FEBRUARY 2021 EVENT: PART TWO

[robbies]

 

CHAPTER TWO, PART 2: THE LIVING ISLAND

Everything you never wanted to see.

YOU CAN’T DO A LITTLE BECAUSE YOU CAN’T DO ENOUGH | JUST A DREAM FROM YESTERDAY | DARKNESS HELD ITS BREATH | YOUR FRIENDS WHEN THINGS GET ROUGH | COME AND PLAY WITH ME

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YOU CAN'T DO A LITTLE BECAUSE YOU CAN'T DO ENOUGH

Perhaps you’ve been on tenterhooks since you woke up to find that your friends, your family, your neighbors somehow went missing in the night. Perhaps you’ve been hitting the pavement and knocking on doors trying to find them. So far, your efforts have been for naught. There’s been neither hide nor hair of the missing, and every attempt to find them has met with a dead end.

Until February 13.

In the afternoon, a strange, unsigned message goes live on the network. What is the meaning of “Living Island”? Does it have anything to do with what’s going on? There’s no elaboration… until midnight, when every neighbor’s television set turns on at full volume, hissing static and garbled noise as the dials turn and adjust. Several disjointed clips follow, ending on a mural that depicts the same words from the post.

“Living Island.”

The following morning, you’ll find that stranger things are beginning to happen. Some of you will be woken up to the blankets and sheets being yanked off your sleeping bodies by a powerful force. Others will find that when they step out of their morning shower, a message has been written in the steam on their medicine cabinet's mirror. Depending on how quickly you shower, you may only be able to see part of the message — but running the hot water longer and allowing the steam to fill the room will reveal it in its entirety:

“LIVING ISLAND.”

As time passes, you’ll find that the same message shows up every time the bathroom steams up, whether you’re in the shower or not. The same force that turned your TV on seems to insist that you pay attention to what it’s trying to show you, and its behavior escalates the longer you refuse. Characters will find that books go flying off of bookshelves, drawers are yanked out of dressers and desks, and breakable objects are smashed. Trying to prevent the spirit from destruction won’t go your way: If you try to catch or grab something that’s about to be thrown, you’ll find it ripped out of your hands anew and smashed anyways. If you tried to take all of your chairs down from where they’ve been stacked on top of the dining room table, you’ll find they’re back atop it the instant you look away.

All that’s to say nothing of the rumbling. It doesn’t start until the end of the first day, but from time to time you’ll feel the house beginning to shake on its foundations, a dull groan as it struggles to keep itself from collapsing in under its own weight. As time goes on, this will get louder and louder until the house seems to roar of its own accord, an unyielding shriek that can’t be stopped until the force causing it backs down.

Attempts to make contact with the spirit will never go well. It does not seem to be able or willing to communicate with you beyond its own tantrums, and characters who try may find that the attempt rapidly goes out of control. Candles flare up and burn wildly, Ouija boards are ripped into pieces and planchettes go flying, offerings of food are knocked over or thrown, and the lights flicker manically in turns. While you may be able to get some sleep at night if you’re lucky, the only thing that will reduce the poltergeist activity is to pay attention to the message it’s sending you and figure out what it means.

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JUST A DREAM FROM YESTERDAY

Living Island. If ever there were a first step to stopping this madness, it’s figuring out what those words mean. But starting is always the hardest part, and with nothing else to go by than two seemingly unrelated, nonsensical words left behind by a force you can’t see much less communicate with, an already arduous task seems even more impossible. This is furthered by the reactions you get when you hit the street and start asking people if they know anything about Living Island. Most of them can only look back at you blankly, as if waiting for a punchline that never comes. Others actually take you seriously enough to consider the question, and to their credit, they do take their time racking their brains to remember where they’ve heard that name before, why it sounds so familiar. But the most you’ll get back from them is a sheepish shrug of the shoulders and a reply that it sounds like something from TV. It gets to the point where their answers blend together, each one more unremarkable than the last. Save for the one you get from the last person you haven’t asked. Living Island. I’m sorry, what was that? What the fuck did you just say? Dale Harding and Rosemary Craven might be as far away from each other as possible, doing things around town that couldn’t be more different, but their reactions are the same. When they overhear you asking what feels like the hundredth person you’ve seen that day about Living Island, they look your way — Harding in the middle of his patrol or lunch break, Rosemary in the middle of grocery shopping. Harding looks honest-to-God surprised. Rosemary simply looks confused, even somewhat concerned. That's such a... strange name. Where did you hear that from? When they hear your explanation, they go quiet, mulling it over. Rosemary’s expression turns thoughtful. Harding’s, suspicious. If I remember correctly, that was a clubhouse the children around town used to play in. I haven’t heard about it in… goodness, I can’t even remember. Years, perhaps. It’s a play on “safety island” — another name for a bomb shelter — and the name of this… stupid kids show that used to be popular. I guess they thought it was cute, calling a place like that something fun. But where is it? Well, most of the shelters in town are still in use, and children aren’t allowed in them unless there’s an emergency. The only place I can think of is… The grade school. Administration ran out of funding before they could finish it, so they just scrapped it. Closed it off and just hoped for the best. Didn’t stop people from sneaking in. I used to bust them for playing down there all the time, the little shits. Harding’s mouth twists into a sneer that doesn’t reach his eyes, which are soft and miserable, while Rosemary waits patiently for any other questions and, when you have no others, excuses herself to go back to her groceries. Now you have something even better than an explanation: you have a destination.

Finding Santa Rosita Elementary is as easy as a fifteen minute drive from North Santa Rosita to Shadyside. Getting in is a different story. By day, the school is open for business and humming with activity, so you can’t very well go barging in and not expect to be reprimanded for disrupting class. This leaves you with three options: go before it opens, wait until school is over, or come in the middle of the night. Each have their own pros and cons, but all of them will get you the same result.

After hours, the school is desolate and still. The wind, the occasional slap of a naked branch against a window, and the squeak of your footsteps on the shiny, clean floors are the only sounds you’ll hear as you navigate the empty hallways. Most of the classrooms are locked, and the ones that aren’t don’t have anything any more unique or worthwhile to them than the occasional lunchbox left behind by a student or the classroom frog croaking in its tank. In a way, this is a good thing — it doesn’t leave that many places to investigate and makes your path that much more linear as you finally, inevitably and silently make your way downstairs into the bowels of the school.

The long corridor that awaits you in the basement is, in theory, not very different from the hallways upstairs. There are lockers lining both sides, dented and darkened with age and dust. The tiles are cracked, dirt and pieces of stone kicked up from exposed areas of the floor. Seemingly, this appears to lead to a dead end. But look closely at the wall and you’ll see the impression of a door, painted to match the walls. The lock is flimsy — in fact, depending on when you find it, someone may have already broken it. All that’s left is to enter and descend down the tiny room’s only feature: a ladder under a rusty steel hatch door, stretching down into darkness.

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DARKNESS HELD ITS BREATH

CW: gore, surgery

Stepping into the old shelter, the first thing that hits you is the stale, uncomfortably moist air. This first room is cavernous and dark, and your footsteps and whispers echo in spite of how quiet you might try to be. There’s a faint smell in the air, a trace of copper and rubbing alcohol that might make your eyes water, making your mouth feel unpleasant as it hits your tongue. As you get your bearings and begin to pick your way through the dark, you’ll notice traces of another smell — something simultaneously spicy and cloyingly sweet, a scent that seems to assault your senses and leaves you with a headache pounding at the base of your skull. Thankfully, there isn’t enough to do more than make you nauseous, but the smells warn of what’s still yet to be found.

As you continue through the labyrinthine warren, you’ll begin to find signs of human presence — some of the trashed rooms may be fitted with tables and supplies one might expect to find in a laboratory, meticulously labeled with typewritten strips. Several of these boxes appear to be old, covered in grimy layers of dust, while others are fresh and clean. All of them contain medical supplies. Eagle-eyed investigators might note that the untouched supplies tend to be the type contained in first-aid kits — acetaminophen, antibiotic ointment, simple adhesive bandages — while the ones that have been opened are for heavy duty surgical work — coiled IV lines and tubing, empty syringes, surgical gloves. One room in particular seems to have been fitted out for someone’s personal use, boasting a stripped-down bed, a chair and desk, and a comfortable recliner.

The trickle of water can be heard in the depths of the shelter, and as you emerge from one corridor that filters into a large chamber, it becomes immediately obvious where you are: This is an operating theater, with a table stationed beneath all manner of lights that can be adjusted and moved. A faucet drips monotonously in the back of the room, over a sink stained with blood with bits of grey, pulpy matter stuck in the drain. A bucket filled with blood and viscera ferments on the ground beside it. There are smears of blood, both dried and fresh, on the cloudy tiles, and a cabinet full of surgical instruments is slightly ajar. Looking at the instruments, characters will find that a couple of scalpels and a pair of tongs have dotted blotches where the metal was cleaned with water; whoever used these tools last didn’t dry them before putting them away. A small table near the operating area has a turntable sitting atop it, with a record already set under the needle: a single of Elvis Presley’s “Heartbreak Hotel.” There are a few other records sitting in the cabinet beneath it, including Big Mama Thornton’s “Hound Dog,” Frank Sinatra’s “Frank Sinatra Sings for Only the Lonely,” and James Brown and the Famous Flames’ “Think!”

In a separate area of this room, an oversized desk is piled with books and empty food containers that look as though they’ve been repurposed for one reason or another. These books are chiefly on anatomy and the medical sciences, though there are a number of books on psychology and how the brain functions. Though some of these books are water-spotted and dog-eared, there aren’t any notes written in the margins, nor are there any papers to be found. You can turn this area as much as you'd like, but all you’ll find is a couple empty cigarette boxes and some broken and bitten pens; the trash can next to the desk, filled with soggy ashes, seems to suggest that any papers that might have given you a lead were destroyed before you got here.

But the lab, with all its instruments, isn’t what you came here to find. There’s still at least one more room to be found…

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YOUR FRIENDS WHEN THINGS GET ROUGH

CW: gore, surgical trauma, amputation, lobotomy, brainwashing and interrogation, mouth trauma, eye trauma, ear trauma, body horror

The missing are being held in small, sturdy cages in a single room connected to the back of the operating room, dim and dank. The cages are placed equidistant around the room, ensuring that even if you try, you can’t reach out and make contact with your neighbors. The missing will find that they wake at approximately the same time, curled up on the ground in uncomfortable positions. Unlike your rescuers, your nightmare began far earlier than when you first awoke in this room, sore and disoriented. In fact, you could argue it started the moment you went to sleep on February 9th, leaving empty beds and concerned family members behind.

With no clocks or watches available to tell the time, you may not be able to tell how long you’ve been here. You sleep and wake, sometimes to a bowl of what looks like sticky rice lying in your cage that wasn’t there before. Sometimes, an overpowering smell will fill the room, faint at first; by the time you register it, it’s already overwhelmed you and sent you into a deep sleep. And when you wake, one cage will be empty. The inhabitant will be returned the next time you go to sleep and wake up, but not quite the same as they were before. They seem heavily drugged, discombobulated — or perhaps there's something visibly different about them. Whoever has taken you is doing a lot of work in their lab — and from the smell of things, meat work — and before long almost all of you will be sporting dressings of some type or other, fresh red seeping through the sterile cloth within a matter of hours.

Maybe you should try to keep each others’ spirits up. You don’t know how long you’ll be here, after all.

All of this goes on for a while — days, although it won’t be easy to count them given that there are no windows in the room. But nearly a week later… you wake to find that the front of your cage is unlocked. Unlatched. Open just an inch. Looking around the room, you’ll find that yours is not the only cage to have been opened — all of your cages have been unlocked.

Is it a mistake? Or are you really free?

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COME AND PLAY WITH ME

CW: blood and violence

Whether you’ve released yourself from your cage, or were discovered by a well-meaning friend before you could, or you’ve simply had your fill of exploring the shelter-turned-laboratory, the time has finally come to leave. Unfortunately, if things were that easy, you wouldn’t even be around by the time the scuttling sounds begin — somewhere down the hall, in the room behind you, fleeting and sly. It’s not an animal sound, a creature picking its way through the garbage and debris littered around the shelter. No, with the way it stops and starts every time you start and stop walking, this is a very deliberate, human sound. And if you don’t believe that, you’ll see soon enough when you see the naked, bone-white figure walk into view at the end of the hallway as casual as you please, their body smooth and sexless like a department store mannequin. They turn (your) their head and stare directly at you with (your) their wide, glassy eyes crinkled in thousand-yard delight. You hear your voice echoed back at you, airy and chirpy and so indescribably wrong it makes your blood run cold.

"Hi!"

Much like the Doppelgangers you encountered in January, these ones look and move like dolls, their limbs connected with ball-joints. However, whereas those ones were near perfect imitations of you and your friends, these ones look like they just fell off the assembly line. Their faces are unnaturally flat and plastic, like all the imperfections have been ironed out of them, but they are unmistakably yours. And when they open their mouths to squeal at you before running with all the unnatural speed not having a pair of lungs affords them, you’ll find that even their voices are perfect imitations — and not necessarily of your own either.

There’s no way to tell how many of these Doppelgangers are down here with you, hiding in the dark. They’re stealthy and sneaky, only coming out to attack when they’re sure you’re alone. Even if you’re not, they’re intelligent enough to come up with ways to separate you from your group, calling to you from another part of the shelter, mimicking a voice from someone they know you’ll listen to. Even if there’s no possible way they could be in Santa Rosita.

"Help me!"

"Is that you...? Oh thank God, I've been looking everywhere for you!"

"Please, don't leave me!"

Other times, they’ll take a more aggressive approach, allowing their limbs to pop out of place so they can sprawl on the ground, imitating a heap of discarded doll parts. Once you get close enough or turn your back on them, they’ll pull themselves together and attack, speeding towards you on fours like a crab.

There are two ways out of the shelter. The first one is the hardest: go back the way you came. With the low visibility, the number of Doppelgangers, and the confusing layout of the area, you’re more likely to get turned around and go in circles than you are to find your way back to the ladder — a location made even more difficult to discern since the hatch door has been lowered, blotting out all light from the room above.

The second way is the longest but also the easiest: head deeper into the shelter, past the operating room, through the rooms filled with broken furniture and ruined floors that are very easy to trip on — especially when you’re in the middle of running away. Eventually, you’ll come to another ladder, this one leading to an open hatch that deposits you into a dark passageway. The air up here is more fresh, but not necessarily pleasant smelling. There’s only one way to go — forward.

After what feels like an hour of walking, you’ll see a light at the end of the passage. Follow it and you’ll find yourself exiting a storm drain that drops you into the heart of Old Growth, just outside of West Santa Rosita.

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OOC INFO

Welcome to the second part of February’s event! You can use this entry to top-level for the event, but feel free to utilize the log and network communities as well.

There will be a top-level posted for NPC interaction tied to the second prompt below, wherein you can request to play out your character’s interaction with Harding or Rosemary. If you would like to have your character interact with either one of them, comment to the top-level with the name of the NPC you would like to thread with. You may only thread with one NPC. The mods will respond to NPC tags until February 28th.

Any questions can go in our FAQ thread below. Try to check and see if your question has already been answered on the plotting thread first here.

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Comments

[prodigalhairess]

You'll get there, I'm sure. If you're getting along with her now, it's only a matter of time.

[It's strange, how bright a smile can be in their current situation. But somehow Rapunzel manages it, even if she's kind of... playing it up a bit.]

Mmhmm, that's me! What's your name?

[prodigalhairess]

[God, Rapunzel thought those things were a dream. It wasn't as utterly horrible as the strange deer or the corpses in the snowmen, but the dopplegangers had been... unnerving. And seeing the way it jerked and ran scared Rapunzel, well and truly, to the point where she quickly wraps her arms around Cass's middle to pull her back. The thing doesn't attack just yet, but Rapunzel isn't going to let it have that chance.

She's seen too many friends hurt recently, down here in the dark. She can't let Cass be hurt too.]

Come on, let's run!

[sunborne]

So we have two, three options to reach out to for help.

[ the mayor, if the pattern holds up, and the chief police and the head of the hha. considering his talk with the chief of police, daylight is leaning into the idea of reaching out to chief harding. at the very least, trying to find someone a lot more diplomatic than himself to try and reach some common ground.

remembering the conversation, daylight can’t help but wonder how it went for monika. wouldn’t hurt to ask: ]

How was it? The conversation with her? [ daylight’s expression takes a worried and concerned one now, remembering the spike of panic and uncertainty he felt when he realised li— when he realised monika wouldn’t be replying to his messages anymore. he is pretty relieved she seems to be in one piece but never hurts to get verbal confirmation, you know? ]

Did anything stand out to you when you were speaking with her? You mentioned not wanting to push her too hard so I guess that there was a chance of that happening when you were talking.

[peninhand]

She's talked to me about how sometimes she feels as though her reality could collapse around her, figuratively speaking. That was back at the HHA thing.

[ How she'd gotten her to say that...? Well, she didn't feel too comfortable revealing she'd herself have spoken about what had happened to her, unfortunately. ]

When I spoke to her after our conversation, she seemed distressed about that feeling. She wondered why she's the only one feeling that way. What it may mean.

[ A pause. ]

She definitely knows something but can't remember what, be it consciously or unconsciously.

[grice]

[ it’s hard to be in a cage and torture chamber like this and still smile like the sun— even falco hasn’t been able to fake it so cleanly and ends up at a little quirk at best. it’s tired and solemn, but it’s trying to keep up with her somehow. ]

Falco. [ Nice too meet you, even under these circumstances? he just wishes it were better. ] They’ll be here, soon. I left some notes behind.

[undiagnosed]

It looks like shit. [he says, immediately. he's not going to lie to her. he finishes up and tosses the now pretty much ruined towel he'd been using to dry off onto the counter, rounding it to get a better look. he's familiar with electrolarynx but he also doesn't really have any formal medical training - just the field training he'd got as a spy. those are far more focused around keeping someone alive until the extraction gets to them.

so he goes for the obvious:] Take some painkillers and make sure it doesn't get infected. That basement was like a serial killer's wet dream and if I wake up to you puking pus everywhere then...

[he trails off and makes a face, taking the first aid kit to shove the painkillers at her.]

Ew. Just, ew. Get some antibiotics from the pharmacy and pray you're not allergic to penicillin.

[sunborne]

Oh, stars and fuck. Daylight had no idea humans could be tense as he was now. Hell, Daylight didn’t even realise it until Huasiang was trying to work out the kinks in his shoulders and neck.

“I really owe you one.” It hurts like hell, sure, but it is helping him. He thinks. He hopes. “Oh ow— I had no idea you could get pains there. Or there. Or definitely there—!”

Humans are terribly resilient and terribly squishy and, unfortunately for Daylight, he is learning that right now. He tries to focus his thoughts on answering his friend’s question because maybe that can help with the pain.

“Winglets were—“ He makes a face, trying to find a way to explain it. It’s also to correct him because he rather not use the past tense. The implications are not something he wants to think about. “Winglets are part of my jetpack, which is this large metal bag you can wear on your back. Winglets are like, well, wings. Smaller, though, but it allows me to fly all the same.”

Now that he mentions it... “I should totally give you a jetpack ride if I get it back. The least I can do for you, you know?”

[fanoperator]

[Huaisang squinches up his nose, thinking that they're not particularly 'normal' even without their powers. He's also tempted to argue an exemption from the 'excess of intelligence', but that's a can of worms he has no desire to open.]

That's not very comforting, Wei-xiong...

[Squatting down beside the ladder, Huaisang closes his eyes and hovers his hand over the opening, cycling what little access he has to his golden core in order to detect what he can.]

I feel ... sort of like spiritual energy, and sort of like that poltergeist we dealt with, but it feels... awful. Wrong. A sort of awfulness like nothing we've faced before. [And they've faced all manner of unnatural horrors in their shared past.

He shudders, bucking with the sensation of slugs tumbling down his back, and he scrambles back, ducking to hide behind Wuxian's shoulder, face pressed into his shoulder blade.]

[thotsandprayers]

[While this is going on, Kiara watches without comment while Daylight attacks the thing pretending to be his uncle. She's really not sure if she'd react the same way if it were wearing a face belonging to one of her family. It'd be interesting to see a face she hasn't seen in such a very long time, sure, but beyond that, she isn't quite sure. Though she does imagine she'd probably use different language than Daylight did.

Though, she isn't going to stand here all day contemplating what she would do in his shoes, that seems like it would be a mistake. Especially with Daylight on the ground and that thing on top of him. ...okay, admittedly, she's wondering what she would do in that situation too, but she figures she should do something. And this bat she's holding is a bit useless. Plus, in her current condition, she's not sure she can really muster the strength to really make much of an impact.

So she doesn't use the bat. Instead, she'll use that power she got back a while ago. Maybe not the best time for a surprise, but if she can help, she should, no matter how unappealing her ability looks. So while Daylight tries to find the creature off with rebar, assistance comes in the unlikely form of a large tentacle, its nightmarish appearance looking more suited to being attached to some sort of ancient god in a horror story instead of the floor tile it seems to be sitting on top of.

It doesn't stay in place to be gawked at for too long though, slamming into the side of Daylight's not uncle, making the kind of unpleasant sound to be expected when nightmarish tentacle horror impacts some sort of porcelain monstrosity. Sorry about that. But on the plus side, it should've knocked it away and seems intent on keeping the doppelganger away from the two of them.]

I thought you could use a hand, even if that hand is a bit...unpleasant.

[Kiara sounds and looks a little apologetic about her power. It's freaky, she knows that much.]

It will last for about an hour, that would be plenty of time to get away from this thing. Unless you're intent on finishing it off.

[There's no judgment in her tone at all. She has no preference on the creature's fate. Whatever Daylight decides to do is all right with her.]

[apodictic]

If it becomes of interest. Right now, it's just a possibility and I've other plans.

For a sleepy town, Santa Rosita has plenty of entertainment to offer. [ just terrible ones. ]

[apodictic]

[ angelo stares at the proferred tourniquet and narrows his eyes. wordlessly, he takes the pair of nitrile gloves. ]

You'll have to teach me.

[ because he knows how to use it more for killing something, or maiming someone. ]

[apodictic]

Yes.

[ he frowns in the recollection. ]

I had to coax him to leave.

[ as with small animals, terrified of freedom. drugged, but he doesn't know by how much. angelo describes his jaw in detail, how crude but sophisticated the surgery seemed to him. ]

[apodictic]

[ well, when you put it that way - ]

I'm all for it, so long as we have a coherent plan and it's viable enough to survive from. We don't know how long we have to live here. More importantly - we don't know what they're truly capable of.

[ then again, they also don't know what the strange neighbours are capable of to begin with. ]

... The name is Angelo Sauper.

I don't mind recklessness, but it has to be solid. You may call on me should you have an idea of how to strike.

[peninhand]

I'm Monika. Just Monika.

[ She gives him a slight smile. It's been frustrating, but he's only trying to do what he thinks is best, heh? ]

Thank you, I shall remember it.

[fanoperator]

"You can fly?" Huaisang asks, pausing in his surprise because it's that or grip harder and he knows to stop when he's startled. "That would be wonderful. I've never been able to fly."

Resuming his gentle work, he keeps his touch careful, a little lighter than he normally would because Daylight isn't used to this kind of ache. "Human muscles get stiff from so many things, but all the more so when you're working too hard and not sleeping enough. I can teach you stretches and strengthening exercises to help keep your muscles strong and stable. And massages when you get too tense."

Dipping his head forward with a little smile, Huaisang presses a kiss to the nape of Daylight's neck, sweet and playful, then continues the massage as he chats.

"Many of my friends can fly. They control spiritual weapons which they can then balance upon and rise far above the clouds. I've gone with them before, sometimes."

[sunborne]

[ daylight is only able to nod in agreement when the dude they’re trying to avoid literally brings down the house, breaking down the door so it explodes into splinters and chunks of wood, scattering across the floor as it stumbles, undeterred, as it focuses its attention on okuyasu.

ahhhHHhhhhHaaaaaHaAAAaaaahhhh— it screams, mouth open wide and gaping, while trying to throw itself onto of okuyasu. ]

Get away from him!

[ daylight comes in swinging, literally, as he follows okuyasu’s instructions and aims for the legs— smacking into the porcelain skin it cracks and breaks under his assault. he uses the momentum to bodily throw himself at the doppelganger, refusing to let him hurt his friend as it claws and grabs at his face and neck now. ]

[sunborne]

... What sort of plans?

[ because, okay, daylight is a little worried after monika ran off to find mrs. carver and left him, quite literally, on read.

she's okay but he can't help but sit up straighter at the mention of it. he tries to play it cool, adding, ] It is good to hear you and the others are finding ways to tackle the town. It's never a dull day here, that's for sure.

[ for-fucking-sure, as the latest kerfuffle shows them. he turns to the wall, scribbling down something about the tunnels - inspection? use? definitely a place of interest. - to keep it in his mind. ]

[blackscales]

Powerful doll hands move to choke Wrathion and he grabs at the arm of the creature the same time Anduin grabs for its wrist, forces it away and slams it into the wall again. He can feel Anduin's frustration, and hear the distant sound of another voice.

"Don't listen to her," he grunts. That isn't Jaina Proudmoore, whatever it is. "We need to move quickly, I'm afraid these creatures don't stay down for long. How fast can you move?"

Anduin is in pain, he knows. Can he run? There's no point him pushing himself too hard if he'll only collapse before the reach the exit. A measured pace that reaches their destination is better than a short spring that falls short. Could he carry him, if need be? Wrathion isn't sure -- he could potentially support him and help him move, which is better than nothing at all.

[apodictic]

[ he taps on harding's photo. specifically, too, in the line that says he did something to takame. ]

Don't you think he's odd?

[grice]

[ drugging was true, and the scrambling of his mind through various points had also been something to bring horrid disorientation to the start of the getaway that not even falco had completely grasped beyond ridiculously painful headaches and bouts of panic.

but what angelo says is true, and to confirm each point, he nods. ]

[shalamayne]

"I have no intention of doing so."

Anduin knows Jaina would never stoop to such a low to begin with. It's almost insulting that these things would believe that either of them would fall for it and Anduin makes sure that Wrathion has his other self under control before letting his hand drop. They do need to move quickly, if the voices were anything to go by then there would be a veritable herd of them headed their way.

Could he run though? Absolutely. Moving quickly would be painful but Anduin knows it would hurt all the more if one or both of them were caught by these things and the one imitating Wrathion gets an annoyed glare.

"I can move as fast as needed." That or Anduin will go down trying. His legs are crampy from lack of movement, but they aren't injured enough to keep the young man from attempting a hasty exit. That and there is simply no intention whatsoever of lagging behind and getting Wrathion caught up in all of this; it's already bad enough that the other has put himself at risk to help. "Let's go."

[righthandstand]

[Okuyasu follows Daylight with the wood board and slams it against its side. Daylight's height gives him a decent chance at keeping it from getting closer, though it keeps attempting to slip its arms away. Any time a limb seems to be crawling out, Okuyasu braves another quick assault.

After a few hits, the doppelganger regains its balance, though one of its legs is injured. It pushes against Daylight, using whatever strength it has left to remain off the floor.]

[demonicmiracle]

[Crowley can't keep himself from casting an awkward glance at Aziraphale, speaking of being bad at being human, considering that's exactly what they're doing, in their day to day existence.]

What're we thinking, then, aliens? Robots? Demons?

[Listen.

He has to ask, he's curious what other people think about this whole situation, who they've decided to blame.]

[blackscales]

Wrathion nods curtly, slamming the doll into the wall again and darting across the room quickly. He checks out into the corridor beyond, glancing back at the creature as it slowly begins to drag itself together from where it had crumpled to the ground. They're hardy, but he doesn't have time to make sure it stays down permanently -- he isn't certain what that would even take. Some of them have re-attached limbs, he knows. What would be a lethal blow for them? To the head, chest?

He pauses long enough to make sure Anduin is keeping up, darts forward and dodges just as another doll lunges out and reaches for him. Anduin, please, it's saying, with Jaina's voice, and Wrathion struggles with it as it grabs him, sends them both awkwardly slamming toward a small table before trying to drive the knife into its head. Close combat is absolutely not his style -- he needs a weapon with more range. A problem for the future.

[sunborne]

[ daylight is proud of the sketch he made, he won't lie. the proportions are a little off but you can tell it's the chief of police. ]

Yeah. I had a talk with him before we went down and- [ he pauses here, cutting himself off before he said the wrong thing. it's clear he's trying to find a way to word his thoughts and the interaction he had with the man.

in the end, the best he can come up with is, ] It sounded like he was struggling. I'm not sure what but he's struggling.