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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▶ NAVIGATION ◀
COMMS	logs | network | ooc | memes
OOC INFO	premise | rules | faq | taken | applications | hiatus/drop/canon updates | activity check | reserves | mod contact
SETTING INFO	calendar | setting | housing | npcs | death and tranquilizing | the story so far | event suggestions/engagements

Comments

Levi

[freeflight]

[Body horror content ahead! Please click through to see what Levi’s going through so you’re well warned! If you want a special prompt, PM me or send me a message on plurk at dynamicrange. ]

Wake Up (captives only)
[ He woke in a small, shitty cage, and the only sensible first impulse he could possible have here is violence. Who wouldn’t? But there’s not a single good target to be violent towards. Levi feels like shit and there’s not much room to move, but it doesn’t stop him from assessing what he can in the low light. Not the only captive, small quarters, no real room for momentum or anything. It doesn’t stop him from doing what he can to try to force the door that first time. It gets him nothing, making a clamor and proving the cage too sturdy.

As they cycle through their captor’s work, dropping from that cloying gas that makes him want to gag, there’s only one thing left to be done. Survival was all that mattered, and there was nothing but watching and waiting for an opportunity to take action. One of those bare shadows they never quite saw had to let something slip. Someone had to fuck something up. And all the while he watches them get taken or he goes himself, comes back disoriented or feeling like he’s been stabbed in the gut because, well, he clearly had.

On rare occasion, he might even make an awkward bid at conversation. ] These bastards sure are shy. Can’t imagine why they won’t show their faces.

Height (captives only)
(A)
[ There’s something to be said for his endurance in an impossible situation. This time when he awakes, however, he is entirely too aware of the fact that he has his limits, and that just pisses him off. Muddled, entirely unable to focus, and all he can think as he returns to consciousness is that maybe he’s felt something this fucked up before, but he just can’t recall when. It’s utter agony, and the fresh iron tang in the air layers over the heavy scent of days (days? who knew?) of old blood.

Consciousness hardly worth it when he can’t even seem to move properly. There’s something wrong— something deeply fucked up, his muscles spasm against an impossible strain when he tries to push himself up, entirely too tight, and he clenches his jaw against it. He’s strong, stronger than most people, and it means exactly shit as he collapses against the cold floor, muffling strained, stuttered breaths against one of his fists. It makes no damn sense, he can’t even tell what the fuck happened. Were his arm and legs broken this time?

It’s worse. He knows it’s worse. He can’t tell in the moment that his limbs have been distorted by inches, not in this small space, and not by that single effort. Every other time he’d awoke, he’d been able to pull it together. He had to keep his shit together. But this— ]

Hey, how’s… [ It comes out slurred, practically incoherent. He’s not even directing his words at anyone in particular, doesn’t have the energy to see who is here still and in what shape they’ve been carved into. He can do this. He has to do this. Some of the people here had to survive and report back somehow, and that has been what’s kept him driven.

He’s starting to suspect of an opportunity comes, it’s not going to include himself. It doesn’t matter. He forces himself to shift on the cell floor, biting down a groan. Trying to seem in control would have been a joke, but at least his next effort to speak is clearer. ]  How’s the… situation looking...?

(B)
[ Or maybe it’s much later, though there’s never any knowing how much, and he’s worked himself up to getting stubborn. He tries to sit himself up, a full-body effort with little reward. Going pale, sweat beading on his brow, he slumps against the bars. Bandaged and bloodied, limbs pulled in at awkward angles, he feels stretched and distorted. For all there’s so little room in the cell, he’s lost so much of his range of motion. He can’t even consider straightening his arms, and his legs are doubtless just as bad.

Now he’s got an idea of what’s wrong. That suspicion earlier about his survival chances is ratcheting up. But he’s not dying just because some assholes he hasn’t even seen. His head lolls as he looks around to assess his fellow captives before letting his chin rest on his chest. Something had to give soon, or there wasn’t going to be anyone in any shape to make a run for it soon. He sure as hell wouldn’t be. ]

RESCUE

[13thcommander]

[Erwin can't imagine a world where he doesn't recognize Levi. They've been at each other's sides constantly, orbiting each other like twin planets around a sun, and he knows everything there is to know about the other man. He would know Levi if he was blind, if he was deaf... even if he was dead. Erwin is certain that, back in their own world, if there's even the slightest, most incremental fraction of a chance for him to watch Levi from the other side of death, he is, and supporting him in any way that he can.]

[Erwin almost passes by the figure slumped against the bars of his cage.]

[It couldn't be Levi, couldn't possibly be him. Levi would never let himself get so filthy, would never sprawl the way that person is, limbs all akimbo and hunched inward. Levi is too graceful, too clean, to allow himself to be reduced so, Levi would do anything he could to escape and this person is just staying in their cage, too cowed to even attempt freedom.]

[But Erwin is checking everyone, and he knows that Levi wouldn't leave this pathetic creature behind, so he fully opens the door to the cage and ducks in, his shoulders hunched low, moving at an awkward crouch.]

Can you hear me?

[freeflight]

[ Levi hadn't made a run for it, no. The idea that he might have to run makes for a particularly sick joke at this point. He can't escape, but others do and that's a good damn start. They probably escape. Word would get out. Maybe it'd matter. But he hadn't given up-- he just wasn't about to slow anyone else down.

An imminent violence shines bright in his eyes and he's snarling like he's gone damn near feral, but it's only for a fraction of a second because then Erwin speaks. Had it been a stranger, he'd have gone for them. Wounded or not, someone getting that close in to him wouldn't have gotten away without him making a mark. But it's not just someone.

In an instant, the fight is extinguished. ]

Erwin... [ His voice is low and rough, particularly strained, and he slumps in an awkward way. He's shaking, a purely physical reaction, and his breath is coming too quick now. Somehow, it seemed a given that if anyone would come for him, Erwin would be the one to do it. ] Hey.

[13thcommander]

[oh fuck]

[It's been a long time since anyone has snarled at Erwin like that. In fact, only one person has ever snarled at him that way, and it was so long ago it seems almost like a dream. He'd never forgotten where Levi came from, or what he was capable of, but he's gotten so used to Levi's softer side--his vulgar sense of humor, his brusque manner that means he cares, his tendency to look after anyone who spent any amount of time around him--that the almost feral reaction takes him by surprise. Erwin rocks back on his heels, out of reach, and he almost retreats before he hears his name, and recognizes the voice saying it.]

Levi?

[Oh gods, it's Levi, and Erwin almost left him, he almost went past this cage and left him behind. Erwin drops to his knees next to Levi, and for the first time in a very, very long time, he's not sure what to do in a moment of crisis. His hand flutters over Levi's torn body, not landing anywhere for fear of hurting him, and then Erwin does what seems like the only thing he can do: he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief, and starts dabbing at Levi's face with infinite gentleness, trying to wipe some of the grime away.]

My gods, what did they do to you?

[freeflight]

Got the better of me. Not dying or anything. [ Not the most helpful explanation, but it hits that key point. There wasn't much anyone could do here and they couldn't just dawdle. Erwin certainly couldn't, at least, not when Levi was useless if a conflict broke out. It's an entirely unfamiliar consideration, but a crucial one. ]

Whoever did it can gas this room. Even if you cleared the place...

[ There's no reason to take that risk by being here longer than necessary, and that need for action is clear in his voice. It's a matter of practicality as much as it is the low, throbbing dread that grips his chest and squeezes. He's seen some shit in his life, but he's not eager to risk round two. ]

[13thcommander]

[Are you sure about that, Levi? Because from where Erwin is kneeling, you definitely look like you might be dying.]

[This is also the first Erwin has heard about anyone gassing the room, and it's enough to make him stop trying to clean Levi's face and reassess. He's confident he could take anyone who tried to go after him, but he can't fight against gas.]

Then I'd say it's time to leave.

[Which presents a new dilemma.]

How much can you move? Would you be able to get an arm around my neck?

[freeflight]

[ Dying would be easier than this shit, but he’s not giving anyone the satisfaction of seeing him dead after all that.

Erwin poses that question and there’s really only one answer that is acceptable. He can move as much as he’s needed to move, regardless of his very real physical limitations. It isn’t something he should force and he’s entirely aware, but there isn’t time for him to be this damn broken. ]

Yeah— [ It’s bitten off when he does try to move, and it’s immediately apparent something there is wrong. The why of it isn’t clear in such a small dark space, obscured by bandages and old blood, but the why isn’t important now. He can’t unbend his limbs properly, only somewhat, can’t move correctly to follow such a simple direction and even trying is punishing.

He doesn’t have much of a choice. He’ll do it because it’ll make it easier for Erwin to haul him out of there.]

cw slurs

[13thcommander]

[Watching Levi try to move, and the awful, jerking motions of his limbs, sparks something deep in Erwin's chest. He's too distracted by Levi to immediately process it, but then it comes through, loud and clear: pure, unbridled rage. Whoever did this, for whatever reason, they are going to pay for it. Erwin is going to find them, and he is going to make them answer for what they've done.]

[He pushes that aside for now. It doesn't help the situation at hand, and Erwin can't watch Levi continue to struggle.]

Let me.

[He's going to end up shuffling out on his knees, but that's a sacrifice Erwin is willing to make. He positions himself at Levi's side, with Levi's head towards his right side and his legs on Erwin's left. As gently as he can, Erwin takes hold of Levi's arm and lifts it to loop around his neck. He uses his stump to support Levi's back, but it's not the same as having an arm there, and some of Erwin's rage redirects towards himself: stupid, useless old man, disgusting cripple, they should've left you to die on the field, you're worthless, pathetic, worn out...]

This is going to hurt. I'm sorry.

[He winnows his arm under the bend in Levi's legs, presses him to his chest, and starting trying to move backwards, out of the cell.]

[freeflight]

It’s just pain. [ And Levi knows pain. He doesn’t need apologies for getting help here.

He falls quiet after that, nothing more than the shaky, stuttered breaths that escape him to give him away. It’s rare he feels so entirely helpless. The swelling and inflammation of muscles strung tight over a frame that couldn’t quite fit left him weaker than he’s ever been in his adult life.

What that means is a problem for later. Now, he has to hold on the best he can and let Erwin do what he has to. He doesn’t resist in any way; he’s more disciplined than that. ]

[13thcommander]

[When he gets Levi out of the cage, Erwin gets a better look at the damage, and it makes him wince. Levi's arms and legs are elongated, stretched to their breaking point, and his muscles lie flat and wasted under his skin. No wonder he wasn't able to get out on his own.]

[Erwin lifts him as best he can, and carries him away from the cage. Levi smells of dried blood, chemicals, and rancid sweat, and his grip on Erwin is far too weak. The first priority is getting him out of this room with the gas, and somewhere safe.]

[Except where is safe, in Santa Rosita? And how far is Erwin going to be able to carry Levi, with only one arm? The muscles in his stump are already throbbing with Levi's weight, but Erwin pushes gamely on, trying to put as much distance as he can between the cage and the two of them. The further they get, the more Erwin starts to lag, the muscles in his right shoulder going rigid and tense with effort.]

Levi? Levi, do you remember anything about being brought here?

[Erwin has decided to backtrack, retracing his steps. He has no idea what's ahead, or how long it would take to navigate. At least, going backwards, he has an idea of what's coming up.]

[freeflight]

[ Even with those hideous strategic inches of added bone, at least Levi's probably lost a few kilos over the week. Well, it probably doesn't make carrying him so inefficiently any easier, especially when he isn't doing much to hold his own weight up. Either way, Levi doesn't seem particularly cognizant of that or much else.

Erwin's question gets him to focus away from how he'd been drifting. Right, he'd want to know that right away, wouldn't he? Reporting everything he could in hopes some part of it might be useful had become one of his only motivators towards the end of his captivity. ]

Woke up in those cages. [ He's quiet, practically mumbling, less from care about being overheard and more from a sheer lack of energy. It's more disjointed than he means it to be, far more. He's spent all this time thinking about what he'd say, refining and revising it, and instead it starts to turn into a ramble. ] They kept drugging us, the cowards. Doubt they'd taken us far-- shit. Oh shit.

[ They really hadn't taken them far, it seemed. He actually lifts his head when they get into the operating theater, eyes widening. He almost remembered this, though not exactly, but he had this one fragment of a memory trapped in his head. Unable to move on a hard metal surface, the drag of something against bone, and he couldn't make out the face of whoever was leaning over him. It's just for a single moment in time, but he's somewhere else entirely for it. ]

[13thcommander]

[It is so very like Levi to immediately launch into a report that it makes Erwin feel better for a few moments. Battered and abused though he may be, Levi's mind is still intact, and he hugs him a little closer so he can hear what he's saying more clearly.]

Did you fall asleep at home, and then wake up here?

[Because Erwin knows how lightly Levi sleeps, and how much effort it would have taken to subdue him. Diana didn't tell him anything about the house being torn apart, so maybe Levi got drugged at home, too? All things to think about, and mull over, but then Levi stops speaking, and Erwin lifts his head so he can see his face.]

Levi? What's wrong?

[Levi has the stare new recruits get, the first time they see a live titan barreling down on them. Erwin glances around the room and sees a short bookshelf, with nothing on top of it, and carries Levi over. He sets him down on top of it, leaning him against the wall, and takes Levi's chin in his hand.]

Levi, stay with me. I've got you. I'll get you out of this. I'm taking you home to get a bath and a pot of tea, but you have to stay with me.

[freeflight]

[ The last thing he might've wanted to do was stop, but he doesn't resist. There's no fight, he just lets Erwin set him down and cup his chin. He can't seem to focus, breathing a shade too fast and shallow, still feeling like he can't get air right up until he's given that order.

He's been on the other side of torture enough to know the kind of shit it did to people. He'd counted on it to get the job done when he'd had to. And now he couldn't afford to let that shit hit him here, not when it'd slow Erwin down. ] Yeah. [ Then, a bit distantly, he adds: ] Slept in the chair I usually do. Nothin' tipped me off.

[13thcommander]

[So whoever did this was either incredibly fast, incredibly quiet, or not above playing dirty. Possibly all three. That doesn't give Erwin much hope for battling them, but at least they have a better idea of what they're dealing with.]

That's why I keep telling you to sleep in beds.

[It's a shitty, old joke, but it's the best Erwin can do at the moment. Now that he's not carrying Levi anymore, the muscles in his stump and shoulder are screaming, and Erwin doesn't know if he'll be able to carry him gently any longer.]

I'm going to have to carry you the rest of the way over my shoulder. It's going to hurt like hell, but it will get us out of here faster. Can you handle that, soldier?

[Erwin knows how Levi responds to orders, when they come from him, and he's not above using that to his advantage today.]

[freeflight]

[ Levi's first response is little more than a brief, sharp exhale that couldn't possibly pass for a laugh, and it's hard to tell which statement that's directed towards. He's taking Erwin seriously, always does, but the fact was that the pain wasn't the issue. Or, rather, there wasn't any avoiding pain no matter how careful he'd tried to be.

He nods, his eyes dark and serious before letting his head loll forward. ]

Do what you need to. [ He'd keep it together while they got it out of there, or, at the very least, wouldn't do anything to slow him down worse than he already was. ]

[13thcommander]

[Erwin is going to choose to believe that Levi was laughing at his dumb joke. He needs to believe that Levi is still with it enough to laugh.]

All right.

[Erwin lets himself touch Levi's face once more, a gentle caress across one cheek, before he gets down to the nasty business of lifting him again. He moves Levi's arms first, steeling his face and willing himself not to cringe as he drapes them over his shoulder. They feel like broken sticks against his back, the bones in them threatening to break out from under the skin and skewer Erwin. Then, in one smooth movement, he drops down, positions his shoulder at Levi's waist, and stands back up, lifting him into the air.]

[Levi's legs are even worse, rigid and shattered under Erwin's hand, and Erwin fights his gag reflex as he gets a grip on him. But now he's got him, and Erwin strides out of the lab.]

Stay with me, Levi. Tell me more about what you remember.

[Erwin will likely miss a lot of it, but it might distract Levi from the pain.]

height a, i don't make the rules

[grice]

[ falco has been watching intently until levi woke up— watching and waiting as if it were some kind of lifeline from home he could cling to. maybe it wasn't fair, but it was certainly very easy to admire his resilience. there was something . . . wrong, with levi's arms, perhaps his legs, but then again there was something wrong with them all at this point. falco has already wept earlier, and yet the little pearls of tears cling to the shine in his eyes when he grips the bars with both hands and barks out a sound of concern when the man falls back. he wanted to say something, maybe he had just tried— mister levi! resounds somewhere between his swollen cheeks and teeth. falco's jaws are disfigured, torn out and replaced by implants that point into a triangular "beak" and stretch his skin into a brittle edge between tearing and barely breaching the limit. ]

D-don't, [ his voice cracks, and he holds a hand out to gesture. stay, stay there, don't move, please, ]

[freeflight]

[ Don't-? That's not something he can accept so easily. Well, he can't be surprised that he looks like shit. There's no wonder he might get cautioned would to settle down. It hardly matters.

They're all so impossibly fucked up. This kid shouldn't be concerned about anyone else. ]

Not just lying around... [ His words drag together as he stubbornly forces a palm down flat against the cool floor. His over-stressed muscles resist, arm simply refusing to unbend as he tries to push himself up once again. His vision blurs out as he sags to the floor again. ]

[grice]

[ agh, just watching made falco's gut twist. it was the strangest thing to consider when thinking of an ackerman, but his limbs were— fragile that way. they were abominable, they look like they could burst out of their new, unnatural conforms and if he could just reach in far enough to put the man into a better position . . . his heart sank when it was impossible to do any of that. ]

Mister Levi . . . [ his words are slurred, because the inflammation keeps him from spreading his lips too far apart and shoves them through the little space his teeth offered. ] You need to rest, for when help arrives—

[ he doesn't know what else he could do. they had to be coming or else . . . what else would be of them? how can he rest like that? ]

[freeflight]

[ It's an utterly undignified position to be in, but no one's had that luxury for a while now. If he could just move... but he can't. The horror of the sheer helplessness worse than the agony of his twisted limbs. The reminder of the possibility of help gets him to settle briefly. He really didn't doubt that Erwin would figure out where they'd been taken if anyone could, but he finds he wants something to keep him out of it somehow. Let anyone else trip into this shitshow if they managed it in time. ]

Yeah... [ He doesn't want to give in, but the fight is bleeding out of him. The kid isn't coming back into focus as he squints across the distance between their cages. ] Whatever happens, it's just... survive, got it?

[ For all that's not the most coherent statement, he doesn't seem terribly aware of it. Straining himself hadn't done him any favors, leaving him trembling and sweating, disoriented. ]

[grice]

[ coherence isn't of grand importance if it could be understood, and falco wraps every single strand of hope he still has in that word. survive. nothing strange or alien to him, nothing of an unknown concept— they've known it for too long. he can only nod, murmur softly at the man's request and making it his own as he slides his hands down the bars, and eventually, back onto his knees. ]

If only . . . [ if only i could shift is the final thought of dwelling he decides to have for the moment. he's tried everything with all prerequisites. something was wrong. ] I will. Hang in there.

[freeflight]

I don't need to hear that... [ It might not be the kindest sounding sentiment, but there wasn't any point in him wasting energy. He didn't have to fuss over anyone else, and certainly not Levi. He shouldn't be telling him to rest or to 'hang in there.'

Eyelids drooping, he orders gruffly, ] Report it all back.

[ That was all he had to stay focused on. Someone had to report back. Erwin had to know what the enemy had been doing down here. Somehow something in everything the group of them had suffered through could prove useful. There'd be some detail none of them understood in the moment, there had to be, and it'd allow for leverage. Give them a needed break. But in that particular moment, body stretched and twisted, he's been left too frail in ways he's not been since he was a damn child himself. ]

[grice]

[ falco doesn't expect kindness onto him, but he does selflessly offer it to others. a sign that he should perk up and pay attention to his surroundings again, as much as he could before the smell would start up again, he plants himself right at back of his cage and offers, with more firmness, if not splotchy and oddly said: ]

. . . Yes, sir. [ he had to do what he can, but he wasn't about to say he regretted saying anything. it's something he'd like to be reminded of. something he could hear colt telling him. either way, now the important stuff, keeping his voice down to a hush. ] Do you need t'stay awake?

[ he could help, with. talking, he supposes. ]

[freeflight]

Nn. [ That’s a no, likely, and he starts to fall quiet aside from his audible, stressed breathing. He isn’t lucky enough to properly pass out, but it’d be easy to mistake him for doing just that when his eyes slide shut.

But there’s something else to say, more than he’s already demanded, and he manages with mumbled words that slur together, ] Been doing a good job. Focus on that.

[ Praise might be extremely rare from him, but it’s genuine when it happens. ]

[grice]

[ he hopes to god there won't be a next time, but falco knows that's too much to ask from a world that goes constantly insurgent no matter where they are. his attention is high and his eyes fixed. that . . .

that was praise he never wanted to go to waste. if there's ever a next time, in whatever perilous circumstance it was— falco hoped that he'd be able to protect him. ]

I'll keep watch.

[ it's the last thing he says before resting his numb maw and allowing levi some time and audible peace to rest (although it was laughable to call it that). he'll keep watch, his psych might falter, humanly, the longer they were down here— but he doesn't forget this. ]