#mutationstart

[agent-masqxerade]

Debriefings always put Jules in a bad mood. She didn’t know what exactly about them always pissed her off so much, but as soon as she stepped into the War Room, an almost permanent scowl formed on her face, not abating until hours after the meeting had been adjourned. While anger was hardly a foreign emotion to her, Jules absolutely hated it. It was by far one of her least favorite emotions, simmering under her skin, compelling her to make decisions that she knew would only result in her being locked up in isolation again, pacing around like a caged animal, which at this point she basically was. So instead of giving into her instincts, she grabbed a bottle of vodka, making note that her stores were running low, before hiding up in the supply room in hopes of finding a bit of quiet.

Agents had been coming and going, but she only bothered to look up when she realized one shadow had lingered longer than the others.  “What are you staring at?”

[withinreveries]

          ↗            The trees that surrounded the empty graveyard were filled with an ominous, brittle silence that gave no illusion to being virtually simulated. Binary has no seasons, yet the scene at hand gave the impression of late fall where no flowers grew; no greeness to give pleasant contrast against the gravestones. Out of the thousands of generated teeth buried in the soil beneath his feet, not a one would identify as anyone Wyatt knew. Nobody had ever known them, since ‘they’ were never existent. All 0s and 1s. He found this comforting somehow. The training simulation had ended an hour prior with the required target item sought and found, though the tall brunet saw no harm in enjoying the tranquil - even if he knew it not to be real. Then, he blinked and in that nanosecond, the simulation was shut off from around him and Wyatt was left to slowly turn and offer a slight half-smile at the somewhat familiar face now greeting him in the empty room. “Guess times up, mm?” 

[spectresalwaysburn-blog]

Agent Beyond had been well known among even those in Envy and many had found him to be likable. Henry was sure that he’d found the man to be nice enough, even if he’d never taken close notice of the man; he often didn’t take close notice of others around him, especially when he’d been in a host for a few days. He’d just come back from another mission when he’d heard the news out of the covert record. First, things had spread by word of mouth, from agent to agents in hushed tones. At that point, Henry had still been feeling his last possession so he’d only caught bits and pieces of the story, a fractured tale that made little sense.

Then, came the briefing that changed everything; the feeling of thinking someone else’s thoughts melted away and he began to focus on the events that their superiors laid out before them. Things were moving in the region and every agent bristled noticeably several times during the meeting; whatever had gone down, there was trouble, deeper than they had been prepared for.

So Henry did what he did best after the meeting and he lingered around the briefing room, pretending to be off in his own world as he so often was, while listening to snippets of conversation here and there. 

“Sorry, a little lost in my thoughts,” he added as he bumped into someone, hoping to get their thoughts on the meeting. 

[jaan-400-blog]

Jaan wasn’t designed to have to consume food or sleep, but sometimes they wondered what it would be like. During the human’s sleep cycles, they would listen to the night noises—their snores, the rustling of bedsheets, sleep talking—as they walked past their rooms cleaning. Jaan wondered if they would sleep silently or snore, if they would dream or stir restlessly. 

Right now there was another upswell of curiosity. Jaan was cleaning after another table was vacated, pilling together lunch trays and glasses into a tub. They noticed an untouched plate, full of lasagna, salad. A half buttered bread roll laid to the side, and a half drunk glass of milk. They were the only touched items. Jaan was concerned for the nutrition intake of the person who left the tray behind but that was quickly overpowered by the sight of the plate.

Jaan couldn’t help themselves, they reached out and traced the edge of the milk glass, imagining what it would be like to drink. Then their finger drifted down to the bread roll, feeling the crusty texture. How enchanting. No wonder humans looked forward to food. A slight noise drew Jaan’s attention outward to notice a straggler in the cafeteria, watching them. Jaan ducked their head, quickly picking up the plate and depositing it on top of the load. 

“Sorry. Leave your plate, I’ll get it when you are finished.”

How foolish of them, they shouldn’t daydream of human things, let alone things they would never experience. Jaan didn’t even have a stomach designed for consumption of anything.

[cxnstellaticn]

The turret had done it’s damage when it had hit, and Oz could scarcely recall feeling pain quite like that in his whole life. Slow building, blossoming, and aching like nothing he’d ever experienced. Making his way out of the medical wing, he could feel the bruise that somehow still seemed to be spreading under his skin, still unable to use his arm completely. A strangers eyes met his own and he smiled. “It’s not as bad as it sounded. I’m good. Couple of ibuprofen and I’ll be right as rain.”

[eveofedens-blog]

DON’T TRUST ANYONE.

Rothchild’s words of wisdom repeated endlessly in their mind as they found themselves curled onto one of the empty benches just outside the Medical Ward. The smell of Agent Cyanide’s gas lingered in their nose-- even though it was long gone, something told them they’d never quite be able to shake that smell. An open book lay unmoved in their lap, but their mind was racing far too much to focus on the words. Their fingers ran along the sides of the pages as their empty gaze stared across the room, the blaring of the alarms still echoing in their ears.

They jumped harshly, honestly, when another presence neared them, their hand tightening into a fist as they just stopped themselves just short of punching the other. “Oh, hi.” They cleared their throat a bit sheepishly, shaking the fist away and snapping the book closed with their other hand. “I’m sorry-- still a little... on edge.”

[vampiricwright-blog]

Even before Prometheus X, before the tests, before MKHellfire ever appeared in her life, Sadie had never had a problem with blood. If she had she wouldn’t have gone into nursing, a profession filled with all sorts of unsavory substances and bodily fluids. It had just been another thing about being alive. You wanted to keep it on the inside as much as possible, but it was just...blood. Now, however, it was far more significant. During missions it was important, her blood or that of another was a powerful weapon and tool, versatile and always present. But it wasn’t just that. She could feel the thrum of it, always. It pulsed inside her, loud and reassuring and strong. It hummed in the veins of others, felt from behind walls and through floors and ceilings, the constant song of it keeping her grounded. She had slept with white noise app playing on her phone when she was younger, but there was no disquieting silence to fill anymore.

In front of her, the avatar on the screen peered around a corner before rolling into the next piece of cover. Sadie bit the inside of her cheek as she leaned in closer, looking for any sign of the enemy combatants. It was all a bit dull, only being able to play against AI unless some other agent wanted to join in, but it was better than nothing. The thrum of blood grew louder behind her and she tensed before remembering that a hellfire executive wouldn't have come alone. “You can come play if you want, if you aren't scared to risk some Acedia rubbing off on you,” she said, the dry tone she used with other agents slipping into place.

[cacineadh-blog]

Bitterness was Rushi’s bread and butter from the day she was born, and it only continued to grow through the years as disappointment clouded her every motion. Though she excelled at physical combat, in her youth she existed in an age where it was frowned upon for women to be such; she was quick as a whip but considered a bitch for it also; she was too old by the time she reached the program to undergo any sort of transformation and was left, instead, training agents who she felt (perhaps a bit naively) were not as skilled or half as clever as she, but it rarely came out in anger and instead in a fiercer form of training.

If they should succeed her in such a way, she wanted to see it through their motions. 

She walked down the line of bodies, eyes unwavering as she watched the form of each person under her tutelage that day, stopping before one and her lips quirked down into a frown, “Your movements are sloppy and I get that you’re special but we need you to be extraordinary.”