Balder's Gate has consumed me for about 2 months, and now I'm back. :)

back to torturing my beloved child :)

Armour: None

Weapon: None

Acc(1/12): Band of Regeneration

Health: (10/500) (bloodless)

I didn't sign up for this fucking mess...

The thought shimmered foggily through his mind as he fled down the halls, the soles of his boots pounding against the sterile metallic floors with such force, the shock of the impact rattled his brain with each stretching step. The air was black and acrid with smoke; burning acid and pungent smells assaulted his nostrils - but he did not turn off his olfactory receptors. Right now, he needed every sense had had access to. He needed to run. He needed to escape, because there was a fucking monster on his heels!

*Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk- fwoosh*

He didn't know why that thing was chasing him. It wasn't chasing him before - now it was. An enormous shaggy beast, ten-thousand pounds of mindless rage that howled and tore through everything in its way. The Cyborg didn't get a good look at the thing, but he was fairly sure he saw enough needle sharp teeth to know he didn't want to face it head on. He wasn't weak by any means - he was a good soldier with better enhancements. He had freakish power, but this was a monster. The moment one of those scything claws grabbed him, he knew he - and his unconscious charge - were as good as dead.

(Run! Get behind the storm doors!... Take a left, go-go-go!)

*Roarrrr*

(Drown it in the Benzene- Zoologist's gonna get chewed out for this!)

Ahead, the hallway opened up into a large observation deck. A metal room throughout which many winding pathways were suspended over a great pool of not-water. All around, ahead and behind, Draedon's scientists shrieked and scattered, madly scrambling for their notes and hiding beneath desks and furniture in hopes The Monster didn't claw them in two as it chased him onto the platforms. Why was that thing so single-minded in its attempt to kill him?! He never did anything to that horned freak! Why was it following him! Gah! The Cyborg's mind briefly lingered upon his plight as he leapt out upon the grated pathways.

*hisss... snap.*

There was an uncomfortable buzzing in his thigh, a brief snap, a release of pressure. One of his fibro-muscles had ripped as he wound up all his strength to leap halfway across pool and land clunkily against the railings - denting it dangerously and nearly pitching the two of them into the pool beneath. He gritted his teeth as he rolled back to his feet - likely squashing 'The Terrarian' in the process - just in time to avoid a massive clawed foot smashing through the aluminum flooring beside him. The platform rattled. The Cyborg turned and he limped onwards - as quickly as he could - but not quickly enough. The exit was up ahead, a massive storm door to which the platform was attached. Just inside the hallway, a bespectacled scientist was madly jamming a large red button with his fist. A warning blared over the loudspeakers. The platforms rattled.

Then-

The harrowing noise of hinges falling loose.

His stomach flew into his throat.

His feet were suddenly treading air.

He was falling, and beside him, The Monster roared, its single beady eye full of malice and staring at him-

No.

Not at him. Now that he got a good look at it, it wasn't staring at him at all! It was focused keenly upon the man clinging tenuously to his shoulders with what little strength he could muster. The monster wanted to kill The 'Terrarian'! It didn't want him at all! By so foolishly deciding to rescue this man, he had consigned himself to death! He- he didn't want this! He wasn't about to die for anyone, much less somebody he hardly knew! Sure, he was known as a do-gooder almost everywhere he went, but charity was only something he did insofar as it was convenient for him.

"Ahhhh! Ah, Shiiit!"

*Roarrrr*

He felt spittle blast against his face as The Monster, still falling and having seemingly no regard for its own life, shrieked and swung a massive claw at him. The Cyborg could not maneuver. He could not dodge. If he hurled 'The Terrarian' away from him, would The Monster cease its attack and spare him? It... it was worth a shot. At this point, anything was worth a shot. With as much strength as he could muster, The Cyborg seized at the two arms wrapped around his neck tried to dislodge them, but - they could not be moved! They clasped him around the neck, clawing into the crevices of his armour with a grim desperation. Panicked, he shouted, and hollered, he thrashed and kicked his feet. The scything claw hurtled towards his face. There was the sound of tearing flesh-

*fwooosh*

And... and the pain didn't come.

Instead, he saw The Monster falling.

It was falling. Apart from him, away from him. Down, down, down until it hit the surface of the liquid and sank straight to the bottom. It's roars became gurgles became whimpers became silence. And for a moment, there was no sound at all. Just his own pounding heartbeat, the noise of air through feathered wings. Harsh breath against his ear. Trembling arms around his neck, clinging to him for dear life...

What the hell... what happened?

It took him a moment to realize that 'The Terrarian' he had bemoaned rescuing just a second ago had sprouted a set of bloodied wings from his back and was currently flapping wildly - and rather unsuccessfully to keep the two of them afloat. He could have easily dropped him to drown with The Monster, but instead was expending the remainder of his obviously waning strength to hurl them against the nearest wall. Hells, The Cyborg wasn't even sure The 'Terrarian' was entirely conscious for most of the ordeal! How lucky that just now was the moment he chose to wake. Did 'The Terrarian' know CC agents were equipped with vertical scaling capabilities? Had he, in that brief moment, planned all of this so that the both of them could survive? Perhaps this was a show of gratitude for trying to rescue him at outset. Mayb-

*thonk*

They hit the wall loudly and The Cyborg quickly engaged his electro-suction pads to adhere to the metal. Once he was sure they were securely attached, he turned his attention towards his rescuee. The Terrarian's wings were sagging at awkward angles, slowly leaking blood from where they burst rather gruesomely from his shoulder blades. His breath had grown faint and his hands trembled. The Cyborg opened his mouth to speak just as The Terrarian's grip around his shoulders completely gave out. He quickly grabbed him around the waist before he plummeted to his death.

"Oh Damn! Hey, we just survived by the skin of our teeth! Don't go dying on me now! That'd be one hell of a waste, eh?"

"..."

No response.

There was nothing in that vacant, pale gaze. Not a single thought nor emotion. There was no excitement nor fear nor judgement nor gratefulness... just exhaustion and suspicion - but mostly exhaustion. It was the thousand-mile stare of somebody who was simply tired of the world and its trials. It was the look of somebody who would absolutely not appreciate anything clever he had to say.

So The Cyborg swallowed the rest of his jokes, and focused on climbing the wall.

Today, an explosion rocked the upper city.

In the middle of the day, no less! It was an early sleepy afternoon when it happened, the kind of afternoon where businessmen got up late, and wives got their breakfasts in bed, and songbirds competed for the sunniest branch to sit and belt their tunes at the clear blue sky. And although, admittingly, things had become far more tense around the upper city lately (when The Twins fell, they crushed an entire block of office buildings and damaged several others. The Debris has yet to be completely removed) this morning felt like a return to normalcy.

Because life was going on as usual.

His favorite pastry shop had particularly fresh strawberries in their fruit tarts today; he'd woken up early to grab their freshest batch and the sweetness of that syrupy glaze was still at the tip of his tongue. Madame Administrator, one of the only people he could consider non-hostile at the school, had sent him a basket of chocolates and an a general apology letter for the behavior of the students and staff at CAU. The Guide appreciated the gesture, but left the candies on his least-favorite-neighbor's doorstep in fear somebody might have laced them with laxatives during shipping. The streets were bustling too - many of the businesses, which had closed during the chaos following the Autumn Festival, were starting to return to their normal hours. People were no longer locked in their basements with their ears pressed against the radios. The long lines outside the banking institutions had more or less dissipated; markets were once more stocked on canned goods and 'emergency survival packs'. Things were going back to normal...

Sure, rumor had it that there was 'A Terrarian' running around causing chaos outside the city... but all the newspapers, the official reports, the scholars, the generals, officers, and people of import claimed to the contrary. There was no Terrarian. There was no danger. King Yharim and his glorious empire would protect everyone. The Witch in her great and fearsome power was circling the Capitol, scouring it for enemies and ill-doers. The Great Warrior Gilgamesh was back from the dead to serve as The Imperial's High Commadant. There was nothing to fear.

And The Guide believed it.

Why shouldn't he?

The Capitol had always been safe. The streets were always swept clean. Security was always top notch. The authorities weren't particularly kind, but they were very thorough, and besides, why would so many unrelated parties lie about the same thing? If The Terrarian was real, surely somebody would be saying so - but everyone was sure he wasn't, so The Guide was also sure there wasn't. The conclusions of the collective were rarely wrong, and although The Guide did hold his own intellect in high esteem - even he would be deign to say he was right and everyone was wrong.

So, as far as he was concerned, the rumor of The Resistance Terrarian was just that - a rumor, and therefore unworthy of any more of his mental energy. This was the logical way to draw one's conclusions - and, unfortunately, The Stylist seemed to be a far less logical person than The Guide might have guessed.

For despite the fact she was a university researcher (The Stylist, strangely, denied this - although The Guide was keenly aware she had only gone to The Crimson for a research project) she absolutely could not be convinced her 'Monster Knight Boogeyman' was a figment of her imagination. Sure, it was a rather offensive accusation, but the concept was entirely nonsensical at its very core! His darling fiancée might as well be trying to convince him that the neighbor's poodle was a dragon, or that the sky was purple!

And the oddest thing was that her schizophrenia was limited to just this one item. She behaved quite normally in nearly every other aspect of her life, save some odd bouts of forgetfulness - the foremost of which that the two of them would be married in due time (who forgets that?!).

But The Guide could deal with this. He loved The Stylist. He really did, and although she was refusing treatment for an obvious mental disorder, he loved her all the same. He had informed her in advance he was going to nag her about seeing a shrink, and she had likewise informed him she would continue to warn him The Monster Knight was prowling the streets, thirsty for his blood... and that was the agreement they came to.

They agreed to disagree and that was that. It was the only wrinkle in an otherwise harmonious relationship.

He drew a deep breath and smiled as the warm afternoon breeze flowed through his bangs. He

"Well? Isn't the sun lovely? It certainly makes you look radiant. Really we should go outside more."

"Ah- you." The Stylist was obviously annoyed with his poke at her paranoia, but appreciated the compliment nevertheless. She threaded her arm more tightly around his and reached up to adjust the wide-brimmed hat she had insisted both of them wear. Both of them stank strongly of cologne as well - The Stylist had drenched both of them in it, claiming it might help mask their scents should The Monster Knight sniff them out. Frankly, The Guide wore colonge anyways so this was... fine - but he was not fine with the wide brimmed hat. It looked ridiculous, and he wore sun-protection anyways. They had engaged in a fifteen minute argument about her infringing upon his 'fashion-autonomy' and she had countered with 'allowing' him to help her choose her dresses this afternoon. Now, thanks to his smart mouth, he was going to spend half his day in a dressing room... but at least that was better than sitting at home with four locks on the door and listening to The Stylist live out her paranoia.

"Darling, I'll have you know, I would like nothing more than to go frolicking about - and would be doing so very liberally if The Monster Knight weren't prowling the city."

"I promise, and I promise again, that you won't see The Monster Knight today, nor tomorrow, nor the rest of this week."

The Stylist sighed and shook her head. She rested her cheek against his shoulder.

"I don't know how you can be so sure... anyways, where have you booked us for brunch? Is it nearby? I'm quite famished..."

Well... he was happy enough, if not a little tired of hearing the same second hand threats over and over again. She too seemed happy, if not constantly a little worried about some imaginary threat. She really was quite obstinate about this threat and there were several occasions where she really managed to scare him about this fairytale creature - this 'wicked angel' as she described him. But ultimately, after much gentle love and care and assurances and re-assurances that the Monster Knight was not in the city, she finally felt safe enough to emerge from the house.

So of course he was happy.

He whistled a little ditty as the two of them walked arm-in-arm through The CAU district. Past the great, gothic-style buildings whose spires stretched into the clear blue sky, and whose rafters pigeons nested upon. In the distance, a flurry of bells tolled to herald the hour. Carts and small motorized cars putted through the narrow cobblestone streets, toting flowers and sweet smelling produce throughout the city for distribution. And there - standing so tall he needed to crane his neck to see the top, dressed all in white and gold and navy blue, was the large stately castle of The King himself.

And beside it-

*Boom-fwoosh*

And beside it, the southern entrance of Draedon's underground laboratory was... belching sparks and smoke. A great number of men and women wearing white lab coats milled around the small building, their hair frazzled and their documents scattered in the wind. A group of authorities were organizing the evacuees and providing medical aid to those that needed it all whilst doing their best to keep the small crown of curious onlookers at bay. And of course The Guide, a curious man by nature, immediately joined the crowd despite The Stylist's increasing nervousness.

"Guide, what if there's trouble? That's Dradeon's Lab. Who knows what sort of dangerous thing they'll be carrying out of there... Let's leave."

"Let's wait until they say what's happening, hun."

"They never announce that sort of thing! Just read it in tomorrow's paper... c'mon, please?"

She tugged insistently on his arm, but he ignored her. There were some very odd things being wheeled out of the building. Most of them were coughing people, but some must be CC Agents in their final stages of development. One man was carried out with nearly half his body mechanized. Another was a woman who seemed to have been modified for underwater reconnaissance. And the last was was a burly CC agent with a limp and a beaming smile plastered on his face. He, unlike his colleagues, seemed to be the jolly talkative sort and immediately began trying to chat up a storm with people who were obviously very busy. He was carrying another man's bare frame in his arms - a man from whose back sprouted two great wings that were splattered in blood from base to tip and trailed on the ground as they walked. The Guide nudged The Stylist and pointed at the two of them.

"Look! I told you there would be something interesting! Draedon must be trying to make an angel!"

"... what? A man with wings?"

She frowned and stood on her toes, unable to see over a particularly tall man who was standing ahead of her. The beginnings of panic began to spread over her features, but The Guide was too preoccupied with the oddities streaming out from The Laboratory to notice. He continued to chatter excitedly.

"Yup, white wings- well, red, because they're covered in blood. It looks rather painful. I wonder if they are actually capable of flight. Hm?"

The Stylist nudged him aside and took his place to look. It was brief, but the look of recognition flashed across her face before wide eyed panic took their place. When she turned to look at him, her neck was stiff and rigid. Her face was pinched and her lips pressed against each other so tightly, they had nearly turned white. She spoke in a terse whisper, but each word had a great deal of force behind it.

"Guide. Put your hand down. Now."

"..."

He frowned at her, and lowered his hand. He knew something was terribly wrong just by looking at her, and knew that now was no time for arguing. Quickly, she reached up to adjust his hat, then she adjusted hers - and immediately began dragging him away from the crowd - back they way they came. The second they rounded the corner, she broke into a run.

And no matter how much The Guide shouted after her, she didn't stop until the both of them were safely locked away at home.

"You really are one hell of a bleeding heart, Cyborg. You spend so much time on empty husks, its a wonder you have the energy for anything else! Stealing Laboratory assets is a capital offense, you know! I could have you drawn and quartered for this! Hand over the specimen immediately!"

"Me? I'm gonna be be the one drawn and quartered after your experiment went and destroyed half the fucking lab? What the hell are you on about Zoologist! I'll be surprised if you don't find yourself scrubbing toilets by weeks end!"

There were people shouting again.

People talking. People yelling. People screaming at one another. Noise and jabber and chatter and endless, endless nonsense. The Terrarian would tear their tongues from their throats if he could... but alas, his strength was once more failing him. He could hardly raise his eyelids, much less leap about, attacking all of the yapping tongues flapping so obnoxiously in his ears. How unpleasant - the way the balmy air pressed against his bare skin. The way the sun pierced his lashes and made his eyes squint and water. The way he felt the eyes of a thousand onlookers brushing over him... he hated it. He hated everything.

"I am Draedon's Chief assistant! I will not be talked down to by the common soldiery! Perhaps you think you're so high and mighty because of your rank but I -assure- you, Captain, that I will make your life a living hell if you don't hand over that body!"

"Ha! You'll make my life a living hell? As if you haven't done that already?! Look!"

The joints in The Cyborg's many armoured plates moved smoothly, but their junctures pinched viciously when he lurched forward to jab a finger at The Fox Woman. The Terrarian flinched and gritted his teeth as he felt his skin tear against metal and a slow trickle of blood begin to leak from the wounds. Why did this man decide to carry him around after they'd rescued each other from The Deerclops?! The Terrarian would have been perfectly happy being laid on the ground somewhere and left alone - but instead he was being toted about like a sack of flour with hardly the energy to even voice a complaint - much less do anything about it. Fueled by a great deal of annoyance, The Terrarian summoned a blade to his hand, yet before he could do anything with it, it slipped out of his palm and clattered to the floor where it burst into a puff of invisible dust.

The Cyborg didn't notice.

"As a 'Lowly Captain' I have the authority to enlist any willing soul into the ranks of The Empire's service - including The Imperial Army... and as far as I'm aware, you have no authority over the rank-and-file soldiery. If you want him so bad, then deal with your shitshow first, then submit your request to our new commandant demanding one of his soldiers for your experiments!"

"Are you trying to tell me that delirious winged freak is fit for Yharim's army? Ha! Don't make me laugh!"

Where was his strength!? Why had it fled him? This was worse than when he'd first woken up. Far, far worse. Everything was slow and lethargic, lead and molasses. He was continually dizzy. His head pounded and pounded, hammering frustration against the slow realization of loss. What happened to him while he slept!? He couldn't move, he couldn't heal - he was so, so tired. Did they slice him apart and remove his insides? Had they torn out his muscles and his ligaments? Perhaps, by some terrifying magic, they had emptied him of all the strength he was born with. Alas, he had been a broken man since The Guide died... but at the very least he had the physical means to protect and provide for himself. But now, even that had been taken away. That antlered creature was weak. In the past, he had slain creatures far stronger than it with minimal effort. The battle should have been easy, overwhelming, trivial, but instead he struggled and strained - employing every ounce of himself not to kill it - but to simply escape with his life.

Pathetic. Disgusting.

He had been reduced to nothing... he was utterly dependent - laying motionless in the arms of another, his wings a bloody mess trailing on the floor. He was steeped in weakness, and now there were two strangers arguing over him - bartering like one would barter over a piece of flesh at the butchers. If he could, he'd stand up and walk away. No, he'd tear the fox woman to shreds. He'd seize upon The Cyborg and demand to know what sort of nefarious scheme was hiding beneath that veneer of kindness. Then he would drown himself in the blood every one of these onlookers until he once more felt some semblance of control over this confusing mess of a life.

"Laugh all you want, Zoologist - but if you want this guy, you'll have to file that paperwork. Good luck, and good riddance, you bitch."

"Fuck you, Cyborg! I'll turn you into scrap the next time I see you! I'll rip you to shreds... (etc...)"

The chattering was dying down. The sun, no longer so bright in his eyes. He felt the ground running against the tips of his wings. There were metal plates against his cheek. Not breathing, but the buzz of electronics rang in his ear. The Cyborg was taking him away. This man had shown him great kindness since first finding him in that spiked box. He had encouraged him. He had visited him whilst ill. He had rescued him from the flames... but...

But so had The Guide.

And The Guide was a farce.

His kindness was a farce, so The Cyborg's must be as well... right?

...

He was tired.

He'd think on this... later...

This chapter took way too long ahhh. Hope you enjoy. It's kinda intimidating writing again after taking a long break because haha.

Oh, Benzene is a chemical that is oil based, but is a general solvent like water. pretty much it's water that you can't swim in. Like oil but thin. That's why Deerclops sank so fast.