:)
Weapons: None
Armour: None
Acc: (1/12) Band of Regeneration
Health: (450/500) (bloodless)
*Bang*
It was so loud, it made his head ring.
It washed every thought out of his brain, and he was left stammering, flabbergasted and confused.
...
And he wasn't confused because he hadn't seen what happened.
It wasn't because he hadn't understood what he had seen.
No, He'd seen it. He'd felt it. He heard it.
He simply couldn't believe it'd happened.
(Oh my god! Holy shit!)
(Honey! I got him! I bought us some time! Come on, let's run!)
He could barely hear The Stylist's voice as she - pistol still clutched precariously between freshly painted nails - scurried to his side and tugged on his arm, encouraging him to flee with her. There was a strange look of joy on her face. A fevered light sparkled in her eyes; a hysteric smile stretched her lips - and despite that The Stylist was as beautiful as she ever was, all The Guide felt when he looked at her was sorrow.
(Darling, please. I'll explain once we get out of here! Let's go!)
Sorrow because they were supposed to be improving! He had put so much effort into her treatment! The Stylist had been growing milder and more reasonable by the day, coping well with her paranoia and fighting against her delusions. She was no longer seeing her 'Monster Knight' in the closet, or in the sink cabinets or behind the rosebushes, and she had even begun to venture outside the house! How much time had he patiently spent counseling her? How much money had he thrown into this? reinforcing every wall, every window and every door in their house to protect against this imaginary threat...
"Ah shit, oh shit!"
This was his fault.
He never should have let her buy a gun. She had convinced him with good behavior and sweet words... and this was the result. A man dead on his university office floor. The bullet had blasted a hole through his head from point blank range; brains and pieces of skull were splattered all over his window. The Stylist had slain a CC Captain's escort right in front of the Agent's eyes, and was now trying to flee? Ridiculous. Clearly, she was unwell, and if she was unwell, then he was responsible. This was going to put him in jail... This was going to blow up his entire life...
"Hon! Let's go! We don't have much time, he'll get up soon!"
Get up? The Guide turned stiffly to look at her, and - to his great distress - found sincerity in her eyes. Did she really think this man was going to get up? There was a hole through his forehead and bloody pulp was leaking out his ears. How the hell was he going to get up?! The Guide yanked his arm out from her grasp and slowly lowered himself into his chair. He was trembling, and his voice came out a strangled whisper.
"S-stylist... what did you do?"
She didn't hesitate in her response. There was a hardness in her voice - a hardness that said she was convinced she'd done the right thing.
"I know I look crazy, but I need you to trust me. I just killed the Monster Knight, but that bastard never stays down for long. For now, we have time to run. Come. Let's go. I need you to help me explain our situation to the Agent, then we need to move to the countryside."
"Stylist, G-give me the gun."
A long pause. The Stylist narrowed her eyes.
"Guide, I need it to protec-"
*Slam*
"Damnit Stylist, Give me the fucking gun!"
He'd never yelled at her before, but he'd never been so angry at her either. He slammed his palms against the desk and raised his voice until he was nearly screaming. He grabbed for the gun in her hand, but she jumped away. She looked scared and skittish - tense as a wire as those big blue eyes considered him carefully. An expression that had once been compassion and worry morphed into into a cold, grim determination. In that moment, The Guide had given up on her. And in that same moment, in her own delusion, she gave up on him as well. She grit her teeth. She narrowed her eyes. She turned her back on him and she ran.
Gun in hand, heels flying off her feet, she ran towards the open door like a bat out of hell. She ran like she was running from the grim reaper himself. She ran like she was running for her life. Her stockinged soles pounded against the aged hardwood floor as she fled, her excessively decorated hair bobbed like a fast moving festival ornament. She skirted past the CC Agent, jumped over her victim's dead body - and managed to get halfway out the door before she was apprehended.
"Get down, you!"
*Thunk*
With an agility surprising for a man of such weight and stature, The CC Captain leapt to his feet and tackled her down until her carefully painted face was mushed against the carpet. She was, of course, thrashing and screaming like a caged animal - and in her frenzy, discharged her gun three more times before The Agent twisted it from her clenched fist. With an uncanny speed, he emptied the thing of bullets and snapped the barrel in two before skidding it across the floor and slapping a pair of cuffs on her wrist. Yet despite her own dire situation, The Stylist looked to him and pleaded through tears.
"Guide! Guide, you need to run! Please!"
"Shut up you crazy bitch!"
The CC Captain pressed her face firmly into the carpet to muffle her screaming and barked loudly at him. His friendly demeanor from earlier was entirely gone and now he looked quite threatening indeed. The glowing blue lights that beamed out from his visor took a darker sheen, and various dollies and diodes in his joints whirred up and emitted hydraulic steam. It was only when The Captain jabbed an authoritative finger at him that The Guide realized short, steel tipped claws had slipped out to cover The Agent's fingertips.
"You! Don't move. Put your hands behind your head and lay on the floor."
"Uh-"
"Professor, Down on the floor! I will break every bone in your body if you fail to comply!"
"Run! The Monster Knight will come back for you. He's hunting you! You need to run! Go! Please!"
*Cough-Cough*
Cacophony. Everyone was yelling at him, yet somehow - something overlayed it all. The voice wasn't loud, neither was it particularly unique... but it did have some sort of ethereal quality to it that could only be recognized when in contest with background noise. The Guide froze and cocked his head to listen. The CC Captain reacted similarly, frowning and swiveling his head to look around. The Stylist's hysterical screaming became even more hysterical. She pointed a cracked nail at the dead body and shrieked like a banshee.
"Guide! Guide, get away! Kill him! Kill him or he'll kill you! Get your gun and kill him! Guide please! Believe me!-mmph."
And had The Guide not been watching a man with half of his brain matter splattered over the wall struggling to sit up - he really would never have believed her. In fact, he scarcely even believed his own eyes. Was this man really alive? Was he not complicit in murder? The man coughed a few times (each time he coughed, blood spilled out the hole in his forehead. The scene would have been comical had it not been so grotesque.) then spoke aloud. His tone was breathy and rough, and as angry as it was exhausted.
"...Guide."
He's alive!
A thrill ran through him. A thrill of relief, but relief tempered by The Stylist's warning. Relief because being complicit in attempted murder was far better than complicit with actual murder... but fear because The Stylist was right. Was... was this man really was some kind of boogeyman? Because The Guide hadn't ever heard of somebody with a fist-sized hole in their head stand up and talk. But here he was, climbing up to his feet and leaking from his bullet wound like a loose faucet, and saying his name. The man raised his eyes and looked at him, that pale gaze uncanny and unsettling. Something savage and frightful was boiling beneath. He spoke like death on sandpaper.
"Guide...you don't run?"
"...n-no? Why would I? Are you alright? Uh..."
No response. A long silence. The Guide narrowed his eyes and bit down on his lip as he watched The Pale-Eyed man approach his desk and pluck a letter opener off the table. Despite that he was... clearly very injured, the man's movements didn't betray it. He moved as if he hadn't been injured a day in his life. He bounced the letter opener's blade in his hand for a short moment, before raising it to The Guide's face - mere inches from his forehead. He spoke again, his voice slow and ethereal over The Stylist's muffled screaming.
"Guide... do you know who I am?"
The Guide was beginning to grow wary and indignant. He huffed and backed up a few paces.
"No! I've never seen you before in my life. And would you please put that down? I've had enough of crazy people flailing weapons around today, and-Keuk!"
The tip of the letter opener suddenly jabbed forward with enough force that it drew blood. The Guide panicked and leapt back, only to find that The Pale-Eyed man had leapt with him - over the desk and tackled him to the floor. In an instant, the man grabbed him by the throat and squeezed until something cracked. The other arm was raised, the letter opener clenched in its fist. The man's eyes were wild and blown wide in hate. His nostrils flared, his teeth gritted in a bloody grimace, his lips pulled so far back on his face, his gums were entirely exposed. His teeth clicked. His voice grew into a snarl. He... he really did look like a Boogeyman! Hell! Was The Stylist right all along? Was he simply writing off her warnings as paranoia?! Was... was this man the-
"Are you... M-monster... Knight?"
His voice came out strangled. The world was becoming fuzzy.
The man paused and considered him briefly, pale eyes stark white against the scarlet dribbling down his face. After a moment he emitted a dry, humorless chuckle.
"Good that you know."
Then the blade came down like a chisel.
Like a nail hammered through a grape.
Pain.
Then... black.
She was running.
She had to. She knew she wasn't skilled enough for her place to be cemented within Draedon's ranks... indeed, nobody but Draedon himself was considered 'essential'. It didn't matter how much of a big shot you thought you were... the standard was perfection, and those that did not meet that standard were expendable.
And The Zoologist was damn near perfect.
But it wasn't enough.
Her research... her 'find'. Her acquisition of that blood sample chock full of life-giving mana crystals which may just be from an extract from a real, living terrarian - was now being taken over by Draedon, who had henceforth judged her incompetent to lead the project. She had messed up by letting the Deerclops go free and its precious blood sample flush away through the drainage tubes. She'd messed up because part of the laboratory was destroyed. She'd messed up because a bunch of he coworkers had gotten trampled and crushed by falling debris... and now, she was off her own project.
And now that she thought carefully about it, nobody survived being 'off' such a high profile project.
The man who first discovered the best way to preserve the gene splices for Gen 2 CC? Where was he now? What about the scientist that found the best way to make flesh circuits? Hadn't she disappeared? The Zoologist had never asked these sorts of questions to herself until today. She never imagined that they would apply to her... until they did.
Because, unless she ran, unless she hid - she would not survive this.
And so - she was running.
Running through the rain with her white laboratory coat shredded and stained with blood.
A large vial of blood sloshing, pressed between the fur on her chest and her wickedly sharp claws.
On three limbs, she leapt from rooftop to rooftop - her monthly bloodlust sated, her belly fully of her collegues hearts.
And the full moon hung low.
Watching as the fox woman vanished into the bowels of the city.
Thanks for reading. Sorry for the upload schedule.