Hello, wonderful merciful creatures of pure amazingness and patience,
yeah, I know, six months again. I'm not even gonna give an excuse this time, you probably already realized that I'm that moron who can't get her life together, let alone write a chapter in an acceptable amount of time.
Well, despite my many, many, many, maaaanyyyy shortcomings as both a person and a writer, I still hope you will enjoy this chapter. And maybe even find it in you to leave a comment :)
Thank you and have fun
Maw of madness
The sun was rising, lining ash-grey clouds with gold and purple, light shimmering on wafts of smog like mercury. Droves of mangy grey birds with tattered flight-feathers sat on overhead lines above the highway, huddling together for warmth and safety, their quiet cooing heralding the new day. In the early morning hours traffic was sparse, only few cars on the road and even they were somehow subdued, driving without the usual speeding and cursing, a sight so uncommon that they looked more like ghost ships gliding along a calm jet-black ocean. Mega City One never slept, but in moments like this it seemed as if the concrete behemoth closed just one bloodshot eye for just one second, resting its steel-wreathed head against claws covered in broken glass.
Right now Anderson didn't feel like resting. She all but flew across the asphalt, disturbing the slumbering birds and startling the other drivers. Her heart raced and breaths came in short forceful bursts, but she cared nothing for it because the predator inside her was quivering in anticipation, the scent of it prey lingering on its tongue. In the strange state between absolute focus and unbridled frenzy she almost forgot the other hunter following close behind. Almost.
After an hour of reckless driving two Judges reached sector two-fourteen and after weaving through a web of side-alleys they emerged on a parking lot filled with rusty car-wrecks and shelters made of cardboard and scrap metal. The groups of homeless that loitered around the parking lot scattered like rats, letting the Judges focus all their attention at the main point of interest.
Time had been surprisingly kind to Fantasia, once an embodiment of its name. Slender fluted columns crowned with leaves and birds in flight supported an intricately carved architrave, and even though most of the windows were either broken or boarded up, some still showed remains of delicate stained glass mosaics. Despite the constant wear of elements, the dull sheen of milky white marble and faded chipped brassfoil still managed to bring back an air of former glory to the house of debauchery.
The Judges parked their bikes in front of the main entrance and without a word spoken walked over to the main entrance of the entertainment complex. After Bob's defeat the Hall made an attempt to investigate every building associated with the mutant leader with varying results. Very few still had blind mutilated workers slaved to clattering machines, others bore marks of recent frantic activity, but most complexes were found abandoned filled only with dust and rubble, seemingly untouched for decades. And after the initial drive faded and Hall's understaffing became a problem, more and more of the low-scope properties were just superficially surveyed or omitted entirely. In Fantasia's case it was only recorded that the only human to have contact with the building was a retired guard, who for a nice addition to his pension made sure no one found residency in the abandoned complex with the help of an unregistered shotgun and a half-blind rottweiler, and who promptly suffered a heart attack after hearing the allegations heaped against him.
When Fantasia was sold, the previous owner only provisionally barred the front door, probably expecting the new owner to open the complex immediately, though that thing never came to pass. Steel bars were installed over a thick semi-wooden door, but they were secured only by a thin chain and a lock that very clearly didn't stand the test of time. It took just one shot from a Lawgiver to shatter the flimsy lock, which made the fact that it remained intact for what amounted to decades just a little bit suspect.
The door fell open, revealing a spacious reception area and a massive marble staircase across the entrance. Clouds of dust flitted around and shimmered golden in the light streaming in and dry withered remnants of dead plants rustled somberly, the complex' katatony disturbed by the sudden draft of air.
Anderson stepped in, her Lawgiver drawn, and quickly surveyed her surroundings, trying her best to pretend that she wasn't painfully aware of the other Judge following close behind. The air inside was dry and musty, faces of famous visitors smiling and winking from faded photographs, unaware that just few years later such pictures would be synonymous with social suicide.
Anderson took a deep breath and expanded her consciousness so it encompassed the entire building. Dredd's presence burned in the back of her mind like an open flame, but other than that there was nothing to be found, not that she expected differently. If Bob was really here he would have made sure that he wasn't found unless he wanted to, at least not by psychic means.
Dredd cleared his throat, eliciting just the slightest jump from his companion, and nodded vaguely to the corridors running to the back of the complex. "Which way, then?" he asked sternly.
Anderson tensed up and obediently delved into the memories excised form doctor Johnson's head, but luck didn't seem to be on her side and she emerged empty-handed, just a new wave of deranged paranoia swirling in her brain. In the end all she could do was shrug and follow her gut. "That one." she nodded to the corridor leading to the east wing and without waiting for affirmation took off in said direction.
The Judges drew their flashlights as they sunk into the perpetual darkness that filled the corridor in from of them. Once it had been painted an elegant shade of gray, even more photos lining its walls, though the time and darkness had taken their toll, islands of black mold slowly suffocating the space. Judging by the roulette and poker tables visible through open doors this part of the complex served those who came to gamble their money away, thick velvet curtains stopping the sunlight from intruding.
The light fell upon a discoloured stain marring the wallpaint and a fraction of Johnson's memories suddenly clicked into place, the information rushing through Anderson like an electrical current. With feverish purpose the Judge rushed down the corridor, thin cone of light dispelling the darkness in front of her, but as the back wall came into view she couldn't suppress a stab of disappointment. The wall was grey and speckled with mold like all the others, no trace of a tapestry or hidden doors, only a man showing too much gum grinning from a picture in silent mockery.
Anderson bared her teeth and stepped to the wall for closer inspection. She moved the picture to reveal a paler, almost unblemished piece of wall, protected from the worst effects of time by the object hanging in front of it. The Judge growled and scratched the wallpaint, flakes of it crumbling and revealing humid chapped concrete underneath. Anderson cursed and stepped back, raising her gun and firing a round of armour-piercing ammo into the wall. The bullets blew holes in the concrete, daylight and noise from outside streaming in. If there was a secret passage somewhere in this complex, it was not behind this wall.
Dredd let out an impatient growl, a sound that made Anderson's insides constrict, and turned to the last door on the right that had discreet pictogram for stairwell painted above it. "Next floor. Here's nothing."
"Nothing." Anderson sighed, but her breath was cut short as a light went up in her mind. "Yep, absolutely nothing." she repeated and followed the other Judge upstairs, a tentative smile spilling over her face.
She inhaled and exhaled to steady herself and then expanded her consciousness once more. Dredd's fury burned crimson, the sorrow, curiosity, malice of the homeless scattered around the complex shimmered in all the colours of the spectrum, but instead of focusing on things that were there Anderson turned her attention to the nothingness in-between. Usually 'nothing' would be better described as 'nothing defined' as there was always some kind of white noise to be felt in the City, unarticulated emotions, echoes of thoughts, all coalescing into a soup of faded, half-realized moods not belonging to anyone particular.
But in Fantasia the nothing was absolute. Like an opaque bubble a space completely void of thought was spilling out inside the complex. Anderson focused her attention on it and it seemed to inch away from her scrutiny. Invigorated by the find, the psychic pressed on, her focus shifting until the only thing she could perceive was the milky pearlescent barrier made of nothing. The bubble itself was completely inert, devoid of anything Anderson could sink her teeth into, but that would not stop her. With a strangled hiss the Judge attacked, using her own psyche as a speartip to pierce through. She succeeded. Partially.
When she came to she was slumped next to a wall and the world was on fire. Where before Fantasia slumbered in a bubble of nothingness, now it writhed painfully, bathed in a torrent of wrath. An inaudible roar filled with rage echoed through the complex, accompanied by chorus of suffering and despair. Trying to escape from the pandemonium Anderson attempted to retract her consciousness back, but found herself unable to.
Her mind-spear worked better that intended, not only shattering the void-barrier, but also the veil shielding Bob's mind and embedding itself there. A conduit stretched between the two psychics, pulsing with emotions like an unholy umbilical cord. Lances of crystallized hatred speared through Anderson, setting her mind aflame with images that tore through soft strands of sanity. Wave upon wave of madness assaulted her senses while pain that breached the borderline between psychosomatic and physical held her insides in an iron grip. A high-pitched shriek echoed in her ears and it took her a moment to realise that it was spilling from her own throat.
And suddenly the link was gone. In the last second of the connection Anderson felt the other mind go dark, a wave of weakness and nausea that wasn't her own robbing her of last bits of strength. Relishing the moment of respite Anderson exhaled, watching her flashlight illuminate a bright red smear on the wallpaint. Her whole body ached and her heart was racing in an erratic rhythm that doubled or skipped beats in a manner that was everything but physiological. She saw a shadow kneeling next to her, supporting her so that she didn't completely collapse in on herself, saying something she couldn't hear through the blood rushing in her ears.
Sudden nausea fell upon her and she lurched forward and retched out bloody phlegm mixed with stomach acid and last bits of half-digested pancakes, strings of the revolting matter clinging to her lips. She took shallow breaths through her teeth and scrambled backwards only to hit a wall with her back. In her line of work she had been shot, stabbed, burned, had buildings collapse on top of her, but she would take all of the ordeals combined to escape the agony she felt in that moment. Her entire atomic structure felt wrong, as if disassembled and then reassembled in the wrong order.
But despite the anguish a sense urgency welled up inside her. Swallowing a mouthful of blood the Judge took a sharp breath and willed her body to rise up. Nothing happened at first, just a stab of excruciating pain flaring up along her spine, but her muscles ultimately obeyed, twitching and spasming but bringing her to a stand, if one reduced the definition of it to not-laying-or-sitting. Her head spun and she felt her knees buckle under her, but there were arms preventing her from keeling over until she regained her footing again.
With a raspy breath escaping her lips she forced her eyes to snap into focus, Dredd's face floating into view. His teeth were bared, muscles in his jaw and neck pulled painfully taut. Fingers digging into her shoulders with just a little too much force involuntarily sent jolts into her consciousness, betraying just how unnerved he was.
"What was that?" he growled through clenched teeth.
Anderson tried to remember the correct way to form words. She uttered a hollow forlorn sound before asserting enough control over her speech center to force out articulated sounds. "Bob... Move." she whispered, hoping Dredd would fill in the rest. She slipped from his grasp with surprising ease and brought her body to something of a run, or at least a slightly faster forwards motion.
Her left leg gave out and she stumbled, but managed to keep herself upright. With breaths hitching in her throat she moved out again only to repeat the process a few steps later. Before she could try and fail again, fingers closed around her elbow and jerked her backwards, her back hitting the wall.
Suddenly she found herself face to face with the red X on Dredd's helmet. "What're you doing? Compose yourself!" he barked.
Despite knowing well enough how intimidating Dredd could be, being confronted with his rage so directly was still a shock. Anderson squirmed against his grip. "Let go. Need." she pleaded, frustrated at her inability to express the urgency of their situation.
Dredd's grip on her arm only tightened. "Anderson, you are literally foaming at the mouth. Either you pull yourself together this instant, or I'll knock you out and leave you here." he growled. His voice was the traditional cocktail of barely contained rage, but tainted by a trace of different emotion hidden underneath. Concern.
That was what gave Anderson pause. Trying to make sense of her state she brought a trembling uncertain hand to her face and prodded the raw bruised flesh there, only to realise Dredd was telling the truth. Her quick breaths turned the blood in her mouth into fine foam that dripped from her lips onto her chest. Even more blood was pouring from her nose and trickles of it ran from her eyes and down her cheeks. Dull throbbing pain pulsed beneath her skin and seeped down to bone, leeching Anderson's reserves.
With an idea of what damage her outside took, Anderson breathed deeply and delved inside, recoiling as she took in the mess. Her mind was scattered, jolts of pain accompanying every thought, muscles twitching uncontrollably as the impulses meant for them were redirected, reformatted and tangled up. With an audible groan Anderson dissected her own brain to the smallest units and one by one gained control over them. Gritting her teeth in pain she activated agonists and antagonists flexing and extending every joint, stubbornly working on them until every muscle obeyed.
For a moment she rested against the wall and waited for the weakness in her limbs to subside. She watched Dredd barking at a Hall operator, requesting back-up and paramedics and then clench his jaw as a bland voice on the other end informed him that the closest available unit would still need at least an hour to converge on their position. Dredd's answer was a sharp intake of breath and a clipped affirmation.
His rigid posture eased a little as he noticed her eyes on him. "What's your status?" he clipped, his voice terse and impersonal as if he was checking up on a machine.
With an eyebrow quirking up Anderson opted for the same approach. "Operational." she reported.
The slightest twitch in Dredd's mimic betrayed some kind of reaction, but was immediately replaced by the usual scowl. "Good. Now explain what happened." he ordered.
Anderson took a breath, thinking about the best way to explain the whole bubble of nothing and her mind-spear, ultimately settling on simplicity. "Bob made a barrier. I broke it. Bob tried to fry my circuits." she shrugged, considering the summarization good enough.
"Came close." Dredd commented.
Anderson let out an bemused sound, blood bubbling at the back of her throat. "No really?" she sneered. "We need to move. Bob's out right now, but that won't last."
Dredd nodded curtly. "Then let's go." he clipped and stepped back from her, but remained close enough to catch her should she collapse again.
Anderson offered a brittle half-smile at that gesture, hoping that the stab of pain that pierced her heart was just an aftershock of Bob's attack. She set out, a little uncertain at first, but found the proper rhythm soon enough. Without speaking another word to her companion she led them back to main staircase and then to the other wing, hiding a stab of embarrassment at her defective gut feeling. Dredd didn't comment on that matter and she was grateful for it.
If someone had ever bothered to come check the complex during the investigation they would instantly see that something was wrong with it. Mainly that the third-flood corridor in the west wing was only about half as long as the others. And that everything from the second floor up smelled like shit.
The corridor wasn't as dark as the others, curtains left opened and colourful light filtering through cracks in the boarding. The two Judges exchanged a look and switched their flashlights for weapons, while Anderson pretended that she absolutely wasn't winded after just a few flights of stairs. The stink of human waste and rotting meat got oppressive as they neared the back wall and a half-rotten tapestry hung in tatters in front it. Moans and scratches could be heard in the corridor.
With lips peeling back from her teeth Anderson grasped the moldy piece of cloth and ripped it down, exposing the blistered peeling wallpaper underneath. The wall was clearly a lot newer than the adjacent ones, but already looked worse, pock-marked with holes and stained with fluids that had no place being there. The lines of the supposedly hidden door were in plain sight, steel frame gleaming dully. And even though the quality of work left something to be desired, they were reinforced, no doubt about that. All in all, the door looked more substantial than the surrounding wall.
Dredd raised his weapon and planted a series of shots along the frame of the steel door. Chunks of concrete flew out on the other side and for a moment the door teetered on the edge of stability before its own weight tipped it over. The disturbed dust settled and exposed the nightmare of an asylum patient that lay in the corridor beyond.
The floor and walls were coated by a patchy layer of human waste and drying blood, even the ceiling sporting streaks of ruddish brown. Pieces of chipboard that used to be doors and furniture lay scattered on the floor or were stabbed into bodies. Piles of freshly-discarded bones littered cracked marble, stained and broken but without a shred of meat remaining. The stink was almost unbearable, making Anderson jerk back and shield her nose and mouth with her hand.
Heaps of questionable humanity coiled in the corridor, diseases ravaging their festering flesh, inflamed lesions weeping pale ichor, skin puckering with blackened pustules of plague sagging on emaciated frames. Stink of rotting meat and infested blood spread in the already barely breathable air.
What remained of Bob's mutant force was in a feeding frenzy. Without the inhibition asserted over them by their master the mutants fell over each other, cannibalizing the dead and dying. So consumed were they with the act of consuming that they barely noticed the violent way in which the Judges entered their sanctuary. Considering the mayhem that was happening, the whole ensemble was relatively quiet, the vocal expressions limited to dying sounds of the prey and wet smacking of feeders.
Slowly the mutants realized they had company. Chewing a strip of diseased skin and muscle, one raised its head away from its prey, tasting the air with wet forked tongue. The mutant eyed the Judges with a bleary, but calculating look and then decided against attacking, turning back down and ripping another mouthful of sinewy matter from a gurgling writhing body on the ground.
With caution the Judges stepped into the corridor, both trying not to think what they were walking on. More eyes locked onto them, but so far the allure of food seemed greater than any other urges and without a master to direct them they chose to follow their most urgent instinct. For the most part the mutants opted for ignoring the Judges, only reacting when the intruders got too close to their feeding spot.
Anderson forced her heaving stomach to comply and tried to rapidly identify the largest threats in the feeding packs. From her brief assessment it looked like in the ten minutes they were free from Bob's control more than a third of the present mutants were killed. And still there were more than enough of them to make the corridor just a little crowded. Apparently the purging of Bob's army was less effective than what was assumed.
She tore her eyes away from a mutant gorging itself with another's brainmatter and fixed them on the back of the corridor. Another stained wall stood there with another steel-reinforced door and from behind there could Anderson feel the ephemeral glimpses of Bob's mind. His consciousness was slowly returning, the first incoherent demands echoing out to his subjects.
A wave of rage washed over the complex, relaying a simple command: Kill the intruders. Instantly all the assembled mutants flinched as if struck by a whip, before Bob's command overrode whatever scraps of personalities they possessed. An unanimous growl rose from their throats and the first of them tore themselves away from feasting and crept towards the Judges. Before the first mutant could pounce a shot from Dredd's Lawgiver emptied the contents of his brain, but by that point dozens were moving in to attack.
Ducking a high-aimed blow, Anderson gifted her attacker a third eye in the middle of the forehead and then rammed her elbow into another's teeth. The impact was weak, reservoirs of her strength still depleted, but it managed to stun the mutant long enough to put a bullet through his head. Someone's serrated claws left a trail of marks along her thigh and Anderson revanched herself by planting a bullet in his guts. A blow to the small of her back sent her stumbling forward into a cluster of grasping hands and claws.
Baring her teeth, Anderson dashed sideways, where she glimpsed some breathing room and the gaggle of snapping enemies followed suit. With a series of half-leaps the Judge built up a small lead, before whipping around. A bitter smirk settled on her lips as she beheld her pursuers and then unleashed carnage. Bullets ripped through the approaching horde and then mowed down those behind them, fine red mist lingering in the air. Immediately Anderson moved to repeat the process, using her agility where she couldn't rely on strength.
Dredd opted for a more traditional approach and simply tore through anything that stood in his way. His every movement exuded lethal vitality, every strike exacted with almost frightening precision and disemboweled bodies kept piling around his feet. When the press of enemies became too many he drew a knife without hesitation. The blade's edge gleamed as it stabbed and slashed in quick cadence, blood gushing from severed arteries in bright red arcs.
With shallow raspy breaths rattling in her throat Anderson pressed a hand against a wall for support, wondering whether there was a scenario where she could justify the action as a means to better protect her flank. A blade attached to a spindly arm swung at her head and only narrowly did the unbalanced Judge manage to avoid it. She aimed her Lawgiver in the general direction of the attacker and fired a few shots. With a humourless smirk the Judge noted that her hands trembled so much that if the number of enemies were any lower she wouldn't be able to hit anything. Going by the pained shrieks that followed she definitely hit something, but her target remained unharmed, moving in for another strike.
A bullet wheezed past her ear and the spindly-armed mutant toppled backwards, head missing. In the next moment Dredd emerged next to her in a tide of blood and dismembered limbs like some ancient god of war.
"Get your shit together, Anderson." he growled and effortlessly deflected incoming blow, grasping the assailant by the elbow and depositing a blade hilt-deep in his chest.
Anderson sucked in a breath and tightened her fingers around her weapon's handle in a futile effort to still her trembling. "I'm fine." she forced through clenched teeth.
Dredd's helm turned to her for a fraction of a second and even without seeing the look on his face Anderson knew that the older Judge saw right through her bullshit. She sighed, defeated. "Just... Give me twenty seconds."
The answer was a curt nod and a surprisingly gentle shove that brought her a few steps behind her partner. Without wasting time Anderson reached for the medi-pack at her belt and retrieved a syringe. She wasn't thrilled about using it so soon, having a strong suspicion that the worst was only about to come, but she had to admit that dying to some pawn before confronting Bob would be a supremely embarrassing way to go. She stabbed the syringe into her thigh with the tiniest wince of pain and breathed deeply as she waited for the stims to kick in.
With pain rapidly subsiding and newfound power coursing through her veins Anderson dove into the melee alongside Dredd. The other Judge threw her a quick glance and she answered with a confident nod.
She lunged forward and broke a neck of a mutant woman with way too many needle-like teeth protruding from her jaw, Lawgiver in her hand spitting fire. Immediately she jumped back to allow Dredd a clear shot at the next pack of mutants, while she took care of the stragglers that tried to outflank them. Once done with that task she fell into step beside her partner and saw him adjust his fighting style to account for her presence.
It was almost ironic how well they worked together, despite all that transpired between them. Unlike their conversations, their interaction in battle was straightforward and unrestrained. Without the shackles of stilted, uncomfortable verbal interaction they adjusted to the each other's fighting style and incorporated them into strategies, relying on the other to cover their respective blind-spots.
Inch by inch the two Judges carved their way towards the door in bloodied letters. Again they burned through the reserves of their ammunition with absurd speed, Hot-Shots and FMJ being the first expended. Once they were almost at Bob's door, another wave of wrath, though this time much less scattered, pierced the mutants. A chorus of shrieks came as a response and the steel door began to slide open. A monstrous scabbed paw forced its way through the opening and an equally massive shoulder encased in studded plating followed.
By that point the Judges were already shooting. Streams of bullets tore shreds of flesh from bone, but didn't stop the mutants' advance. An iron-bound torso and an angular head entombed in bony growths emerged from the dark opening, vague outlines of the room behind it visible for a moment before the door slammed shut. And with that the large mutant stopped his advance and collapsed on the ground like a marionette with cut strings, just as somewhere behind the door Bob's mind turned foggy once again.
Taken aback by the mutant's sudden lifelessness, Anderson stopped shooting and inched towards the large body to inspect it, not thinking about the fact that she was leaving herself vulnerable. Her moment of distraction was immediately used by one of the mutants. Sudden weight on her shoulders sent her falling to her knees, pain flaring up along the sides of her head as sharp claws looked for purchase there.
With a curse Anderson reached over her shoulder and grabbed handful of brittle ratty hair. She threw off her attacker together with what felt like a good part of her left ear and attempted to stand up, but a bony knee slammed into her side and knocked the air out of her. A flurry of blows descended upon her and another kick sent her sliding along the blood-slicked floor.
She hit something large and firm, metal studs stabbing into her back. Claws or teeth dug into the meat of her calf and she kicked against her enemy, feeling some bones give way under the force of the impact. Disorientated, blood preventing her from seeing out one eye, Anderson fired in broad strokes into the clusters of mutants advancing towards her, turning them into heaps of diseased flesh and steaming intestines.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dredd be swarmed by a new horde of mutants. A broken horn was impaled through his bicep and a profusely bleeding gash spanned across his ribcage among a number of other injuries, yet he still fought with dogged determination and seemingly fathomless energy.
Anderson redirected some of her fire his way, alleviating some of the pressure on him. They exchanged a look and Anderson mouthed a guilt-ridden -sorry-, very much aware that it was lapse in concentration that their current situation. Dredd acknowledged her apology with a nod and returned to disassembling his opponents.
When Anderson managed to carve out a perimeter for herself she finally looked what she was actually braced against. It was the collapsed brute, his armoured shoulder digging into her lower back. He still hasn't moved so she brought her face just inches from his bone-encrusted head. The rotten breath that brushed against her cheek subverted the idea that he was dead, but look into the mutant's glassy lifeless eyes could have fooled anyone.
There was nothing inside those eyes. No emotions, intelligence, not even the most rudimentary signs of a consciousness, nothing but two pits of black entropy like a visor of an automaton. This was how far Doctor Johnson has brought the art and science of lobotomy, Anderson realized. No matter how diminutive, broken and depraved, his other subjects still had some semblance of a mind, something that had to be conquered and forced to do his bidding. Not this one, this was just an empty vessel, every nerve and muscle absolutely compliant, ready to embrace another's will in its entirety.
And that will was just returning. A spark of fel intelligence flared up in the mutant's eyes and immediately a massive fist moved to reduce Anderson's ribcage to a paste. The Judge rolled and immediately retaliated, a round of armour-piercing bullets stitching a pattern across the massive chest. The angular head lowered and surveyed the damage, as if the mutant had to look rather than feel the injury himself. Not that it mattered much, the shots seemed to do about as much damage as mosquito bites.
Not waiting for the mutant to attack again Anderson moved to rejoin with Dredd, but a pack of snapping maws and claws forced her back. With a muffled curse the Judge dodged a swing of a giant scabbed fist and planted a series of shots into the surrounding mutants. One of the lunged at her and Anderson leapt backwards even though she knew the corridor would be ending soon enough.
Slowly the noose around started tightening as more mutants joined the fray and blocked off potential escape paths. Normally Anderson would observe Bob's gradual recovery and the increasing nuances in controlling his subjects with interest, of course if it also didn't entail the ever increasing probability of getting her head smashed in.
Backing away from a wide sweep of a serrated claw Anderson hit the wall at last. Immediately she threw herself sideways, throwing one of her attackers to the ground, but more importantly dodging the giant fist that was reaching for her neck. Thin but powerful arms wrapped herself around her calf and blunt teeth tried to find purchase somewhere on her thigh. Anderson kicked against the assailant but seemed to miss and a quick glance revealed that there actually wasn't much to kick, considering the mutant clinging to her consisted of only an upper torso and three multi-jointed limbs. Severely encumbered Anderson continued to evade most of the attacks, dispersing lead justice whenever she found an opening.
Fingers closed around her wrist and jerked her back into the reach of the giant brute. Anderson immediately moved to dispatch her attacker but before she could aim, another mutant leapt at her from the side and pinned her arm to her body. She headbutted the attacker, her forehead bleeding, though not nearly as much as her adversary's nose. His hold lessened somewhat, allowing her to angle her gun enough to shoot the quarter-mutant off her leg. Unfortunately soon enough the grip was back in full force and another pair of arms wrapped themselves around her midriff, talon-like fingers grasping after her gun. Cold sweat ran down her back as she struggled against the forces holding her still.
An enormous chest filled out almost the entirety of her field of sight, the brute towering above her with malicious glee burning in black eyes. His wounded left arm hung limply by his side, blood pouring from the injury in crimson cascades. Right hand with short stubby fingers reached for her face, starting at the cheek then continuing down her jaw. Dirty cracked nails left shallow marks on her skin.
Anderson recoiled and without any warning snapped at the offending fingers. Her teeth effortlessly sunk into the dessicated flesh, parting skin and ligaments until hitting bone. Diseased blood poured into her mouth, its revoltingly sweet smell and taste invading Anderson's senses. The finger in her mouth wriggled and began pulling away, leaving putrid layers of tissue behind. Screaming internally the Judge suppresses a retch and clenched her jaw tighter. Teeth dug into bone and the movement stopped.
The mutant tilted his head, the fel intelligence in his eyes betraying something like amusement and pulled harder. Anderson bristled and pulled too, refusing to surrender even a millimeter of the trapped body part. The bizarre tug-of-war continued, muscles in Anderson's neck straining against the superior force. It was clear that this charade would continue just as long as Bob humoured it.
No doubt having read her thoughts Bob's proxy tilted its head, osteoderms on his face rearranging themselves into something of a smirk. With a casual flick of the wrist the mutant ripped his hand away from Anderson.
An audible pop cracked through the air followed by the sound of Anderson's head snapping backwards and slamming against the wall. Blackness spread before her eyes like a canvas, spotted with disgust and streaked with pain. Furiously blinking Anderson did her best to clear her head, lamenting the fact that her arms were still trapped and she couldn't check if her head still had the relevant parts attached.
Eventually her vision returned, though the pulsating pain that spread from the back of her head to the entirety of her being tinted it somewhat reddish. She was greeted by the sight of the brute, his amused smirk collapsing into something that could safely be described as befuddlement. His eyes were flitting between her mouth and his own raised fist. The spot usually occupied by an index finger was suspiciously vacant, strings of blood weeping from the wound.
With her own dose of bafflement Anderson zeroed in on the piece of anatomy sticking from between her teeth, her eyes drawn to the milky white cartilage that indicated where the finger popped from its joint. Then realisation that she still had two-thirds of that thing in her mouth hit her and she spit the finger out with a sound that was part a cry of disgust and part every curse known to man.
Once she was done spitting into every conceivable direction in an effort to rid herself of the vile necrotic aftertaste Anderson once again directed her attention at Bob's vessel. Only after did it strike her that aiming and spitting the finger into for-all-intents-and-purposes-Bob's face could have been pretty effective. Despite the missed chance a smug smirk settled on Anderson's lips.
That probably wasn't a good idea. Annoyance replaced bemusement and the remaining four fingers curled into a fist. Anderson's smirk faded a little as she noted the cords of muscle outlined beneath scabbed skin as the brute moved to bring the massive fist down on her midriff. With arms still preventing her from dodging left or right and the forward option blocked by the brute the Judge moved the only remaining way.
Down.
In the split second before the shattering blow connected Anderson used her entire weight to throw herself to the ground. Her captors weren't braced for that course of action and lost their balance, collapsing atop the Judge. A fraction of a second later a blow reverberated throughout the building. Anderson coughed as the air was driven out of her by the weight pressing down on her thorax. She bucked under the squirming bodies, more curses ready to roll off her tongue.
After a fight with some teeth her right arm came free, the reliable Lawgiver still safely in her grasp. Anderson's lips quirked up as she writhed and spasmed in a series of movement usually reserved for seizuring snakes, but ultimately managed to turn on her back, the face of some snarling mutant appearing above her.
"Get. Off. Of. Me." she growled and shot him point-blank, tsunami of blood and brain-matter splashing into her face. Cursing the entire world, gravity most of all, Anderson pushed the corpse away and so managed to give herself some literal breathing room.
She noticed that her head rested just inches from the giant mutant's feet, or rather massive cloven hooves as she came to realise. The brute himself was hunched over, momentarily not interested in smashing the trapped psychic underhoof. Instead his attention was on his own arm embedded elbow-deep in the wall.
With her legs still trapped under at least two living mutants and maybe a stray corpse or two and no time to lose Anderson cursed and sent out a short round into the tangle, mincing the assembled mutants and miraculously not including her own legs in the carnage. She freed her limbs from the heap of shredded flesh and somersaulted away, just in time to avoid chunks of wall that collapsed as Bob's brute violently tore his arm out of it.
Through the hole in the wall Anderson glimpsed a dried-out husk sitting in a wheelchair, blood-shot eyes boring into hers. Before she could aim her gun and take a shot, a massive fist came swinging at her head, bone shining through where friction flayed skin from it. With a curse Anderson dashed sideways, but her foot caught on a corpse and sent her crashing to the floor.
The fist grazed her shoulder and even that fleeting touch was enough to hurl the Judge against the damaged wall, pieces of concrete and plaster raining on her curled-up form. As Anderson lay there blinking away blood and dust and wondering how much more abuse her body could take, brute's face floated into view, an asymmetric smirk plastered on it. A cloven hoof rose from the ground and almost leisurely moved so that it would land on Anderson's chest.
A flurry of shot echoed and the hoof wavered in mid-air before repositioning to prevent the huge body from toppling backwards. The next time the smirking face appeared its left temple was destroyed, remnants of bone and eye running down the mutant's cheek.
Dredd appeared in Anderson's field of view, limping and bleeding. He was moving in from the mutant's objectively weaker left side, but still kept a safe distance. The Lawgiver in his hands spat fire, chips of bone flying from the armoured head.
Anderson shook her head, as if it could help with nausea, and scrambled to her feet. She backed off with measured steps, taking position to the mutant's right and adding her own fire to the mettle. Bob's attention was on her and the mutant leapt after her, but she managed to evade it and as the brute followed, it opened itself to attacks from Dredd, another round of bullets sparking off the hardened skull.
The brute growled and pounced after the greater threat, but Dredd, despite his injuries, quickly dodged into a relative safe spot on the mutant's weaker side. Anderson lost no time and aimed for the intact right side of its head, her shots leaving gouges in the osteodermic plates protecting it. And she was immediately rewarded with attention.
They continued the dance, Anderson deliberately keeping just a little closer than what was safe to the attacking mutant to make herself an enticing bait. There was little else to keep track of apart from the brute, most of the other mutants dead or rendered harmless. Anderson's boots kept slipping on the bloodied floor, her soles coming to their limits in the amount of crimson spilled.
A massive hand with four fingers reached for her again and Anderson dodged, immediately looking out for the follow-up maneuver. Which didn't come.
Suddenly the brute was on all fours and charging at Dredd.
Anderson unleashed a round into his back.
Dredd dodged to the mutant's left-hand side.
The brute abruptly stopped and turned, though his immobile left arm should have still offered spots of relative safety.
A sound of impact echoed and suddenly Dredd was flying into a wall.
It took Anderson's brain a moment to process what happened. With the rapid change of speed and direction, the mutant was able to move his non-functional arm through sheer force of momentum, a possibility neither of the Judges considered. By the point Anderson was able to come to such conclusion she was already moving.
Something inside her was cracking and splintering. She could hardly take a breath let alone make a sound yet a scream reverberated through her frame.
The mutant was moving towards to lifeless dark heap on the floor, but turned as he noticed Anderson's approach. He adopted a wider stance to, right arm swinging backhanded to put a stop to her seemingly unpremeditated attack.
Anderson couldn't contain a bitter smirk, apparently frenzied fury and unbearable pain were good enough cloaking device for even the most skilled mind-reader. Or Bob just didn't really bother, also a possibility. Either way, Anderson had no intention of forgiving such oversight.
She ducked the swing and ran past the mutant straight for the last wall separating Bob from the righteous punishment. The existing hole in the wall wasn't nearly big enough to squeeze through, but that wasn't Anderson's intention in the first place. Her eyes lingered on the fat cracks spreading from the hole.
One of the first things they stressed in the Academy was to always kick down a door, and by extension a wall, never use one's shoulder. The drawback of such method were plain to see, the possibility of injuring one's own shoulder being just the tip of the iceberg. The uncontrolled momentum could potentially send the overly eager rescuer charging into a trap or another obstacle. All in all, breaking down a door by kicking it provided a safe and measured approach to a problem.
Safe or measured were not words Anderson could find in her vocabulary in that moment. She tucked her head in and braced her left shoulder for impact, hoping that not-enough-momentum and walls-too-thick were also nonexistent terms in the nearest future.
The guys in the Academy were right. About everything. As her shoulder rammed into the hopefully unstable-enough wall Anderson blacked out for a moment. It couldn't have been long, because when she came to she was still in the process of colliding with a table few meters from the wall, surgical equipment falling to the floor like a rain of stainless-steel.
Biting back tears, nausea and cries of pain Anderson stood up on shaky legs, knowing that if she stopped long enough for the reality to catch up her body would give up on the spot. She tried not to dwell on the fact that her shoulder and left-side ribs were in pieces, or that everytime she breathed or swallowed some parts of her skull ground together, or that she couldn't see out of one eye and she wasn't sure which one. Instead she directed her attention to things of importance.
She noticed the dark angles of a wheelchair from a corner of her eye and immediately she whirled around and fired a shot in its direction. She would have hit, dark padding ripped open in the area where the patient's heart would have been. The only problem was the vacant seat.
A blur moved at the edge of her vision and Anderson turned in time to see the incoming clawed hand, not in time to avoid it. She whimpered as the claws tore into her insides. Her arm immediately whipped into position to blow the brains out of her attacker, but by that point it was too late.
Anderson found her body frozen solid yet still afire, her brain issuing commands that wouldn't reach her limbs.
Feverish eyes bored into hers and even after charging through a wall Anderson couldn't imagining looking that much worse than Bob. With his hunched posture he stood a little shorted than Anderson, but still managed to convey the idea of staring down his nose at her. Where his skin wasn't covered by wanton growths of sarcoma it was ashen, papery thin layers folding into wrinkles. Just like Anderson saw in Dr Johnson's memories, one of his arms was missing, sleeve of a white dress shirt pinned to the body.
Her observation was cut short as her arm moved on its own accord. Anderson sucked in a sharp breath and retaliated against the terrifyingly familiar feel of Bob's powers, unsurprisingly to no avail. Little by little her own arm turned against her, moving and shifting until the muzzle of her trusty weapon wasn't pressed against her temple, cool metal almost pleasant on raw, hot skin.
Helplessly Anderson engaged all the muscles she still had control of, her broken left arm amongst them. Clear sharp pain shot through her and became her salvation, sweeping parts of her mind free of Bob's control. Breathing deeply the Judge mounted a defense, stopping her mutinous body from moving further if nothing else.
An eyebrow quirked up on the hideous hydrocephalic head. "Impressive." Bob admitted. "Even that attack from before was admittedly creative. You have potential. But this feeble barrier will not hold me for long, you realise that, right?" he commented patronizingly.
Anderson didn't answer but noted that his nonchalance was feigned. She could see the droplets of sweat beading on Bobs forehead, feel the desperation with which he attacked her barrier. But what she could also feel was her own strength seeping away through countless injuries, knees shaking.
Some of her defenses gave way and her treacherous hand moved again, just a few millimeters, but just that was enough to invigorate Bob and undermine Anderson further.
"So, are you sure, you're on the right side of the tracks, sweetie?" Bob started again, capable of holding a conversation and laugh devastating psychic attacks at the same time, "I mean, you just left your one night stand bleed to death back there. Pretty cold, in my opinion. I like it." he smirked.
Something inside Anderson's chest constricted and a riptide of anguish washed over her, but also brought clarity. She took a deep breath, or as much as her battered body allowed and clenched her teeth, again feeling loose bones of her skull rub together.
Bob jolted up as some of her pain was transferred to him and blood began to pour from his nose with new vigor. "Ow, quit it. And really, not even a tear? I expected more." he complained, still keeping up the facade.
But there was just the tiniest tinge of frustration in Bob's voice and after time with Dredd Anderson considered herself proficient in picking up on the most diminutive emotions. With a quiet strangled whine she forced her broken arm to move, swollen fingers closing around what remained of the handle of her knife. After the contact with pyrokine it lost much of its shape and usefulness, but it still possessed a few sharp edges.
Broken bones rubbed together, crumbling shoulder-joint threatened to fall apart and in the darkest crevices of her mind some part of Anderson wished for the sweet release of death. But she pushed on, slowly narrowing the distance between the blade's edge and Bob's unprotected abdomen.
A deep crease formed between the disfigured mutant's eyebrows and he tore deeper into Anderson's abdomen, obliterating something vital in the process. The resulting agony fed him and his mind burned like a dying star, little by little consuming Anderson's defenses in the blaze. He pushed on every front and gave the Judge in his control no room to mount a counterattack.
Anderson helplessly bared her teeth and focused all her power on stopping herself from blowing her own head off. Despite her best efforts her index finger gently pressed down on the trigger, the curved piece of metal pushing against her fingerpad. She could feel every interwoven fiber of the composite between them like a white-hot wire biting into her skin.
A shot echoed and time stopped.
She had always expected her death to be king of pathetic, like slipping in the shower and breaking her neck or choking on a cherry pit. Running a bullet through her skull while her knife was just centimeters from the skin of her enemy certainly fell into that category, though she wasn't sure she appreciated the irony.
At that point she noticed that despite all the evidence pointing towards her brain being splattered all over the nearest walls, she still could form somewhat coherent thoughts. Something went wrong.
Time sprang into action again and in a blink of an eye Anderson found herself two meters from her original spot with Bob pinned under her. She couldn't feel her right arm, but she certainly felt her left. Her hand was wrist-deep in Bob's abdomen, the knife that gutted the mutant stopping only once hitting the spine. Something went right.
Bob seemed to disagree. His face was a scrunched-up grimace of shock and pain, a blood splatter painting his chin and neck scarlet. Most of it was Anderson's, but not all. A bleeding gash ran along Bob's neck, neither particularly deep nor life-threatening, but very clearly the catalyst for the ultimate outcome of their situation.
Anderson frowned. Bob's wound had no immediately discernible cause since she was absolutely sure it wasn't a mark she had left, which left only outside influence. And the only direction an attacker could approach from had Anderson standing in the wa-
Oh.
That explained a lot.
Reality came crashing in like a train. Suddenly the emotional pain in Anderson's chest gained a very non-emotional counterpart and the fact she had yet to breathe since the shot was fired seemed to be less an oversight on her part and more the fact that her lungs refused to work.
She choked and tried lifting herself, but neither of her arms would support any weight. Under her Bob was dying, lips moving to form last words that nobody would hear, because Anderson was too preoccupied with hacking out blood out of her lungs. His claws were still embedded in her flesh and with her every panicked erratic jerk they tore deeper and wider gouges to her insides.
Suddenly the claws slipped out of her and she felt herself be rolled onto her back, a vaguely human-shaped shadow slipping into view. Between feeble attempts to draw some air into her lungs Anderson forced her functioning eye to focus.
She didn't think that in her state she would be able to feel anything but panic and maybe anger, but clearly she was mistaken. Relief washer over her like a tidal wave. Dredd was alive. In bad shape, but alive.
Dredd lost no time and unzipped her uniform with one hand, the other already retrieving his medi-kit. He opened a tube of medical gel and positioned it somewhere above Anderson's right breast where she suspected the worst of her injuries to be. He sucked in a sharp breath and plunged the tube into the dying Judge.
Anderson choked again and spasmed, but a hand pressed to her sternum stopped her convulsions. She felt the unwholesome sensation of a cold liquid pouring into her right lung, mixing with blood already found there. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as her body decided it had enough.
"Cassie, stay with me." a gruff voice echoed in the red mist that filled her skull and Anderson obeyed almost instinctively.
She didn't have the strength to open her eyes anymore, but she remained conscious as her lung was sealed shut and she was carefully rolled onto her right side. A lead weight seemed to slip somewhere further down and suddenly there was oxygen in her system. Sure, only a fraction of what she needed, what she wanted, but it was there nonetheless. Greedily she sucked in all the air she could, blood splashing into her mouth and sinuses with every frenetic exhale.
Sounds beyond her own rapid breathing finally registered with Anderson. It was her name, sprinkled with a comforting phrase here and there, but mostly her name, repeated over and over. Every word was clipped and distorted, as if the speaker had to go through great pains to form every syllable but couldn't stop himself.
Anderson wanted to tell him to stop. Every time her name fell from his lips something in her unraveled, emotions she considered buried and forgotten breaking away. Regrets about things said and left unsaid, disappointment in how easily they gave up, anger at Dredd, herself, the entire world, and then emotions she still couldn't and didn't want to name; they all mixed and tangled into one confused and chaotic mesh.
Dredd's hands worked on her abdomen, trying to keep her mangled insides together. He brushed against a bundle of nerves and Anderson spasmed weakly, a faint cry of pain slipping from her parted lips. One hand left its workplace and Anderson felt fingers gently brush against her cheek. She noticed that Dredd wore no gloves, probably to not hinder him by the insane field surgery.
It was a split-second decision. Probably a wrong one. But Anderson considered that despite Dredd's best efforts she would probably die and the damage to her was too severe. -Fuck it.- she decided and mustered what remained of her psychic strength, stabbing her entire emotional mess into her partner. It wasn't much of a parting gift, but she had nothing else to give.
For just a moment his hands stilled, betraying the slightest tremble. "Don't. You're not dying here."
He said it so matter-of-factly, she had no choice but to believe him.
###
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, pleeease forgive me. But goddamnit, the cliffhanger just felt sooo right.
So, this is kinda, sorta the end. I mean, I have an epilogue half-written so obviously there will be conclusion, but as far as real, long chapters go, this is it. And don't worry I will not need four months to post the epilogue, I'm not that much of an asshole.
But just to be sure, I hereby solemnly swear, that the epilogue will be here as late as 19.8.2016. And if you don't believe me, well, first of all, I really don't blame you, and second... uhmmm... well... let's just hope my word has some weigth to it.
So, see ya in 2-3 days, leave a comment and enjoy the cliffhanger-induced anguish.
With regards
Rhinne, the Avatar of Procrastination