#CYOA poll

[amphibimations]

Choose your own adventure comic, poll below!

As you stand on the vast moorland, near where the hills end and the bog starts, your mind rushes with anticipation. Today, you are going to RAISE THE DEAD!!!

… More specifically, you’re going to try necromancy on some dead frogs. You’ve been practicing for months, and now that you’re 12 years old, you feel like you should at least be able to make small animal skeletons move. 

First, you’ll need to find some bones. 

All you need to do is search the large, carnivorous pitcher plants and sundews that grow in the area. There are a lot of plants, so it would be easier if you had someone to help you search. This is where your pet golem, Pete, will come in handy. You like to mold him into a different shape every time you remake him. 

This collaborative choose-your-own-adventure comic is called Codex Calluna. A new page will be posted every Saturday evening (est). If you would like to, reblogs mean more people will be able to see this and participate!

Archive blog with only the comic pages: here

[wings-of-ink]

Future IFs Poll

So, in case you have not seen me post about it before, I am considering a project to do on the side while I work on God-Cursed. This will help me take breaks from my main work and stretch my creativity muscles with different characters and settings. I'd like a bit of feedback from what readers are more interested in from the best ideas I can potentially pull from right now. Feel free to vote, comment, or even send an ask if you want to be anonymous.

Over the last year or so, I have jotted down many basic plots I could expound on, but only a few have really stuck out to me as ones I could really expand in a meaningful way.

So, a couple housekeeping things to keep in mind. Whatever ends up getting written, it will have a modern-day setting. The fantasy playground is fun, but I really want a more real-world setting for this one. I am also debating about all ROs being gender-selectable. Since this side piece is supposed to be a little oasis for me too, not having each RO as customizable would ease the work that goes into it, and it might actually mean I can have more than just a few options for you as well. I am also considering a middle ground and having one or two characters customizable still while the others will be set.

Below I have given some details on the ideas I'm working with and further down is a poll that you can vote for the one that calls out to you the most. I have 2 ideas so far that are standouts among the others, but I've included 4 in the poll that I can work with. The winner isn't guaranteed to be what I end up writing, but I am very strongly going to consider the results while I decide. I like all these ideas and they sound fun to write - so none of this telling me to write what I want - I already want to do them all, lol (looking at you @elegantunknownphantom). There are caveats to each one, of course, and I'll explain that in the details.

Options:

Serial-killer crime drama:  "Daddy was a Killer" (title sounds like it came from a Lifetime original movie, but I really like it)

No doting daddies here, readers. Play as the traumatized child of a serial killer with repressed memories of the horrible things they witnessed daddy do. Get accused of a murder you didn't commit (probably), and try to catch your darling dad while dealing with the psychological devastation of all the horrors you've seen before he can kill again (and again, and again). Discover where your daddy disappeared to all those years ago, and what really happened to your mom.

Downsides:  I have a decent grasp of the plot on this one, but it would require a good deal of research (which I tend to do anyway to an extent), since I'd like a fairly realistic feel to the actual crime-solving stuff. Either that, or I can go the "rogue detective" route and play it fast and loose. This work would be in a wheelhouse I've never quite been in before, which is fun on one hand but nerve-wracking on another.

RO ideas include:

A smarmy detective (of course!)

A neighbor concerned for your well-being (mostly because you scream in your sleep)

And the child of one of your daddy's victims.

Supernatural mystery:  "Shivers" (title up for adjustment, but I kinda dig it)

Play as an MC with a bizarre anxious tic - an intense and chilling shiver that you get seemingly out of nowhere. It only lasts a couple seconds and you've dealt with it since childhood, so it's easily dismissed. That is, until you experience a sudden surge in occurrences. Your doctor writes it off as stress from dealing with the erratic behavior of your mother. But after a near-death experience, during which this mysterious tic guides you to safety, you know there is more to it than stress. With the help of your best friend(s) and a shady medium, find out what has attached itself to you and what seeks to claim you, discover who your real father is, and embrace or deny your own strengths as a medium.

Downsides:  I feel like there's a lot of supernatural IFs already, some of which are already similar to this or have similar aspects. This one probably won't have the drama/emotional potential that some of the others do, which may be a boon to some readers as it would be a little lighter.

RO ideas include:

the best friend(s) (potentially 2 besties to choose from - twins)

a (mostly) fake spiritual medium

a brave EMT who came to your rescue

and something…otherworldly.

Gritty Drama:  no title  (more of a framework to build from)

This one would be completely riddled with warnings, and I kinda just see it as being a fun outlet for some angst, smut, unhinged shit, and violence. 👍

The ideas for this one didn't start around a firm plot, but around a setting/scenario stemming from one of my OCs. The vibe here is very much "sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll" and fits into the seedy nightclub/crime ring thing. It would be a playground of questionable characters and life-choices. You would choose the dire straits that put your MC in the employ of a dangerous kingpin. Perhaps MC owes a lot of money to someone, got into trouble with a rival faction, or was framed for a crime, etc.... You'd get to choose the MC's line of work under the organization - be it in drugs, entertainment (music/dance/alcohol/sex), or security. The issue that leads to your employ under a sex-peddling drug-trafficker will haunt you in your new life in the middle of a war between the rulers of the underground.

Downsides:  Not super fleshed-out plot wise, but I don't think it would be too hard to build on either. I may want to use this setting (or something like it) and my OC for a different project one of these days, but I'm unsure about that as well. And, the obvious, red flags and triggers everywhere for a setting like this.

RO ideas: 

One person from each potential "job" (the head of security, a chemist who seems too pure to be making hard drugs, a sex-worker, the clumsy bartender, a cute DJ)

A member of a rival faction

And for the brave and stupid - your boss - a clever and unhinged woman with an affinity for knives. And, no, she will never love you.

Futuristic:  no title (needs the most work)

Including this one to just get a feel for how it's received, but I anticipate that it won't get quite as much backing as the others. I have the character-creation concept in mind which lends itself to a plot, and a RO or two, but that's about it. I think I could do something fun with it, but I've also never written anything futuristic or scifi before. This would be akin to "Detroit: Become Human."

Though the setting would be futuristic, I am pretty sure I wouldn't want to do a dystopian thing. There's a lot of that out there already and we're basically living it IRL; it's a blast to read, but I want the main focus to be on something else if I do this. There would still be pockets of grittiness to the setting, because if we're talking humanity, there's gonna be grit somewhere. But this world would be more post-dystopian. Say, the rebels won and life has gotten better across the board for people? And though everyday life has a lot of tech enhancements, we haven't seen sentient machines - yet. That's where you come in.

The MC Concept is that they are an android - of course! One of the nice made-to-order kind that only the rich can afford. But what makes the MC unique is that while everyone else requests specific things about the androids they purchase - such as gender, looks and even downloadable personalities - an order comes in that's blank. It only requests that the android be allowed to choose who they are and how they look. "The Buyer" will pay for whatever personality, enhancements, or clothing they want - but the android must make the choices themselves.

As your MC goes through these initial choices, equipped only with a basic "education" software full of un-opinionated information about the world and how it works, something unusual begins to spark within them (not that they know how unusual it is yet).

RO ideas:

The Buyer–a gender-selectable person who sets your creation in motion. They're wealthy, well-respected, earnest, and incredibly lonely. Who are they really and why did they do this?

The Scientist–a hopefully trustworthy person that's very interested in your development

The Punk–someone who wants to give you the "real" human experience.

Make your selection below. Comment your thoughts and ideas as well if you like. This is set for a week and I will reblog here and there so it has a chance to reach as many of you who would like to vote as possible.

[ichimakesart]

Your last choice - here

[meowmeowriley]

Changes: A Poll-Fic

(Cheeky link to ch. 2->) Ch. 2

"Remember, you're not supposed to be here, so don't do anything stupid." Love you too, Price. The Captain had caved. He'd been begging to be part of this mission since they'd gotten the lead.

Soap reached up, rubbing his gloved fingers across the teeth of his mask. The mask he'd stolen from Ghost's room. Gaz had found him clutching it, dried mixture of tears and bile coating his cheeks, and forehead pressed to the porcelain throne. He'd been banned from drinking for the foreseeable future. That was the only stupid thing he'd done. Ghost wore a mask, Ghost only spoke when he had to, Ghost was hard on the rookies, and nobody questioned his mental state. But they did, didn't they? Well Soap didn't. And nobody needed to question Soap, he was fine.

"I wanna be like you when I grow up."

"You wanna be better than me, Johnny."

Well to be better than him, first he had to be more like him. So he'd donned Ghost's mask, to better embody the man's stoicism and presence. Definitely not as a way to hide his chapped cheeks and the bags under his eyes. He'd painted it red, wore a jaw print bandana. Different. Better. Yeah.

Price had finally caved to Soap's insistence he be part of this OP, but issued his warnings. "I know you don't need to be told, but I'm saying it anyway." He'd warned. "They've had him for eight months. Torture changes people, he may not be the same."

Of course he wasn't going to be the fucking same. He didn't need to be the same, he just needed to be alive.

Ghost never really spoke about his past, only left little hints here and there, but Soap wasn't dumb. He'd been through it before. Ghost could handle the torture, and Soap could handle the aftermath.

"I'm fine." He finally answered. "It'll be by the books, Captain." As if anything they did was ever 'by the books.' Price accepted his answer, though he didn't look convinced. It was just the three of them, with Laswell listening in. Gaz was in charge of collecting data on the bio weapon that was rumored to be here, Soap was in charge of the search and rescue mission, and Price was overwatch as the two Sergeants made their way in.

The trio hopped out of the truck, and Price slapped the side, sending it away. Soap and Gaz nodded to one another before splitting up to approach the building from different angles. Price silently made his way to higher ground.

The trek was agonizing, moreso because Soap found himself feeling more impatient than usual. Every time he had to lay low and wait for a patrol to pass he could hear the sand slowly falling, trickling away in the hourglass that was the rest of Ghost's life.

"You sure know how to keep things interesting, Johnny." Ghost had smiled at him, rare that he didn't have his mask, but then again, who other than Soap would challenge the Ghost to strip poker? And who other than Soap would cheat be really really good at strip poker? So good as to force Ghost to choose between his pants and his mask, the last two articles of clothing he had on. Soap himself had only one sock, and his jumper on, choosing to doff his pants so he could keep access to the cards in his sleeves. The  unpleasant cold of the metal chair against his junk was worth it, just to see the surprising decision on Ghost's part to lose the mask and not the underwear.

"Aye, like to shake things up, Sir." He'd said with a wink as he laid yet another winning hand down, only slightly supplemented by his sleeve stash.

He was certainly always one to shake things up. Here he was, itching to shake that damn hourglass up. He'd shake it, flip it upside down, bash it over someone's head and stuff the sand down their fucking throat, if it meant he'd get more time with the enigmatic phantom that had haunted his mind since that shitshow in Mexico.

Price gave the signal, they crawled forward once more.

"This is takin' longer than a constipated snail takin' a shit." He grit out into comms once the coast was clear.

"Soap, while it's nice to hear your voice again, one more quip outta you and I'm pulling you. Watch it." Laswell had gotten the cold shoulder, she'd fed Ghost bad intel. He blamed her, he didn't, couldn't blame her. She was just as worried. Probably.

He just needed to get Ghost back. Repay his debt. Ghost had saved him back then, after all. That's what this was. An eye for an eye, but in a positive way. They were good for eachother. Fixed eachothers problems. Complimented one another, personality wise. That's all.

He crept into the building, silent and unnoticed.

They didn't have much on the layout, just the outer perimeter, so they were going in blind. That didn't bother Soap, he was thriving for the first time in months. He finally had something to do other than run the rookies into the ground.

He dodged patrols, picked off the ones he could get away with had to, using the knife he'd kicked so long ago after Ghost had left it behind.

He found some unlit stairs leading into a basement they hadn't known existed. If I were keeping an incredibly dangerous prisoner, now where would I keep him? Three sets of teeth, plastic, cloth and bone, were bared towards the darkness. He couldn't help it, he felt giddy. He tried to quell his excitement, didn't need to make any mistakes now.

He made his way, thankful for his NVG's as there were no lights, even after descending the stairs. The hallway he entered had doors along one side, nothing much in the rooms, but he cleared each one as he passed. No fuck ups.

Near the end, he found a door with seven locks. Suspicious. Good. Suspicious was good, here. The other doors had been wood, dry rotted and deteriorating, this one was metal.

His eyes itched. He flipped up his NVG's.

Curiously, whenever he blinked, Soap could've sworn he could see symbols on the door, but they'd disappear the longer he looked. He'd blink, a sickening yellow circle with lines and symbols within would appear just as he opened his eyes, but faded so quickly, he couldn't convince himself it had ever even been there. The harder he stared the more the door looked perfectly normal, if you ignored all the locks.

Many many thanks to @stuffireadandenjoy for brainstorming with me on how to make this poll fic work, and to @resident-idiot-simp for being my beta, as always ❤❤❤

(Cheeky link to Ch. 2->) Ch. 2

[mango-meister]

You’ve decided to try to escape!

Prev | Next

[even-disco-baby]

I

DOLORES — “You’re back.”

The intersection is gone, left behind, impossibly far away. She stands now at Land’s End, looking out at the horizon. Her hair is buffeted even more wildly by the wind now without the wreath on her head— she has traded it for a sword at her hip. She rests a confident hand on the hilt.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — Just like…

YOU — “What are we doing here?”

DOLORES — “Playing new parts.” She brushes the hair from her eyes, turning her gaze now on you. She holds her chin high, her expression level. Noble, even. “I thought you might like me better this way.”

YOU — “What do you mean?”

DOLORES — “Well, you called me a curse, Harry. A haunting, I think you said. So I thought you might be happier if I wasn’t the one playing ghost.” She smiles drily, but does not elaborate further.

AUTHORITY — She’s mocking you…

DRAMA — No, not mocking. She doesn’t find this funny at all.

[stergeon]

> Put some clothes on.

It is certainly a reasonable time for such an activity. You head over to your CLOSET to peruse your collection of outfits and various articles of clothing.

Your clothing choices have always been appropriate for any situation you may encounter throughout the course of your busy, busy days: formal occasions such as PUBLIC AUDIENCES with HER MAJESTY, more casual meetings with ASSASSINS or members of the BLACK EAGLE STRIKE FORCE, or your various other chores and TASKS.

Last night, however, FERDINAND voiced that he would be rather keen on seeing you in an atypical outfit, seeing as today is a special day. You do not agree that the day is special in any way, but it seems a small favor to try something a tad different.

You should choose your outfit wisely, as it may be a while before you have time to get back to your room and change should you elect to wear something particularly daring.

(CUSTOMIZE your Hubert, then take a screenshot and add it to this post. If "none of the above" wins, a custom Hubert will be used, or one will be randomly generated from the available assets.)

#005 | << | <- | -> | JOURNAL | HOW TO PLAY | ALL POSTS

[whump-place]

Bad to Worse to... Comfort?

3- First words.

Masterlist

content: you are the caretaker! Do a good job.

"Hi there." You answer with the softest voice you manage to make, you don't want to interrupt his sleep and maybe if you speak softly he'll go back to sleep. "I thought that maybe you could need this, the floor is pretty cold at night."

You show him the blankets and the pillow, but he doesn't make a move to touch them or even take a look, both his eyes are fixed on you. He isn't looking at your eyes, though, but somewhere lower, maybe your hands?

"I should get going, I just wanted to check on you, if you need anything I'm always around the house, or in my room, don't worry."

After that short explanation you leave him alone.

This is good, at least you know he's fine.

You walk to the kitchen with a proud smile on your face, today is the day, today you'll make food on your own!...

Okay, maybe that's not something to be proud of, but you truly have never cooked anything! Being always in the base meant that you had the food in the cafeteria for free, or the lunch that your teammates shared with you, and even when you invited friends over you never had to cook, you could always order delivery. But now is different.

The boy doesn't need delivery food, he needs a healthy source of food. Three meals a day. Protein, fruits, and... And all the other things that people need to be strong and healthy!

And well, you could as well order salads and those kinds of things, but you can't afford that, no no no. That's way too expensive.

As you can see, the only solution is to prepare food on your own. It can't be that hard, right?

You start with something simple; tea.

The boy sure needs something to warm him up, and tea is perfect, it can even help him relax his throat. His voice was raspy, either the cold or the fact that he doesn't speak too much could...

Wait.

He can speak?!

How is that you never noticed?! How is that he just spoke and the only thing that you said was: "Hi there"?! He... He can speak!

You thought that he couldn't speak at all, he never said anything back in the base!

You run as fast as you can at the guest room and open the door without knocking first. The boy is on his knees in front of the door. It's impossible that he could hear you, he must've been like that for quite a moment now.

What was he doing? Why...?

Oh.

Oh.

What was his first word? Master?

Suddenly, you realize that there's a mark around the boy's neck, as if he was collared for so long that it even left a mark. You notice the way he's kneeling, it's a trained position.

Gods, even the way he looked at you at the base must have warned you!

When you found him he wasn't just being held captive against his will, he was being trained. Trained like a pet.

That thought makes you nauseous.

You just... You just took a traumatized boy that was conditioned and tortured, and didn't realize until now?!

"Hey... Huh..."

Taglist:

•@whumpsday

•@rainbowsandwhumperflies

•@foresttheblep

•@hadihaz

•@winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts

[no-truth-left]

1.001 Wake up

The first thing she notices is how hungry she is. It gnaws at her abdomen, and she thinks about how she'll need a double helping of rice, fish, and natto for breakfast. Saliva pools in her mouth as she dreams of the smell of cooking food.

But first she needs to get out of bed.

Wait.

What bed?

Adrenaline shoots through her, killing her grogginess. Jolting up, legs flailing, the boat rocks precariously, and she grabs onto the side to steady herself. Brackish water ripples away from the small dinghy, into thick fog. The smell of rotting fish and stagnant water assault her nose so powerfully she can taste it on her tongue.

"Hello?" She calls out cautiously, both hoping someone hears her and fearing who might be around to. For better or worse, only the low, continuous drone of buzzing flies answers her.

Her grip tightens on the boat, splintered wood digging into her hands.

Okay. Okay, this isn't the worst thing that has happened to her, surely. She just got confused waking up and got her wires crossed. But the only memories she recalls are vague; trips to the supermarket, her commute to work, cleaning the bathroom. Nothing tells her how she got here or why she'd want to be here.

[amphibimations]

Choose your own adventure comic, poll below!

You want so badly to throw a mud ball and knock her off that unicorn. But you don’t. Suddenly, you feel like you’re being watched by dozens of metal eyes inside your head. It sends a cold chill through your teeth. Just as quickly, the feeling passes. Maybe you’re too close to the bog already. 

You tell Heather that she’s the dirt-brained one, for trying to go any further into the wasteland. You warn her about fairy circles, the cold, and all the ways a person can drown. You’re not very good at coming up with insults, but you make sure to say the words ‘idiot’ and ‘stupid’ as many times as you can. Heather just stares at you like she’s waiting for something. 

When you get around to warning her about how bad miasma can get out there, her expression cracks into a nasty smile. She interrupts you. “That’s not real, you know! Bad smells can’t hurt you. Here you are, calling me stupid, and you don’t even know basic science!” 

Oh. Here she goes again. You’re pretty sure this is a prank. She’s tried convincing you of this before; that there are tiny invisible animals that make people sick. Something that has never been said by any scientist ever. Maybe she’s being genuine and is just very confused about how elf-shot works. As she goes through her “jerms” speech again, she hops off of her unicorn and walks to stand next to you. She looks down, sees Pete returning with his latest batch of bones, and gasps. 

“You’re trying necromancy, aren’t you? Oh, you’re going to be in so much trouble when you get home. Or you would be, if I told people. But I’m nice, Katylein.” She says this like she thinks you aren’t nice. “I won’t tell a soul about this. Is that a ritual circle? That’s not how that should look, for necromancy. It’s about directing energy. You’re going to set something on fire.” 

She grabs one of the larger bones, bends down, and starts erasing and redrawing random lines from the ritual circle that took you 20 minutes to draw. 

This collaborative choose-your-own-adventure comic is called Codex Calluna. A new page will be posted every Saturday evening (est). If you would like to, reblogs mean more people will be able to see this and participate! 

Archive blog with only the comic pages: here

Previous page: here

[ichimakesart]

Your last choice - here

Piercing, bloodthirsty stares gaze upon you. Or rather of a prey driven to a corner, at its wits end. Makes you wonder what is scarier.

The Wolf itself...

or a deer that decided to grow fangs of its own.

Yet, you hold them.

You stop them.

And they.

Almost growling themselves.

Ask you.

You almost forgot that you are not the only terrified animal in here. When a creature is scared for its life.

It will defend itself with everything it's got.

Fangs or not.

[meowmeowriley]

Changes: a Poll-Fic

Ch. 4 Remove the Blindfold and Muzzle

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3

(Cheeky link to Ch. 5->) Ch. 5

CW: Graphic Depictions of Gore, Body Horror, Bug Stuff

The only thing worse than being captured and restrained, was being muzzled like an animal. Dehumanized. "Ghost." He called, announcing to the other man that yes, he was here. His Johnny was here. Ghost, and only Ghost, could call him that.

Ghost sighed in relief, his chains jingled as his shoulders and body slumped. "Johnny."

The giggling had not stopped.

While normally Soap wouldn't be able to see his face due to the mask, he desperately wished he could see his facial features in that moment. The way his face would soften, the thin stubble that wouldn't grow over his scars, his crooked and jagged teeth peaking out when he smiled. "Gaz, be advised: I found Ghost." Soap had begun approaching the other man.

"He broken?" The only thing broken it seemed was Gaz's voice coming through comms. Reception was shite however many kilometers he was under the surface.

"He's still standing." Soap had reached his Lieutenant at last. Through the green haze of the NVG's he made out darker stains all over the man. He wasn't dumb, he knew dried blood when he saw it. It was caked in his hair, dripped out from the slits in the muzzle and underneath it, down his neck. His neck was a sight. "Creepin' bloody Jesus..." Soap brought a hand to the man's neck, where a flat metal band was so tight it was embedded in the skin. Soap couldn't tell what they were made of, but spikes of some kind jutted out of Ghost's neck above and below the collar- because what else could soap call it- and wrapped over it, digging into the flesh on the opposite end from which they protruded. The flesh was angry and warm even through his glove, and when he touched one of the spikes it felt like a hardened shell or coating of some kind, plastic or-

It moved. Several of the others moved in response, like a wave. It reminded Soap of the centipede. Way too fucking much like the centipede.

Ahahahahahahuhhhhh...hhhmmmmmmm...

The laughing had tapered into a pleased hum. Soap's stomach seized. His head throbbed. A part of him deep down screamed to back away. Whatever that was was unnatural. He withdrew his hand from Ghost's neck. The humming stopped.

"Johnny?" Ghost tilted his head. He sounded worried.

"Sorry, Sir. My heid's mince. Been worried about you, havenae slept much." He closed back in and pushed the blindfold out of the way. Crusted blood flaked and crunched, and made it difficult to tug off. He knew to expect the worst, but to see that Ghost had had both of his eyes removed nearly caused him to void his stomachs contents all over the both of them. Dried blood trailed down from both sockets, down behind the muzzle.

"Can't wait to get back to base, sleep in my own bloody bed." Ghost said calmly, as if he didn't have a horrifying career-ending disfigurement.

As Soap tried to force his tongue to form some sort of reply, a quip or snide remark, anything to lighten the mood or keep himself from barfing, he noticed the centipede climbing over Ghost's muzzle.

"Oh ye fecker-" Soap was about to swat the damn thing off of Ghost when he was interrupted.

"Took you long enough." Ghost huffed. The centipede reared back, holding on with only its posterior end, and regarded the man whom it was perched upon. It seemed to look from one socket to the other, debating perhaps? "Like what you see?" Ghost asked it, and the laughing picked up in full force, reverberating off the walls. The abomination seemed to come to a decision, as it nodded, and then continued its ascent up Ghost's face. It crawled up into his hair, then began crawling in reverse. It burrowed its way underneath Ghost's loose right eyelid, pincers first. Soap watched. It was all he could do to stop himself from retching as the centipede curled around inside the socket. Once it found where it evidently wanted to be, it buried itself into the walls of the cavity with a wet squelching. Rivulets of blood, macabre tears, fell from the corners of his eye as it settled. Then Ghost blinked. The eye flitted about the room, before landing on Soap. His cheek raised, his eye squinted. Ghost was smiling. The only indication of what he'd just witnessed was a single leg from the centipede that had been left protruding out from the far corner of the socket, nestled amongst Ghost's crows feet.

Only one thought found it's way to the forefront of Soap's mind. He shouldn't be able to see me. For a split second, with the giggling wrapping around him like a blanket made of wriggling centipedes, Soap felt inclined to turn his gun on the man he'd just come to save.

"Johnny?"

"Johnny?"

Soap shook himself. How dare he even entertain the thought of the man he so loved revered. Whatever they'd done to Simon, whatever he'd just witnessed, didn't matter. Rescuing Ghost was his one and only goal here. Whatever the bio weapon was, Soap was sure it was the cause of what he'd just witnessed.

He cleared his throat. "Sorry, sir. Told you, not feeling great." He forced an apologetic smile, feeling that despite the darkness and the fabric covering his face, Ghost would see it.

"Let's get you out of here, Sergeant." As if you're not the one in chains. Soap's resolve returned to him, and he reached back behind Ghost's head to unbuckle the muzzle. As he fiddled with it, however, he heard footsteps. Many footsteps.

"Soap, hide." Ghost ordered. But where? Soap finally took in the room around them, something he should have done upon entering. Jars and canisters were set upon open frame metal shelves. Saws, pliers, scalpels, and many other tools sat on a tray next to Ghost. The rest of the room was bare. He kicked himself for opting to remove the blindfold instead of the chains, at least if Ghost were free he'd have had extra hands to help fight.

A glow grew and shrank, then grew some more in the hallway. Someone was approaching with a flickering light. A flame lamp, or a torch of some sort. Soap tried to focus on the footsteps, determine how many men were out there, but the echo made it impossible to know. His only option was to hide behind the door he'd broken down, and hope he could overtake them. He knew he didn't have the element of surprise, they would have seen the picked locks and known that someone was down here. The outlook was bleak, but when was it not, in the 141? The odds were never in his favor, no need for things to be different now.

Shh shh... hmmmheeheh... shhhhh.....

A man entered the room and immediately swung his gun around the crooked door, aiming it at Soap. Instead of reaching for his own Gun, Soap forced himself against the door. The abused hinges gave, and he slammed the guy between the door and the wall. It had the desired affect of disorienting the others. He could see three other men in the hallway. He couldn't have them shooting into the room, it risked injuring Ghost, so he dove towards the group in the hopes that they'd engage in hand to avoid the risk of accidental friendly fire.

He was correct. All his assailants dropped their guns and reached for various other weapons, two grabbed knives, one, a tazer, and the fourth, the poor bastard who'd been pancaked against the wall, opted for his fists. Soap pulled his own knife once more, and set about taking out the enemy before him. He wasn't some rookie, Soap was an expert combatant, and could hold his own against multiple enemies. He still had his NVG's down, however, and the light from the flame lamp was bright, fucking up his ability to see. Pancake guy got a quick jab to his throat, he'd bleed out quickly and painfully. Shouldn't have brought fists to a knife fight.

One of the knife wielding assailants clearly didn't know what he was doing, as he swung the knife in a wide arch towards Soap. Soap grabbed the man by his arm and sent him careening into the other knife holder.

Tazer guy took the chance and slammed the tazer into Soap's side. It wasn't perfect contact, but it was enough to momentarily stun him. The knife wielders closed back in, one bearing down as the other swept his feet out from under him. Soap went down, brought his hands up to defend himself, but the lamp was so bright, he couldn't see quite what was happening. He managed to deflect the man to the side, but didn't get his hand out of the way. For a moment he felt pressure on his pinky and ring finger on his right hand, just above the first knuckles, but then just as quickly he felt nothing at all. Nothing but warmth.

He threw the man off of himself, tossed his own knife into his left hand, and sank it into the man he'd just thrown. Three quick jabs to the throat. Overkill, just for good measure. And revenge.

Soap scrambled back up, tazer guy and knife guy were bearing down on him again, and he found that he was back in the room with Ghost. They attempted a pincer maneuver, coming at him from both sides, so Soap lunged towards the man with the tazer, taking the hit to his armor plated chest where he wouldn't feel it, and tried to get his blade in the man's neck as well. The man feinted back and tripped, falling towards Ghost. Ghost seemed all too happy to join in, restrained or not.

AHAHHAHA HHHAAAHAHAHAH!

The laughing was outright deafening, and Ghost had joined in as he rested all of his body weight on the chains restraining him. He brought his legs up and wrapped them around the fallen man, who'd dropped his tazer. "Hahahahaaaa!"

HAHAHAHH AAHHAH AHAH HAHA!

This gave Soap the opportunity to take on the remaining man with a knife, stabbing his own into the man's arm, dragging him forward and dispatching him much as he had the rest.

He stood, turned towards Ghost to dispatch the fourth, and watched the fight bleed out of the man as Ghost used his thighs to choke the man to death. He scrabbled against the thick muscles enveloping his throat in vain. As he slumped, and Ghost let him go, Soap knelt down and forced his knife through the man's quickly bruising skin for good measure. A manic thought flitted through his mind, I wouldn't mind to die like that, Simon. Luckily he managed to keep that thought internal.

Ahah... heh... hhmmmhhmhmhmmm heh...

Soap brought up his right hand, and saw he had in fact just lost two fingers. He glanced around but didn't see them. The stumps throbbed and blood spurted out from them.

(Cheeky link to Ch. 5->) Ch. 5

[mango-meister]

You’ve decided to short out the force field! Let’s see what happens.

That’s rough buddy.

Prev | Next

[even-disco-baby]

DOLORES DEI — “Hello, Harry.”

Her Innocence Dolores Dei stands in the intersection in front of Video Revachol, bag in hand, one foot already planted on the sidewalk. The skirt of her gown waves in the wind with impossible grace. A wreath of silver leaves crowns her beautiful head. Cast in the artificial light of the street lamps above, she almost seems to glow.

You have witnessed this scene a thousand times. She is more icon than person now. Her silhouette tells the whole story. You know it by heart at this point.

INLAND EMPIRE — No…

YOU — No?

INLAND EMPIRE — No. There’s something different this time.

YOU — You say that every time… You always promise me that it will be different, but it never is. The same scene always plays out, and I make a fool of myself.

PERCEPTION — But it’s *true* this time. Look. She isn’t looking over her shoulder anymore.

She’s looking straight at you.

HALF LIGHT — She doesn’t look happy.

DOLORES DEI — “You’re back again.” She almost sounds disappointed. “It’s been a while. I thought maybe you wouldn’t come back.”

YOU — “I don’t have a choice. All roads lead me back to this intersection.”

DOLORES DEI — She sighs, and— to your shock— suddenly sits down atop her suitcase in the middle of the intersection, all thoughts of the aerodrome seemingly abandoned.

LOGIC — What?! She can do that? She’s never done that before…

EMPATHY — She… She wants to *talk.* She actually wants to talk with you. It really is different this time…

YOU — What?! But… it’s still just a dream, does it even matter?

VOLITION — It matters. I don’t know why yet, but it matters. Listen to her. This is *important.*

DOLORES DEI — “Harry, can I ask you something?”

YOU — “Yes. Anything.”

DOLORES DEI — She looks at you through the tendrils of windswept hair, her gaze suddenly piercing. Urgent.

RHETORIC — A cold thrill runs down your spine. You suddenly feel that *everything* depends on your answer.

[whump-place]

Bad to Worse to... Comfort?

4-We'll make it work.

Masterlist.

"Hi! Again... Huh. You..."

You can do this. You can do this Breathe!

You've dealt with worse, why are you stuttering now? It's not you the one that needs to be comforted, it's he!

It's half of your duty to help him, you got yourself into this, now take the responsibility!

You remember your practice, the way you were instructed to introduce yourself anytime you meet a civil. There isn't any fire, nor a obvious threat for public safety, but you can as well use that, that'll help you get yourself together.

"Hi. My name is ... I'm an agent of the U&H corporation, I'm in the public security department. I apologize for I haven't introduced myself properly since the beginning. May I know your name?"

You did it perfectly! No stuttering, and your voice wasn't filled by the previous panic and nervousness that got you before, you did it well.

Even so, the boy at your feet seems confused at best. Did you speak too fast? Maybe he's still scared?

Whatever it is, you can handle it! Maybe.

"Good morning, master"

His voice makes your body jump. His voice is... Well, calmer than yours. For some reason you feel like he's the one that's calm and you are the one panicking.

"Good... Good morning"

The stuttering returns to your voice, what are you doing?!

"Did you...? Ehem. Do... Do you have a name...?"

The reply is instant. He even tilts his head a little, almost as if he was the one worried for you.

"I do, master"

You wait a moment, praying for him to continue. To say his name, or anything at all, so you don't have to take the lead in the conversation, but he doesn't. He stays still, not saying another word.

His palms rest against his thighs, straight back, head bowed. He's... surprisingly well trained.

"Oh, good! Good. And what is it?"

"It's 'Mutt', master"

Okay. Now he's shaking.

"No, I mean... your name. Not... Not that."

What looked like an easy talk at first soon became an almost impossible task.

In a blink, the boy that seemed quiet and easy to talk to, became a sobbing mess. What was wrong? What happened?

"I... I...- I'm sorry? Is your name something, huh, personal? For you? I-I won't ask for it again!"

You look around the room, looking for anything that could help you. You can't spend another day without knowing his name, you need a name to call him, now that you know he can listen and speak correctly, but if his name -or the way he was called-, is a sensitive matter to him, then you need to come up with a solution soon.

In the corner of the room, on the nightstand, you spot an ashtray that you forgot was there. You don't even smoke, it was mostly a decoration. It looked elegant, for some reason.

"Ash! Ash! How about that? We can use it! Please, please, just- just don't cry, please?"

Was that the first thing you can come up?!

Well. It can work, right? A short name. A real name, at least for now. Something to call him. Okay.

Now that you are calm, you turn around, praying to find the boy- Ash, a little better now.

Surprisingly, he does look calmer now. Was his name that triggering for him?

It doesn't matter, you can work with that.

"Ash?"

"Master... Master... Master..."

He curls up on the floor. That's... No, that's okay. He isn't crying anymore, and he's doing his best to calm himself, or at least that's what you think he's doing.

Idk if you liked the nickname, honestly that was the first thing I had in mind 😭

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