest's hand in both of his own to deliver a firm and amiable shake, "it's a pleasure to have you here. Welcome to Zayas Island. Just a stone's throw from Dundas, but I'm sure you can see why we've separated it out."
Aiden shook back, unconsciously returning Jonas' smile. "Quite the stronghold Yakob's built here. Some kind of emergency shelter?"
Jonas chuckled. "Not quite - we were lucky that when we purchased the land, Zayas already had a defunct coastal defence fort on it. Some reinforcement and a fresh coat of paint and we were ready to move in."
"Move in and do what?" Aiden asked, a pointed question as he kept the equipment and rooms they'd passed by in mind. Jonas laughed again, but this time it felt a little more forced.
"Always to-the-point, aren't you Roth? It'll serve you well. We do all sorts here - you're no stranger to Yakob's thirst for knowledge. All that literature HELP publishes about Hyperhumans doesn't come out of the ether, you know."
Aiden nodded, aware Jonas had ducked the specifics of the matter, but equally aware he wouldn't be coaxed into further elaboration. There was an awkward pause. Aiden was waiting to be told why he'd finally been let onto the island. Jonas slowly lead him into another room - well-equipped and comfortable, but smaller than other rec-rooms Aiden had seen. There was a small framed photo on the desk of a young woman at the doors of the Zayas facility, flanked by a smiling Yakob and an older, gruffer, stonier man, with a military beret and demeanour to match. This was someone's office. Probably the woman's.
"I feel like I rarely see you these days, Aiden - everyone is so busy, and there's a lot of paperwork to fill out. How are you finding Dundas? How are the others?"
Jonas gestured to the seat and Aiden dutifully sat down; he faltered at the question, though, feeling like he was being diverted, distracted. His guard was up.
"It's...it's good. It's a change, but we've been pitching in. Vik and Seb, they love the training centre - can hardly tear themselves away. Can't say it doesn't feel great getting the chance to really let loose with the powers, though. And when HELP can afford to spare some of the tech that's coming through campus - give it a few years, and that hall is going to be something else."
Jonas smiled, leaning back. "I'm glad the campus is giving you boys the opportunity to explore your true selves. Yakob and I - what we want, what we really want, is for everyone here to not have to limit themselves. Hold themselves back. To be as Hyperhuman as they really, actually are."
"We appreciate that, sir. You're doing a hell of a job. I think the academy really has the potential to be the sanctuary you've imagined. Hell, we're already thinking of the school's future."
"Oh?" Jonas asked, raising a curious eyebrow. "How so?"
"Well, Minnie and Rita have been scheming about how best to haze the newbies, if that's any indication. A Trial-By-Fire for the freshmen. That'll be a doozy if I know those two - but traditions like that, it's an important part of any long-lasting culture. Creating a sense of belonging. Unity, I guess." Aiden answered, Jonas nodding along with a warm fire in his eyes. "Summer's been working really close with Yakob on the logistics, how to get people here, where they'll stay, how the campus will run. Long-term organizational stuff, you know? And she and Emma have weighed in on the decorating, too - a woman's eye for taste and detail. Making it feel welcoming. Like home."
There was a pause; Jonas provided room for Aiden to continue, but Aiden couldn't say he was too interested in spending his time in this deliberately-secret facility simply praising Jonas' vision.
"If I can be frank with you, sir. We all miss Abelle. We're all worried about her. I can't believe you've finally let me over here just to avoid talking about her. God knows I asked enough. The university, the campus, everything we're building on Dundas - it's all wonderful, don't get me wrong. But it's not the same without her. She always had such a heart. I think we could all use that right now."
Jonas sighed, his smile slowly fading in the face of the inevitable conversation.
"I am sad to say, Mr. Roth - you are right. I think it's time you come with me."
Aiden felt a pang of concern shoot through him - Jonas' words were strange, his expression tinged with tragedy. But he stood and left the office quickly, leaving no space for challenge - Aiden had no choice but to jump up and follow fast behind. Jonas lead them to an elevator door, which dutifully opened at his approach, and he beckoned Aiden in as he pushed a button for a far deeper level than Aiden would have expected. As they stood silently in the descending cubicle, Jonas handed Aiden a small file, nudging him to peruse. Within were copious medical notes, observation logs, genetic markers - but unfailingly, every document was littered with redacted portions, some pages consisting more of blacked-out passages than legible text.
"Jonas..." Aiden finally said, looking up at his mentor. "What am I looking at?"
"Did you know," Jonas began, watching the numbers on the interior of the elevator above the door light and dim in descending order, "that Abelle very narrowly avoided stillbirth?"
The colour drained from Aiden's face. "She...she said she was an ill child. She never went into much detail."
Jonas nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed. Miss D'Voire's early life was one of unimaginable odds. Near-stillbirth, born premature and spending her first three months of life in the NICU. A rare genetic defect on a recessive gene from her father, you see. Neuro-degenerative. Prognosis was...poor. Doctors gave her four unimpeded years. Five at best. She lasted one before returning to intensive care."
The elevator stopped, and the doors opened in front of them with a soft chime. Jonas gestured Aiden forwards, down another sterile-white corridor; this time, though, the guards were noticeably more frequent, and Aiden could hear the murmur and bustle of activity echoing down the halls. Jonas continued his diatribe and Aiden followed him deeper into the underground bowels.
"Odds and chances, yet again. An experimental trial. Gene therapy. Genetically-altered genome tags from select species of insect, bearing properties that, when bound to the defective DNA, could override the degenerative process that would otherwise kill her." Jonas paused; Aiden looked to him. "Abelle was the only patient of the trial who survived. Odds. Chances. Who could have predicted - her parents, her doctors, Abelle herself - that a short decade later, she might move to Crestwood Hollow? Who could have predicted she might meet Vanessa? Who could have predicted what Vanessa's own genetics could do to Abelle's altered ones?"
They finally arrived at a door that held dark portent in its still form like nothing Aiden had ever felt before. Two guards flanked the entryway, their rifles held tight.
"We've come a long way with the Hyperhuman gene. Isolating it. Identifying it. Understanding it. Abelle should have been...better. She should have been faster, stronger, tougher, smarter. She should have lived longer, run further, leaped higher. She should have been 'human plus'. Everything you or I or the public masses are, but more. Instead, the hype-gene Vanessa instilled latched onto a different kind of genetic string."
Aiden felt sick. He didn't want to know what was behind that door, but the truth was inescapable.
"Aiden Roth...I invited you here today because you, more than anyone, deserve the truth. I won't lie; it's unpleasant. Horrifying, perhaps. It's like nothing we've ever seen - a completely unique variable of what we know about Hyperhumans, re-defining our understanding. But it's still so early, Aiden, you see? If governments, the public, anyone were to see the potential that Abelle represents - the movement would be over. We'd lose everything. We'd be the monsters they already fear us for. And I can't allow that."
Jonas sat on the floor opposite the door, his back against the wall. For the first time, Aiden saw...tiredness in him. An age and a deeper knowing than he should rightly have. A sadness down to his core, about something terribly wrong, that he was entirely powerless to fix. He gestured toward the door.
"I won't stop you. I brought you here to...to say goodbye."
Aiden did not spend much time in the room. He refused to recognize the figure inside as Abelle; any passing resemblance to his friend only highlighted the horror. He returned to the hallway ashen and silent and nauseous and weeping. Jonas was stood again, and Aiden barely even registered that Summer Carlyle had appeared beside him.
"I...I don't want to remember her like that. I want to remember her as my friend. As my comrade-in-arms. And until you find a cure - and you will find a cure - that's the memory I'll hold onto."
Jonas stepped toward him, embracing Aiden uncharacteristically in his arms; Aiden simply leaned into it, overtaken by the tragedy of the matter.
"I am so, so sorry, Aiden." Jonas said, through tears of his own. He stepped back, and Aiden found his arms had been restrained behind his back. He began to struggle, began to cry out - but the guards flanked him, two heavy paws on his shoulders as Summer moved forward, holding her hand out to Aiden's temple, her own sobs bubbling and hitching up freely from her throat.
"But I can't allow that either."
G I L E M O R Y G A L A H A DG I L E M O R Y G A L A H A D
Location: Ünterland
Human #5.077 To Be Again
Interaction(s): N/A
On and on they walked. Hornet fluttered behind Gil, her pride undercut by the gravity of Gil's conviction in their direction. The distant, ancient roars had faded but their echoes were no less unsettling for the rattling in their skulls; Hornet wished desperately to go somewhere, anywhere else than toward the source of that sound, but Gil would not be swayed, and she would not be rescued without Gil. So on and on they walked.
The scenery transformed ever-so-slowly around them, trudging through and out of the barren landscape Gil had awoken in into denser and denser clusters of petrified trees and crisp, browned vines sprawling across the ground. A grim reflection of forest, something he knew to be synonymous with life and verdancy perverted and brought low by the virile desolation of this horrid, aberrant realm. The sound of water, at first a far-off white-noise lullaby, grew and shifted and gained on them - how, Gil thought, there could ever be something as lively and natural as a lake or ocean in this wretched place, escaped him. As they crested the edge of the ossified treeline and came upon a cliff, he half-expected to see nothing more than sand lapping and tiding against the dark rock below - but no, there it was, an ocean as vast and encompassing as the wasteland they had left behind, stretching out endlessly beyond all visible horizon. What beasts lurked over that brink he dared not imagine, though he was sure they were seeking such a creature regardless. The ring hummed on his finger, urging him on. Whatever it was leading him to, it wasn't across the churning waters.
A squealing wail ran like ice through his core and he wheeled around; three pig-like beasts, twisted and deformed but made ever-more terrible for their passing resemblance to terrestrial fauna, bounded at them from out the thicket, fire in their eyes and foamy-mouthed. Hornet wasted no time; her wings beat and she lifted into the air, deftly avoiding the initial charge before darting away, drawing two of the beasts' attention with her nimble movements and a taunting screech of her own. Gil dived away from the cliff edge as the third and largest of the pack lunged toward him, claw and tusk seeking flesh in equal measure; he narrowly escaped being gouged, and quickly rolled to avoid being trampled as well as the creature pivoted and came at him again.
He was slow getting up - still unused to fielding his weight with only the one hand, the blade affixed to his stump unwieldy and not designed for hauling oneself out of the dirt. The beast was upon him far quicker than he'd have liked, and Gil swung wildly with the blade as he rolled away once more, cutting through fur and skin but only managing to enrage the monster further for the effort. On another pass, his hand caught the tusk that jutted up from its lower jaw and held firm, and he brought the other arm up across the snout - they locked together, Gil unable to let go lest he be subject to that terrible maw, and the beast unable to reach with the stubby pair of extra arms that tried to claw and snatch at Gil. His mind raced; how best to break this stalemate? The strength of the beast was ferocious, fueled by bestial instinct - his own was stunted, and fading besides. Slowly, carefully, he maneuvered his stumped arm and the knife attached, attempting to use the creature's own weight to spear it upon the blade.
The weight bore down and down on him until suddenly it was lifted entirely; the boar-thing squealed again before it was thrown through the air and impacted a tree trunk, the fossil-bark splintering and cracking beneath the blow. There was a wail, and then a wet, gurgling sound. Gil rolled over and hoisted himself up to see Hornet stood over the beast, her wings a-flutter and her chest heaving. Her taloned fingers dripped with that strange not-blood again, and he could see the throat of the thing had been rent asunder. Further into the trees, he could make out the lumpy, misshapen forms of two more dead boar-creatures.
Gil stood up. Hornet hissed quietly, scanning the forest for signs of more beasts, before determining the three had come alone and had died just the same. She turned back toward Gil, disdain clear on her face.
"How do you save-rescue that you have come here for, if you are dead?" She asked, impertinent and frustrated. "Slow. Weak. Ignorant how to wield-wave that sting. This one cannot protect you from everything. This one should not have to!"
Gil held his hand up, palm out to his companion, surrendering to her assault. There was no energy in him to argue.
"I wasn't supposed to end up alone - I came with others, we got separated. I don't know this place-"
"Then should not have come!" She spat back, brimming with anger. "This is not a place for weak-willed, soft-minded! You must be strong here. You must be vicious-violent. Else you will be food!"
Gil didn't say anything, letting Hornet breathe and calm herself. The wings on her back shuddered, a tell to her vexation. Finally, she sighed, and gestured on in the direction they'd been traveling.
"Go. Lead on. Hope this one is nimble-swift again."
Gil sputtered, beginning a retort, but Hornet's expression silenced him; he simply sighed in kind and did as instructed, already feeling the pull of the ring once more now the panic of the attack had subsided.
"I'm not used to defending myself alone." He finally said after many minutes of silent hiking. Hornet clicked and trilled in a peculiar mocking tone.
"What defending have you done? This one defends you for you. Once more, good fortune-luck this one found you."
"I mean, I know how to fight - self-defense, at least. Some minor weaponry training was mandatory at the university. I'm just not used to fighting alone. I'm used to making allies."
Hornet coughed out a low chuckle. "This one not first to keep you living, despite attempts, you mean?"
Gil rolled his eyes. "No- I mean, I make allies. Copies, of myself. I'm used to fighting as a team, because usually, I am my own team. But I can't in this place."
Hornet managed that peculiar curious expression again, her mandibles chattering.
"This one has never encountered such a thing. Not even in this place. What is the nature of this skill-talent?"
Gil took his turn to raise an eyebrow - Hornet had inferred she was not native to this realm, and had also mentioned an island on the mortal plane. To Gil, with Robert and Haven and countless others around the PRCU campus, it was plainly obvious what Hornet intrinsically had to be. Yet she seemed to be entirely oblivious to her own nature.
"I'm Hyper-human. Cloning's my thing. It took a while to understand it and a while longer to practice it, but I got pretty handy with it after I started working with WHAT, and PRCU helped me push it further. I can pop replicas out without thinking too hard these days. I just...don't like to..."
Gil stopped; he'd kept walking as he explained, but the footsteps beside him, light and stealthy as they were, had completely stopped. He turned. Several feet back, Hornet was stood stock-still, seemingly frozen mid-step. Not even her antenna twitched.
"Hornet?"
And then she started wailing.
The scenery transformed ever-so-slowly around them, trudging through and out of the barren landscape Gil had awoken in into denser and denser clusters of petrified trees and crisp, browned vines sprawling across the ground. A grim reflection of forest, something he knew to be synonymous with life and verdancy perverted and brought low by the virile desolation of this horrid, aberrant realm. The sound of water, at first a far-off white-noise lullaby, grew and shifted and gained on them - how, Gil thought, there could ever be something as lively and natural as a lake or ocean in this wretched place, escaped him. As they crested the edge of the ossified treeline and came upon a cliff, he half-expected to see nothing more than sand lapping and tiding against the dark rock below - but no, there it was, an ocean as vast and encompassing as the wasteland they had left behind, stretching out endlessly beyond all visible horizon. What beasts lurked over that brink he dared not imagine, though he was sure they were seeking such a creature regardless. The ring hummed on his finger, urging him on. Whatever it was leading him to, it wasn't across the churning waters.
A squealing wail ran like ice through his core and he wheeled around; three pig-like beasts, twisted and deformed but made ever-more terrible for their passing resemblance to terrestrial fauna, bounded at them from out the thicket, fire in their eyes and foamy-mouthed. Hornet wasted no time; her wings beat and she lifted into the air, deftly avoiding the initial charge before darting away, drawing two of the beasts' attention with her nimble movements and a taunting screech of her own. Gil dived away from the cliff edge as the third and largest of the pack lunged toward him, claw and tusk seeking flesh in equal measure; he narrowly escaped being gouged, and quickly rolled to avoid being trampled as well as the creature pivoted and came at him again.
He was slow getting up - still unused to fielding his weight with only the one hand, the blade affixed to his stump unwieldy and not designed for hauling oneself out of the dirt. The beast was upon him far quicker than he'd have liked, and Gil swung wildly with the blade as he rolled away once more, cutting through fur and skin but only managing to enrage the monster further for the effort. On another pass, his hand caught the tusk that jutted up from its lower jaw and held firm, and he brought the other arm up across the snout - they locked together, Gil unable to let go lest he be subject to that terrible maw, and the beast unable to reach with the stubby pair of extra arms that tried to claw and snatch at Gil. His mind raced; how best to break this stalemate? The strength of the beast was ferocious, fueled by bestial instinct - his own was stunted, and fading besides. Slowly, carefully, he maneuvered his stumped arm and the knife attached, attempting to use the creature's own weight to spear it upon the blade.
The weight bore down and down on him until suddenly it was lifted entirely; the boar-thing squealed again before it was thrown through the air and impacted a tree trunk, the fossil-bark splintering and cracking beneath the blow. There was a wail, and then a wet, gurgling sound. Gil rolled over and hoisted himself up to see Hornet stood over the beast, her wings a-flutter and her chest heaving. Her taloned fingers dripped with that strange not-blood again, and he could see the throat of the thing had been rent asunder. Further into the trees, he could make out the lumpy, misshapen forms of two more dead boar-creatures.
Gil stood up. Hornet hissed quietly, scanning the forest for signs of more beasts, before determining the three had come alone and had died just the same. She turned back toward Gil, disdain clear on her face.
"How do you save-rescue that you have come here for, if you are dead?" She asked, impertinent and frustrated. "Slow. Weak. Ignorant how to wield-wave that sting. This one cannot protect you from everything. This one should not have to!"
Gil held his hand up, palm out to his companion, surrendering to her assault. There was no energy in him to argue.
"I wasn't supposed to end up alone - I came with others, we got separated. I don't know this place-"
"Then should not have come!" She spat back, brimming with anger. "This is not a place for weak-willed, soft-minded! You must be strong here. You must be vicious-violent. Else you will be food!"
Gil didn't say anything, letting Hornet breathe and calm herself. The wings on her back shuddered, a tell to her vexation. Finally, she sighed, and gestured on in the direction they'd been traveling.
"Go. Lead on. Hope this one is nimble-swift again."
Gil sputtered, beginning a retort, but Hornet's expression silenced him; he simply sighed in kind and did as instructed, already feeling the pull of the ring once more now the panic of the attack had subsided.
"I'm not used to defending myself alone." He finally said after many minutes of silent hiking. Hornet clicked and trilled in a peculiar mocking tone.
"What defending have you done? This one defends you for you. Once more, good fortune-luck this one found you."
"I mean, I know how to fight - self-defense, at least. Some minor weaponry training was mandatory at the university. I'm just not used to fighting alone. I'm used to making allies."
Hornet coughed out a low chuckle. "This one not first to keep you living, despite attempts, you mean?"
Gil rolled his eyes. "No- I mean, I make allies. Copies, of myself. I'm used to fighting as a team, because usually, I am my own team. But I can't in this place."
Hornet managed that peculiar curious expression again, her mandibles chattering.
"This one has never encountered such a thing. Not even in this place. What is the nature of this skill-talent?"
Gil took his turn to raise an eyebrow - Hornet had inferred she was not native to this realm, and had also mentioned an island on the mortal plane. To Gil, with Robert and Haven and countless others around the PRCU campus, it was plainly obvious what Hornet intrinsically had to be. Yet she seemed to be entirely oblivious to her own nature.
"I'm Hyper-human. Cloning's my thing. It took a while to understand it and a while longer to practice it, but I got pretty handy with it after I started working with WHAT, and PRCU helped me push it further. I can pop replicas out without thinking too hard these days. I just...don't like to..."
Gil stopped; he'd kept walking as he explained, but the footsteps beside him, light and stealthy as they were, had completely stopped. He turned. Several feet back, Hornet was stood stock-still, seemingly frozen mid-step. Not even her antenna twitched.
"Hornet?"
And then she started wailing.
<Snipped quote by Roman>
serial killers,
alrighty then
Remind me the details of that and I can let you know if it would be kosher or not.
roleplayerguild.com/posts/5544918
TL;DR near-retirement senior agent in a still-early-stages SHIELD encounters Jubilee just starting her journey into vampirism and starts to reckon with the supernatural aspects of the world that were previously unknown to him or SHIELD, eventually starting the sub-division STAKE to deal with it.
Might pick my STAKE sheet back up and carry on, depending on what's allowed within the parameters of the game. Otherwise I'll have a think around characters that fit the scope. But no guarantee.
A group of accidental escapees/refugees wash up and are forced to band together to survive and outrun the forces pursuing them, while also being stalked by something altogether different.
roleplayerguild.com/posts/4830970 - belle sheet
roleplayerguild.com/posts/4039580 - belle diary
Cliff-notes:
roleplayerguild.com/posts/4039580 - belle diary
On the night of her murder, Vanessa had unknowingly used her abilities to activate a Hyper-Gene in each of her friends who had been attending her birthday party, including her brother, that night. These teenagers would come together to solve Vanessa's murder and attracted the attention of Dr. Jonas Lehrer and Special Agent Yakob Kowalski.
Cliff-notes:
- Attended Vanessa Bordeaux's birthday party; unwittingly was subjected to virumosis via Vanessa's own hyper-human ability.
- Jonas inserted himself as a new teacher at Mather Memorial High in Crestwood Hollow, while Yakob worked behind the scenes using the resources of the fledging H.E.L.P. organisation as much as he could to help them.
- Autumn Miracle began stalking the hyper-humans inadvertently created by Vanessa, killing and dismembering them to understand their, and her own, new biology. She killed 5 students, before attempting to kill Summer Carlyle and being stopped by Aiden Roth and Viktor Bordeaux's timely intervention.
- Autumn was outed by Aiden and Viktor, and the ensuing events outed Jonas' study group for the Hyper-humans they had become to the public. H.E.L.P. and 3HA were forced to step in, arresting Autumn - though not without incident, which left Yakob wounded and Autumn herself comatose in H.E.L.P. custody.
- Unable to return to Mather Memorial, Jonas and Yakob founded PRCU for the 8 remaining study group members, and the rest is history.
G I L E M O R Y G A L A H A DG I L E M O R Y G A L A H A D
Location: Ünterland
Human #5.062 It's Coming Closer
Interaction(s): N/A
The mismatched pair trudged on for what felt like miles. Their surroundings were static; a dusty, dead landscape, only made ever-more uncanny by its passing resemblance to Gil's known reality. Every so often they'd pass by the crumbling ruin of something that used to be a building, co-opted for temporary shelter by some far-gone unknown, and Gil's insect companion would chitter quietly and seem to taste the air. Sometimes, she'd carry on at their steady pace; others, she'd hurry along, her wings flittering as she skipped forward at a clip, and Gil would scramble into a jog to catch up as they evaded whatever it was she fled from. Rarer was when she'd pause entirely, draw herself up to full height, splay her wings out full-width, and her clicking would escalate into an haunting screech, claws bared and mandibles quivering from the ferocity. Whatever it was her threat display was warding off never showed itself. Gil wasn't sure if that made him feel more or less safe.
He didn't often get the chance to study her; she held behind, bringing up the rear, ever-following. Were it not for her soft chitters, Gil might have forgotten she was there entirely. They did not speak; if Gil turned to look at her, her gaze shifted away, even if mere moments ago he had felt her eyes burning on his back. She was fearsome to look at, no doubt, and the hybrid biology of her form frightened Gil even beyond what he'd witnessed at PRCU - the conjured images of Haven and even the late Robert were still far more intrinsically human than his escort appeared to be in her form and mannerisms, and even her speech patterns were scattered, and suggested a difficulty with conversation that a native speaker of any earthly language would not possess.
All the while, the moon gleamed a brilliant and unnerving ruby above them, fixed in the sky as if hung upon a singular, immovable point. When Gil finally felt there was no more walking left in him to be done, his apparent guard seemed to sense it before he did; with a low-drone beating of wings, she scooped him up effortlessly with a firm grip hooked beneath his shoulders before carrying them both above the ossified treetops. She set down atop a strange stone tower, deteriorating but still intact. There were even ashen remnants of a long-dead fire against the parapet, an uneasy reminder that they were not alone. Gil sat down, leaning against the stone, rubbing his legs with his hand in an effort to soothe the ache.
"No fire," instructed his companion, "no beacon-light," and then as quick as she had flitted them up, she disappeared again, back down into the gloom; Gil suppressed the thought that perhaps she wouldn't come back, and he was stranded atop this ruin until he built the courage to attempt descent down its cragged and crumbling walls.
There was a sudden inhuman screech in the darkness, and Gil was glad to not be able to see its source, that cut out as sharply as it had begun. Long seconds passed, and then Gil could make out the droning buzz again, and she reappeared, fresh kill clutched between bloodied claws. He couldn't quite understand from the shape of it what it had been before she had set upon it; all the same, she began to tear into its side, jagged teeth ripping at flesh while the mandibles clicked and gnawed and passed snips of meat into her waiting maw. Deftly, one of her talon-tipped fingers ripped a neat seam around the ball joint of...some manner of limb, before tearing the appendage from the carcass entirely and proffering it to Gil. He did not take it.
"Eat. Time flows strange. Find yourself becoming hungry quick-soon." She said, bouncing her outstretched hand for emphasis, and Gil couldn't protest; it felt like probably only a few hours since he'd arrived in this bizarre place, but his stomach had begun the early pains of hunger all the same. He took the joint hesitantly, and inspected the meat. It was slick, but oddly blood-less, with a deep gray colour and a scent like dirt and clay. He decided to close his eyes before he sunk his teeth into the cold flesh.
It was...entirely neutral. Eating it cold was unpleasant, make no mistake, but there was no rancid taste or soured flavour like he expected from a creature that inhabited a place so fundamentally dead; he was hit with a potent aroma of soil in the back of his nose, but as he chewed only an earthy, aromatic palate spread throughout his mouth. Not wanting to explore the nuance, he quickly swallowed, and it was only then that the slickness of the beast made itself known - some sickly, all-encompassing oily substance, that coated his tongue and teeth and hit him with bitterness all the way in the back of his throat before sliding down his gullet with a revolting icy greasiness. Without warning Gil cast the meat aside and scrambled for the edge of the tower. He hung his head over the side of the stones and opened his stomach out onto the ground below.
The bug-girl clicked irritably, watching him closely with those large, beaded black eyes as Gil slumped back down, back against the parapet. He did not try another bite.
"You are weak-pathetic thing. Cannot eat. Half-limbed. This one wonders how you came-arrived here."
Gil glared back, gaze defiant and unwavering. He didn't respond, only holding up his rune-scarred hand in reply. She made that clicking laugh again, clearly amused by his recalcitrant mood.
"This one wonders how you carve-cut one hand without the other."
Gil sighed and let his shoulders go slack, defeated.
"I wasn't supposed to arrive alone. I came with others...but we got separated, somehow."
"Many things...crooked, about this place. This one thinks, that when things here go as planned, that is most odd-strange thing of all."
Gil couldn't help his own chuckle bubbling up from his gut at that. She tossed what was left of the carcass over the edge; her mandibles dripped with an oily sheen from the meat. She looked at him for a long time, and there was an air of awkwardness about her that seemed very, very human, like she was trying to build the courage to do something that made her deeply uncomfortable.
"What is your..." she paused, shuffling, her mandibles clicking softly. She even averted her eyes. Gil found it all strangely endearing. "What is your name?"
Gil blinked.
"Gil."
"Gil."
"Yours?"
She paused again, and this time it wasn't awkwardness - it was profound rumination, giving way to a great sadness.
"This one has forgotten. Truth-name long-lost."
Her voice was small and ashamed.
"What would you like me to call you?"
She thought once more, before finally returning her gaze to Gil's.
"This one believes...on island...this one was labeled-termed Hornet. It will do."
Gil startled awake to a distant but powerful screeching and roaring. It was pure dread distilled into sound, shaking through him and leaving terror behind in the pit of his stomach. Frantic, he scrabbled to his feet, the movements clumsy and ill-practiced, made on half-asleep legs and without the support of his missing arm. His head snapped around but saw nothing, and as the roar faded it was once again only him and Hornet atop the tower, still bathed in the eerie glow of the crimson moon.
“Far-distant. Not to worry us, for now.” Hornet said, returning to her perch atop the parapet. She, too, was shaken, but her careful movements and bullish posture hid her fear. Gil understood she was prideful, and had adequate reason to be; but not for the first time, he remembered she was not native to this place either. “Still - this one has not heard beast such as that before. Tread light-careful.”
“How long was I out?” Gil said, pushing off the last of sleep’s lingering touch and looking over the edge of the tower. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for.
“Question silly-stupid. Time different meaning here. Not as this one remembers from island. You will come to learn-know.”
Gil rolled his eyes. He could see the remnants of his vomit splashed down the side of the tower and the stone was still slick and shiny in the moonlight. Can’t have been that long.
“We should get moving. We can’t waste any more t-”
He stopped, looking at Hornet. How was she managing a smirk, without lips to speak of? Mandibles couldn’t smirk, in as far as he knew. Yet, still, she was effectively and amusedly patronizing him nonetheless.
“We should get moving.”
“As you wish-want. This one anxious to be out-free too.”
She stood to her full height and her wings wafted lazily for a few moments before beginning to beat in earnest, and quickly they were a blur, lifting her effortlessly off the floor. She swooped quickly behind Gil and hooked him under the arms once again, and then they were off the tower and moving with a fierce purpose back toward the ground proper; Gil marvelled at the subtle strength of his companion, how she lifted them both through the air without exertion or complaint. How much did she weigh, he wondered? How thick was her chitinous shell, and were there muscles beneath or some other biological mechanism? He recalled early school biology lessons, factoids about insect hydraulics. Despite her exterior, Gil observed more often than not the human in Hornet - who had she been before all of this? Had there been a before?
“Hornet-” he asked, speaking aloud over the drone of her wings, “you talk about an island. About wanting rescue. Which island do you mean? Where did you come from?”
The question hung in the air. Gil wasn’t sure she’d heard him, and was poised to either repeat or discard his question, when she suddenly clicked her mandibles and opened her mouth to reply.
The answer never came; at first, Gil thought it had been her screech, her roar, that he had unearthed some ungodly pain or anger within her - but suddenly they were crashing to the ground, rolling and tumbling, and the roar was still going. It reverberated all around them and rattled Gil’s bones, at once both distant and all-encompassing. A deep, primal fear burst up within him, and as he pulled himself to his feet once again, he could see Hornet writhing in the dust and dirt, her antenna twisting, hands pushed fast against the small holes on either side of her head that were once ears. She was shrieking in pain and terror herself, but the noise was paled and muted against the sheer power of the roar that surrounded them. It clattered through Gil to the back of his teeth and up his spine, and the longer it lasted the more Gil felt a pressure simultaneously closing in around him and building up within him. It all pushed toward a crescendo, a climax, a denouement that he was sure would pop him like a blister and burst his insides against the dirt.
There was a sharp heat against Gil's leg that he could barely register above the undulating roar. Instinctively, his hand swatted and groped at the pain-point, pushed into his pocket and found the source: the ring given to him on the beach, all those weeks ago. It was vibrating, subtle but intense, and it seemed to throb and glow with an imperceptible aura but for a low pulsing shockwave around it. Gil looked closer. The centred ruby seemed as if something swirled and writhed within it. Gil had a clear feeling that it was looking back.
Against his better judgement, he was suddenly compelled to slip the ring over the middle finger on his remaining hand, a dextrous but no-less-awkward movement. All at once, the roar ceased, and Gil stood up. Hornet's shrieks petered out, and she shuddered against the ground, breathing heavily.
Gil raised his arm, pointing with a preternatural assurity to some invisible destination. Hornet slowly drew herself to all fours, and then to her knees, her antenna still twitching and her hands trembling. She looked to Gil, then followed his gesture with her gaze into the deep, black unknown.
"We must go that way."
She was afraid; but she didn't argue.
He didn't often get the chance to study her; she held behind, bringing up the rear, ever-following. Were it not for her soft chitters, Gil might have forgotten she was there entirely. They did not speak; if Gil turned to look at her, her gaze shifted away, even if mere moments ago he had felt her eyes burning on his back. She was fearsome to look at, no doubt, and the hybrid biology of her form frightened Gil even beyond what he'd witnessed at PRCU - the conjured images of Haven and even the late Robert were still far more intrinsically human than his escort appeared to be in her form and mannerisms, and even her speech patterns were scattered, and suggested a difficulty with conversation that a native speaker of any earthly language would not possess.
All the while, the moon gleamed a brilliant and unnerving ruby above them, fixed in the sky as if hung upon a singular, immovable point. When Gil finally felt there was no more walking left in him to be done, his apparent guard seemed to sense it before he did; with a low-drone beating of wings, she scooped him up effortlessly with a firm grip hooked beneath his shoulders before carrying them both above the ossified treetops. She set down atop a strange stone tower, deteriorating but still intact. There were even ashen remnants of a long-dead fire against the parapet, an uneasy reminder that they were not alone. Gil sat down, leaning against the stone, rubbing his legs with his hand in an effort to soothe the ache.
"No fire," instructed his companion, "no beacon-light," and then as quick as she had flitted them up, she disappeared again, back down into the gloom; Gil suppressed the thought that perhaps she wouldn't come back, and he was stranded atop this ruin until he built the courage to attempt descent down its cragged and crumbling walls.
There was a sudden inhuman screech in the darkness, and Gil was glad to not be able to see its source, that cut out as sharply as it had begun. Long seconds passed, and then Gil could make out the droning buzz again, and she reappeared, fresh kill clutched between bloodied claws. He couldn't quite understand from the shape of it what it had been before she had set upon it; all the same, she began to tear into its side, jagged teeth ripping at flesh while the mandibles clicked and gnawed and passed snips of meat into her waiting maw. Deftly, one of her talon-tipped fingers ripped a neat seam around the ball joint of...some manner of limb, before tearing the appendage from the carcass entirely and proffering it to Gil. He did not take it.
"Eat. Time flows strange. Find yourself becoming hungry quick-soon." She said, bouncing her outstretched hand for emphasis, and Gil couldn't protest; it felt like probably only a few hours since he'd arrived in this bizarre place, but his stomach had begun the early pains of hunger all the same. He took the joint hesitantly, and inspected the meat. It was slick, but oddly blood-less, with a deep gray colour and a scent like dirt and clay. He decided to close his eyes before he sunk his teeth into the cold flesh.
It was...entirely neutral. Eating it cold was unpleasant, make no mistake, but there was no rancid taste or soured flavour like he expected from a creature that inhabited a place so fundamentally dead; he was hit with a potent aroma of soil in the back of his nose, but as he chewed only an earthy, aromatic palate spread throughout his mouth. Not wanting to explore the nuance, he quickly swallowed, and it was only then that the slickness of the beast made itself known - some sickly, all-encompassing oily substance, that coated his tongue and teeth and hit him with bitterness all the way in the back of his throat before sliding down his gullet with a revolting icy greasiness. Without warning Gil cast the meat aside and scrambled for the edge of the tower. He hung his head over the side of the stones and opened his stomach out onto the ground below.
The bug-girl clicked irritably, watching him closely with those large, beaded black eyes as Gil slumped back down, back against the parapet. He did not try another bite.
"You are weak-pathetic thing. Cannot eat. Half-limbed. This one wonders how you came-arrived here."
Gil glared back, gaze defiant and unwavering. He didn't respond, only holding up his rune-scarred hand in reply. She made that clicking laugh again, clearly amused by his recalcitrant mood.
"This one wonders how you carve-cut one hand without the other."
Gil sighed and let his shoulders go slack, defeated.
"I wasn't supposed to arrive alone. I came with others...but we got separated, somehow."
"Many things...crooked, about this place. This one thinks, that when things here go as planned, that is most odd-strange thing of all."
Gil couldn't help his own chuckle bubbling up from his gut at that. She tossed what was left of the carcass over the edge; her mandibles dripped with an oily sheen from the meat. She looked at him for a long time, and there was an air of awkwardness about her that seemed very, very human, like she was trying to build the courage to do something that made her deeply uncomfortable.
"What is your..." she paused, shuffling, her mandibles clicking softly. She even averted her eyes. Gil found it all strangely endearing. "What is your name?"
Gil blinked.
"Gil."
"Gil."
"Yours?"
She paused again, and this time it wasn't awkwardness - it was profound rumination, giving way to a great sadness.
"This one has forgotten. Truth-name long-lost."
Her voice was small and ashamed.
"What would you like me to call you?"
She thought once more, before finally returning her gaze to Gil's.
"This one believes...on island...this one was labeled-termed Hornet. It will do."
It had taken Gil perhaps the better part of nearly two months to get to where he was now, but finally - with assistance from the Townsend patriarch - he was within reach of his goal. Alyssa's father had been the lynchpin, the final domino to fall, in Gil's global tour in search of the disappeared redhead; Gil had been quickly put in contact with the object of his quest and they had finally met just a few nights previous, finally able to discuss what had happened at the fateful night of the dance, finally able to put answers to questions that had otherwise burnt holes straight through Gil. Luce had remained steadfastly non-expressive the entire evening, sipping back-to-back lagers with nary a twitch of the eyebrow. Alyssa had seemed contrite, almost guilty, though in truth Gil couldn't find it in him to actually blame her. Instead, he just wanted to know what had actually happened, and how best to return Amma unharmed. Alyssa was happy to oblige.
A few empty pints later had Gil sufficiently drunk to assuage the growing existential dread from Alyssa's rabbit-hole explanation, tangents on tangents winding the conversation around Gil's mind until he finally decided to stop thinking, start drinking, and just accept everything he was being told at face value with no incredulity or skepticism or rolled eyes. When Alyssa had finally finished, Gil asked how he could get into Ünterland to rescue Amma. At that, Alyssa had shifted uncomfortably, concern and something approaching fear crossing her face.
It was Luce who said:
"You need to meet Ellara."
And then the arrangements were made.
A few empty pints later had Gil sufficiently drunk to assuage the growing existential dread from Alyssa's rabbit-hole explanation, tangents on tangents winding the conversation around Gil's mind until he finally decided to stop thinking, start drinking, and just accept everything he was being told at face value with no incredulity or skepticism or rolled eyes. When Alyssa had finally finished, Gil asked how he could get into Ünterland to rescue Amma. At that, Alyssa had shifted uncomfortably, concern and something approaching fear crossing her face.
It was Luce who said:
"You need to meet Ellara."
And then the arrangements were made.
Gil startled awake to a distant but powerful screeching and roaring. It was pure dread distilled into sound, shaking through him and leaving terror behind in the pit of his stomach. Frantic, he scrabbled to his feet, the movements clumsy and ill-practiced, made on half-asleep legs and without the support of his missing arm. His head snapped around but saw nothing, and as the roar faded it was once again only him and Hornet atop the tower, still bathed in the eerie glow of the crimson moon.
“Far-distant. Not to worry us, for now.” Hornet said, returning to her perch atop the parapet. She, too, was shaken, but her careful movements and bullish posture hid her fear. Gil understood she was prideful, and had adequate reason to be; but not for the first time, he remembered she was not native to this place either. “Still - this one has not heard beast such as that before. Tread light-careful.”
“How long was I out?” Gil said, pushing off the last of sleep’s lingering touch and looking over the edge of the tower. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for.
“Question silly-stupid. Time different meaning here. Not as this one remembers from island. You will come to learn-know.”
Gil rolled his eyes. He could see the remnants of his vomit splashed down the side of the tower and the stone was still slick and shiny in the moonlight. Can’t have been that long.
“We should get moving. We can’t waste any more t-”
He stopped, looking at Hornet. How was she managing a smirk, without lips to speak of? Mandibles couldn’t smirk, in as far as he knew. Yet, still, she was effectively and amusedly patronizing him nonetheless.
“We should get moving.”
“As you wish-want. This one anxious to be out-free too.”
She stood to her full height and her wings wafted lazily for a few moments before beginning to beat in earnest, and quickly they were a blur, lifting her effortlessly off the floor. She swooped quickly behind Gil and hooked him under the arms once again, and then they were off the tower and moving with a fierce purpose back toward the ground proper; Gil marvelled at the subtle strength of his companion, how she lifted them both through the air without exertion or complaint. How much did she weigh, he wondered? How thick was her chitinous shell, and were there muscles beneath or some other biological mechanism? He recalled early school biology lessons, factoids about insect hydraulics. Despite her exterior, Gil observed more often than not the human in Hornet - who had she been before all of this? Had there been a before?
“Hornet-” he asked, speaking aloud over the drone of her wings, “you talk about an island. About wanting rescue. Which island do you mean? Where did you come from?”
The question hung in the air. Gil wasn’t sure she’d heard him, and was poised to either repeat or discard his question, when she suddenly clicked her mandibles and opened her mouth to reply.
The answer never came; at first, Gil thought it had been her screech, her roar, that he had unearthed some ungodly pain or anger within her - but suddenly they were crashing to the ground, rolling and tumbling, and the roar was still going. It reverberated all around them and rattled Gil’s bones, at once both distant and all-encompassing. A deep, primal fear burst up within him, and as he pulled himself to his feet once again, he could see Hornet writhing in the dust and dirt, her antenna twisting, hands pushed fast against the small holes on either side of her head that were once ears. She was shrieking in pain and terror herself, but the noise was paled and muted against the sheer power of the roar that surrounded them. It clattered through Gil to the back of his teeth and up his spine, and the longer it lasted the more Gil felt a pressure simultaneously closing in around him and building up within him. It all pushed toward a crescendo, a climax, a denouement that he was sure would pop him like a blister and burst his insides against the dirt.
There was a sharp heat against Gil's leg that he could barely register above the undulating roar. Instinctively, his hand swatted and groped at the pain-point, pushed into his pocket and found the source: the ring given to him on the beach, all those weeks ago. It was vibrating, subtle but intense, and it seemed to throb and glow with an imperceptible aura but for a low pulsing shockwave around it. Gil looked closer. The centred ruby seemed as if something swirled and writhed within it. Gil had a clear feeling that it was looking back.
Against his better judgement, he was suddenly compelled to slip the ring over the middle finger on his remaining hand, a dextrous but no-less-awkward movement. All at once, the roar ceased, and Gil stood up. Hornet's shrieks petered out, and she shuddered against the ground, breathing heavily.
Gil raised his arm, pointing with a preternatural assurity to some invisible destination. Hornet slowly drew herself to all fours, and then to her knees, her antenna still twitching and her hands trembling. She looked to Gil, then followed his gesture with her gaze into the deep, black unknown.
"We must go that way."
She was afraid; but she didn't argue.
<Snipped quote by Bounce>
We've tried to run a Indie Comics game (and thats far more focused than such a idea) a few times and we always end up with these issues, I agree. The only one who really feels inspired is whoever gobbles up the TMNT or Hellboy, I find.
© 2007-2025