EVENT ∞ LOG — July 125

[thediadem]

Event ∞ Log

In the Flesh

Jump ⇅ :: Visits — First Contact — Hitchhikers — Notes

∞ Prologue ∞

It's not real, it's not real.

Somewhere in the Blocks, late at night, a young woman repeats the words over and over, fumbling with her room key. She doesn't dare look over her shoulder again, begging her hand to obey. Her fingers are stiff and smooth, and it makes each movement more difficult. Eventually, the door gives way. She stumbles into the apartment, slamming it behind her and locking several bolts.

Leaning back on the door, she lets her key ring fall to the linoleum as she holds her hand up to her face. It isn't just her fingers now. Painted plastic has taken over her entire right hand, spreading up her forearm toward a ball-jointed elbow that creaks painfully. She grabs her neck with her flesh hand, sucking in a sharp breath as she tries to steady her heart.

It's not real, it's not real...

She takes another breath, then turns on the light. The bulb flickers. Hazy light flood the room with an incessant buzz.

She freezes.

A figure stands in the opposite doorway. It doesn't move, stuck in a pose with an outstretched hand—one made of flesh and bone. Her hand.

She screams.

Info & Mechanics — NPC Forum Post — Event Interaction ::: ⇅ Top

Strange Visits

Panorama

For the first week or two of July, life goes on as usual. You have a lot on your plate—jobs, loans, rent, that creep who won't stop staring at you when you're filling up your car—and the last thing you've got time for is other people's problems. Or maybe you find room to listen, anyway? Whatever the case, it's mostly a lot of stories and pointing fingers: a shopkeeper accuses his friend of stealing from him, somebody claims their boss must've skipped town to avoid paying the employees, and a woman is frantic about her missing husband. He never goes anywhere without telling her.

If you decide to look into it, none of the incidents seem connected. After all, people frequently go missing in the Diadem, friends betray each other, and businesses often go bankrupt, leaving their workers to pick up the pieces. Funny thing, though: here and there, you swear you glimpse a figure who isn't entirely flesh. Their features are just...a bit odd. Is it your imagination? When you move in for a closer look, something gets in your way and the figure disappears.

On the other hand, you think to yourself, it's not as though everybody on this planet looks standard. If a man can have horns, why can't his skin also be a bit plasticky?

Use the Event Interaction comment any time you need specifics or some direction for an element you're engaging within the event. This can be an NPC victim your character is questioning, an aspect of the diffusion zone your character is testing, or anything along those veins. While you're encouraged to make things up on your own, too, if you're ever unsure of the results or the answers you might get, approach us there!

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First Contact

The Fringes

Inevitably, you take the risk and head back into the Fringes. It has what you need, and the bizarreness in Panorama isn't making the city feel like much of a refuge, either. Besides, long trips aren't unusual for anyone in the Diadem. As you drive, you might even find yourself reluctant to return to the city. After all, there's so much across the multitude of diffusion zones that regardless of how dangerous it can be, perhaps some part of you is attracted to the thrill of the unknown.

If the promise of loot isn't enough, a note on the Forum might be. Here, you'll scroll across a brief message from who else but the ever-eager Felix Bjurstrom, joined by his daughter, Olive "Ollie" Bjurstrom. (Looks like he's got a new phone again!) If nothing else, the investigative or curious nature in you gets you going. What if this is a piece of the puzzle you need to go home?

If you want your character to scavenge items, check how that works. The Map identifies where each Quadrant is located.

Among the Shadows — Abandoned Mall

©

In Quadrant 1, about a 10-hour drive from Panorama, a standard American shopping mall rises through the cracked and broken highway. A portion of its vast parking lot melts into the road ahead and behind. There are cars in the parking lot, each one perfectly preserved: no rust, no dust, nothing.

The mall's lights are on. The moment you step inside, you'll notice that you're not alone. Inside, shadow corpses are everywhere, frozen in time. Their bodies show no signs of distress. If you try to touch them, a dark, ashy residue coats your fingers. You see a young couple linking arms, a mother bending over to pick up her child, and a man ordering his last meal at the KFC. It's as though they all just...stopped. While eerie, whatever force swept through here is long gone.

The upside is that nobody will bother you while you look around—aside from other fluxdrifts, of course. The shops and their offerings are stuck in the 90's. Big electronics are cosmic touched, rendering them worthless, but smaller electronics like cassette tapes, CDs, and Walkmans are all viable. You can also grab clothes, snacks, and (cheap) jewelry.

And, as you pass by the store windows, you see many mannequins on display. That's normal, so you don't think twice. At least, until you swear one of them keeps moving around the store. Though its pose never changes, it almost appears to...follow you? That can't be right. You must be seeing things.

Zone Effects
Touching any of the frozen shadows will cause the victim to believe that their companion(s) have transformed into monstrous creatures. Attempts to approach you will only register as an attack rather than placating gestures, while words will sound like snarls or spoken threats. An induced panic will make it more difficult to think logically and see through the hallucination. The illusory creatures can take the form of anything that might frighten or threaten you the most.

You can break free of the illusion through a variety of methods, including your own willpower, being knocked out by your friends, or seeing/hearing something that makes you realize it isn't real. The hallucination isn't overly intense, but it can cause a bit of havoc among you and your companions...and increase the likelihood a mannequin might make contact unnoticed.

Wall of Refuge — Strange Temple

©

In Quadrant 1, about a 6-hour drive from Panorama—and on the way to the abandoned mall above—stands a geometric structure made of metal and stone. Sharp angles shoot up from the ground to form a distorted hexagon. The gateway is littered with sigils: some weathered by time, others freshly carved into the rocky surface. They glow when you drive forward, beckoning you closer. Come in, whispers an unknown compulsion in your mind. You are home.

You may succumb to the whispers for any number of reasons: sleep deprivation, desperation for a place to rest overnight, or a need to hide from raiders or dangerous creatures lurking in another nearby zone. Regardless, you give in and enter the triangular entrance. The stone gate lifts to grant you passage, revealing an effigy of a multi-limbed being. A deity? A symbol of power? Though you're unsure, you continue deeper. Your footsteps echo across the cavernous halls.

Behind you, the heavy gate slowly closes with a rumbling finality. Despite the chilly entranceway, the interior of the temple is warm and inviting. Candles line the walls. Fountains flow peacefully. You can enter one of the many rooms to find a soft bed, fresh cakes, succulent meat, and fine wine available for you. Behind a silk curtain is a steaming bath lined with soothing floral herbs and oils.

Meanwhile, throughout your explorations, you might sense a figure or a shadow in the passageway. A glimpse of shiny plastic appears oddly out of place in a temple of this kind.

Zone Effects

• If you are a believer and decide to trust the gifts bestowed upon you, then you may safely indulge. The wine will warm you up, the food will fill your belly, and you can sleep through the night. When you awaken, you can safely leave the temple refreshed. Your vehicle will be outside, untouched, as if some power within was protecting your belongings.
• If you are a heretic and doubt the offerings you've been graciously given, the gifts will begin to rot and all amenities will crumble to dust. The more your cynicism betrays you, the more the temple will take until nothing remains except the oddly textured walls bearing down on you. As you examine the surface, you realize the stone is built from a manifold of dozens—no, hundreds—of twisted bodies. Their arms are raised in reverence, piled upon each other like human bricks. Their gaping mouths are frozen in a silent scream. As for you and your companions...what fate will await the nonbeliever?

The Last Stop — Foggy Town

©

In Quadrant 4, about a 3-hour drive from Panorama, east of the currently unused train tracks, a thick mist rolls through the highway. Here, the sky darkens rapidly into night and the temperature drops. If you've traveled unprepared, presuming the heat in Panorama spreads into the Fringes, you'll find that's not so. A chill spreads into your bones and creeps up the back of your neck.

Then the ground rumbles. The tremors shake your vehicle. Maybe it even makes you lose control briefly or sends you swerving off-road, straight into the fields. And in the middle of the fog, you see it: a figure standing in the middle of the field. Behind it are a few houses, making up a tiny rural town. The houses are dilapidated, many crumbling. Supplies within are minimal, and many items are broken or spoiled.

Do you approach? Do you drive past? Merely staring for a second too long will be enough for the hitchhiker to choose you as its ride, but its appearance may not be all that keeps you in place. In the distance is another bigger shadow. A much bigger shadow. It looms in the distance without true mass or form. Within the void of its body, a searchlight sweeps over the misty town. It does not move. It simply looks while the ground shakes. Each time its light catches a glimpse of something that doesn't belong—an animal, a vehicle that drove too deep into the tall grass, a raider that went too far into town—a sonorous howl reverberates through the zone.

Then the shadow will teleport to its target and crush the intruder without mercy before retreating back to its watchful post. And the intruder is indeed crushed: any living organism caught by the Light Guardian will be flattened with a horrifying crunch of broken bones and squished organs.

Zone Effects
While the Light Guardian can't be defeated or confronted, you can outrun or hide from its sweeping beam. If you stop far enough on the side of the road, it won't notice you...but you can still watch as it mangles an unfortunate raider or traveler. Possibly, you see the spray of blood or hear the screams before you run. Perhaps you realize how easily you could've met your own gory fate.

If you've left your car and gone too deep into the town before you realize the danger, you can do one of two things: you can risk hiding in an abandoned house in the town and hope that the sunrise comes. In zones like this, the day/night cycle is unpredictable, and many places are permanently cast in darkness. Or, you can try to run back to your vehicle and pray you don't get caught.

Alternatively, you've plowed directly into the field when raiders in pursuit force you into the zone. Should fortune favor you, they'll be obliterated by the Light Guardian while you flee. The beam tracks quickly, but can only shine in one direction at a time so the key is to bob and weave.

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Hitchhikers

Anywhere

Not everyone who enters the diffusion zone will pick up a mannequin, but the possibility is there. Once you make first contact, you will gain a hitchhiker. Unlike most aspects of the diffusion zones, this one has gathered into a storm, meaning the effects will breach even normally stable and anchored strongholds like Panorama.

Some fluxdrifts will brush off your problems while a few might believe you. Others will offer solutions in their own way, including a doctor who'll pay to obtain strange plastic limbs. Not everyone will pitch in to help. The city's big, populated, and somebody on the street turning doll-like doesn't affect them (...until it does). They've got a job to get to and mouths to feed.

Unwanted Passenger

When do you first notice your passenger? At any point, really. Perhaps it goes like this:

You glance in the rearview mirror and glimpse a figure in the backseat. When you spin around, there's nobody there. Then it happens again. This time, you realize it's not a person, but a dummy. A mannequin. It's sitting upright. And is it...wearing a seatbelt? Or maybe it's thrown itself across the back bench as though somebody tossed it there, uncaring.

This time, when you look back, it's still there. You pull over and dump it on the side of the road. That's taken care of, you think. You drive some more. For a few hours or even a day or two—depending on how long you've traveled—you don't think much of it. Then suddenly, it's back. And it keeps coming back no matter how much you try to get rid of it.

Or it goes like this:

You return from a standard trip into a diffusion zone. It went pretty well, you think. You found some clothes at a creepy mall and now you're ready to get some sleep. When you open your trunk to retrieve your belongings, you notice a mannequin stuffed inside, limbs bent at odd angles. You're a little weirded out, but you decide to dump it on the street and move on.

You shower. In the bathroom mirror, the mannequin suddenly appears behind you. Over the next few days, this continues. The mannequin appears in a booth across the diner as you're eating your eggs. It's behind a shelf in the corner store. It's in your closet. Each time you check, it vanishes...but then, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it's right there in plain view. It'll even let you throw it away, burn it, anything you can think of. But it always comes back.

However it plays out, you realize that people around you do notice it...sometimes. That doesn't mean anyone will believe you that things are just that weird. Most people have better things to do. They don't know you, after all, and even if they did, well, this place does have a habit of driving people a little crazy. Witnesses casually push the mannequin aside and tell you that's a funny prank. Your regular waitress pats your shoulder and suggests you get some sleep. You're not looking well. The shopkeeper demands you take that thing before you go. He's not responsible for your junk.

But there's a small chance you run into someone who seems to be going through what you are. Unfortunately, they seem to actually have it worse and aren't making much sense. Still, you can try questioning them and see what answers you get. At least, before you lose them for good. For some of you, the victim you run into is in especially bad shape...and you have to wonder how long before you end up the same.

Trading Places

For some of you, the mannequins might not do more than be a nuisance. While that's not ideal, either, it doesn't completely upend your life. Others are less fortunate. If you're one of the latter, you'll begin to notice symptoms.

The first time it happens, you're startled to hear the mannequin speak. To begin with, its voice might be guttural and unnatural, incapable of stringing more than a few words together. Then it seems to learn. It talks in full sentences. Its voice smooths out. It starts to sound more and more like you...right down to your speech patterns and accent. As symptoms progress with varying intensity—over days or weeks—you realize with dawning horror that you're losing parts of yourself. When you wash your hands, you notice a part of your skin is smooth and shiny. The next time the mannequin appears, its previously plasticky appearance is more flesh and blood.

Eventually, the mannequin becomes independent. It shops with your money. It steals while wearing a face that looks nearly identical to yours, especially from a distance. It calls your friend and says the things you would never say out loud to them. They're thoughts you've had, sure, but you know better than to hurt your friend's feelings...except apparently, you have. And now you can't even use your own voice to explain yourself. Your leg has been getting stiff. Your joints don't bend properly.

Meanwhile, the mannequin is now striding around smoothly. Its appearance is still uncanny and odd if anyone pays attention, but at a glance, it easily passes as a part of the crowd. As its final act, it's even absorbed small bits of your abilities if you have any. Not all of them, but enough to cause trouble. Throughout everything, you cannot harm your hitchhiker. Some unknown force stops you any time you think about it. You simply can't.

Related Incidents

The impact isn't contained only to those directly affected. The hitchhikers' influence spreads through the city. For some incidents, it's difficult to trace back to the source. For others, that's a little easier. Regardless, these occurrences could help you determine how to solve your own situation. Alternatively, if you've escaped unscathed, you can still find yourself dragged into a situation involving someone else.

Return to Sender

July 11 — The Forum: An anonymous poster contributes this bit of information that might catch the eye of those affected. You can try the same method, but it's a risk going back into the diffusion zones. No one can guarantee the specific zone you found the mannequin in is still standing. Further, you have to remember where you made contact to begin with.

If you decide to try it, be sure to take a friend. The less independent the hitchhiker, the more likely it will stick to your side even as you return it home. If the assimilation has progressed too far, though, you might have to utilize methods such as duct taping inside your trunk or strapping it down with ropes. It may struggle and say vile things to you or your companion.

Victimless Burn Victims

July 14 @ 03:00 — The Pavilion (East End): A handful of troublemakers grabbed some freaky mannequins wandering the street and, in a drunken stroke of genius, set them all on fire for no reason other than that they wanted to. Not only has this resulted in damage to the corner store nearby, but Enforcers have linked the incident to four hospitalizations at roughly the same time. Doctors from Saint Margery's Hospital (located in the Blocks) report that all four individuals suffered massive shock and claim to have endured unimaginable agony as if they had been "set on fire."

Curiously, none of them bear any physical wounds and, by all accounts, are completely fine (trauma aside). Notably, all four individuals were also suffering from various stages of "joint stiffness" and "hallucinations"...which have since completely vanished. You might wonder, is this the solution? Or perhaps the better question would be, is it worth it?

The Sculptor

July 15 — The Pavilion (Medical Clinic): Around July 14 onward, word begins to spread that a Dr. Maggie Wright (who insists on being called the Sculptor, though nobody seems to heed this request) will not only do an amputation for free, she will pay you for your limb if you are boasting an "unusual trophic change to the skin, resulting in a smooth and shiny texture." All she asks is she gets to keep the sample. Her promise is that she will study it to find a more permanent cure and, if she does, she will return the limb to you for reattachment.

Some end up trusting her. You wonder, maybe she could help? Dr. Wright will happily accept you as her patient if you agree. Her methods are indeed proper and sterile: she'll put you under and provide you with plenty of pain meds. She appears to have all of the equipment required to preserve the limb, too.

If you're suspicious, you can also pay her a visit, but you won't have much luck getting her in trouble or sniffing out any evidence of nefarious deeds. Her office hasn't got anything strange, she is indeed a real surgeon, and there are testimonials from patients who've had success under her care in the past. Plus, nobody's going to her who isn't doing so voluntarily (they've signed waivers)—even if you could argue how much desperation plays into their decision. Still...the thing about her "title" is a bit weird, right?

Dr. Maggie Wright is 5'2, Caucasian with a light Northeastern accent and silver hair often worn in a bun. She's in her 50s and looks fairly good for her age. Her voice is soothing. She has intense, wide blue eyes, which some might find unnerving, but that's not necessarily her fault.

∞ Notes ∞

• Mannequin contact is not required. Not everybody who goes into the diffusion will make first contact, and many won't. Characters can explore the mall, the temple, and the foggy field without ever picking up a hitchhiker.
• The diffusion zones described are only examples. Others will exist where mannequins can be found, including grocery stores, gas stations, abandoned parks, and more. You can make up your own, but check with us if you have any questions about limitations!
• The speed and intensity of all mechanics are entirely up to you. Generally, the earlier a character makes first contact, the more severe their consequences.
• Investigating the zones or helping others are perfectly fine ways to participate! Since the hitchhikers are meant to be more insidious, it won't be strange if your character isn't in the middle of the action right away or notices things a bit late.

Questions? Ask here

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Comments

[tataille]

[ Benny’s not exactly a subtle man, but he’s good at being a ghost when he wants. Kinda had to be, Purgatory might've been pure but it was ruthless, and you didn't stay alive by blasting your existence to the world. When he was alive, hunters saw him as a threat for just existing, so it was imperative he be able to slip through shadows unnoticed, blend into a crowd.

He's also a predator through and through - created not born, but a predator all the same. Things like him, they gotta be quiet, can't be scaring off prey with a ruckus, now can they?

Benny's already clocked the skull vest from a distance and smelled the man before he even saw him, and made a mental note - guy probably isn't here for the Pierre Cardin Starfleet clearance rack.

But when the stranger hisses out a warning and yanks him behind cover, Benny doesn’t resist. His boots scuff softly against old tile, back pressed against the cool metal of some defunct storefront behind the pillar. He listens, stares out at the raiders, and mutters real low; ]

Yeah, not my friends. Never seen so many all at once. [ What're they breeding now or something? Christ.

He glances at his savior, clocking the rifle, the gear, the grim set to his mouth. There’s something familiar in it - not in the face, no, he's never met this man in his life, but posture. That watchful tension, the kind that says he’s been through more than one hell and came out meaner. ]

[terrorisms]

( Benny's as insightful as ever; the man he examines he reads accurately in a single look. This guy's seen hell, lived it, clawed his way out of it — but part of him still exists there, left behind but impossible to fully sever. It's in the grim line of his mouth, it's in the rigid, militaristic set of his shoulders. It's in the weariness hidden in the lines between. Weary, but never resting, never done.

Certainly not done now.

Never seen so many all at once; there's a subtle grimace, a flit of his eyes away from Benny and back over toward the pack of hovering raiders, then back again. )

Yeah, I might have a thing or two to do with that.

( It's an unhappy admission. He's not too pleased about what this brings to light; Frank Castle's not generally a man that comes to a hunt unprepared. He tends to strategize for every eventuality. He did not strategize for this one.

It's alright, he can adapt, pivot. Make smart calls in light of new information; he decides a plan of action quickly, and delivers it with a half-decent amount of confidence. )

Here's the deal. In a minute, I'm gonna go out there and draw their fire. Gonna make it big, should get all their attention. Soon as they're on me, you book it the other direction, okay, head down that corridor to your right. Saw a fire exit. You're gonna wanna block it behind you in case you catch a couple strays. They catch you, they're gonna take everything you got — including your car, and then you're shit outta luck, so... don't get caught.

[tataille]

[ Benny immediately likes this man. No bullshit, no small talk, just straight to the point. The situation reminds him of Purgatory a little, all fight and no rest, odds completely against him. He squints at the raiders from his hiding spot, a dry smile curling at his lips. Guy reminds him of Dean, a little, minus all the tactical gear. ]

Hold on now, Prince Charming. I may look like a cute 'n cuddly teddy bear, but I'm a lot more durable than I look. [ His voice is low, Louisiana drawl thick, but it turns serious pretty fast. ]

I’ve gutted worse than them just to buy time for a friend to crawl outta the mud. You wanna draw their fire, I won’t stop you. But I ain't gonna run off like some damsel in distress - I move when you move. I got your back.

[ A beat, and his slow smile returns, a little more sinister this time. ]

Besides, if they get a hold of me, they’re gonna wish they hadn’t. [ A wink as he draws his blade, the only one he showed up with, the one from Purgatory. There's more in his car he's scrounged up and bartered half his damn life away for, but that doesn't happen to be accessible at this point. ]

The hell'd you do, anyway?

[terrorisms]

( It's around the time Benny calls him Prince Charming that Frank begins to suspect things are about to go a little off the rails here. He pulls a face, stifled bemusement, caught off guard by the pushback when he was expecting not a whole hell of a lot more than an adios, asshole and a your problem, not mine.

Watching out for only himself is easy. Killing people is easy, when that's his sole focus. When he's gotta split his attention between that and keeping somebody else alive, that's when things get harder. This guy's talking with confidence, and he's saying an awful lot of convincing things, but Frank doesn't know how much is skill and how much is bravado.

That knife makes for a pretty compelling case. That's not your standard street thug switchblade any Joe Asshole carries. That's the kind of weapon a man carries when he knows the value of it, knows how to use it.

It's got half of him wondering if he isn't gonna have to circle back to this guy eventually on the other side of the barrel. He doesn't have a problem with killers. He has a problem with the circumstances behind what makes them killers. There are right ones, and there are wrong ones. Guy sounds like a soldier. If that's the case, if that's his story, then they've got no problems. Otherwise... but that's not his business right now, not his mission, he's not about to fight a war on two fronts. Time and a place.

He considers the question, debates answering it. Goes back and forth on how honest he wants to be, and ultimately decides there's no reason not to level out the truth: )

I hunted down a few of their buddies. This crew, they got a good thing going. They hang out on the outskirts of zones, wait for drifters and storm chasers to do all the work looting, catch 'em on the way out. Take everything they've got, leave 'em for dead. I tracked a handful of 'em down a while back, but one got away. Turns out I might've been a little wrong about their numbers.

( Now they've got a score to settle with him, and they were smart enough to send enough people to get the job done.

Frank's not one to just spill intel for no reason, though. He wants to make something clear: )

You get involved, you're putting a target on your own head, too. This ain't a one-and-done. I'm gonna keep hunting these assholes until they're all in the ground, and if they think you're with me, they're gonna hunt you right back. I appreciate the offer, pal, but I don't think this is a war you wanna get into. You should walk away while you got the chance.

[tataille]

[ It's kinda hit or miss what kind of killer Benny is; it sort of depends on who you ask. Families of those who died on all those sunken yachts? Bad kind. Dean? Eh...debatable on what he'd say, they're a work in progress. Benny's not proud of what he's, but he’s not really pretending to be a good man, either. So when Frank lays it out, makes that pitch about walking away, Benny just gives a slow nod, lips pursed like he’s chewing on the warning. Then he clicks his tongue against his teeth. ]

Y’know, I appreciate that. Most fellas don’t come with a warning label. [ A brief pause. ] But if I wanted the easy road, I’d be sittin’ on a porch somewhere, drinkin’ sweet tea and tryin’ not to think about all the things I’ve done to stay alive.

[ His eyes flick back out toward the raiders, the Purgatory stillness settling over his shoulders like a cloak. ]

I don’t scare easy.

[ Benny's been a good boy lately. Blood banks, hospital stock, all the safe routes he can find. But this? This is simple. They're bad people. And yeah alright, maybe it’s some vigilante shit, but if it keeps some poor bastard from getting stripped and gutted for scrap, he figures that helps balances his ledger - little bit, anyway. He's got too many sins to count.

He grins, something sharp in his smile. ]

They want a score settled? Let’s settle it.

[terrorisms]

( Once upon a time, Frank's last commanding officer — back when he was still breathing — talked about how Frank had a knack for doing impressions. "He had a sixth sense about ticks and subconscious behaviors, and the way a brain works. It was spot-on, really. Unnerving, the way he could look into a person's soul."

He can read people. He's good at it, at looking at a person, seeing their body language, their microexpressions, and getting a gut-instinct feel for a person.

He doesn't know shit about what this guy's done, or who he is. But he knows immediately that he's different from the opportunistic raiders at the front doors. He knows this guy isn't likely to put a knife in his back the minute he turns around. He knows this guy won't turn tail and run midway through the fight. They don't exactly have time for a formal interview process; all this is gonna have to be good enough. Benny gets one last searching look before Frank finally relents with a nod. )

Alright, then.

( Suit yourself. Gonna be a crying shame if he winds up getting this guy killed, but men make their own choices. He hoists his rifle up, braces it against his shoulder, and then jerks his head toward the opposite side of the pillar. Same plan — Frank'll draw fire; he's wearing a bulletproof vest for a reason — but instead of booking it for the door, Benny can flank around the side. Close the distance with his knife.

He steps around the pillar out into the center of the lobby, whistling sharply. Twelve or so heads all turn his way at once.

And then shit very rapidly hits the fan. )

[tataille]

[ Frank gives the go-ahead, and Benny grins - just wide enough to flash a hint of fang - before turning his back to face the oncoming storm. The whistle is the starting gun, and Benny dives in like he was born for it.

The second Frank steps into the open, Benny moves. He doesn't need a countdown and bullshit last words, there's no prayers for safety (God doesn’t listen to monsters anyway). All it is is the snap-release of a predator finally let off the leash, a bloodhound loose in the wild.

He slips around the pillar low and fast, hugging busted storefronts and debris-strewn tile. The air feels thick, Purgatory thick, violence humming under his skin like static. It’s not quite bloodlust (not yet), but it’s close. Sure could be, if this goes on long enough. For now, it’s just hunger, twisted into something useful and practical, no guilt involved. Also, these guys? Assholes. Or as Dean would say - dicks.

The first raider to spot movement doesn’t get the chance to shout. Benny’s too fast and too quiet, too strong. The blade sinks into the side of his neck clean and deep, and Benny catches the body before it can hit the ground. No drama here, just death and the coppery scent of blood that makes his head spin.

This ain’t sport. This is strategy and controlled chaos.

(okay so maybe it’s a little bit sport.)

Another turns, sees a blur — and fires. The shot clips Benny in the side, tearing through fabric and skin. He grunts, staggers a step, then looks down at the blood like it’s a spilled drink on his shirt.

Fucking. Rude. It pisses him off enough to lunge, teeth out, a flash of metal and he's down.

Frank’s drawing most of the heat, bullets sparking against floor and ceiling as the raiders converge, just like he'd planned. Smart guy. But a few are peeling off to flank, and Benny meets them head-on.

There’s no quips, no taunts from Benny. It’s just movement; fluid, silent, deadly movement. It’s the clean arc of a blade and the weight of penance behind it, like this is gonna atone for sins.

And God, for a minute? It feels good. Not righteous. Not holy - just honest, like he's finally himself for once instead of hiding behind the facade he's been parading around. This is the kind of redemption you can sink your teeth into. ]

[terrorisms]

( It goes better than expected. Better than it would have if Frank were at this alone. He draws fire; the impact of bullets slam into his chest with enough force to leave percussive bruises that will last for days; one or two wing his arm, leaving behind deep grazes, but Benny's enough of a front-line distraction that many of them don't get long enough to aim for anything more precise.

He picks off the ones he can, lining them up one after another — one shot, one kill. Clean.

Unfortunately, this lot aren't as stupid as your average raider party. They've obviously done some training, or at the very least they're used to code-words and following instructions when commanded, because someone with a deep voice barks out something in a language he doesn't understand, and they start to scatter. Retreating, making a break for it, bolting for the doors.

One stray bullet shatters the glass in one of the door frames, and all it does is make it easier for them to pour out like roaches, splitting in opposite directions, ducking down behind parked cars for cover.

Frank strides swiftly out after them, taking shots that ping off metal bodywork and explode side-view mirrors into shards of glass and plastic — but there's no hunting them all like this. Not on foot, when he can hear multiple engines revving to life, not with his own minivan on the other side of the parking lot.

By the time all the chaos dies down and his rifle lowers, there are more than a half-dozen bodies scattered around the mall lobby with either bullet wounds or knife wounds spilling blood in a viscerally terrifying display behind them. Frank's got a fine mist of it along one side of his face, a rip in his sleeve where the return-fire grazed oozing steadily, but he's otherwise no worse for the wear.

A solemn second is spent watching them go, tracking which direction the small caravan of vehicles head, before he turns his attention back to Benny to assess his status. )