January
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πππ‘π₯. π, ππππ / / πππΈβππβ πΌππ€π₯ / / π»π π£π πΉπ¦ππππππ πΈ : ππ¦ππ₯π πππ / / ππ ππ
Sander had come in with a quick wave and exited just as quickly while Christmas had been working on his placement exams. He had felt guilty for wishing that Sander wouldnβt come back any time soon, but had found it easy to distract himself from the thought by simply firing up his Vita and resuming a save file.
The games were his way of daydreaming. Anyone who cared to look for long periods of time would realize the screen often remained frozen on a line of dialogue while the arrow to proceed flashed slowly in the corner. Christmas played mindlessly easy games for the sense that he was doing something and to prevent himself from looking around as he withdrew into his mind.
In that mental landscape, the world had fixed itself. He could go to school normally. Friends would greet him in class. His parents would welcome him home and ask about his dayβsincerely. Heβd be allowed to tell them all the little things that bothered him from day to day: the girls cooing at how βcuteβ he was with the ribbon in his hair; the guys jeering about how βgayβ it looked; and the crueler people spreading rumors that he was just an attention whore. And maybe his parents would tell him it was okay. That he didnβt need to worry about them. That the things he liked were all right.
πππ‘π₯. π, ππππ / / πππΈβππβ πΌππ€π₯ / / πΉπ¦ππππππ π»: π»πππππ βπππ / / ππππ
He ended up daydreaming for hours, the Vita running out of batteries on his lap as he continued staring at the blank, black screen.
When he finally tuned back in to reality, he realized, with an alarmingly loud rumble of his stomach, that he was starving. A quick check of the map reconfirmed the dining hallβs location before Christmas made his tentative way towards the building, making sure to grab his ID card before he left.
Glassy, tall, and just as stylishly modern as Building A, Building D boasted three stories of floor-to-ceiling windows displaying buffet-style food bars complete with cozy tables, chairs, sofas, couches, and even an alcoholic beverages bar in the corner of each floor, no doubt for the older students and staff members.
It was strange to see the pocket of coexistence here, like there was potential for a world where this microcosm of reality could expand into the bigger whole. The soldiers and staff members sat in their own sections of the massive dining hall, segregating themselves as best they could from where most of the subnaturals sat, but even in that they were still managing to sit and eat in the same room. Well, most of them. Christmas watched a few soldiers and staff members pack several carryout boxes with food before leaving. Not perfect. And not perfect was okay.
Walking inside was a battle between his fear of all the potential death and destruction gathered into one room and his growling stomach. Hunger won out in the end and Christmas took several deep breaths to steel himself before following a group of subnaturals through the double glass doors and into the lobby. No one gave him a second glance as he entered the building during the afternoon lunch rush, with soldiers, subnaturals, and regular staff members all busy picking through the dayβs selection on their respective ceramic plates, tall, crystal glasses, and large, earthenware bowls.
One of the men sitting at the counter of the dining hallβs lobby ran Christmas's ID card through a quick scanner before waving the student through as the light on the machine flashed green. The receptionist repeated the process for everyone coming in, regardless of status. Christmas caught the name βJasonβ on the manβs name tag and thanked the bespectacled worker out of habit. Jason raised an eyebrow, but didnβt respond.
Inside the building proper, the selection of food was dizzying, from the meat and seafood section to the salad bar to the soup bar to the entirety of the daily rotation at the rest of the unnamed sections. Christmas twirled a bit of spaghetti and meatballs onto his plate, peeking around at others to see if it was all right to take more food. A fat man in a bulging suit waddled by with two plates piled with steak and lobster to confirm that gluttonous consumption was completely sanctioned here.
Reassured now, Christmas added one more large forkful of spaghetti to his plate.
One of the cushy sofas was empty and Christmas walked over to it cautiously, in case someone else wanted to grab the seat before he did. An older woman with long, brown hair tied in a ponytail was seated on another sofa across the glass table from Christmas. She was dressed in the business suit that seemed to signify all regular staff members, but the white mark on her face denoted otherwise. To her left and right were two soldiers each, though that didnβt stop her from giving Christmas a kind smile as he sat down. A weak smile wavered into existence on his face as he tried to return the greeting. The lapels on her suit were ironed hideously uneven, but Christmas didn't think it would be polite to point that out.
βYouβre only going to eat spaghetti?β she asked incredulously, her voice a bit deeper than Christmas had been expecting for someone who was only a few inches taller than him.
βY-yes?β
βN-no,β she mimicked back at him, taking his plate away before substituting it with her own, piled with mashed potatoes, a chunk of steak that was practically bleeding, and a hearty helping of romaine lettuce on the side. βEat that, Blood Bag.β
βWhaβ"
βYes, I know about your power,β she interrupted, turning back to look at him. Glowing white lines now speared outward from her eyes, giving her the look of cyborgs from a typical sci-fi movie. βI knew about your power,β she corrected, βbut having you right in front of me gives me a better look.β
Her wink was playful and a bit of the tension relaxed from Christmasβs shoulders as the woman leaned back cheerily.
βBut I wasnβt kidding about eating, you know. You canβt regenerate your own wounds, much less your blood, so make sure youβre supplanting your body with steady nutrients to replenish lost blood.β
βOhβokayβ¦uh, thank you,β he awkwardly began poking at the huge plate of food in front of him, stuffing a piece of lettuce into his mouth after much deliberation on where to begin eating.
The woman in front of him sighed gently.
βDo you know how the effects of your power work?β she asked kindly as Christmas nibbled on some of the mashed potatoes.
He shook his head, one hand instinctively grabbing the ribbon to prevent it from straying towards the bit of mashed potato on the side of his mouth.
βAbout 50 mL of your blood is enough to close up most minor wounds over a short period. The more others drink, the faster those effects in a shorter time. Your blood over a wound can also repair it, but itβs weaker.β
As she spoke, she reached over with a napkin and wiped the small mess from his mouth.
βYouβll remember all that, right?β
Christmas nodded, eyes wide. She didnβt scare him per se, but having someone explain his own power to him when he barely understood it himself was surreal.
βTake care of yourself, sweetie. Your type is rare and getting rarer,β she patted his head and stood up, her entourage of guards following her. βRibbon suits you, by the way. Thought Iβd mention.β
He blinked after her as she left, realizing too late he had forgotten to ask for her name.
πππ‘π₯. π, ππππ / / πππΈβππβ πΌππ€π₯ / / βπππ‘π¦π€ / / ππππ
Taking a walk had never been one of those things Christmas ever planned for. If they happened, they happened, and this walk had certainly happened. After lunch, he had whiled away his hours exploring campus, enjoyingβstrangely enoughβthe freedom of walking around without needing to report to his parents where he was every few minutes. He had taken breaks on benches and decorative cement partitions where he had needed them, and simply let himself wander.
A quiet fear that he would get lost if he kept wandering like this instilled itself firmly in his mind the longer he walked, but Christmas took his deep breaths and kept moving instead. Things that he didnβt want to go to back to and situations that he wasnβt ready to face swam through his thoughts like titanic leviathans, unrelenting in their motions as they displaced his attempts at self-distraction one by one.
He hadnβt given himself the time to think too deeply about the current situation. There was only one end in sight thereββBad End No. xx.β Christmas shuddered, thinking back to his last bout of panic in the suite, where he had curled up on the floor to steady himself, arms wrapped around his legs as if he was afraid to lose them. In this place, he probably would.
He had heard of subnaturals being sent to fight Dreamcatcher abominations back when he was βnormal.β Kids in class would talk about the latest fight like they were talking about a TV show. How this subnatural was cooler than that one and how the latest monster was way better or way worse than the last round. This wasnβt what the world was supposed to be. People just played into it anyway for lack of choice. But then, it had always seemed like some distant problem for some other important folks to deal with. He was a civilian. No responsibilities in the problem. Not his concern. βSafe.β
And now he could potentially be one of those subnaturals the high schoolers would watch on TV and call βlame.β
The sudden blaring of the alarm from both the school speakers and the ankle cuff made him jump. He would have fallen over if a nearby soldier hadnβt caught him. Christmas muttered a quick apology as he righted himself and the soldier gave him a strained smile, the manβs blue eyes looking instead at Christmasβs ankle cuff where Director Zhangβs voice was detailing orders. Terrifying orders. A battle and a Precursor. βKill on sight.β
It was the soldierβs hand on the grip of his pistol that prevented Christmas from falling apart right then and there.
As she finished, the same soldier grabbed Christmasβs arm and checked a map on his smartphone, leading the subnatural boy quickly to the trucks as Christmas bit the insides of his cheeks, struggling to remain calm and just barely succeeding as the others came into view.
@ERode
Since Vampire wrote in the alarm happening shortly before running into Brent, I'm going to ask that your response post covers the alarm as well, likely as Brent was walking down the hallway or something to sync up roughly with when Vampire wrote that in.
Since Vampire wrote in the alarm happening shortly before running into Brent, I'm going to ask that your response post covers the alarm as well, likely as Brent was walking down the hallway or something to sync up roughly with when Vampire wrote that in.
@VampireOracle
Accepted.
Reuploaded the image. Took it out of the hider.
Noted range restriction on her power--forgot to mention that the range was the same between her Arbiter and Aberration versions. You can edit that as you please if the addition jars with how you write, just keep the range in there somewhere.
Sophia's CS Code
Edit: Put it into the character tab, please.
For starting out, since Brent's already there, I'm calling it and saying you took a stray bullet from the fiasco in the first IC post. You can choose where Sophia was shot barring lethal areas.
Refer to ERode's intro post to get a feel of the area you woke up in.
You're free to extend the post to the latest IC update with the alarm, but any movement outside the hospital should be brought up with me, first. Additionally, if you also want an NPC to chat with like Brent, let me know, though I'd recommend bumping into Brent instead or something.
Finally, I'd prefer you rejoin the Discord since I occasionally boot people who haven't been on in a while. It's a lot easier for me to discuss NPC chatter/locations/plans when I don't have to mash F5 to refresh a page all the time. Of course, it's not mandatory. It just makes my life easier.
Accepted.
Reuploaded the image. Took it out of the hider.
Noted range restriction on her power--forgot to mention that the range was the same between her Arbiter and Aberration versions. You can edit that as you please if the addition jars with how you write, just keep the range in there somewhere.
Sophia's CS Code
Edit: Put it into the character tab, please.
For starting out, since Brent's already there, I'm calling it and saying you took a stray bullet from the fiasco in the first IC post. You can choose where Sophia was shot barring lethal areas.
Refer to ERode's intro post to get a feel of the area you woke up in.
You're free to extend the post to the latest IC update with the alarm, but any movement outside the hospital should be brought up with me, first. Additionally, if you also want an NPC to chat with like Brent, let me know, though I'd recommend bumping into Brent instead or something.
Finally, I'd prefer you rejoin the Discord since I occasionally boot people who haven't been on in a while. It's a lot easier for me to discuss NPC chatter/locations/plans when I don't have to mash F5 to refresh a page all the time. Of course, it's not mandatory. It just makes my life easier.
Reposting in the OOC for consistency:
As a note, since it seems there might be the danger of falling into the trap I created through the "Stickied Topics" (huehuehue), remember that outside of the expository OOC information, the opinionated things written by NPCs like Semordnilap, Rad Cow, Monster Frisbee, BundtCake, and any other such characters could be completely correct, could be partially correct, or could be completely wrong.
As much fun as it would be to torment people who make the mistake of thinking everything any NPC says is 100% true, I'm just going to point out that the GMs take great pains to filter information through the lens of every NPC's available knowledge pool before spitting it back out. That said, a lot of the information from Semo, Rad, and Frisbee are correct. I just won't specify which bits. You'll find out as we proceed.
IC update is up. None of the events in there conflict with anything you do/have written until the evening, so anyone working on posts can continue doing so. Simply take into account new events when you write and post it all in one go.
ππ¦ππͺ ππ, ππππ / / πππ π»ππππ , βπππππ π£πππ / / πππππππ βππππ₯ππ§π'π€ πΌπ€π₯ππ₯π / / ππππ
The wall-mounted television screen was muted. An anchormanβs mouth was moving soundlessly on the screen while a Dreamcatcher creation of unparalleled size shredded through an entire city in northern California with a wave of its lanky, clawed fingers, releasing a crushing black wave that looked more like rends in reality than the βpitch-black inkβ the news was trying to sell.
Whisper had long stopped looking at the screen, focused as he was on gripping Nicoβs shoulders and shaking his foster brother, who was sitting in shock on the sofa. Nico had gone still as the breaking news coverage came up on the screen in the middle of a Ninja Warriors episode, losing all semblance of conscious thought when the news broadcasted the city in imminent danger. Palo Alto. His home. Their home.
That had been an hour ago. There wasnβt much of the city nor its residents left at this point.
Times like these, Whisper hated beyond measure his inability to talk. His mouth formed Nicoβs name as soundlessly as the muted anchorman on the screen and he continued shaking the smaller boy to no avail. Donovan had gone out to pick up more fast food with the chauffeur, but was no doubt stuck somewhere between people crowding public television displays to watch the news and trying to navigate around any panicked citizenry. Whisper didnβt quite trust himself to leave Nico alone for even a second. He had an irrational fear that if Nico didnβt snap out of it now, it would be too late.
Gritting his teeth, he backhanded Nico across the face.
The loud slap echoed in the quiet home theater room.
It took Nico another minute to finally see him.
βWhisper?β he said quietly, despair breaking his soft voice.
Nicoβs eyes darted to the screen, taking in the destruction again, and Whisper could only watch helplessly as his brotherβs confused expression sank into a mixture of anger and sorrow. Too much to express in tears.
Instead, Nico curled up on the sofa and lay there, looking as lost and hopeless as Whisper had so long ago.
He pushed a cushion under Nicoβs head and took a seat on the long sofa, positioning himself so Nicoβs upper body faced his legs.
The Precursors were finally engaging the monster on the screen, Sparrowβs golden glow extending to all eight of the other team members in the vicinity. The thingβs behemoth size dwarfed even skyscrapers as Newton, Merlin, Kadabra, and Prism sent salvo after salvo of attacks at it. The video feeds from the news station drones then cut to several large, transparent trucks housing people chained tightly together. More subnaturals. The trucks stopped some ways from the actual combat and released the prisoners, who were then freed of their shackles and chains. Some of them darted towards the fight immediately, with speed beyond human limits. Others began glowing with the effects of their own magic while still others called forth strange creatures and constructs from thin air.
They joined the Precursors on the battlefield before long, but Sparrow didnβt extend her flight to any of them. Maybe she couldn't, or maybe she was too busy maintaining it on her current targets. Either way, a fourth of the subnatural backup were torn to pieces by another jagged black wave before they could even get close to the creature.
It looked a bit like Dreamcatcher, the thing on the screen. That same narrow torso and gangly limbs, though it sported misshapen ram horns on its head instead of the elegant arches of Dreamcatcher's antlers. A wave caught one of the Precursors, but it passed without hurting them. Sparrow's invincibility extending to her allies as well. A large, muscular man most recognized as Hephaestus raised a strange, black disk in the air and the next black wave seemed to warp before being sucked into the tiny circle of magical material in the Precursor's hand. In return, Newton and Prism fired off another round of gravity fields and lasers. The monster barely seemed to care.
The door behind them slammed open as Donovan finally returned. Whisper stood to face him, the expression on his face grim as he mouthed "Nico" to the other adopted brother. Donovan's breathing was ragged, and his eyes darted between the two. Wordlessly, he walked over to Nico and slammed the boxes of pad thai onto the table in front of them.
"Traffic was ridiculous," he drawled, his tone inscrutable. Donovan went over and unplugged the television, "Eat quickly, it's already getting cold."
Nico didn't respond, still staring at the black TV screen as if looking for an answer that everyone knew wouldn't be there. Whisper poked through the boxes of food, picking one up and holding it in front of Nico placatingly. Still no response. He turned back to Donovan, a hint of desperation in his eyes. Rage seared through Donovan's expression. He snatched the box Whisper was holding, stabbing a fork into its contents and holding it in front of the distraught boy's mouth.
"Eat," he growled.
It took long, agonizing minutes for Nico's eyes to focus on Donovan, then the food, but he didn't move in response.
"Could I...be alone for a bit?" his voice was barely audible when he finally spoke.
Whisper clicked his tongue and grabbed Nico's mouth, pulling it open before nodding at Donovan. Donovan got the message and shoved the fork into Nico's mouth.
That worked. Nico coughed and spluttered, finally sitting up as he choked down the forkful of pad thai. Whisper watched him eat carefully, ready to react if he started coughing it up or something. Instead, Nico ate quietly--mechanically--once he had worked his mouth around the initial wad of food. He swallowed the mouthful and stared now at the boxes on the table. With Donovan in the room, Whisper was free to hunt through the shelf under the coffee table for a pen and some scraps of paper, finally locating both and scribbling down a message to Donovan. He was certain Nico was in no mood to care.
Don't leave him alone. I need to head to the bathroom, the message read. Donovan gave a silent nod of affirmation. He turned to Nico.
"...Wanna play Uno?" he asked sullenly, "You might even beat me this time."
Whisper left as Nico automatically nodded, not a trace of emotion on the traumatized face.
He hadn't been lying about needing to use the bathroom, but it wasn't to take a piss. He had to cope with the news, too, though he had held back for Nico's sake.
Without a doubt, the Lehmann family in Palo Alto was dead. Elliot and Lucien had just been texting the three of them that morning after all, discussing some potential renovations to the house. Well, more like arguing over potential renovations. Those two never saw eye-to-eye for all that they loved each other as family. He couldn't quite fathom that those conversations would never happen again.
Whisper--Micah--had arrived in the United States at six years old with his family, hailing from a small town in western Europe that had been lucky enough to hear of the immigration rush to the United States, where people hoped they would be a bit more protected from Dreamcatcher's monsters. It didn't take long for his family to find out the hard way that capitalism did not favor fresh beginnings. As the flood of refugees surged in while the world suffered through the worst assaults of Dreamcatcher's creations, Micah had woken up one day left behind in a run-down New York apartment they had been sharing with seven other people equally starved for luck.
In his desperation, he had aimlessly wandered the city before bumping into a group of boys--Nico, Donovan, and Nico's brothers, Elliot and Lucien. It was a ten-year-old Nico who had insisted on taking the filthy urchin with them to the restaurant when Micah had almost collapsed from hunger. Nico's brothers and Donovan had balked at the suggestion. Elliot, chaperoning them for the walk, had to take the entire arguing group back to Sophia and Michael Lehmann, the parents who had been hoping for a quiet evening in their hotel without needing to handle their rambunctious boys. The entire time, Nico hadn't let go of Micah's hand.
"What's your name, dear?" Sophia had asked. Micah had opened and closed his mouth without any answer, barely recognizing the question. Elliot had been the first to figure out he was mute after several more soundless mouth movements.
"Whisper," Nico had suggested when Micah hadn't been able to spell or speak his name.
It would be almost half a year before Whisper had grasped enough of the language to read and write proficiently, and even then he never bothered bringing up his real name--it didn't matter; it didn't mean anything. From there on, everything came a bit easier to him, bolstered by the opportunities afforded through the Lehmann bank account and the support he always found from the Lehmann family--Elliot in his eccentric genius, Lucien in his persistent care, Donovan in his casual confidence, and Nico in his constant presence. He had loved the family. He still loved the family.
And now they were cut down to the three of them and distant relatives who barely remembered their names. The house they were occupying was one of Uncle Johann's mansions, the man himself never deigning to set foot in the place. It was more an entertainment house for special guests and he had extended the invitation to the boys under Sophia and Michael in the interest of maintaining steady connections with the nearest branch of the Lehmann family tree.
Connections that no longer mattered.
Whisper felt the first sting of tears rise and he swallowed loudly to hold it down. He couldn't also break down when Nico was like this. But he couldn't bear to suffer through it alone, try as he might. For a while, Whisper tugged at the friendship bracelet Nico had made for his 12th birthday--a simple chevron-patterned affair in gradients of blue that Nico promised to upgrade when his friendship bracelet mastery leveled up. Donovan had a similar bracelet in varying shades of orange.
If he was going to suffer, it would be with them. Always.
The walk back to the theater room was dreadfully slow. Nico was still playing Uno with Donovan on the floor, and neither of them made any comment about how he kept putting the wrong cards down more often than not.
Whisper didn't announce himself as he came in, foregoing his usual ritual of tapping on the doorframe. He just sat down in the space the two of them had somehow known to leave for him and grabbed some incorrect number of cards from the deck, playing a card without thinking after Nico threw down another card that broke the rules. The three of them kept drawing cards, never letting any of their hands reach the victory number. When the deck ran out, they pulled cards from the messy pile in the center, continuing to play until well past midnight. Whisper had been the only one to cry, but by now a stopgap measure of numbness was settling in.
They kept drawing and playing their hands haphazardly until Nico started crying, and it was Donovan's shoulder that Nico cried onto until the 15-year-old finally sobbed himself to sleep.
Whisper cleaned up the mess of cards scattered around them before helping Donovan move Nico onto the sofa, ignoring the slight feeling of exclusion he felt every time Nico relied on Donovan instead of him.
The three of them slept in that room afterwards, Donovan on the other end of the sofa from Nico and Whisper on the floor beside them.
Black X's marred their throats when they woke up in the late afternoon, and Nico was the first to propose they leave everything behind.
The calmness of his demeanor scared Whisper, who had instinctively reached for Nico's shoulder, calling out his brother's name in the process. He wasn't the only one shocked by the sound that came from his mouth. He had a voice now, clear and strong, with a lilting timbre that drew the ear's attention. Whether that had always been his voice or the voice he had wished for in the dream, Whisper would never know, but for a blissful three years after that incident, he was able to speak with the two people he held closest to his heart even as they lived in conditions barely fit for a human--skirting away from civilization for as long as they could before supplies ran low. In a way, that manner of living never ceased, even as they found more mages on the run like them.
Things could have remained that peacefully nomadic had it not been for the day the three of them became Animi--where the same power that had granted Whisper a voice muted him again, this time in a way crueler than his original defect.
πππ‘π₯. π, ππππ / / πππΈβππβ πΌππ€π₯ / / π»ππ£πππ₯π π£'π€ ππππππ / / ππ‘ππ
"Come on, Zhang, everyone already knows your game," a Southern drawl grated against Director Zhang's ears as she continued putting up with the online meeting between the USARILN directors. The voice that reminded her of a filthy hillbilly belonged to Director Mark Kleinfelder of USARILN West. He wasn't done talking, either.
"You play up the 'evil headmaster' role so the DOD will look at you for higher positions. It's not hard to figure out, pretty lady."
"Refrain from calling me that ever again, Kleinfelder," Director Zhang snapped, "Your kowtowing to the students looks far worse than any powergrab you could ever float over my image. At least I'm not bending over and spreading for an assistant subnatural."
"The fuck did you just say to me, bitch?"
"That's enough," a gruff voice with a heavy gravel undercurrent cut through the looming argument, the sound of USARILN Central Director Ariah Scovel's irritation clear in his tone.
"Perhaps you should focus that reminder on the repeat instigator," Zhang threw back, though she knew better than to push the matter when the topic was this important, "though I'll relent if he does."
"Everyone will be focusing on the matter at hand. Are we clear, Kleinfelder?" the oldest of the directors barked over the secure voice communication channel. Ariah was leaning heavily into his late 30's, but age didn't prevent the man from shouting with the best of them. Kleinfelder's silence was answer enough and Ariah proceeded to the matter at hand. "First, East is seeing a rise in activity, especially over the past year. How are you coping, Director Zhang?"
"Sufficiently," she answered simply, "though our resources are wearing thin--"
"If you need more supplies--" Ariah interrupted.
"No, not those resources. Rather, we have an abundance of supplies. I'm running low on students. Too many lost to too many attacks across the Eastern seaboard while West suffers from an overflow of subnaturals."
"I don't send my students out to die," Kleinfelder muttered.
"Because you haven't experienced a single major threat on that side of the country after 2011," Zhang's tolerance of the sexist bastard who found nitpicking at her every action a suitable course for their every interaction wore thin a lot faster than usual that day.
"I'll remind you that we went through great pains to fend off several waves of Dreamcatcher's monsters in the wake of that Primordial," he protested weakly, though there was no denying the difference in intensity between the density of creatures in the west and the east. The Directors had taken to calling the massive creature that had attacked California in 2011 a "Primordial," following the media's nickname for the monolithic creature, though information on it remained frustratingly elusive. The remains had been taken away to the same underground bunker the DOD held Hephaestus in, and since then there had been no word on any developments.
"That disaster could have been entirely averted if your predecessor had been more careful. Learn from his mistake, Kleinfelder, or you're doomed to repeat it," Zhang's admonishment was sincere, despite all her hatred for the man.
He didn't respond to that, and the meeting went silent for a few moments before Scoval spoke up again.
"I propose a large transfer of students from West to East. Director Zhang's concerns are correct--West is crowded and East is almost deserted and in need of more firepower. I trust there will be no problems with this, Director Kleinfelder?" Scoval's meaning wasn't hard to construe. This wasn't a request, and that question wasn't a true concern.
"...None, Director Scoval," came the disgruntled reply some seconds later.
"Now on to more sensitive matters," Scoval continued, "The management of our...special circumstances."
Zhang's lips thinned at the new discussion topic. "Stressful" was the kindest word to describe that matter. "Disastrous" would be a bit closer.
πππ‘π₯. π, ππππ / / πππΈβππβ πΌππ€π₯ / / π»π π£π πΉπ¦ππππππ πΈ / / ππππ
A sketchbook lay in a open heap of bent papers on the ground of Building A's window side. The person who found it picked it up gently, smoothing out the worst of the creased pages and flipping through the sketches carefully, as if they were holding something as delicate as the Mona Lisa itself in their hands. With another flipped page, a sketch of Kusari Bloodworth revealed itself in all its tormented glory.
The image had been drawn over, the paper worked and reworked until even the thickness of the sheet had given way to the artist's pressure. Initials in the corner of the front cover had clearly revealed who the sketchbook belonged to, but this self-portrait was the more damning evidence. Here was a girl who had overlayed so many parts of herself over one another that she only remained truly human in the dark lines of the image she saw in the mirror of paper and pencil. What she thought of her living self, the person couldn't even begin to guess.
Before the patrolling guards could come around and notice something amiss, the tall figure in gray baggy sweatpants and a similarly gray baggy sweatshirt with the hood pulled well over their head tucked the sketchbook under an arm and walked off briskly.
πππ‘π₯. π, ππππ / / πππΈβππβ πΌππ€π₯ / / βπππ‘π¦π€ / / ππππ
An alarm blared across campus, sounding eerily reminiscent of an air raid siren.
A high-pitched ping repeatedly emanated from every student's ankle cuff as well, adding to the cacophony before a digitized voice blared across the campus speakers, repeated once more by each ankle cuff.
"WARNING: Hostiles located 11.6 miles north of designated city outskirts. Threat level: Significant. All personnel stand by for orders."
After a brief moment of silence while the sirens continued blaring, the mechanical voice spoke again.
"Target designation: Unknown. Cannot confirm designation. Cannot confirm Dreamcatcher abnormalities."
Another silence punctuated the end of the ominous message as Director Zhang inputted the new information manually into the system.
"Updated target designation: Menagerie. Orders: Kill on sight. All personnel stand by for assignments."
The thudding and scraping of footsteps from students and guards alike immediately followed this message as "personnel" wavered between pulling out communication devices and running back to their dorms. Most of the soldiers immediately proceeded towards the the north end of campus, where the Director's office was located, while several groups stationed themselves around the dorms, ready to fire in case any student tried something in the chaos.
In her office, Director Zhang allowed Commander Kardos to handle moving the soldiers. He was already directing most of them towards containment chambers 0-20, housing the worst of their X's. It was under the command of a subnatural admitted to the USARILN East staff that they kept those particular students under constant lock, key, and antipsychotics. "They're too close" had been all the explanation offered, but Director Zhang considered that fact more useful than detrimental. Those students would be--in a sense--the most double-edged safeguards. That same subnatural staff member was also the driving force behind deciding which students could be sent into combat and which ones couldn't, a pleasant side-effect of said staff member's ability to precisely identify the powers and emotional states of subnaturals.
Commander Kardos was still barking out orders over his secure, mesh network-connected smartphone when Director Zhang considered sending for the Precursors. She had cleared Prism and Sparrow's return to the Pentagon within hours of assigning the newest students their rooms and by now was almost certain the two had been deployed elsewhere to harangue more of Dreamcatcher's worst creations. The Precursors couldn't take rest days. Something somewhere always demanded their attention, and they were the only ones trustworthy and powerful enough to send. Sure enough, a quick check of currently available Precursors on the live database revealed only Benediction and Kadabra free, though Kadabra had a mission scheduled in five hours. She sent in a request for a Precursor's presence anyway, labeling it with the red color code for an emergency. The only color higher in severity was black, the signal that everything--absolutely everything--was out of hand.
To her surprise, within a minute of the request, the system cleared Benediction for deployment to USARILN East with an ETA of three hours. To send the closest thing humanity had to a living Jesus Christ without much hesitation worried Director Zhang immensely. Either they took her very seriously (and they should, as far as she was concerned) or they were worried about something else. It bothered her that she had a few ideas on what that "something else" could be.
Before she could get too sidetracked, the Director turned back to the glowing white cube Hephaestus had sent as the direct communication and control line to both the transparent trucks and the various cuffs. A few practiced taps in a certain pattern across the cube's various faces and she had access to the ones she wanted in particular. Rubbing her eyes, she pulled out a nearby drawer on her desk, withdrawing a case of colored contact lenses.
Commander Kardos waited patiently while the Director placed the dark brown cosmetic contact lenses over her dark brown eyes, never questioning the purpose of something so redundant, especially in the context of an emergency. He, at least, knew his place, even if he found the habit strangely out of character for someone as utilitarian as Lina Zhang. The Director had been wearing another set of those contact lenses during her meeting with the new students and Commander Kardos had only realized it when she had removed the lenses in front of him upon his return to her office. That was one strange thing about the Director, but he supposed he had to allow most people these days their strange quirks--perhaps she wanted to make her eyes look even darker or some such intimidating nonsense. There were too many far stranger "quirks" ravaging the world anyway, to be thinking much on someone's personal comforts. When she finished with the final touches of what Commander Kardos assumed was her pinpoint makeup routine, Director Zhang simply turned back to the cube, as if nothing was out of place in her mannerisms.
Meanwhile the ankle cuffs of only the recent arrivals flashed and beeped several times in quick succession before Director Zhang's voice emanated from the same hidden speaker that had broadcasted the mechanical voice earlier. The announcement was directed only to the new students, and most others within earshot quickly learned to move themselves out of it. If Director Zhang wasn't talking to them, nothing good could come of hearing it. The few curious sorts who tried to stick close to any of the new students in the hopes of hearing something interesting realized soon enough that Zhang might be sending another fresh group of mages to early deaths on the battlefield.
"My new students. Consider this your combat assessment come early. Your overall orders remain the same as everyone else, but I will personally be monitoring your movements and behavior in the coming fight. I will divide you into groups prior to shuttling you out, but your field commander will be Ethan Sonnino--a subnatural, just like you. I've sent him ahead with his own group. You'll find him by the white glow around his body.
Now, on to your assignments. Pay attention to your color.
Red Team: Lawrence Ellison, Hazel Baker, Emma Halwell, Sander Lorraine, Kusari Bloodworth, Christmas Halvost.
Blue Team: Grant Rotem, Padma Majumdar, Callan Webb, Marcus Howell, Siena Santana, Lilianna Brandt.
Green Team: Alexis Hunter, Aaron Erikson, Christopher Francis, Zoe Fletcher, Savannah Churchill, Allison Revel, AngΓ©lique Lachance."
With every finished team, a small light on the ankle cuff switched to the correct color, making doubly sure no one was confused about their current groupings. The Director continued speaking:
"The following are special orders for the teams in the case of any unexpected developments:
First. Lawrence Ellison will be Hazel Baker's handler while in combat. Her collar suppresses much of her combat abilities in order to calm her violent tendencies. I am leaving him responsible for removing it should the situation arise, but he is also under orders to remain near her and keep her placated. Everyone should endeavor to keep him alive and in close proximity to Ms. Baker if her collar is off.
Failure is not an option, Mr. Ellison. You may bring your coffee if it pleases you.
Second. Sander Lorraine requires roughly one gallon of fresh human blood to reach maximum efficiency in combat. He can last with less, of course. I recommend the red team allow him to drink from multiple sources to spread the blood loss.
Third. Christopher Francis requires special preparation prior to combat. Regardless of what you see and hear, do not interrupt him.
Fourth. The only subnaturals in the three groups capable of altering damaged states are Lilianna Brandt and Christmas Halvost. Ms. Brandt can transfer an injury onto herself while Mr. Halvost can slowly regenerate any damage taken--provided you drink ample amounts of his blood.
Keep in mind their locations during combat. Losing another batch of useful students at this point in time would be problematic."
The cuff's speakers clicked into silence.
Missives given, Director Zhang wasted no time ordering the closest soldiers to escort the assigned students to their respective trucks--regular trucks this time with heavy armoring and the standard military tarp stretched across the back. The situation demanded more urgency than safeguards. All the new students were sorted once more into groups, this time matched by the color on their ankle cuffs. There were significantly fewer soldiers keeping watch over them now, though whether that was because most of the soldiers were elsewhere or because the students had already been tagged like livestock was up for debate. Still, only two soldiers watched them per truck, totaling only six guards between all three armored vehicles: one to drive, the other to sit squeamishly in the back to watch the roughly half-dozen subnaturals per group.
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Each group was ferried at breakneck speed towards the battlefield, a luckily open expanse of grass and dirt far enough outside of town to not worry about heavy collateral damage. Once they arrived, there was no mistaking the "Ethan Sonnino" mentioned earlier. "The white glow around his body" was as bright as a lighthouse beacon, making it nearly impossible to make out the field commander from afar. His light faded only slightly with every orb of magical light he lobbed at the horde of creatures nearby. Every attack exploded into an almost blinding field of brightness on contact, and most of the smaller creatures were gone by the time the light faded. But for all that, the larger of the monsters continued moving forward, undaunted.
A flash of colorful streaks near Ethan revealed another student, who twisted and gyrated her lithe, pale body as if dancing, every movement leaving a trail of multicolored neon lights in the air around her, the strange dance accentuated by the whirling of her long hair. She moved purposefully, tracing arcs of varying widths in the air with her fingers, hands, wrists, and arms, creating patterns that she would then snap at the enemy with two quick motions: bringing the length of both arms forward and nearly clapping the entirety of the limbs together, but stopping perfectly with only an inch to spare between them. Every snapping arm movement of this sort denoted the end of a pattern and a splash of light against an enemy, shearing away entire chunks of bodies in the same graceful shapes the black-haired girl had drawn.
Standing behind her, another girl was bobbing her head to what was apparently music from her headphones, doing a little shuffle dance to accompany the rhythm. She had brown hair tied in high pigtails and looked too small and underdeveloped to be anything more than 12 or 13 years old. Her presence seemed entirely out of place on the field until a large spaghetti monster tried to divebomb the group of four from above, only to smash into a large dome that flickered briefly into visibility before fading from the visible spectrum again. Another dance and release from the black-haired girl ripped off at least twenty of the creature's tentacles before it retreated to a safe distance, watching almost sorrowfully as the strange white ichor that made up its blood dripped down around the outside of the invisible barrier.
The last person in Ethan's group was a tall, slim African-American man with long hair tied into a low ponytail at the back of his head. He didn't look at all like a student, but looks hardly meant anything these days. The man stood almost protectively over the small, pigtailed girl and closer inspection would reveal a rippling series of strange, black sigils swirling all over his arms. He didn't move an inch from where he stood and seemed to have no ranged attacks like the other two in the group, keeping his eyes instead on the amassing horde.
There were at least forty of the abominations lurching and flailing about, some terrestrial, others airborne. Menagerie, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen.
The pigtailed girl tapped Ethan and said something, to which he turned and responded before glancing at the trucks. The shining ball of light that was supposed to be his head seemed to look at the black man briefly before turning back to the fray, a sudden shot of three light orbs sending the worst of the advancing creatures scuttling backwards. At that, the backliner of their group jogged quickly over to the trucks, the barrier glimmering into view again for a brief moment as he passed out of its range.
"Eric Richardson," he introduced himself, his voice surprisingly light and airy for someone so tall and imposing. At a closer distance, the white mark across his right temple was clearly visible. "Ethan's over there--" he gestured with a quick jab of his thumb at the moving spotlight "--and we've already been briefed on you guys. Thanks for showing up."
He turned back to the group and shouted, "Myla! Mark them! Backup's here!"
The black-haired dancer pirouetted rapidly, generating a series of complex designs in the air that almost engulfed her until another forward snap of her arms seemed to throw the lights over the "heads" of the creatures in the horde. Red, blue, and green. Their team designations.
Each batch of colorful marks had been grouped roughly together, seemingly at random, with a fourth unmarked batch of creatures apparently meant for Ethan's group. The red marks were in the shapes of circles, the blue marks in the shape of X's, and the green marks in the shape of triangles. As if she realized the setup would be incomplete as is, Myla spun once more and marked the fourth group of monsters with pink squares. Satisfied, she resumed helping Ethan hold them at bay.
β
The group of red circles consisted of three giant dolls about the size of sedans in puffy, white petticoats and blonde, curly haired wigs all twirling slowly on one foot while their giant, lifeless eyes spun wildly in their sockets, the movements of one eye never matching the other. One of them kicked at the ground and sent a giant chunk of earth slamming into the barrier around Ethan's group. The little girl with the headphones flinched at the impact before a quick pitch of light from Ethan made the three dolls leap back in unison.
A wizened hag who looked the exact image of a typical fairy tale witch complete with pointy hat and black cloak hunched over near the back of the group, the occasional wave of her hand flicking black, jagged spears through Ethan's attacks, the witch's spells shattering against Ethan's balls of light and nullifying them. The field commander only launched more in response. Beside the witch stood a massive eyeball larger than a human head attached to the end of one long, hairless leg that ended in a bright-red stiletto heel, giving the eye-leg a substantial six meters of height. The eye had long eyelashes and seemed to blink almost coquettishly at its surroundings as its leg bent slightly in what might have been a suggestive pose if it wasn't just an eyeball and a leg.
It turned to look at the trucks and a glowing circle appeared in front of its dilated pupil. Before it could do anything, a complex design of neon-bright lights smashed into its "body," sending it toppling, though failing to cut through anything like Myla's lights had managed to do with some of the lesser creatures. As it struggled to stand back up, five dog-like anteater-canine hybrids bounded up to the eye-leg, shoving it back into place slowly. The "pets" had the faces and long, whisking tongues of anteaters, but the sinewy bodies of wolves or greyhounds, though they were completely hairless. Their animals' faces had no features other than the mouths, but they still seemed to sniff and look around all the same.
β
Meanwhile, the blue X's were led by a dual vanguard of a two-headed quadruped and a beetle-like humanoid. The quadruped was as large as an elephant and stood on large claws resembling those of a cassowary. One head had a hippo snout and bulging eyes while the the other was more avian in nature. Its behaviour seemed more aggressive than the other creatures. The humanoid was two metres tall and covered in a plate armor exoskeleton. The only unprotected part of its body was the "head" which consisted of nothing but a dribbling venus flytrap-like mouth covering its entire face area.
The rest of the squadron consisted of five grotesque squirrel-human hybrids that were barely taller than infants and three bright orange quadrupeds that resembled fish with human appendages. The squirrel creatures in particular moved incredibly fast, about the speed of a bounding dog.
β³
The worst of the lot seemed grouped under the green triangles.
Three mysterious saucers hovered high in the air as several long, pale yellow tendrils, about the same thickness as someone's arm, gracefully crept from the polished ceramic. They tentaively searched around on the ground as if trying to find something. Every so often a large, chunky glob of red fell from the saucers and splattered on the ground-- giving off the strongly distinct smell of marinara.
All at once the three saucers suddenly began to tip, revealing a writhing red and yellow mass of what appeared to be spaghetti. A massive, cow-sized meatball lazily rolled off of each plate, landing on the ground with a sickening-- or perhaps appetizing-- squelch. Just as it seemed the enemy couldn't possibly be any less imposing, the meatballs sprouted tiny legs which, for all intents and purposes, shouldn't have been able to support the weight of such a large mass. But support they did and the meatballs started sprinting-- all but one managing not to trip and roll as they made their way toward the green group.
As the meatballs ran, a clear break in the surface revealed a large set of sharp teeth. Suddenly the delicious meaty spheres seemed a lot less like meatballs and more like clumsy killer pacmen with tiny legs.
"If any of you guys need time to prepare, now would be the time to take it," Eric said with a wave of his hand as he hurried back to his team. "And, seriously, thanks for coming--even though I'm pretty sure you didn't have a choice. Most of our combat-ready white marks are gone and the best X's are too unstable, so you guys are doing us a solid!"
β
Ethan's group began redirecting their efforts towards the last 13 or so creatures, with Myla scattering a series of patterns to further push the entire group back. The monsters, by now, had become used to her telegraphs and had moved away the moment she started dancing, leaving her suppression fire mostly ineffectual. She continued scattering more patterns as the spaghetti monster she had damaged before spat a stream of red sauce her way. The barrier deflected it, but this time the smaller girl fell to her knees. Eric, reaching the group just as she fell, scooped her up into a bridal carry, the living runes on his arms trailing over her body as he held her.
The last group of creatures had, in part, a ragtag band of seven car-sized octopuses sporting hairy human legs instead of tentacles. Each leg rippled with muscles as they crabwalked around, though their uncoordinated movements gave the creatures little control over their direction. A hulking golem-esque creature seemingly made of jagged obsidian moved slowly behind the octopuses, its main body carrying five gray, bulbous sacs that spewed forth a stream of toxic vomit. Closer inspection would reveal each sac to be clinging onto the golem's main body by a myriad of suction cups, behaving a bit like barnacles. Vomiting barnacles.
I am also still working on it. It's really the keeping up with reading that's the problem, it's been a hectic week and everyone is posting large posts.
Oh, I'm not having any trouble reading it, I was only commenting.
In any case, if you ever feel overwhelmed, feel free to PM me/a player or tag me/them in the #plotting channel in Discord to ask for a summary. Life sucks sometimes and everyone'll understand.
It feels like there's way too much text, but it's really because there's like 20 of us, and everyone is doing collab posting.
I appreciate very much that everyone's so enthusiastic about posting and writing up detailed character thoughts without straying into "too much."
If it's a matter of just keeping up with current IC events due to a hectic week, I could provide a summary of events for this set of posts, though keep in mind these are fairly isolated player interactions unless you plan to have Padma interact with other people besides Grant. This time around, the only post you have to read is the initial GM update post that moved everyone to their rooms.
Everything else is just blood, sweat, and tears your fellow players put in to write a compelling story together.
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