Lugubrious

Overlord: Momento Mori

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the curiosity of both Salem and Light prompted them to follow Graft closely on the way to his laboratory. From what he knew of their natures he could hardly blame them, but it presented a problem for maintaining secrecy when it came to the matter at hand. Of course, the matter at hand itself had the technoorganism screaming on the inside. He maintained a stony, even surly exterior, but Graft's mind was afire with shock, confusion, and inference. At the moment, the director aimed for damage control, but to preserve the wellbeing of his newest employee he needed to operate immediately, and doing that without revealing her to his overeager associates was an impossibility. While he didn't want them to know, that in itself wasn't the true problem; the real issue was that the moment they said anything, the magic of Kath Erine would record their comments, and that meant anyone could find out.

Even Rodias.

As the small party neared their destination, led by Papillary with Graft and his Guards bringing up the real, the director shot Light an irritated look. “Surely you mean 'eldritch'.” It would take a lot more arms than Light had to make trading for sophisticated new gear a fair exchange. Head, the door to the laboratory recognized Papillary and slid open with a low but audible groan. Graft proceeded to one of the tables, more of a tightly-packed block of biometal parts than real furniture, and used a tendril to sweep the clutter onto the floor. “Right here. Gently.” The Guards complied, setting their cloaked bundle on the block before stepping back to attention, as silent and faceless as ever.

Graft took a position at the head of the table, at some sort of terminal, and looked between Light and Salem. “I've got another special offer. A favor for a favor.” His mouth stopped moving, but his voice reached the others as modulated reverberations. ”Don't say anything about her condition.” Another tentacle snaked up from his back, extending to grasp his coat and pull it away.

“I present the third creation of Brushen Penn.”

Penn's secret lay open for all to see: a gorgeous woman with demonic features, dressed in unusual garb and in bad shape. Papillary stared, at a complete loss for words. Graft sank his claws into he terminal, linking with the system, and a multitude of biomechanical arms with all sorts of instruments sprang from the sides of the table to curl over its top, like the legs of a dead spider. Many poor souls had met a terrible fate on operating tables like this one, but today Graft would be using it for benevolence. Straightaway he began his diagnostics, using some of the tools to poke and prod at the barely-conscious girl in order to find out about her. A panel rose from the top of the terminal, its living surface changing texture like an octopus to form letters.

Level 1 Nightgaunt
Blunt trauma and abrasions across body
Substantial internal damage
Permanent debuffs, cleansable
Item discovered

One grabber pulled away a small bone charm inscribed with magic runes. Graft swapped in a new pair of lenses to his biomask, identifying the item. “Second Chance. Any attack that would one-hit kill the target will instead leave it at 1 HP.” Ugh. Without delay, he pulled up an syringe arm and began administering nanoflesh. At the injection site there was a momentary discoloration, but the living technology quickly sank in, surging through the woman's system. It made various minor repairs before melding with her bones and organs, strengthening them.

After a few moments the transfusion was complete. The woman had opened her purple eyes, looking around blearily. “Be at ease,” Graft told her. “You are among friends. What is your name?”

Her gaze fell upon him, but she said nothing. He tried again. “I am Vitaphagas Graft. This is Salem,” he said, pointing at the doll. “And Light.” He indicated the vault guardian. One after another his subject glanced at the others, her vision as dull as the look on her face. “Can you understand me?”

She did not. Graft breathed a heavy sigh. “Tabula rasa. A blank slate. No will, no sense, no self. No more than a pretty face.” Why would Penn make something like this? he asked himself. A dozen answers floated around in his head, the least worrisome of all being 'just because she could'. To create life with so little thought or care seemed so...irresponsible. Surely even he, himself a creation, could do better.

Graft inclined his head. “Say, now that's an idea.”

A confused look reached him Papillary, which was remarkable considering her lack of a face. “Sir?”

He prepared another ministration, this one special. The arms of his operating table whirred to action, and Graft explained as he worked. “Each of us was made who we are by our creators. Yet each of us surely started as something like this in the beginning. Clay, waiting to be formed. While I have been making life like Guards for a while, they stand at a fixed point in terms of ability and sophistication. If I can unlock the secrets of development, and steer it as our creators did, the possibilities are endless.” Technoorganisms, beings made for adaptation, evolution, and utilization, could grow faster than normal creatures. This nanoflesh ministration would hopefully grant that skill. “There exists in her limitless potential. Through instruction and experience she may be able to gain all sorts of stats, skills, and levels. Perhaps one day she could even stand as our equal.” Carried away by his imagination, his voice dropped to a murmur. “Perhaps one day we ourselves can find ways to grow.”

The thought had never occurred to him, somehow: the thought of developing past the point where he stood now. But no, he couldn't get ahead of himself. His current project lay before him, without so much as a name. Graft removed his claws from the terminal, causing the table's arms to collapse back into its sides. Sliding an arm beneath the demon, he helped her into a sitting position. She offered no resistance, and sat looking at the others with wide eyes. “We must get her real clothes,” Graft remarked, his tone clinical. “And a name.” He glanced at the others. “Any ideas? Please be aware that you will not be paid for them.”

World of Light

@Hokagae go ahead and replace what's currently in your existing post in the characters tab. And yes, I can dm you a link later.

World of Light

Probably the ones in the Dead Woods at the RCPD, or at least that would be preferred if I'm able to do that.

@Hokagae

Dead Zone makes sense. I already have a potential idea involving Majora's End.

World of Light

I assume for Death since he originally left the group IC, he could come back in as having somehow stumbled upon them all again.

@Hokagae

He couldn't stumble upon them all technically, since there's two separate groups at the moment. Did you have your eye on one in particular?

World of Light

I'll admit that was a bad move on my part not letting everyone know that I was leaving. I've mainly been really busy with work and having computer problems. But it seems all has been sorted out and If I am allowed to, I would like to join in on this RP once again.

@Hokagae

Happy New Years everyone! Seems I'm uh, doing this at a pretty relevant time...

Sorry for the abrupt dropout a while back. This year's been pretty rough with me, and I couldn't motivate myself to do much - posting included. Then that sorta kept spiraling as I let it drag on, making me feel worse about myself, keeping me from posting, which I then felt even worse about.

Is there any chance I could get a second, uh, chance? I've gotten better about myself since then, and I plan to wrangle my brain in the new year.

@TruthHurts22

Well, I do want to believe you both, and while I really begrudge ghosting, I can see myself forgiving it. Turn the other cheek, and all that. I'll admit Death once again, and you -Truth- can reuse Phoenix or put up a new application if you want. A PM can be used to figure out entry points. In the meantime, I would recommend catching yourselves up on the IC.

World of Light

Death

Name: Death
Game Origin: Darksiders 2
Appearance:

Death

Personality: Death is an arrogant, sarcastic, cold and calculating anti-hero who is resourceful and opportunistic. He can also be cunning, such as when he devised a plan during the Abomination crisis, deceiving both his enemies and allies in order to achieve his goal. He is usually very ruthless, much preferring to achieve victory by any means than lose. Despite his seemingly harsh nature, Death can be kind. He can (and has in the past) help people in their endeavors, even if the end goal does not benefit him personally.

Background: After War was accused by The Charred Council of starting the Apocalypse prematurely and imprisoned, Death would not believe this and set out on his own to find some way to save the younger Horseman. Unknown to the Council, Death traveled to The Veil in search of the Crowfather. He intended to speak to the Crowfather in hopes he would know of a way to resurrect the human race and prove War’s innocence. The Crowfather told Death that the key to proving War’s innocence would be found in The Tree of Life and opened a portal there.

Before Death could enter, the old one closed the portal and refused to open it again. A ferocious battle ensued, in which Death would have defeated the Crowfather. An amulet that the Crowfather had around his neck fell and shattered on the ground, it’s glowing green fragments shooting out and imbedding themselves within Death. The Horseman was rendered unconscious and the Crowfather died, a dark vortex forming around the two and consumed them. When Death awoke, he found himself in the Forge Lands, home of the Makers. Soon, he found out that this land was filled with Corruption and this corruption would soon destroy the Tree of Life and the rest of the land along with it.

After a long and perilous journey, Death was close to reaching the end of his quest. He came face to face with the Avatar of Chaos, the thing that was spreading all of the corruption. A brutal fight commenced with Death prevailing over the Corruption. The Horsemann made it to the Well of Souls where he knew he had to plunge himself into it to resurrect the Human Race and save War. But before he could do so suddenly a bright light came forth and overtook him and everything around him.

Specialty: Melee Combat
Level: 1
Experience: 0/10

Powers: Death Grip - A power that allows Death to use a ghostly hand to pull items towards him or pull himself up to certain points he cannot reach regularly.

Strengths:
Agile - Death can use his tremendous agility to climb, run on walls and leap large distances.

Weapon Combat - Death can wield a variety of weapons such as armblades, gauntlets, and claws to maces, axes, and spears.

Crafting - Although not nearly as good as a Maker, Death has learned to craft and can create weapons and potentially other items as well.

Weaknesses:
Ranged Attacks - Death much prefers using his signature scythes or other close-range melee weapons to fight his enemies. Because of this, he is extremely inept at using any type of ranged weapon. He can also have a difficult time dealing with enemies that mainly deal damage from afar.

Glass Cannon - Death isn’t too tough and has trouble when it comes to receiving damage. Although not super weak, he can’t take much damage before he cannot continue to fight any longer.

Spirits: None

Kindred Spirits:
War - One of Death’s fellow Horseman,The Red Rider, War.

Strife - Another of the Horsemen, the gunslinger Strife.

Fury - The last of the four, Fury.

Inventory: Death carries his scythe The Harvester with him. The Harvester has the appearance of two short dual-wieldable scythe blades that can be joined together to form a double bladed scythe staff.

@Hokagae

It's been a year since you last left, without much in the way of a farewell. Is there any context that you might want to give along with that sheet? Consistent participation is something I ask of all my players.

Overlord: Momento Mori

With my latest post, I'm introducing the realization of something Brushen Penn did when in the game, as a result of Penn's own character flaws. People do all sorts of things in games since they're not real, but in a setting like this the echoes such actions can be dire.

Overlord: Momento Mori

Barely had the Director taken a step toward his new location of interest than a hail from behind demanded his attention, and he didn't need to see the owner of the voice to identify her. “Well, if it isn't Light.” He span around to face her and planted his cane before him to lean on it with both hands. He fully intended to say more, as a man more than comfortable hogging the limelight, but the eldritch thing didn't let him get another word in before proceeding in earnest to outline what she wanted. Fixing her with a coy smile, he intoned, “Well certainly! We here in the factor cater to all manner of clientele, even offering custom items. For the right price.” Unless ordered otherwise but a sufficient authority, the industrialist harbored no intention of doing a smidgen of work for free. He wondered how Light would take it; she didn't exactly seem the sensible type. Indeed, she instead started listing off potential items while rocking back and forth, fidgeting ceaselessly.

The last thing in the list got a sincere chuckle out of Graft, mostly due to its phrasing. “Deadly blades, of course. Explosives, definitely. Hugging...who knows? There isn't anything a sharp mind and willing hands can't do.” He pronounced the axiom with gusto, then gave Light a wink. “If sufficiently motivated.” It occurred to him: did she even have money? As a vault guardian it seemed like a must, but one could never tell anything for certain with Light. Ultimately, it did not matter, since Graft happily dealt in anything of value. Right now, no propositions lay on the table, however much Salem appeared to be hyping Light's request up.

Graft snuck a glance at the unreal boy. Surely, referring to Light as a sibling was a precept of his instilled by his creator? Who in their right mind could think of such a creature so fondly? Why, just standing here being civilized with her gave him a headache. No doubt he meant it in a mocking way, which summarized the doll's behavior rather thoroughly. Squeezing the bridges of his nose, Graft shook his head to clear the gnawing haze. “Really, that aura,” he remarked to the eldritch one, his tone chiding. “I simply must develop a dampener at some point. Having that would be its own reward.”

With a final shake of his head and blinking of his eyes, he put on another smile and turned back toward the far end of the Processing Center. “But one thing at a time. Let's see what's behind Lady Penn's special door. Follow if you wish, but if she returns I shall have grounds to insist you made me do it.” Snickering, he waltzed onward, circling around the enormous, bulging core that hummed away busily. A number of Guards stood around it, watching from grotesque masklike faces with weapons in hand. Had Light not been on the whitelist, her arrival in the Factory would have triggered an alert the moment a Guard or sensor discovered her, turning the whole place into a deathtrap. Graft expected that various Guards watched over her as she found her way through the place, but none would have given her any trouble. He prided his domain on treating welcome guests with a sense of decency, unlike some Chapters.

In short order Graft reached the other side. There, the ribbed wall narrowed down to a singular point, where singular door lay hidden in the darkness. As Graft approached, a woman stepped from the shadows. Shorter than him by a head, she wore an elegant but smart dress, like a particularly fashionable doctor. Most notably, instead of a head, the woman featured a giant heart instead, its many protruding arteries arranged like cords of hair with the help of metal clasps. She had no face, merely a few blue veins in the vague shape of eyes that pulsed with light to the beat of her heart, but a bubbly voice issued from it regardless. “Hello, Director.”

Graft inclined his head to her. “Papillary, my faithful assistant,” he greeted. His eyes remained on her for only a second before landing on the murky, ominous door. “So, here we are. Ready to investigate the strange banging noises coming from our creator's forbidden door, hmm?”

Papillary winced, clamping her hands together in front of where a human's heart would be. “Sir...are we really going to do this? It's so...unwise. She'll surely find out, and when she does, what then?”

Unperturbed, Graft blew off her worries with a wave of his hand. “Pshaw. Rodias gave us his word that the other Sable Lords are interminably indisposed. Besides, maybe she intended for us to find it. A keepsake. No, a legacy! And think of the possibilities, dear Papillary! There could be a wondrous treasure, worth millions. A brilliant technology that could revolutionize the Factory. A spectacle so incredible that we can charge admission just to see it, like an attraction in a county fair!” Graft's eyes glowed with greed. “That last one I plan to do anyway, by the way. Make a note of it.”

His assistant produced a notepad and hurriedly jotted that notion down. Graft wanted for her to finish and put away the pad, then motion to the door. “Now, if you'll do the honors.”

For a moment Papillary stood still, then pointed to herself and squeaked, “M-me?”

Graft crackled. “Yes, you! What are you waiting for, the grass to grow? Grass is a feature for next quarter! Get it open, would you?”

“O-of course!” Papillary rushed over to the handle, hesitated, then tried it and found it locked. A moment's examination determined that it was locked from her side, so with ginger hands she undid the lock. She then took a deep breath, her heart pounding, and heaved the door open.

Inside Graft saw a small chamber lined with identical furniture, mostly couches. It was carpeted, with wooden walls, and softly lit, a far cry from the adjoining Factory in style. However, Graft wasn't looking at the furnishings. Lying in a heap on the floor was an extraordinary woman with stone-gray skin, black-and-purple hair, and tubular black horns, tail, and wings. She could only be some kind of demon, but she wore a pure-white dress, now disheveled, that accentuated a gratuitous bust. Graft guessed she had once been strikingly beautiful, but the woman was badly wounded. Bruises, gashes, and other marks practically covered her. Her face in particular was a mess of welts and swelling. Everything about his screamed broken, battered, and weak. Graft wasted only one second taking this in, stony-faced, before tendrils erupted from beneath his coat. The technoorganic tentacles spread out in a fan formation in the doorway, completely blocking it.

“What's in there?” Papillary asked in a shaky voice, clearly concerned by Graft's sudden action, and one that exposed his true nature at that.

The words prompted the crumpled woman to shift slightly, feebly trying to look up at the figure in the doorway. Graft didn't need to look at her eyes to confirm his suspicions, but he did anyway. “I'll handle it,” he told his assistant as he held out a hand. A complicated apparatus appeared and Graft deployed it, tossing it onto the ground to unfurl and rise up. Inside the mechanism a technoorganic heart began to beat, and after another moment of setup it extended its tendrils to inject the prone figure. Restorative blood began to flow, and as he watched Graft noticed that the demon's wounds appeared to heal much faster than they should. Low health, low defenses, easily hurt by basic interactions of a high-level entity. She must be very low level. Created for a singular purpose. “Attend to my guests. I'll be along shortly,” he continued for Papillary, before addressing his guests. “My esteemed compeers. The Factory is yours to explore. I would ask that you avoid the Production Center specifically, but you can go with Papillary to the laboratory if you want to see me work, or have her set things up if you'd like to contribute to progress by testing my latest specimen's mettle.” Neither could have missed the technoorganic wyvern laying in the middle of the Testing Room as they made their way through.

The machine worked for another couple of seconds until it could do no more, then retracted its arteries to wait for its duration to run out. When the others were gone, Graft pulled back his own tentacles and knelt. “From this moment on, you're hired.” She stared at him, uncomprehending, through half-lidded pink eyes. The corners of his mouth tightened. Low intelligence too. “That means you're under my protection. I intend to look after my employees, as a good boss should. Let us put aside costs and duties for now and get you to my office for treatment.” He used his throat to release a distinctive tone and the nearest squad of Guards came running. At Graft's instruction, they picked her up with utmost care, and the director himself took off his coat and laid it over her to hide her from view. He led the group toward his office with his upper both clad in only vest and shirt, both backless, the mottled nanoflesh and carpet of tentacle heads clearly visible.

World of Light

Post made! The midboss fight in the Land of Adventure is almost done, and the Police Station isn't too far from being finished either.

@Gentlemanvaultboy, your story was great! Struck at something that's really a core theme of Linkle's character. Please enjoy your 20 dream EXP.

Since there was only one counting participant in that last event, events are going to be retired for the foreseeable future, which works just as well since there aren't any more holidays for a while, either.

World of Light

Ancestral Farmstead

Level 5 Tora - (37/50) EXP and Level 4 Poppi - (35/40) EXP
Tora Stress: 95/100 and Poppi Stress: 35/100
Location: the Land of Adventure
Word Count: 1083

Dodging out of the way of a perilous Koopa shell, Peach called out to Linkle in reply. “Got it!” After the heroic efforts of Tora and Poppi to keep fighting despite the heavy damage taken by the Nopon, she wasn't about to let a hair on his furry head be harmed. With the moment of peace offered to her by the Bowser crew's gambit, she took the chance to survey the hilltop. The sky, still a spectacular infinity of undulating gold, looked down upon a scene almost devoid of husks. After helping to fell the Thing from the Stars, the Centurion kept the momentum up, taking out the stragglers one after another. On the other side of the bucking Brachydios, which fought to dislodge the young men clinging to its back, Geralt seemed to be dispatching the last few. Another shell bounced Peach's way, and this time she stepped forward to plant her new boot right onto it, kicking it toward the last farmhand. The rock-hard puck swept the fossilized human's legs out from under it, sending it to the ground in a heap. Peach then sauntered up, planted the barrel of her scattershot against its back, and casually pulled the trigger. The recoil of the bone-jarring blast forced her to looked away, but when she looked again she saw only ash and crystal shards reassembling themselves into a Crystalline Aberration. Sighing, Peach reloaded and fired again.

One to go.

At least, she thought so. An agonized yell from one corner of the battlefield sparked panic in Peach and drew her gaze. Out of the corner of her eye she saw something ghastly floating above Michael, reeling from pain on the ground, but when she looked straight at it the monster disappeared. Linkle and Franklin saw it too. The latter, egged on by fear and rage, sprinted in to try and attack it straight-on, but his hurled machete missed its invisible mark. Linkle, however, fired off a couple bomb bolts in the general area. As they detonated on the ground in two subsequent plumes of flame and smoke, somehow leaving the nearby men completely unharmed, the explosions' area of effect caught the unseen entity in the blast. A distorted whinny pierced the air, and after another moment the Plow Horse reappeared about six feet to the right of where Michael lay—and within sprinting distance from Peach.

Before, the princess might have not seized the chance, but she was not the same as before. New battle sense galvanized new muscle to action, and Peach sprang forward. She dashed a short distance, momentarily leaving behind Bowser, Hat Kid, Junior, and Tora, and tossed a Grenaduck. The yellow, rubbery explosive bounced off the ground, over the horse, and behind the Plow Horse. Its small burst left Michael unharmed, but it pushed the airborne husk Peach's way, and more importantly got Michael out of her scattershot's gratuitous line of fire. Thunder and flame erupted from her weapon and ripped straight through the beast, tearing it into two hovering halves. They still moved, still alive, but Peach doubted they'd be much trouble to dispatch. The team had more pressing matters on its hands.

When she turned her attention to the Brachydios, however, she found her teammates already on the job. The Ace Cadet had shimmied onto the monster's head to offer his knife more tender targets, and as Peach watched Courier 6 approach the head from another angle. Cadet's dagger slid into the soft, thin scales behind the Brachydios's eye, making it rear its head back, and amped up on chems 6 took his shoot. Five of them, in fact. Almost a half-dozen slugs slammed into the monster's throat, spraying blood and provoking a wet, muted growl. The next moment a cubic arrow lodged there, launched by Linkle a fair distance away, and she sent a friend to join it soonafter. All the mounting injury reached a boiling point, and the already-temperamental monster went mad. It let loose an eardrum-rattling roar, forcing anyone without protection to clamp over their ears to avoid headsplitting pain, and charged. Literally steaming mad, it stomped toward the Courier to throw out a hefty sideswipe before thundering toward Linkle. It threatened to trample the Centurion on the way, bulling mindlessly toward its target until it stepped foot on the volatile ground left by the buried Aberrations.

The timing was perfect. Earth burst up as the interred crystals exploded, sending spiky fragments and maddening Color upward in a huge arc. Linkle herself barely avoided the chaos, but the Brachydios took it wholesale, and those gripping its hide took a portion, too.

Ace Cadet and Euden gain 20 stress

Head spinning, Euden watched as the Cadet seized the opportunity. This time his knife hit the monster's unguarded eye. The Brachydios staggered, its rage muddled into confusion by the Aberrations. Like a bolt from the blue the realization hit Euden, too: this was his chance as well. Draconic power flowed through him, begging to be unleashed. He took a deep breath to steady himself, released his grip on the monster's scales, and jumped into the air. Around him the wind surged, and then, in a gale-force whirlwind, he transformed.

A giant green dragon appeared and dropped with its full weight on the Brachydios. The monster wanted to run, to flee from the losing fight and nurse its wounds, but thanks to Midgardsormr he was going nowhere. Employing his full strength, the dragon planted an elbow across Brachydios' neck, splayed its limbs with his own, and ensnared a back leg at a bad angle with his tale. Splashing slimy spittle everywhere, the Brachydios struggled, but could not escape the pin. The path to victory lay open.

Peach did not intend to squander it. The princess hustled over, scattershot in hand. Poppi looked down at Tora, both having gotten a minute or two to compose themselves, and the Nopon nodded his encouragement. “Now is Poppi time to shine!”

“Roger, roger.” With an affirmative nod of her own Poppi stood, switched back to QT mode, and boosted into the fight. Once in range she started hammering the beast's back with her Mech Arms, aiming to break bones while leaving its exposed belly for allies with cutting weapons. Her flaming metal gauntlets careened into the blue scales again and again, a constant barrage that turned scales into slivers and mashed the flesh beneath. Peach ran up to the monster's head and fired into its slimy horn, tearing a huge chunk free.

Nero

Location: Chief's Office, RCPD, Dead Zone

The pair searched in a near-total silence, hearing only the ticking of the elaborate grandfather clock in the chief's office and distant rumblings from somewhere in the building. Nero found nothing that might be used to open the strange lock on the gate barring the way into the adjunct attached to the private collection room, not even a hint. Joker remained quiet as he examined the place, taciturn and contemplative, but the devil hunter's patience wore thin. With the situation bearing down on the police station, he could not afford to waste time. After shaking his head in resignation, he strode over to the gate. “Well, there's more than one way to skin a cat.” He reached up with his prosthetic hand, closed it around the edges of the locking mechanism, and yanked it off. It tore free with a wrenching noise of protest, and after a few more choice applications of force, the gate swung open.

Inside he found a miniature treasure trove. An honest-to-goodness chest lay nestled in the middle of various supplies, including emergency rations, ammunition, and medicine. Curious despite himself, Nero went ahead and opened the chest, which took a little more doing than he expected. When the lid flung open after a moment, the chest itself broke down and five items flew out to lie on the ground. There was a ceremonial dagger with a thin black blade, a handsome crucible, a brisk-looking scarf, and -though Nero didn't know what it was- an alternate costume contained within a police badge.

Nero shrugged. “Well, nothing really interesting, but at least we won't be going back empty-handed after all this time.” He grabbed as much as he could carry, figuring that Joker would do the same, and headed back out of the room toward the Main Hall.

Maximilian Howard

Location: Main Hall, RCPD, Dead Zone

Groaning, the police captain rubbed his head. Just when everyone got together with all their information and a resolution to this crisis was visible, something terrible had to happen. From the moment Blazermate gave the assembly her news, the mood over the entire hall had transfigured from cautiously optimistic to massively dreadful. It reminded Howard of something that happened in a lot of movies: someone asked 'how could it get any worse?' and just like that, it got worse. This time, of course, nobody had asked. Yet misfortune arrived all the same. Losing Louis hit Howard especially hard. Since his arrival the soft-spoken but extremely capable young man did everything in his power to help out those trapped in this hell, and now he was dead.

While he struggled to get his thoughts together, Donnie filled the dead air. He summed up every clue at the survivors' disposal and suggested a course of action, mentioning the station's surveillance system as well. Ratchet and Clank's postulation of radio use reached him as well. “Yeah, good calls. Radios were outdated where I'm from, so it didn't cross my mind, but there must be some in the east office, where we keep the various equipment. We can figure out who took the pages, too.” With a nod Howard turned to assign the task, only to find Jill already at work on the computer. Her eyes moved like hummingbirds, poring through four camera feeds at once for anything that might help to solve any one of the problems facing her team. Howard threw her an appreciative look, whether she saw it or not, and turned back. “Alright then. Form your own teams if you like, but do it fast. We've still got some units in the station somewhere. Nero and the kid, Lucatiel, Leon, and the guy with the cane.” Four more faces flashed in his mind, reminding him. “Plus that guy who went with Olivia. Fox went looking for Lucatiel and Leon, too.”

Howard rolled his neck and pivoted his shoulders, working out a few cramps. The others discussed a few advantages they did have, such as Jak's recovery of somewhat confusing ammo-generating capabilities, and Ratchet and Clank's apparent immunity to time-stopping. The entire idea of stopping time made Howard's head hurt, but he trusted the others knew what they were doing. When he stilled himself again, his collapsed x-baton was in his right hand. “Nowhere's safe anymore. We need to get all the civilians in one place. Damn it, we don't have enough people. Ghalt, stay here with Jill and I.” The shotgun-wielding mad nodded stiffly. “Eddie, Tess, get to the civvies on the east side, including the stair guard. If that dog's still in the break room, get him, too.” He scanned the area, searching for more fighters. He found only Fortune, aside from the new arrivals, but their previous conversations had made it clear she didn't exactly expect authority. “Can anyone grab the civvies on the west side?”

“Captain!”

Howard turned to look at Jill. She launched into her discovery without any need for prompting. “Found them. Both of them. Whoever this killer is, he's been posing as a civilian. There's a good chance he's with one of the civilian groups now. There's a fight in the Operations Room, I can't make out the details in the chaos. And I got who took the pages.” Narrowed brows overlooked hard eyes. “It was the swordfighter. Lucatiel.”

V

Location: Operations Room, RCPD, Dead Zone

Taking hold of Griffon's talons, V jumped into the air and allowed the bird to carry him backward. Not a second later, the fist of Mr. X crushed the metal desk he thought he'd pinned his quarry against. His eyes followed V as he fled, dead and unfeeling in a stony gray face. V clenched his teeth and glanced again at the red orb hovering above a black ashen spire near the room's door. Shadow needed another few moments to recuperate, but with X on the offensive, he might not get that time. Even with one of the dividing walls smashed by the brute giving him more space to flee in, he could not retreat forever.

X took a half step back before bodily kicking the crumpled desk. It tumbled through the air and struck V in the chest, knocking him to the ground in a wheezing heap. A few yards away, Leon pulled himself to his feet using the wall, and shouted, “Hey!” to get the tyrant's attention. X glanced his way and got a bullet in the face for his efforts, though Leon's second and third missed, and the next pull of his pistol's trigger gave up only a despairing click. Empty. Ignoring him X moved forward, shouldering debris aside as he approached V. Griffon fired off a volley of purple bolts, but none so much as phased X as he advanced.

Another shout from behind alerted X, prompting him to turn and catch Lucatiel's greatsword on his arm. Its blade cut through cloth and flesh, but not nearly far enough, and X unhurriedly brought up his other arm to sock the hollowing woman in her masked face. She staggered sideways and X resumed his march toward V, now only a couple feet away and still fighting to work his bruised lungs. Lucatiel, however, stopped her fall with a hastily-planted foot, and with a guttural scream she pivoted around to shove the tip of her greatsword into X's back.

Without a word the silent man spun around, wrenching the weapon out of Lucatiel's grasp, and delivered a blistering hook to her back that sent her sprawling, down for the count. Her mask clattered to the ground, bounced one, and stopped. Leon appeared, having limping his way over, but X elbowed him aside. Then nothing remained in the way.

He bent to pick up V by the neck and held him against the wall. V grabbed at his hand, his efforts to break free futile. Tighter and tighter the tyrant squeezed, until the darkness closed in around V. Griffon clawed at his tormentor, screeching an incoherent series of insults in a vain attempt to get X's attention, but nothing was working.

Just as his vision was about to go dark, a red laser blast struck X in the back, and he glanced over his shoulder to see the source of the disturbance. In the open doorway to the Operations Room stood an anthropomorphic fox, holding a blaster trained on X. “Put that man down!” he screamed.

V's eyes weren't on Fox. They lay on the red orb floating right by him, a cone of black sand whirling beneath it. He watched it break, the crimson magic inside released, and called his demon to his side. Reaching for the last of his air, he croaked, “...Gouge him.”

Shadow burst from below in the form of a huge maw, like a nightmarish venus flytrap, and bit down on X from behind. A pivot of the vice's thick stem yanked the tyrant off his feet, through a backward arc, and onto the ground head-first. He went to get up as though nothing happened, but Griffon flew over him, charging his magic. “BUUUUUUURN, LITTLE PIGGY!” A sphere of brilliant purple lightning expanded from him, electrocuting X until steam rose from his coat, and his nervous system failed. Like a giant puppet his toppled over, and Shadow was waiting beneath him.

Transforming into an ashen saw, it caught X as he fell, keeping him suspended on top of the ripping blade. Black needles rose beneath X as he was sawed, piercing both forearms and calves to hold him up on the living sawblade. Laboriously Lucatiel rose again, lifting her sword from the ground a she lurched neared. She upended the blade, placing it right next to X's neck with its tip against the ground, and with all her strength she pulled from the other side. Leon, sporting a nasty bruise on his face, joined in to help her pull, and together they dragged the greatsword's blade through X's neck and out the other side. His head hit the floor and rolled, no more dead than his still-thrashing body.

But it was faded.

An unhealthy, whitish-violet pallor had overtaken X. Still rubbing his neck, V almost laughed when he recognized it. With a flourish of his cane he blinked over to where the head lay, glaring at him with baleful, soulless eyes. V cleared his throat, raised his cane and told it, “He whose face gives no light, shall never become a star. Die.” He plunged his cane's blade into the stony face, creating an impression like cracked glass that gave forth lavender sparks. When he withdrew it, the monster died.

Exhaling, V collapsed onto the ground, where he held himself on his side. Fox approached, clearly appalled by the brutality of the tyrant's execution, and swallowed before speaking. “I...was, uh, wondering where you guys were. Are you...okay?”

He let the somewhat rhetorical question hang. Nobody before him was okay, but they were alive. That, he knew, beat the alternatives. After a few seconds he continued. “I needed to ask. Donovan found a book that might tell us about the ghost, but it's missing pages. Do any of you know where they are?”

In turn the three shook their heads. Lucatiel, however, narrowed her eyebrows after doing so, thinking hard. A couple of second later her expression turned into one of realization, and shame. “I...am sorry. I must have forgotten. It is so damnably hard to remember...these days.” She rummaged in her pockets, and turned up a couple papers. “There are ghosts where I am from. I saw the writing and thought I should take them to be prepared.”

She held them out to Fox, who took them excitedly. “Great!” He read quickly, checking each entry for familiar information one by one. “Oh, this is it! 'Preta'!” Filled with vigor he took off running, only to stop for a moment at the door. “Hurry back to the main hall. We need to get rid of this thing, pronto!” Then Fox disappeared, though the echo of his frenzied footsteps through the corridor could still be heard.

The others picked themselves up to leave, moving slowly to relieve their collective wounds. Through the ajar door to the records room a single eye above a humorless smile watched them go, the other sightless and hidden beneath its owner's hairdo. “Inspirational,” he breathed, before vanishing in a plume of blue smoke.