Subject: Zeb covered his face with his paws.
Posted on: 2016-10-17 03:06:30 UTC
The Aviator pulled out her sonic and began frantically zapping the remote, trying to get it to work and swearing in Gallifreyan.
Subject: Zeb covered his face with his paws.
Posted on: 2016-10-17 03:06:30 UTC
The Aviator pulled out her sonic and began frantically zapping the remote, trying to get it to work and swearing in Gallifreyan.
The power has gone out in Medical. The red emergency lights being the only thing to light your way. You are trapped in a seemingly endless maze. You (and your partner, if your writer wants) have yet to encounter another agent, and everything you do encounter are extremely fitting for the date. In fact, you might say you're in a horror movie.
Here is where we begin the act of scaring the ever living crap out of your agents.
Jack Riggs and the Detective turned slowly to face one another.
The silence was almost a sound of its own for a moment. One could've heard a pin drop. Both of them turned into the darkness of Medical, curtains drawn on one side of the bed, pale against the sudden shadows of the room.
"Nice place you have here," said the Detective drily.
Jack shushed him.
"Okay, guessing this doesn't happen often. . ." the Detective murmured to himself, raising his hands defensively when Jack shot a look at him.
Both were listening keenly. After another moment of the utter silence, the Detective's irritated squint became a thousand yard stare, and his face grew pale.
"Do you hear anything?" he said softly, still staring vacantly into the dark.
"Not a thing," Jack said, shifting back to a more comfortable position in his chair by the Detective's bedside. "Power outages happen on occasion, even in HQ. Someone's probably on their way to fix it."
The Detective rolled his eyes.
"Jack, what happens in a power outage? People freak, or at least get irritated. Often, people get scared. After all, most species have some fear of the dark," he said, plucking the IV from his arm, sitting up on his hospital bed and grabbing his coat from its edge.
"They're not wrong," said the hunter ruefully, raising an eyebrow before looking at the Detective. "So?"
"So. . . The irritated and the fearful aren't known for their vows of silence," he said, looking Jack dead in the eye.
"So why can you practically cut this one with a knife?"
It seemed like the silence had devored everything beyond the two Agents' eyes. The room itself appeared to be shrinking in the darkness, as the shadows slowly advanced towards them.
"We should leave," said Jack darkly. "I've seen this movie before, and it never ends well."
He walked over toward the door of Medical, pausing and looking back for his partner.
"Yep, good idea. . ." said the Detective absently, shrugging into his coat and shoving aside the curtains to examine the row of hospital beds, strangely silent in the dark.
The room was too dark for details, but it seemed like an humanoid shape, with two odd forms behind it, each one which seemed starting from where the shoulders of the shape should be.
He quickly stepped backwards towards the door, not losing sight of the creature.
"Who are you talking to?" asked Jack, brow furrowing in concern. "And why couldn't this have happened in the cafeteria?" he added in a mutter, looking around the room for the smelling salts.
"Fella over here in the corner," said the Detective, still staring at the figure, not blinking. "Time Lords have slightly better night vision- not surprised you can't see him. Looking for something?" he asked, catching Jack's searching gaze in his periphery.
"Salt, iron- anything that'll sting the occult," he said.
The Detective nodded, considering. "Not a bad idea, considering where we are. Might add flashlight to that list, so we can get a good look at our mute friend. I can see him as is, though, so I'll be the one keep an eye on him and stay near the door. You have a look around. I suggest you start with the cabinets over there, since they're accessed pretty regularly."
As Jack went to search in the room, the Detective addressed the figure once more. He stood straight, looking as intimidating as it was possible to look in a hospital gown and a trench coat.
"Who are you, then?"
In fact, it didn't seem to be alive. It looked like some medieval statue, and was in fact covering its eyes. The odd shapes looked like parts of wings, as far it was possible to tell.
“WEEPING ANGEL!” they said, practically together.
“Jack, don’t take your eyes off that statue for a second,” said the Detective, feeling focused and alert for once in his life.
Jack very nearly rolled his eyes. “Thanks so much. I’ve totally never heard of a Weeping Angel before. Just shouted that because I felt like it.” Sighing, he continued, “Any ideas?”
The Detective bit his lip, thinking. Angels could move when you were looking at them. . . That which holds the image of an angel. . .
He did have an idea.
“Jack, I’ve got a plan.”
“Walk out of this room and leave me here.”
“Less fantastic. You do realize these things don’t just grab one victim and leave, right? And since when are you the type for the big, heroic sacrifice?”
“I’ve got a plan, Jack, and very little time to explain it. Now, go ahead and blink. I need your eyes in the best possible condition for this. Ready?”
“Now,” said Jack. The Detective stared at the angel. The light was beginning to hurt his eyes, and he was feeling the sting of holding them open.
“Good. Now you?”
“I just nodded,” the Detective said. “Ready? I’m going to blink. . . Now!”
He screwed his eyes shut, and felt the moisture return to them.
"Alright," the Detective said. "Now, I'm going to walk over to you, and you're going to hand me that flashlight without moving the beam from the statue. Then, without looking away from the Angel at any point, you are then going to walk out of this room, and leave me here."
Jack scoffed. "You can forget that right now."
"Oh, come on, Jack- I've got a plan. Don't have time to explain it now, though. Rest assured, you hit the nail on the head when you said I'm not one for heroic sacrifices. One more blink before we start. You first. Ready?" They blinked, and the Detective edged toward the flashlight. As he reached out, the Detective prized the flashlight from his hands. Suddenly, the beam wavered, as the Detective chuckled. “We’re literally passing the torch!” he said. Jack just steadied the beam, sighing.
“Now leave,” he told Jack, “and don’t take your eyes off it for one moment.”
“I still don’t understand-”
“No, I didn’t expect you to. Trust me when I say that I have a plan- now get out!” the Detective snarled.
Jack edged his way back toward the door, sparing the Detective a final, concerned glance before shutting it.
“Now, angel- let’s get down to business, shall we? You can’t move when you’re being seen, can you? Well, since you can’t speak, let’s prove that, shall we?”
The Detective switched off the flashlight.
A half second later, he switched it back on again, and the angel stood before him. The Detective took a worried half-step back. Bit closer than he’d been expecting.
“Right, no worries there, then. Now, second fact is, that which holds the image of an angel becomes itself an angel. But everyone knows that,” he said, devilish grin breaking onto his face. He practically lived for these moments. “So the really clever bit is that angels count as someone looking at you. And you may not be an Angel, given that you just showed up at random. Maybe you’re a hallucination, maybe something I don’t even know about yet, but I reckon,” he said, straining not to blink but loving every second of his moment in the spotlight, “You still have to play by the rules.”
The Detective bent, placing the flashlight on the floor, and illuminating the angel, light bouncing off the cabinet behind the Time Lord.
“Oh, and, guess what?” he said, stepping out of the way of the cabinet and clapping a hand on the statue, staring over its shoulder at the face of the angel’s reflection in the medicine cabinet.
“‘That which holds the image,’ remember? So reflections still count.”
((No worries. that's a good one.))
While he couldn't quite see it, the Angel couldn't be certain of this- or, at least, that's what he was banking on.
Still keeping both eyes on the statue, the Detective fumbled in his coat pocket for his sonic screwdriver. The room took on a green cast as the Detective activated it, pointing it at the flashlight. He could use the sonic waves to generate some flow of electricity, keeping the bulb glowing. He knew he had to keep the bulb dim in case it went out again- that way his night vision wouldn't be completely shot. While he still had the advantage of the reflection, the Detective backed away toward the door, keeping his screwdriver aimed at the torch.
Fumbling for the knob from behind, he wrenched the door open and flung himself through, slamming the door and hearing something BANG against the metal from the other side. He switched the settings of the screwdriver, and cold-welded the lock shut, turning to face Jack, gasping out, "I think we should go- that door won't hold it for long."
"Yeah, but what did you do?" Jack asked. He was standing, arms crossed, out in the hallway.
"I'll explain later!" the Detective unwittingly quoted, fear making his voice much deeper as they ran through the red-tinted halls.
They should've been headed toward the exit.
Before any of the Agents could react, both of them were transported in another dark corridor. Both the walls and the ceilings looked in bad shape, and a hazy atmosphere was lying around. Some red liquid charged with energy was flowing through the corridors, and little things seemed to move in the shadows.
“Bang up job spotting the angel, Jack! Really spectacular! I thought hunters were supposed to be observant!” shouted the Detective, facedown on the floor.
Jack rolled his eyes. “Nah, I spotted him, I just thought I’d let him be a surprise!” he said, making spirit fingers. He hadn’t gotten up first, so, to any observer, he appeared to be making snow angels with deformed wings.
The Detective grunted, shifting to his feet and picking his glasses back up off the floor. “Where are we, anyway?” he asked, wiping the specs on his shirt.
“No idea,” said Jack, climbing slowly to his feet. “Angels send you back to the past to feed on the potential energy of an unlived time stream. But if the PPC ever looked like this, I was away for it.”
Filing away the suggestion of a past prolonged absence on the part of his partner, the Detective rolled his eyes. “I think we’ve already covered that this probably isn’t an angel. At least not a subspecies I’ve heard of. They don't operate this way, and they don't teleport into hallways, for a start. Plus, we met that first one totally out of the blue," he said, also climbing to his feet and taking in his surroundings. "No. . . Not Angels."
We’ve been transported somewhere entirely different by not-Weeping Angels that are pretending to be angels. Spooky. So probably something designed to scare us. And transported somewhere, mind, with a horrible standard of general maintenance. Also. . .” he scanned the area with his screwdriver, “energy charged red liquid. Method of power conduction? Flooding of the electrical systems? Vaporization of the liquid could result in the atmosphere, providing a tolerable atmosphere for whatever those moving things are. Might even be toxic to either of us. . .” he murmured absently.
The Detective looked around the room- some place he didn’t understand, or expect in the slightest.
“Interesting. . .” he said with a grin.
"Maybe," said Jack, squinting. "But we still need to find our way back."
it seemed like they were slowly surrounded by things looking like blobs of shadows in the darkness They also could hear chains rattling behind them.
Jack had unholstered his sidearm, retracted the bolt, and fired- twelve times, by the Detective's count. Each bullet hit its mark, and Jack's expression didn't change once. His eyes were as dead as the little red-eyed creatures.
"Sorry, but I've seen this episode Scooby Doo before, and- no offense- I thought he was a p**** then."
The Detective just looked at Jack, raising an eyebrow and uncovering his ears- gunfire in a tight corridor wasn't quiet. "Why the hell did you bring your sidearm to medical?" he demanded.
"Hunter thing," said Jack with a shrug.
"Right," the Detective said, nodding. "Well, you could've at least brought my staser."
"Yeah," said Jack with a grin. "I could've. Now, you wanna stand around whining about how I stole your spotlight or you wanna keep walking?"
The Detective just grinned, and they walked on.
It turned out that the creatures were actual blobs of shadow, more irritated than affected by the gunshots. They began to crawl deceptively fast towards the agents, using their arms to accelerate. Meanwhile, the chains' rattling was getting louder and louder.
“Well,” the Detective said calmly, though he had to raise his voice over the rattling of the chains. “Totally unaffected by gunshots, and probably rather irritated that we’ve tried it to find out.”
“Those don’t sound like ideas, D!” said Jack, slowly stepping back and away from the shadows.
“Well, they do in fact add up to one inescapable conclusion, Jack, if you could be bothered to think it through.”
“Yeah, and what’s that?” demanded Jack, aiming his thoroughly useless pistol. Some people had safety blankets. . .
“LEG IT!” shouted the Detective, and together they sprinted through the corridor ahead.
“Any ideas what these are?!” shouted Jack.
“Not a one,” the Detective returned, jumping over one of the shadowy blobs. Aware he was still in his medical gown under that coat, the Detective glared at the blob to keep it from looking up.
The thing was actually wearing a blue mask with round eyes, a bar making up a nose, and a sad expression. Something was also seemingly carved on the forehead's mask.
The monster tried to slash with its hands the Detective as it jumped over him, but missed him. It then made a strange hissing sound, and suddenly, some sort of ice crystal formed in the air and was shot towards the two agents, passing a few inches over their heads. Some of the other monsters began shooting other ice crystals, but were fortunately inaccurate.
Meanwhile, a roar began to accompany the chains' rattling.
The only sounds were the Detective shouting "D'you know, I think we've upset something! Probably around when you shot it!"
Jack just kept running, muttering "Must go faster, must go faster," under his breath, eminently grateful that there was no rearview mirror to tell him that the approaching objects were even closer than they appeared.
The two agents hit a junction with a conveniently placed mirror.
Floating above the mob of monsters was some sort of very tall, although gaunt for its size, humanoid monster. It wore a tatterred trenchcoat with traces of blood on it, and chains were rattling around it. It also looked like it hadn't feet, or legs, for that matter. It had gloved hand which looked like they were dripping blood which were holding what looked like revolvers, but these weapons had the size of rifles. On its head was a paperbag with a grin painted where the mouth would be, and one opening for a red right eye looking like a gunshot, with traces of dried blood.
The other ways forwards were left and right.
Jack was patting at the mirror, horrorstruck. “How the hell did we not see our reflections running down the hallway?” he demanded of the Detective.
“What, you think I know? It’s obvious we’re dealing with some kind of reality warper with an Alucard complex,” the Detective snapped, turning back from the mirror to face the monster.
“Although. . . there’s a chance the mirror was there the whole time, and the low-lying fog obscured our reflections. . . Dammit! Multiple variables, screwing with my brain. OKAY- from the beginning.”
The Detective stood, dead-eyeing the creature, as Jack looked at him like he was mad. The Detective stared, taking in every detail. The wear of the trench coat, the obvious fact that the bag had been used to cover someone’s head in a previous shooting. It had shot several victims, apparently, as the blood around the eye was dry, but its gloved hands were dripping. No other bodies apparent. So observing, the agent opened his mouth to speak, then tilted his head.
“Ah, screw it,” he said, “OPEN FIRE!” and Jack slammed his spare mag into the pistol, firing three shots into the wailing, chain-ridden monstrosity, before they legged it into the left corridor at random. Every good Whovian knows to turn left, after all.
The Reaper was barely annoyed by the gunshots. But it was enough for it to answer in its own way. It leveled one of its guns. Purple orbs of energy formed in front of it, before it used them to bombard the crossroads, wrecking havoc and blasting the poor mirror to oblivion.
In front of the agents was a room with big stairs inside. Unfortunately, it also looked like a pretty long sprint to do.
"Not the word I'd use!" yelled Jack as they pelted into the large room.
"Well, I can almost guarantee those ice spikes being shot at us before would've dinged the mirror. Cracked it in some way."
"Shame, that," said Jack, slightly irked at the ineffectiveness of his firearm. "'Just once, I'd like to meet an alien menace that wasn't immune to bullets,'" Jack quoted in a mutter, holstering his sidearm.
"Well, it is actually a shame," said the Detective, pacing quickly before standing stock still in the center of the room, his gaze taking on the vacancy of mental abstraction. "As there wasn't a crack in that mirror. And we didn't see our reflections- atmosphere wasn't thick enough to block the images. The mirror only appeared once we got to the end of the hallway. . . And if they wanted to kill us, there are a lot more effective methods than sending us here to meet some bizarre monster. Which could've killed us without a thought as we ran down the corridor, instead of relying on monsters, so. . ."
Jack glanced at the Detective, lips pursed in indecision, and ran up a few of the stairs.
"I don't think that's necessary, Jack. . ." the Detective murmered dazedly.
"I'm taking the high ground," Jack called down, turning and aiming the pistol at the doorway.
"Good- you'll have a head start on the monster that's IMPERVIOUS TO BULLETS," snarked the Detective, rolling his eyes.
"Not leaving, D," Jack called down.
"Much as I appreciate the sentiment, Jack, I doubt that'll be necessary," said the Detective. "I think I know what's going on here. We're not trapped in some alternate reality, we never have been. I seriously doubt we've actually moved, though we may be in very real danger. None of this makes any sense. Everything going dark in medical? The vanishing? Angels acting as transport? The mirror was the real giveaway. But you just couldn't resist, could you?" called the Detective out at the empty room. "Couldn't resist tipping your hand? That little bit of irony, the touch of the dramatic? I understand, really. But I've beat your game- solved your little puzzle. AM I RIGHT?!" The Detective snapped, bellowing now.
((I'll go for modifications when I can.))
"Stick together?" Bryan asked.
"Sounds good to me," Frederick replied. "Why are we whispering?"
Frederick opened a door, and burned some tin. Immediately, his senses become much finer, and he could see in the dark as a result.
"Anyone here?" he called out.
Maz looked up at Yocherry. This was a larger task than it sounded, considering that one Yocherry was worth more than four Maz-es.
'Um. No? Yes? Um, what?'
'Something seems off,' Yocherry said, looking around, eyebrow raised.
'Yeah, dude?' Maz said, antennae standing with life. 'Like, uh, like it's all, um, I dunno, fake? Like the figment of a, um, delusional imagination, um, brought on by trauma? And then, uh, you're just about to, dude, wake up back home in, um, the Labyrinth and go on with your life?'
'With no talking flowers or humans, or, um, fanfiction, or, um, any of that?' Maz paused. 'No offence.'
'You know, boss,' Yocherry looked down to Maz, eyebrow still raised. 'That was close, but I was thinken more "spooky." Place looks "spooky."'
'Oh. Um. Yeah.' Maz, who had been raised in a damp, claustrophobic cave system, and had lived most of her life eating decaying matter and half-rotten corpses, actually thought it all looked quite charming.
'Pretty spooky, dude.'
Maz stopped in her tracks.
'Dude, you, uh, hear that?'
Yocherry's walking had slowed down to a gentle padding. In the darkness, his glowing head-fungus was like a distant, fog-choked lamppost.
'Um. Yeah.' Maz glanced left to right. 'So, uh.'
'It was a crack, boss,' Yocherry said, grinning at her. 'Gonna stop for every random noise, are we?'
'Whoa!' Yocherry exclaimed, freezing in his tracks. He turned around, further grinning at Maz. 'A footstep!'
'Shut up, dude.' She muttered bitterly, sending Yocherry into a giggling fit. 'But, um, dude. What cracked?'
Yocherry shrugged, stopping to let Maz catch up. 'Something broke, I expect.'
'Thanks, dude,' Maz said in a voice dry enough to host tumbleweeds and cacti.
which was located at the end of the hall.
She remembered the last few... minutes? Hours? Fairly vividly, and resolved herself to trudge on.
The PA rang out a message: "Stay calm. Expect rescue within 18 hours. Happy Halloween."
((Once upon a time Levy had angel's wings. Once upon a time a monster named Argus pulled them from her back. Once upon a time Levy developed a phobia of Argus.))
A man waved at her from down the corridor. A large security checkpoint was set up in the middle of the corridor and was occupied by a pair of Security Weeds, a small Zorua, and the man in question wearing a set of comically large power armour. "This way out! And don't listen to the PA system— I know that it was Townsend operating the radio in the lobby and that sure as heck didn't sound like him."
"How do I know you're real?" She asked. Ethereal blue chains began circling her feet, wrapping their way up to about Levy's head level, solidifying and turning gold in the process.
The man waved his arms even faster. "Look out, you've got some evil magic chains around you now!"
The two DIS Weeds wheeled around to look at the woman.
"Is she one of them?" asked Weed-Thirteen to its colleague.
"No idea," replied Weed-Seventy. "Just... be cautious."
"Well, she's about to get murderlized by the magic chains there," said the man in the power armour. "Sh-shouldn't we do something?"
A scream from the left briefly distracted the agents manning the checkpoint. Weed-Seventy waved in the direction of the noise. "De Grasse, Tacitus, go and investigate that."
"We can deal with this. Go and see if it's someone who needs help."
Gaspard looked from the Weeds to the woman and then back at the Weeds. If they wanted to deal with that, they could go on right ahead, he figured. "A-aye, sir. C-come on, T-Tacitus. Let's back away from the oncoming bloodbath."
The Zorua didn't need to be told twice— he practically bolted away from the checkpoint as soon as he could.
"I wouldn't call myself an expert on this stuff," Levy said. "But I can help."
"Firstly, how can we be sure that you're a real agent?"
"My credentials, Mr. Dandelion." She said, showing it to him.
Thirteen studied the card, flipping it over once or twice. "You do realize that this alone really isn't proof? This appears to be a legitimate ID card, but what's to say that you're not an apparition that can produce these at will?"
Seventy looked at his partner. "Then what will you accept as concrete proof that she is who she says she is?"
The first Weed stood still. "I... don't know, actually."
"Do you guys of a line to the outside?" She asked.
"...after all that's been going on, I think you'll understand if we're hesitant to give out our comms to anyone." Weed Seventy crossed its tendrils and looked around. ""
There was another shout from down the corridor— Gaspard and Tacitus burst out of a room and slammed the door behind them, the former blocking the door thanks to his CMC-300 suit. The latter nervously paced up and down the corridor, casting terrified glances at the shadows. "Nothing in there, just another screamer!" said the Spy, gesticulating at the door. "Also, I think I might've stepped on a snake or something! It didn't belong to anyone, did it?"
She frowned and got off her seat and joined Zeb by the door. "Don't tell me Tolkien stopped spinning again?" she said irritably.
Zeb shrugged, his ears flat against his head. "I don't know, but something smells... off."
It was like there was something on the other side. Something burning. Something hungry. Something evil. And it wanted them. It seemed to press against the door, trying to get in, to consume them.
Zeb felt the hairs of his mane begin crackling with electricity. "What's going on?" he said.
"I don't know," the Aviator said, "but I intend to find out." Flattening herself against the wall by the door, she raised her staser and reached for the doorknob.
The sound of young girls singing filled the agent's ears.
Ri-na and Zeb, Ri-na and Zeb
Six strikes takes a Rose, One takes Ri-na
The door blew in with the sound of a boom, fire filling the room. For some reason, it didn't burn.
The Aviator jumped back as fire filled the room. She grabbed a frozen Zeb by the scruff of his neck and pulled him out of harm's way. "What the f***'s going on?"
"F-fire," Zeb whimpered, his ears flat against his head and his tail tucked between his legs.
...Was an image that would break most people. The Aviator confirmed the crucified infant as a Time Tot. Her Time Tot. Dancing around the 6 foot tall spire were 6 nude girls, identical if not for their age.
Rose Potter's dead, Elanor's dead
...By the sudden absence of the Time Tot's psychic signature in Aviator's belly.
She's still in there, just masked from Aviator's psychic abilities))
The Aviator felt her breath catch in her throat, but she raised her staser and fired at the dancing girls. "What the hell is going on?!"
Around them, the flames burned ever hotter.
"We h-have to g-get out of here," Zeb said, his teeth chattering.
Welcome to our resting place,
Locked away from time and space.
We hope that you've lived on well,
Because now you're stuck in Hell!
The voices, which had started out as sweet and innocent, twisted into a snarl on the last line. The Roses all turned to face the Aviator and Zeb, drawing their wands. All of the Roses were now horribly mutilated, burnt all over, and some bore the marks of the deaths inflicted upon them by the agents. Each only had one, now, and it was impossible to tell what they had originally been, for now they were charred and flaky. The Roses advanced on the agents as the flames, which had made their way around the edges of the room, began to press inwards.
Trapping both agents in the room
The Aviator pulled out her sonic and began frantically zapping the remote, trying to get it to work and swearing in Gallifreyan.
"Don't leave us," hissed one of the Roses.
"We've only just begun to play with you," added the youngest.
"We want you to keep us company here forever," said a third.
"Sisters, we must first make sure they cannot walk away from us," said the eldest. She pointed her wand at the Aviator and yelled, "EXPELLIARMUS!"
On the crucifix, the tiny figure that had to be Elanor cried out, proving she was still alive. She looked like she had been alive for several years, so she was about ten years old. "Mother!" she shouted, "Run!"
"And I don't know what the hell is going on, if this is some sick Halloween prank or what, but the time for games is over." She could feel the heat of the flames on her face. She raised her staser pistol and aimed it at the Roses--then she hesitated. A split second before her finger squeezed the trigger, she swung around and shot the crucified child instead.
"Mother," She said in rasped breaths. "Why?" She slumps over, dead.
There's a sharp pain in Aviator's stomach, the unmistakable psychic signature of her daughter returning.
The flames grow hotter, larger. The Rose Potters are quickly consumed by the flames, though a male figure stumbles out of it and into The Aviator's arms. Burned beyond recognition.
"Rina..." The man says, the voice revealing it to be Alex. He slumps over, dead.
In the flames, two silhouetted figures appear, an older male and a younger... female?
John and Mary.
Little Miss Mary.
Are we singing far off-tune?
Won't you stay and let us play?
Won't you let us your skin flay?
Can't we our deaths sit and discuss?
We'll make you stay: Expelliarmus!
Simultaneously, six jets of light shot from the wands of the Roses and straight towards the Aviator.
“Well, off to the ICU we go!” said the Guardsman cheerfully as he pushed the hovercart laden with supplies forward. “And we’d better make it quick, too. Dunno if those guys over there are in trouble.”
“Well, that’s what that generator on the cart is for, right?” said Naya as she looked behind her at the cargo in question being pushed around by her partner. “Yeah. Let’s just hurry, all right? This place gives me the creeps.” The quarian stepped to the side and planted a miniature floodlight on the floor, then stepped back towards the trolley to grab another. “What that Security Weed said in the lobby wasn’t exactly reassuring either. People reporting strange incidents or visions or new rooms. Is this some sort of airborne hallucinogen?”
The Guardsman’s particular facial expression was hard to guess behind his gas mask, but the shrug of his shoulders said all. “I blame the new architecture on the plothole. We both saw that abattoir, right? Medical might’ve landed on top of some location and blended with it. As for the visions… well, this just makes this situation look like a cheap horror movie. No idea about hallucinogens, but the air tests from the outpost back in the lobby come back clean. Not taking any chances, though. By the gods, shame on me if I'm ever going to forget putting on a gas mask after last week's incident.”
“Well, good thing you've remembered to put it on, then,” grumbled Naya as she placed another floodlight on the floor. “Now I’m just waiting for the eventual jumpscare. I mean, look at this place. Long grey hallway, darkness ahead, semi-darkness behind us, doors on all sides.”
"Thanks for jinxing us."
"Cheap horror? Did you hear that? He called us cheap horror!"
A second voice answered, "I heard. We'll just have to teach him better, won't we?" The two voices laughed, a horrible sound, one that chilled the blood, one that made you want to run away, but also made you want to find whatever it was that made the sound and kill it at the same time, before falling silent. The silence did not last long. The agents soon heard a slithering sound coming from all around them- the floor, the ceiling, the walls, and the far ends of the hallways.
The Guardsman sighed. "Well, onwards. Intensive Care needs us, wot."
Naya, considerably less nonchalant about the situation, looked around and tried to determine the source of the noise. "Shouldn't we be worried about that slithering sound?" she asked, reaching for her Carnifex pistol on her hip holster.
"Not especially," said the Guardsman. "Big whoop, someone hijacked the PA system and is currently playing around with the sprinkler system. It's just going to cause a bigger mess for the poor guys in Building Maintenance. Still..." The Time Lord reached down and unbuttoned the clasp on his staser pistol's holster. "Better safe than sorry."
The slithering sounds continued, growing louder, and at the end of the hallway, it looked like there was something approaching. When it got closer, it was clear that it wasn't just a single something, but a horde of somethings, hissing and crawling towards the agents.
"That's just great," said Naya as she squinted at the approaching horde. "What in the name of the Homeworld is that?"
"Dunno," said the Guardsman as he stepped onto the hovercart, "but I'm not gonna step in that. Wanna ride? I can practice my boat punting skills." he grabbed a long metal bar from the cart and started pushing himself and the hovercart along.
"Wait for me!" said Naya, carefully getting on the cart. "Also, if you start singing 'O Sole Mio', I'm going to push you overboard."
"Well, it's going to be a little difficult with that racket," said the Guardsman, waving a hand around him. "What is this song anyways?"
They started bursting out of everything, the walls, the floor, the ceiling, launching themselves at the agents while the tides of serpents on both sides of them moved ever-closer.
"How do you like our children, Agents?" the first voice asked. "Do you still think we're cheap horror?"
"Of course he does," the second answered. "We haven't shown them the best part, yet!"
"Look at them. Poor things— quite far from home, eh?" said the Guardsman. Thankfully, due to the hovercart not having wheels, the progress wasn't too severely impeded by the reptilian tide. The Guardsman continued to punt the cart above the snakes as Naya carefully picked up and dropped the snakes that were attempting to launch themselves onto the cart off to the side.
"I'm more concerned about the gloating nincompoops that have control of the PA system," said Naya. She cleared her throat and said: "Hey, you two jerks that are making this happen! Can you throw us a bone and explain what's going on here?"
"Who's to say we're controlling it," one said.
"Perhaps we're the announcers, and you're the Game Master," said the other
"We just went full meta," said the latter.
"Yeah, never go full meta!" said Naya up at the ceiling. "Also, if this is supposed to be a spooky ride, can we actually get something spooky? Misplaced snakes and loud voices over the PA isn't exactly terror-inducing. I've had worse days on the job, y'know."
"Yeah, completely amateurish."
"Hey, didn't you guys say that there was a bigger thing coming up?" said the Guardsman. "Show us the big thingy! C'mon, do it for us!"
"Yeah! As the game masters, we deserve the right to be spooked!"
"Yeah, spook us!"
((They're a tough crowd.))
The voices laughed, and the snakes launched themselves at the Guardsman. They shrank as they flew, until they were no more than a centimeter long and not even a millimeter wide.
The DIA agents reflexively ducked and turned away from the swarm. Fortunately for the quarian, her suit's kinetic barriers stopped the high-velocity snakes from reaching her; her partner was not as lucky. He took the full brunt of the swarm to the side and was thrown off the cart into the writhing mass of snakes below, where he was swept away by the living tide.
"Emiran!" Naya shouted as she unclipped a incendiary grenade from her belt. She threw the grenade 'upstream', torching the oncoming tide and thinning out the flow of snakes. She then hopped off the cart and ran after her partner, drawing her sidearm as she gave chase. "Right, you two jokers are in for it now," she said to nobody in particular.
"OUR CHILDREN!" They roared. "YOU'VE MURDERED OUR CHILDREN! PREPARE TO DIE AT THE HANDS OF A FRIEND!"
Meanwhile, the snakes bit into Emiran, spreading their poison and the corrupting influence of their beloved parents.
((Time Lords are walking DEMs, right? He can get out of this?))
The Guardsman managed to find his footing and stood up, throwing off the snakes as he rattled off a steady stream of swear words in Gallifreyan. He managed to crush the last few under his boots as Naya turned the corner and caught up to him. He groggily held up a hand and tried to shoo her away. "P-poisoned. F-feeling off, get b-back f-f-for a m-minute here..."
"Your medkit, idiot!" shouted Naya as she skid to a halt. "You've got cure-all antidote in there!"
"R-r-right." The Guardsman clumsily reached into his holster and fumbled with his staser pistol. "J-just gonna sh-shoot it u-up..." He looked at his hand. This wasn't what he was aiming for. Out of its own accord, his hand tightened around the pistol's grip and pulled it out of the holster. "W-wait! N-Naya, get cl-clear!"
"Crap." Naya ducked into a nearby alcove as a staser bolt missed her by a few centimetres. She swore profusely as she fumbled with her own medkit and pulled out the antidode injector pen. Did she really have to do everything around here?
The Guardsman's vision was blurring and he felt uncomfortably hot. He tried to fight the influence that was causing him to take step after step towards his partner all while loosing a few shots in her direction. After what felt like an eternity, he saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. He fought as hard as he could against the urge to turn around and succeeded in managing to freeze on the spot.
Never was he more relieved to see Naya drop her tactical cloak and slam the antidote injector into his arm.
Naya quickly pushed herself away from her partner and took cover again, listening him gasp and cough in the middle of the hallway. She murmured a prayer and said: "Look, I know you don't like needles, but shooting at me was totally uncalled for."
The Time Lord groaned and propped himself against a wall. "I got spooked, okay?" he said between breaths. "I'm good now— but remember the last time I took the antidote? I got—"
"You got hyper, yeah," said Naya as she emerged from cover. "Oh boy. This day isn't getting any better, isn't it?"
"Getting more intense is what you mean, right?" said the Guardsman, marching back towards the hovercart with a spring in his step. "WOO! I FEEL ALIVE TODAY!"
Naya facepalmed. "Ancestors, give me strength."
"YOU BASTARDS! YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE OUR WRATH! DIE, YOU WORTHLESS HUMANOIDS, DIE! GET THEM, CHILDREN!" More of the tiny snakes leaped for Naya and the Guardsman. After a moment of silence, the second voice spoke in a softer tone.
"My dearest," it said. "It seems to me that these humanoids are better prepared than we thought. Perhaps we should give them a taste of our true power?" The first voice laughed its hideous laugh again.
"My sweet, I would say that you are a genius. Let us personally make them suffer for the deaths of so many of our young ones." Another slithering sound came from down the hallway, but the creatures that made this sound had to be far larger than the swarm of snakes still attacking the agents.
"Any opportunity to do cardio is a good opportunity. So, do we run towards or away from the spooky noises?" said the Guardsman as he checked the safety on his pistol and aimed it down the corridor towards the source of the noise. "Also, do we take the cart or...?"
"What do you think, genius?" said Naya as she sprinted away from the noise. As she ran, she set a few sticky bombs to the floor and walls in preparation for the bigger-sounding nasties. "I've got our front covered— you blast things that pop out of the side, okay?"
"Will do!" said the Guardsman cheerfully as he fell into pace a few metres behind his partner, pistol at the ready. "Snap shooting, ready to rock!"
The serpents on the floor froze, while the ones bursting through the walls, the ceiling, and the floor on the side of the bombs with Naya and the Guardsman continued to give chase. Soon after, the larger sounds stopped. They remained silent until the sticky bombs exploded, but then they resumed.
"Clever little humanoids, to hold us at bay with those!" the monsters cried. "We can use you! Yes, it would be a waste just to kill you. We'll just have to turn you instead!"
"How much further until the checkpoint?" said Naya as she glanced over her shoulder. "I don't think I an run any more—"
"Hey, up ahead! HEY GUYS, WE NEED SOME FIRE SUPPORT!" yelled the Guardsman, waving his arms. "GOT A TIDE OF SNAKES AND WE NEED PEST CONTROL!"
The DIA officers manning the checkpoint first glanced at the two agents, then at the massive surge of snakes, then back at the two runners. The quicker one of the two grabbed his own incendiary grenade and hurled it past Naya and the Guardsman while the other scrambled to his feet and hefted his sword. "What—"
Quarian and Time Lord vaulted over the crude barricade and settled in beside their colleagues. "Not much to be said. Ran up against killer snake entities," said the Guardsman as he started firing into the crowd of snakes. "Apparently they want us to become their servants or some nonsense like that. Not gonna happen, not on my watch. Nope. Zilch. Nada. Nyet."
"Have either of you seen agents yet?" asked Naya as she passed grenades to the rest of the group.
"Quite a few, actually," said the taller of the checkpoint guards. "We directed them to the exit— Townsend confirmed their arrival over encrypted comms and we had an actual, physical runner confirm the news. We're just thankful that the Things can't override our radio— imagine the mess if they could override our comms."
Naya promptly facepalmed. "Okay, so you jinxed us. Thanks for that, Becker."
"We'll have to ask her for help," muttered one.
"You know she'll hold it over our heads until we find a way to repay her," the other said.
"But if we don't, they'll get away," replied the other. "We can't allow that, can we?"
"No, I suppose we can't. Very well." The two paused for a moment, as if making sure of something, then shrieked, "LIZANA! HELP US! LIZANA!"
"We asked for 'spookiness' and not for 'fight for your life. I thought this was supposed to be a cheap horror setup."
"I'm sorry, what?" said Agent Becker as he peeped over the barricade. "Do you guys know something?"
"Only that we're being chased after by this weird entity that is trying to kill or assimilate us into the Borg consciousness or something!" said the Guardsman in a maniacally happy tone. "Said something about us being the 'game masters' or something of the sort. Well, I say that I want more spooky and less kill-y. Is that possible or...?"
Naya looked at her partner. Though her face was obstructed by an opaque visor, the Time Lord knew she had just rolled her eyes at him. "Are you seriously making demands to the Suvian whatchamacallit that's hunting us right now?"
"Well, it's worth a shot, innit? 'sides, you just said something about this being a cheap horror setup."
"...fine., point taken."
"You have asked for horror, and they have asked for help. Your wishes shall be granted." The world twisted and spun around the agents before shattering into a million pieces. It hung like that for a moment, shards of the images they had last seen scattered across a vast, empty space, before the world suddenly put itself together. When it did, the agents were in an empty white corridor, lit by little red lights on the ceiling.
The PA system started once more, and the voice commanded, "Hunt them or escape, as your roles dictate. I expect to be compensated for my troubles when this is over."
"We know," one of the reptilian voices called. "We will give you what you ask. Now, dearest, shall we hunt?"
"We shall," answered the other. The slithering began anew.
He pulled out his portal generator and opened a portal— and a massive one at that. A portal nearly as long as the corridor itself opened overhead, letting a howling, frigid arctic air screech through. The temperature in the hallway dipped by tens of degrees in the time it took for someone to say 'you wouldn't happen to have a spare jacket on you?'
The four DIA agents hastily used their disguise generators to acquire nice thick parkas before looking at the rather pitiful carpet of snakes that had slowed to a standstill. "Well, that's that," said Becker. "Just, er, what now?"
The other three agents drew their sidearms and began blasting away at the larger snakes in the group. "Do you really have to ask?" said Naya.
The portal abruptly closed, the generator exploded, and the world shattered once more. When it put itself together, Naya and the Guardsman found themselves alone, in a blank, white corridor. Even the hissing voices had gone silent, and the snakes had vanished. The corridor ended a foot behind them, and it appeared to go on with only a single path available in front of them. There were no turns, no alternate passageways, just a single hallway, and on the floor of that hallway was a glowing blue line.
"Please proceed on the highlighted route," the PA said. "If you do not, you will be terminated."
"Well, what if we don't—"
"Emiran, shut up for once in your life and just focus," hissed Naya, racking the slide on her Carnifex and taking up a position against the far wall.
"Fine," grumbled the Time Lord, checking the power indicator on his pistol and sidling up to his side of the corridor. "Let's just walk into the blindingly obvious trap set by a crappy Saturday morning cartoon Suvian villain. Gods, sometimes I wish I could decide to retire already and do something normal with my life."
"But then you'd miss Terabyte and me," said Naya. "Seriously. Retiring sets you back quite a bit."
"Point taken," said the Guardsman, grinning as he slowly moved up the corridor. Naya kept up with his advance, pistol at the ready, carefully watching the corridor for movement.
The blue line continued underneath the door. The PA system came to life once more. "Thank you for following the instructions," the voice said. "For that, you have been awarded ten minutes time to prepare before entering the room. Once you are finished preparing, or time has run out, please proceed to the first phase of your punishment."
The Guardsman retrieved his broken RA and started zapping it with his laser screwdriver. "Rule number one: never play fair. Those Suvians aren't playing fair so props to them, I guess, but I'm not gonna start waltzing into their stupid traps."
"Same," said Naya as she fished some extra RA components from her suit pockets. "Besides, ten minutes is a long time."
The Guardsman grinned. "So you know that door is gonna open in two minutes, right?"
Behind her visor, Naya grinned as well. "Better work fast, then," she said as she handed the components to her partner.
Then, the remains disintegrated, and a fan emerged from a hatch in the ceiling. It turned on, blew the dust away, turned off, then retreated back into the ceiling. The hatch closed, then disappeared as if it had never been. There was the sound of another hatch opening, and behind the agents, a machine gun descended from the ceiling and aimed itself at the pair. The door in front of the swung open.
"Please enter the room now."
The DIA agents both made a rude gesture to the machine gun turret and drew their weapons. Naya quickly peeked inside before slowly entering the room with her pistol at the ready. The Guardsman followed close behind, surveying the new area warily.
Not completely dark, for there was a faint red glow coming from nowhere in particular, but it didn't extend very far past the door. It revealed that the floor and the wall around the door were stone, covered in some kind of sticky, white substance that hung in strands from the walls and covered the floor. It occasionally lumped together, forming a kind of large boulder, and there were stone columns that looked like they had been carved by humanoid hands.
((It's considered poor form for your narration to directly influence another author's characters-- it tends to limit the options available to the one on the receiving end and could be considered railroading an action. If you don't mind, I'll respond to a slightly tweaked version of your prompt after supper.
It's seafood soup and so requires constant supervision. Still, yum.))
That This is Halloween should be playing over the PA
Apecian was sitting back in his chair, hands behind his head, while Michael filled out the seemingly endless paperwork. Suddenly, the lights cut out. There was complete darkness for a moment before the emergency lights turned on, and when they did, the room was not the same as it had been before. Apecian picked up his hammer, which had been lying on the floor, while Michael pulled out a pair of pink-tinted glasses from his pocket and put them on.
It was soft and childlike, and creepy at that. It originated from the hall.
Michael was for a moment before replying. "I would say that our only other choice is to wait here and see what happens, and I believe that that would not be wise. Let us go."
He began to walk towards the hall, but stopped when his partner said, "Hey, remember adventuring procedure? Barbarian always goes first." He took his place in front of the Michael, then the two carefully crept into the hall.
Was hardly what anyone would call "welcoming" even by PPC standards. Either side of the hall was lined with upright coffins with their lids slightly ajar. Zombie-like moaning reverberated through the hall, which was dimly illuminated by the red emergency lighting.
Slightly more worrisome was the large shadow looming at the end of the corridor. The sound of its breathing undercut the zombie moans-- the combination of which was a positively spine tingling noise.
"What on earth happened to Medical?"
"I don't know," Michael replied. "However, I am regretting our decision to enter this hallway. Perhaps we should turn back?"
"Aww, but then we don't get to find out what's going on!" Apecian protested.
"If we do find out, the process could kill me," the human pointed out.
"Oh. Right. Let's go back, then." The two turned to go back into the lobby.
Only more halls.
The laughing persisted.
"It looks like there's no choice but to press forward."
"Awesome!" his partner cheered. "Follow me and watch me smash things!" He cheerfully started walking towards the shadow at the end of the corridor, and the Oculator followed him, looking around and beginning to become slightly anxious.
The moan coming from the coffins was becoming more audible now that the agents had moved forward. "Please, oh God, help me..."
Hands were reaching out from the coffins, desperately grasping at thin air.
Further ahead, the large figure started making a rustling noise. It suddenly leapt forward and scuttled towards the agents, revealing itself to be a hideously large tarantula— one the size of a small car. Its eight eyes were fixed on the agents and its pedipalps seemed to ooze with some foul liquid.
Apecian shook his head. "Come on, give us something fun," he muttered. "Hey! You! Person who looks like a spider! What do you want?"
Michael, meanwhile, was looking at the coffins. They were crying out, they needed help! He couldn't just leave was whatever inside to die. But what if it was dangerous? He considered, then decided to wait. If they could take out the spider, he could help them, but he wouldn't risk unleashing something just as or more dangerous than the spider that they already faced before they were ready to deal with it.
It tilted its head and twitched its pedipalps, which dripped and glistened horribly in the faint lighting. A thin, bony hand, skin tight and coloured like old parchment, dotted and lined with the dusty marks of aeons past, blindly reached out towards the spider. It was a split second of noises - crashing, squelching. A great howl reverberating through the corridor. A horrible, fleshy scent of iron. A huge, hairy blur, clouds of choking dust rolling through the air. Then, the spider dropped the leaking, ripped remains of the arm to the floor. The entity inside the coffin had enough of the situation, and was giving the world the silent treatment.
'Found me in a baaaaaad space, bud.' It skittered closer, eight eyes staring right ahead. There was dust and blood gleaming on its mandibles 'Listen, listen. Listen listen listen. Can you do a favour? Can you do me a favour, bud?'
((Watch as I descend into faux-Lovecrafty purple prose... And, trust me, it's horror. Trust me. Give it a moment.))
"Do you really think that whatever you're gonna ask is gonna be something we'll get on board with? 'Cause we'll listen, but I don't think we're gonna like what we hear." Apecian got his hammer ready to smash the spider just in case, and Michael switched out his pink glasses for another pair.
'What do they teach you kiddies these days, huh?' The spider backed off slightly. 'Those things are hooooorible, bud. They'd rip a big spider like me right down the middle. They'd rip you, too, bud.'
'Now, listen. Hear me out. It's reasonable. I'm reasonable, bud, believe me.' It looked from Apecian to Michael. 'I don't need much. Not much at all.' I just need a little thingy.'
It started steadily approaching, again.
'A face. Not my filthy, Jurassic one. A real one. A - a human one, fleshy and warm and squishy and moist and evolved. That's all I want. Just one little face. One little evolved face.'
It rubbed its pedipalps together and twitched.
'That's not unreasonable, huh, bud?'
The spider began stepping forward. Its pedipalps glistened wetly. A drip of oozing blood trickled from a mandible, dropping to the floor.
'It's so old. So old. So old and hideous.'
Its steps were large and shaky. The eight eyes, glinting in the emergency lights, darted in all directions. There was a sweet, sticky, alien stench. It was bearing down like a collapsing wall.
'I want to evolve, I want to evolve, let me evolve, I want to evolve. The flies grow stale, the webs grow weak, I want to evolve, I want to evolve, I want to evolve. Can't you see how horrible it is?'
"Apecian!" Michael cried, turning his attention to his partner.
"What?" the Homunculus asked, looking at the human.
"You can't be serious!" he protested. "You're seriously going to... to cut your head off and toss it to the spider?"
"Why not? I mean, I've been incinerated, drained by a vampire repeatedly, stabbed in various vital organs, crushed by falling object, been a falling object, and a couple other things I'm forgetting right now, and I've taken some of your wounds. What's a head more?" Apecian asked.
"My head, your head, spider's head. You really want to get in a fight with the monster spider?" Neither of them were paying any attention to the monster while they were talking to each other.
...And was now standing cross-armed beside the door of the examining room. It was the monthly checkup, and the Nurse had reached that part of the examination, so now he was waiting until they were done with it.
It was at that time the lights flickered, before going out completely. When the red back up lights came on Ajax turned to the door, hesitating for a moment before barging in.
What did he see?
...a large room that was most definitely not the examination room that the Nurse and his partner were in a few moments ago. It appears to be a large warehouse-like space lined with large shelves laden with bulging packages. There's some lighting in the room— large neon strips near the ceiling fill the room with a frigid, flat white light.
Straight ahead, there is a door much like the one leading to the examination room. Screaming sounds can be heard behind it.
Figures are moving in between the shelving units... maybe. It could be your imagination, however.
Far to the left, there is a man slumped against the wall. He's dressed in medical scrubs and doesn't appear to be conscious.
Bonus things to add in the response:
a) opening a package.
b) investigating the movement.
c) approaching the man.
"Are you okay sir?" He says, reaching out to him
In fact, it wasn't a man— just a pile of clothing laid out as if someone had mysteriously disappeared while wearing them. How strange— it definitely looked as if there was a person slumped against the wall.
Behind Ajax, there is the faint sound of laughter. The faint screaming from behind the door at the far end of the room continues.
Simultaneously summoning his scythe, swinging it with intent to kill.
Does it connect? What does he see? Does he recognize the the screams?
The laughter continues in the distance. There seems to be more movement between the shelves now— and one might almost make out a head or a set of eyes glinting through the packages. Of course, it could always be the lighting playing tricks on the eyes... but speaking of the lights, the neons have noticeably dimmed over the past few seconds and have started flickering. Something tells Ajax that they won't stay on for long.
The screams— which have now stopped— seem familiar.
Realization hitting him like a ton of bricks.
"LEVY!" He shouted, breaking into a sprint. His Talaria flapped to life at his feet, making each stride longer, speed increasing with each flap.
He opened the door just as the lights flickered out, but what sight greeted him?
It looked exactly like before— except there was a large oil-painting portrait of Levy standing on an easel in the middle of the room. It was surrounded by ornate wreaths, flowers, and little candles.
The Nurse, who had been standing off to the side up until now, gently closed the door behind Ajax. "I'm sorry, but I did all I could."
He fell to his knees, and looked at the painting. She was smiling. That one smile that always seemed to say "I'm here. Everything is going to be okay."
"H-how?" He asked. "She was just here. Nothing was wrong. Nothing." He turned to the nurse, his blue eye glowing. "HOW?!" He yelled, a blue wave of energy erupting from his body. The flowers wilted, and all the medical supplies dissolved into water.
Levy couldn't move. She could see, but everything looked like it was a moving oil-painting. She could tell that it was a memorial, the flowers and the candles being a dead giveaway. She could see Ajax collapsed in front of her, his mouth moving. Apparently she couldn't hear either.
His blue eye flared to life, signifying the activation of his active skill, Double Attack Stance-Wt. He stood up, pivoting on his feet and setting the outer edge of the scythe blade on the Nurse's throat. She wanted to do something to tell him she was here. She wanted to tell him she was alive. She tried to focus.
The chain like detail on the frame of the oil-painting glowed blue, and another blue wave erupted from the painting. The Fire on the candles became water, and what little light there was became calm and inviting.
The Sacred Blue Chains
Ajax let out a sigh of relief. Bringing the scythe behind him, he prepared to swing to swing. "You have ten seconds to explain that."
"Too late," gurgled the Nurse as he, for lack of a better word, evaporated into smoke.
Three of the four walls of the room suddenly turned transparent, revealing rows upon rows of seats occupied by figures in white robes. One of them stood up, checked its clipboard, adjusted its glasses, and pointed towards Ajax. "Attend to your patient, please. She doesn't have much time," it said. "Don't mind us, we'll just take notes." And with that, the figure sat down and watched the agent, eagerly waiting for something to happen in the operating theatre.
"What patient?" He swung his scythe in their direction, a wave of energy cutting through each of them. "All I see is a memorial to my dead friend." He picked up the painting trapping Levy and left the room through a door.
The image of Levy disappeared with the slam of the door. A sly smirk plastered on her face and the thought of good one Ajax being the last thought.
The PA blared to life: "Stay calm. Expect rescue within 18 hours. Happy Halloween."
((The PAD Board created by Ajax and Levy allowed Ajax to cut through the figures, so It won't happen again))
Through it, Ajax could hear the sounds of a group of people murmuring.
The small squad of DIA agents froze and listened to the footsteps receding from the door. One of the agents, a tall Eldar woman, shook her head. "Must've been one of those apparitions," she said shortly. "There's no way we're opening that door."
"Yeah, good idea," said another DIA officer. "Though I think it's odd that we haven't come across any other agents or patients or anything. I mean, where are they?"
"No idea. Keep moving and push towards the ICU."
((Just for some additional perspective.))
There wasn't one. Behind him, there was only the door he had taken to leave the theatre. In front of him, there was only the door he had already examined. Between the doors was only only a blank white hallway. No more exits. It was one way or the other.
He brought out his RA. He contemplated completely leaving the Plot Hole, but then he remembered Levy. So instead he left for other locations in Medical.
It dropped him straight into a cold, empty room, with no doors, and no windows.
This time he landed into a space a tad more workable: a creepy corridor
In fact, it was the one he had teleported out of when he had ended up in the empty room. Okay, so now he had three choices. The room behind him, the room in front of him, or the room that the RA would take him to.
"I'm not dealing with this FFXIII bull crap." with that, he teleported out, finding himself in an expansive corridor with several doors.
The doors were evenly spaced from one another, and they were all exactly identical. "One of these doors will take you out of this place," a cool, pleasant voice said. "That door would be this one." One of the doors glowed blue for a moment, before returning to its Generic Grey. "The rest of the doors will lead you to your certain doom. Now, watch carefully." The doors then began to switch places with each other, like cups in a shell game, only much, much more quickly than any human could move them. They were almost impossible to follow. Suddenly, they stopped. "Choose," the voice said.
His abilities as a representation of the Greek God Hermes guiding his decision. He quickly found the correct door and entered it.
It was oppressively hot and humid. The walls glistened with sticky liquid, and the floor was softly bumpy. The red emergency lights shone, sludgy, off the bumpy, veiny, pink surfaces constructing the room. Fleshy walls ran far ahead, sloping downwards, until they were absorbed into total, noisome blackness. With an odious moaning of wind, a scalding breeze blew harshly in from the shadows. Only slightly ahead - one step away from the hard, cold floor of Generic Surface - the floor moved and writhed, a single, colossal entity. It was a tongue.
"Great," Ajax said, moving to another door. "Let's try this again."
Then, a whistling sound could be heard, coming from deep within the corridor beyond the door. It grew louder and louder, the source seeming to grow closer and closer, until it was obvious that the sound was coming from the innumerable daggers flying straight at the agent.
As the pitter patter of Daggers lodging themselves into the door filled the room Ajax yelled out "I'm guessing there's not correct door?"
There's only one right door, but the right door isn't a the safe door. You're not getting out of this so easily. :P
Your- Aw, can't I spoil it for him? No? Fine.- Your Random Helpful Stranger, A.
For some reason, the note had random things like butterflies, rainbows, and severed heads littering it.
A similarly colored chain connected the note to the bird, binding the note in a purple flame. It took off, finding the correct door and landed on it's doorknob. The bird dissipated as Ajax placed his hand on the knob
((It's in his art))
Once more he felt the incredible heat and humidity of the air, saw the slime coating the walls, and could stare deep into the depths of the monster's throat. There was only one thing different about the room: One of the emergency lights burned gold.
He stepped back, bringing his Talaria to life. He ran in the room, jumping for the emergency light and grabbing on, or at least hovered close to it.
A giggling sound could be heard coming from the golden light. Then, some kind of glow seemed to wash over Ajax, then over the tongue. It was warm, like fire, and when it reached the frozen saliva, the ice melted.
Because he sure as hell was invoking it when he used his scythe to cut the beast's tongue off. "Sorry big guy." He then plunged the head into the floor of the mouth, awaiting it's impending scream.
A rumble began, and a noise sounded, growing louder and louder until it nearly burst Ajax's eardrums. The sound grew more and more powerful until, when it finally reached the mouth, it blasted the door open and threw Ajax back out into the circular room. The door slammed shut again with the force of its recoil, then blasted open again, repeating this several times until the roar finally died away and the door was left closed.