Wynne stumbles into the bathroom, gasping as his head swam. Gods, what was in those drinks? He grabs the edge of the sink, dry heaving a couple times before hurling. Chonky black bile filling it.
Then he heard it, that dark low chuckle sending a wave of icy cold up his spine. Wynne glances up, looking into his reflection, devoid of the glamoured 'makeup' he usually wears. His usually full amber eyes pits of black tar, his sharp teeth coated in the same substance through his own wicked grin. The normally crimson berries on the laurel branches in his hair oozing and ripe with the same vile ichor.
"whats wrong, Douglas? Tryin' to run from me? Hide from ya'self?" The dark sick reflection chuckles again "can't do tha' Douglas, afterall you's just a bastar son of Fear, an Hunger~"
Wynne slams his fist into the mirror, stumbling back against the wall. Heart pounding in his ears as his hand bled. It was normal again. Showing the masked face he wore for those normal people, unaware of the deeper natures. Human amber eyes, rich auburn hair with no vile berries or brambles.
He hears it laughing though, over the sink of mundane vomit. Wynne turns, and runs from the club. Into the night, away from his reflection.
the power was failing. Lights dully flickering, until they ultimately failed. Silence filling the pre war facility until the backups kicked on. But, the power had failed. The main generators dying after two hundred years of constant duty. The backups? Who knew how long these would last.
The lab's automated systems activated, the emergency release on the test tubes still remaining. Most only released preserved corpses, or pools of biomed gel. A few released living subjects, dropped on the floor and left gasping for air as the gel that had kept them alive spilled out on the floor.
One of the subjects pushed themselves up, left naked to the stale air and gel that dripped off of her body. The dull artificial lights that now filled the facility the only thing she had to guide herself by. She stumbled to her feet, clinging to the human sized tube that had been her home for who knows how long. Ten years? Twenty? Forty or even a hundred? Locked in a tomb as some test subject. Test subject for what? For who?
The woman dug into her memories, looking back to her past to find any glint of who she was. Bug faced men, a flying sky beetle, strapped to a table next to a snake dog. What had they done to her, where did they take her? Firstly, who was she? She'd check the panel on the tube she had fallen from. Subject #274. Ciarra. Soon however an soft electrical buzz came from the speakers as an automated voice activated; "Facility power critical, please exit facility. Facility power critical, please exit facility." The message repeated, urging her to leave the place.
Ciarra slowly made her way through the facility. An old lab coat wrapped around her body. Providing some warmth in the cold, tomb like facility as it slowly died. She had to make her way out of it, not wanting to be trapped encase the power failed once more.
It was a race for time, and for supplies. She would need to grab what she could before exiting. The old hallways silent save for her footsteps, and the occasional bang against heavy locked doors. Other subjects. Trapped, and left to die. A sick feeling of luck washed over her as she realized she had been lucky her door had not been so sturdily locked. She walked long decomposed corpses of scientists, lab coats still hugging them. Stopped only when she saw the barrel of a gun from the corner of her eye, freezing still in the tense moment.
Ciarra stood there for what seemed hours, before she moved to gently touch the firearm, turning it off course. A trap someone had left. She'd look down at her feet, seeing the small cord that would have triggered it dragged down the hallway. And too the body of a man. Decomposed like the rest, laying where they had fallen. Ancient ghosts whispered as she could hear the gunshot from the past, and the cutoff scream as the poor being's momentum carried them away. She stepped into the room with the trap, wondering what was so important in here would need such protection. She saw her answer in the dim red lighting.
A small pile of bones, the ground around the charred and clothes burnt away. A small family, or perhaps a protective scientist burnt away in purifying flame. Ciarra shivered softly, feeling as if she was standing where they murderer had been. Silently she stepped into the room, and found it full of lockers. A few left half open as people had been caught gathering supplies to try and defend, or flee the facility. Much like Ciarra herself was now doing.
She'd walk past them, gently nudging bones away from the lockers she could open. Clothes, old and dusty, but clean all the same. She dried herself off of the biomed gel she had slumbered in, and dressed herself in the old uniforms. Gathering from the lockers what she would need. They mostly held armor, and weaponry. Ciarra was tempted to leave them, but looking down to the bones at her feet she thought they might be of some use.
She slipped what food, water, clothes and supplies she could carry in an old duffel bag, and a small handgun with ammo in the inside pockets of her lab coat. Soon Ciarra made her way to the entrance of the facility, pausing when she saw several other people at the door. Bickering among each other.
She slowly walked past them, silent and unnoticed in the red light before flipping the main level for the door with a cacophonous thunk. The facility doors hissed open. slowly sliding away and allowing enough room for two vehicles to move in and out of the facility. The night sky flooding into the facility. Bathing the people in natural light as silence once more filled it. Eyes locked on Ciarra in disbelief. She looked back, and spoke. Her voice weak, but confident in herself. "You can stay if you like, die with all the other bones in the tomb. But I will leave, and those who want can come outside with me."
With that, she walked out into the night. The stars and moon, though dim to us, bright to the eyes of someone who had been asleep for so long.
It had been several days, sleeping during the day and walking at night as he eyes adjusted to the brightness. Ciarra now found herself in an old barn house, staring at a familiar, yet alien face in an old mirror. She shifted her hand, softly pulling at a lower eyelid. They where hers, one blue and one yellow. Both with reptile like slits. Yet so, so very human in intelligence. Had they always been like this? Ciarra could have sworn they had been brown in the past. With how little of her past she remembered.
She combed a hand through her hair, silky smooth but with the color of the desert sand around her. Reaching down past her shoulders. She'd frown at it, thinking of the maintenance she would need to do to keep it clean. She picked up the hunting knife, pulling it from it's old wooden sheath. She'd lift her hair up, and cut it shorter. Smiling softly to herself as she once more looked over her form.
This was her, a few.. Oddities here and there, but Ciarra smiled at the human in the mirror. Setting down the blade, and once more dressing herself to go out on the road.
It is silent, and stationary. The river breaks against it as it watches you, or are you watching it? You take a step back, it takes a step forward. Step by step it walks to the bank as you walk away.
They went through the motions, the breach, the start of the fight. The blurr of action, something that would usually bring excitement and thrill. But now felt so distant. So practiced that she felt like a machine. Just, going through the motions now. The flashes, recoil, yells and smells felt so distant. So numb at this point, she doesn't even remember why she began.
It felt as if she was water, moving fluid and out of her own actual control. She went from floor to floor, filling the building with blood with such ease. Even with her own hands it felt like someone else was doing it. Was taking a life as she just watched from the passengers seat. Even being hurt felt dull to her. Even the sirens in the distance.
And now here she was in the roof, with the woman that began it all. She looked at her boss, visor shattered and eye contact made. They both nodded softly. The ring of this last shot cutting through the music, bringing it to an end. Just a soft dull buzz of static.
The killer stepped to the balcony, leaning on it and sighing. What now? She did what she came to do. Cut the head off the dying snake. She looked at her hands, covered in blood. Both her own, and the blood of others. She laughed softly, taking off the helmet and letting it fall to the streets bellow.
By the time the police breached the sealed door she was standing on the railings, facing them. Cigarette hanging loosely from her lips, and a eerie calm sad smile on her lips. She stepped back, arms out stretched and soft tears on her face. The wind, it sounded like the static.
Ok
So.. Imagine this with the following:
All that is on your mind is Cayde-6. You have to get to him. You know hes in peril. You feel it in your bones as you run through those burning steel hallways, killing left and right of Scorn trying to stop you. Cabal. Fallen. Nobody is getting in your way as you storm the halls.
Then you feel it. You feel that light be released. Your skin grows cold. Your heart stops dead and feels like a ton in your chest. Tears prick your eyes as you run faster, not caring anymore of whats around you.
You almost stop dead when you see him there. Near battered and broken. HE had the nerve to just mock you and your timing. You want to fall then and there, but at least you make it to his side. You send out your ghost in a desperate attempt to heal him.
The ghost looks up at you with a sad sigh and looks down without a word.
You don’t want to let him go. Cayde’s already accepted his fate. He takes his last few moments to hold your hand with as much strength as he could muster and explain in the last few moments of his life how much he was thankful for you. He cared about you so much. How he never even got the chance to tell you those three little important words that would have made such a difference.
“I love you.”
Nothing would be more painful for your soul as you carried his lifeless body out of that Prison of Elders. Not letting anyone touch you or him as you made your way back into the Tower.
You are going to make Cayde-6′s life mean the most. You’re going to make His. Life. Hell.
How do you react to such a loss? Someone so close you could never image being without in your life being ripped away. Cut so callously from your world using his own tools. You fall back on instincts, on old habits you left behind for fear of what using them would make you. You follow that old voice, whispering in the back of your mind; kill.
So, you kill. And kill. And kill. You track and trick those who’s party had carved this hole into that part of your being, letting these vile thoughts and actions spill fourth once more. You used to be so quick, so clean. Now you worried about ammo during gun fights, your shots wounding more than ending. It brought satisfaction to you, to that voice urging you forward. Only now do you think back, think on how you slaughtered this man's own family. As vile as it could be.
It was easy, natural. What would he do, your love who had been ripped out and left a wound? He'd finish it. You aren’t sure if it was the voice, or the truth. But you can feel it in your gut, either way you had to finish it. Funny how right and wrong, justice and revenge, dark and light mixed into this strange grew ooze of morality.
You finished it. You finished him. That is what matters now.
The ship was erupted in shouting, and cries of victory. The new captain tossing the old man’s head on the deck. The Undine looked in mild horror at her adopted father’s head, stepping closer to the railing. Lifting up her pistol, and pulling back the hammer. “Not another step, or I will fire.”
The rebellious crew crept in closer, and the undine looked for the best shot. Noticing something from the corner of her eye. She’d shift, pulling the small bag of gold closer to herself as two gunshots echoed out in unison. Hers, and another marksman.
She stepped back, dramatically holding her shoulder. Looking terrified as death began to creep in. Before the crew could grab her, the shot undine fell into the ocean bellow. Sinking beneath the waves. Days went on with them trying to hunt her body in that reef, but Mera had long sense left it. The shot she took only grazed her, and once she was in the safety of the ocean she had swam away.
Eventually she boarded another ship, scarring that crew. Before falling to her knees, and breaking into tears. They took her in, and took her back to land. Leaving Mera on the dock with what she had carried with her.
A pistol, a handfull of gold, and the clothes on her back.
The small fort burned and crackled, tunnels collapsing and smoke filling those that still remained. Screams echoed in the stony halls, choked out by the lingering explosions and ringing ears. The few survivors who wherent taking the chance to revolt where trying to keep the panic down, and the revoltees dead.
A small metal cylinder flew from the smokey stone doors, shattering against the armed guards before erupting in yet another explosion of flame and force. From the wound in the earth stepped a half elf, one who had been buried away in the deepest parts of the fort.
Her hair was short, messy and stained black from the smoke. Her eyes covered in a heavy pair of goggles, with a glass lens that had been whipped of smoke. A makeshift gas mask covered her mouth, but still the look of hate pored out. In her left hand was another bomb, ready to go. And in her right a broken spear she had forged.
The soldiers charged at her, and she just lifted her spear. A volley of bolts flying from the smoke behind her. the short shafts sticking out of the slavers. The revolt was never outside, it had always been inside. The slaves rebelling out here, that was just convenient. Now, with their chance and backup here, the slaves that had been outside fought with renewed vigor. The combined forces from either side easily over powering the soldiers that where left.
It came to the half elf and the owner, the man she had planned to depose. She’d pin him to the fort’s wall at spear point, leaning in closely. “two years. Two years you have kept me from the sun, two years you have beat me and used me. My body, my mind.”
She didnt let him speak, starting to slowly push that spear head into his throat. “You thought I was broken, but that’s the thing with smart people. You can never be sure.” A small mechanical mouse crawled up her shoulder, looking curiously at the owner. It waved at him, the hate in the half elves eyes and it’s waving form the last things he would see as that spear head was pushed against the stone wall behind him.
