I forgot to share this little writing exercise I did with my oc Cyrus. Just a little character scene of him and a little encounter with the past pre fishening. tw // very light death/gore mentions (like if you squint?) angst, implied horrors, my fish is sad about the past
It was rare that Cyrus ever got to travel through the remains of the lab alone. There were always so many risks, from the wormholes bringing no monsters into the constant scrambling of the various rooms that made up the endless labyrinth of the lab.
But today? Cyrus wanted some space to breathe, as well as wanted to find something that he had seen in passing but never got to grab. So, with some bickering, PJ agreed to let him go it alone. It was almost funny how hesitant the others were in letting Cyrus go it alone. Then again, Cyrus was the group's power house and safety was always a concern.
"Left passage... third door down..." Cyrus murmured to himself, ducking his head down as he entered another passage. Honestly, he was lucky this godforsaken lab had large doorways- or maybe he should count himself lucky that the mutations hadn't made him too big to get around. Though that didn't stop him from wincing when he had to squish awkwardly through some areas. Damn his new blubbery body- damn these stupid human sized halls-
"Almost there Cyrus, just a few more doors down..." He grumbles, using his lower set of arms for extra leverage as he glumphs about. That's right, glumphs like a baby seal still trying to get a handle on things. His current curse for having his legs be twisted into nothing but cartilage and the concept of a whale's body. It was outright embarrassing to some degree, he didn't dare think too hard about it.
The soft plap of blubber against tile filled the hall, slowly coming to a stop as Cyrus found the door he had been looking for. Fishing about the pockets of the ragged lab coat he wore, Cyrus retrieved his old keycard from it. Staring down at the photo with a small frown, brown eyes staring back up into milky white ones. A dull longing bubbling up in his chest as he reached out and scanned the card against the key reader. A familiar beep sounded as the lock opened up to let him inside.
Pushing the door open, Cyrus drags himself inside as quietly as he can, making sure the door closes behind him. The ID card tucked back into his pocket safely before he started to look around.
Sometimes, it was hard to imagine the changes that had affected the lab thanks to all the reality warping going on. Yet as the clear, crisp air filled his lungs and the soft spring air breeze over him, he couldn't help but feel grateful. The transition from tile to grass is a welcomed feeling against smooth skin. Cyrus, tempted to just stretch himself out on the ground and roll about. After all, it had been months since he had been outside- really outside. Experiencing grass and trees and a real night sky rather than harsh fluorescent lights.
But, still he had a reason to be here and he wanted to complete his goal before he enjoyed the outdoors.
So, with mild reluctance, Cyrus dragged himself across the ground. Trying to focus only on the overgrown desks that littered the field that had magically cropped up in this underwater lab. Running his hands carefully over each one until he finally found what he was looking for.
A desk in the middle of the others, raised just a bit higher to act as a standing desk. Faded pictures and paperwork tucked away under vines and moss. Clawed hands gently brushing away what he could to get to one of the drawers and pulling it open.
Cyrus couldn't help but let the tension melt away from his shoulders. Reaching into the desk drawer to pull out a folded up picture and a journal.
"Still here... good..." He said softly to himself, letting his thumb slowly run over the cover of the book. The leather was worn and faded, yet despite what was likely years of time working its magic, it was still in decent shape.
Slowly, Cyrus dragged himself into the center of the field, curling in on himself as he got comfortable. Taking advantage of his flexibility so he can rest his upper half on the thick part of his tail like a makeshift pillow. Idly thumbing the pages of the notebook before setting it down to focus on the folded up paper he had grabbed.
Carefully he unfolded the paper, breath hitching as he was greeted with something familiar: Warm smiles, crinkled eyes, worn hands, and utmost joy. A group photo, one he didn't think he'd ever see again. In the middle was an ever familiar face, brown and silver locks messily pulled back into a ponytail, brown eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Oh Cassidy..." Cyrus spoke that name softly, the weight of the pain behind it palpable. He could almost hear the older woman's laughter from the photo, almost feeling the weight of her arm around his shoulders as she shook him about like she always did. His closest friend for years, gone in the blink of an eye. He almost didn't think he'd see her again, let alone that smile. It hurt in ways he couldn't quite describe, a sharp stabbing to his heart that faded into regret.
She'd still be here if he had done his job like she asked. At least he liked to think that if he had just gone with her plan- if he hadn't let his worries about the power grid failing get to him- if he hadn't asked to be allowed to check it instead of checking the reactor with her... then her and everyone else in that photo would still be here.
"It should've been me, not them.." Cyrus bumped his forehead weakly against the picture. Letting his upper body move off his tail and land in the dirt. Laying half on his side as he held the picture close to his chest. Mind bubbling with all the 'what ifs' that could have been.
It was almost sad, how much he regretted that one day. A day that should have been boring and ordinary like every other. But no, he made his choice and he lost so many friends, so many people he considered family. And well, now he was some fish monster.
But he couldn't wallow in self loathing all evening, as good as that sounded. No, he still had a journal to flip through. So he folded up the group photo, tucking it in his pocket and turning to the journal in his other hands. Hesitating just a moment before opening it slowly, as if it was some kind of bomb.
But it wasn't. No, it was just an older woman's silly journal. One that was filled page to page with work notes, messy scribbles, and sketches. Each one made with familiar worn hands that Cyrus had once trusted with his life. Hands that he's sure would cradle his face even as monstrous as it is as a soft, raspy voice tells him how proud they are of him.
His claws dig into the leather, tearing it slightly as he reads each word. Whispering under his breath like some sacred prayer though it was only time tables and bad jokes. Desperate to ingrain every word to memory like if he didn't he'd never remember them again.
It was unfair. None of them were scientists, they weren't middle managers or team leads. They didn't spend their days languishing over questionable experiments. They didn't push the "what ifs" to the very brink. Cyrus was a glorified mechanic or janitor that liked changing light bulbs and fixing ac units. Cassidy spent her days tightening screws and telling bad jokes. Tim, Jason, Angela- none of them came from big scientific backgrounds. None of them came to this place to strive for endless possibilities. They just came for a check, for friends, for family.
Then why did they all die? Why was the only evidence Cyrus had of his friends a crumpled picture and a ruined journal? If he had gone down with the rest of them, would they have been able to fix the reactor before it blew up in their faces? Would he have been spared from seeing them be torn limb from limb by the same monsters he had become? Would they still be here laughing with him, sharing conversations over food and drinks? Would he be spared the nightmares of their skin slopping off of flesh and bone, of their screams, of Cassidy begging him to run. To live...
Cyrus choked on the sob that bumbles up in his throat. Snapping the journal closed and hugging it to his chest. Clawed hands digging into his skin as he held on to himself as tightly as he could. Curling in on himself in some feeble attempt to hide away from this horrible lab he was trapped in.
Despite being with people so often, despite having friends that watched out for him in this hellhole...
Cyrus has never felt more alone in his life than now. As dew drips from his form, as the spring breeze of this outdoor room washes over him. The moon, the stars, indifferent as they shine down on him.
My fish needs therapy fr If this does well I might post more writing for the karmic corp group and their hellscape they live in. I got many ideas, lots relating to body horror and spooky stuff. But yk, Karmic Corp thanks you for your patronage
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