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simplegenius042 · 4 months ago

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Late WIP Wednesday/Thursday

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton and @imogenkol

Tagging @aceghosts @noodlecupcakes @direwombat @voidika @la-grosse-patate @inafieldofdaisies @cassietrn @adelaidedrubman @shellibisshe @josephseedismyfather @icecutioner @derelictheretic @shallow-gravy @strangefable @rhettsabbott @josephslittledeputy @cloudofbutterflies92 @skoll-sun-eater @carlosoliveiraa @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @raresvtm @softtidesworld @starsandskies @ladyoriza @florbelles @minilev @yokobai @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @justasmolbard @alypink and @sledge-in-space + anyone who'd like to join.

WIPs for The UnTitledverse and The Silver Chronicles, specifically The Tale Of Mario Emmet and Silva's Hope respectively. You can read these WIPs under the cut:

The Tale Of Mario Emmet is a fic set during the Five Nights At Freddy's: The Silver Eyes. This fic primarily focuses on my original character Mario Emmet, one of my main characters in The Perfect Storm saga and The UnTitledverse series as a whole, his journey of shedding his xenophobia towards others, and companionship with his human friends and eventual romance with Charlie Emily. It also somewhat diverges from the novels however by having "Dave Miller" unable to secure a spot as a night guard for the mall that surrounds "Freddy Fazbear's Pizza" (unfortunately, he will show up later). Mario's first introduction to Charlie and friends was while he was under the guise of a human... his second official introduction is messier and more hostile than the first, as shown below:

[TW: Description of a grotesque inhuman transformation. Very minor violence and blood as of now]

"Where do you think you're going?"

Charlie froze. Dread returned like the force of a freight train. John was quick to twist around, and his reaction confirmed her fear.

Mario was free.

As the others followed John's example, Charlie slowly glanced back to see Mario stepping out of the darkness of the animatronics maintenance room.

He wasn't close to her, separated several feet from each other, a gap that echoed the visceral betrayal of broken trust.

Mario's silver eyes glared into Charlie's brown with that same soul piercing gaze once more. From what Charlie could observe, Mario was hardly tired from the events of the night, nor of his earlier detainment. He held himself tall with determination and grit that matched her own.

"You aren't now, are you?" Mario chuckled, finding the idea incredulous, "After what you've all done tonight? None of you are leaving this building."

Clay took authoritative action immediately, taking his service weapon out to aim at the culprit behind his son's kidnapping and torment. John chose to take the chance to prioritize Charlie's safety over his own, stepping forwards to pull her back.

His initiative was inconvenienced by Charlie's unmoving state, though she was still conscious enough to pace a few steps back with him.

"Mario Emmet, put your hands in the air now!" Clay ordered the night guard, "You are under arrest. Any weapons you have on your person, you are to relieve yourself of them now. If you resist and attempt to endanger the life of civilians further, I will be forced to take lethal action. Do you understand?"

Mario did not shift his focus to Clay, intent on keeping Charlie trapped in their shared eye contact. His features twist to something less angry, and more doleful. He spoke, and Charlie could not help but believe that his words were solely for her to hear.

"Why couldn't you just let it rest?"

Charlie could not find it in herself to speak nor reply, and found herself unable to as John further pulled her behind the chief of police.

Mario soon returned to glaring, shifted his attention to Clay as he scrutinized the wider man.

A tense silence overtook the building; Mario staring down Clay, Charlie being held protectively in John's arms, Jessica supporting Carlton while Marla and Lamar kept their arms defensively on Jason.

From what Charlie could deduce, past Mario's glare was a pensive consideration. She could tell he was weighing his options, in spite of what little opportunity Clay was leaving him with.

Clay's features hardened, as he kept his weapon on Mario with little intent to misfire should Mario prove to be more unreasonable than he was.

As Clay was about to open his mouth to give a warning, Mario broke the tense silence with a sigh, raising his hands up in surrender. It caught Charlie by surprise; it seemed uncharacteristic of him to take such a chance. He didn't have any weapons on him, that she was sure of.

In spite of what should be an uplifting turn of events on the long frivolous night, she couldn't help but feel something felt wrong, but she couldn't figure out why.

Clay released some of the tension he had been shouldering, one hand retreating from his service weapon to reach for his cuffs as he steadily made his way towards Mario.

With Clay's guard weakened, a newfound glint sparked in Mario's eyes.

Charlie noticed it before anyone else, but was unable to efficiently put a stop to Mario's following actions much like everyone else.

Clay had taken a step closer when his shoulder was pierced by a bulky and sharp serrated appendage. It wasn't a hook like Foxy's; more similar to the claws of a praying mantis.

He lost grip of his weapon from the sudden pain of a well-planned attack. The claw separated from Clay, dripping blood to stain the dirty tiles. A red stain grew on his clothes around the wound.

Clay stumbled back, with both Charlie and John forcing themselves to move in order to catch the chief as Carlton called out for his father in alarm.

With Clay groaning and hissing under their arms, Charlie turned her attention back to Mario, and her eyes widened.

The claw retracted to Mario's arm, shifting and breaking apart into his hand. He flexed his hand, rubbing his wrist.

His silver eyes held the group where they stood, most trying to understand the logistics of what just occurred. Charlie, though, was the only one amongst them that came to a conclusion that, while unbelievable, was comprehensible to her.

Mario sighed, sneering at the group with a disdain that, in the short time Charlie knew him, didn't think he was capable of.

"I know that this is... hard for you to come to terms with," Mario stated, and though cold, there was a hint of sincerity, "I know the instinct to run, hide, resist... is coursing through your blood as we speak. Your... fear is evident. And I know you will think this unfair."

Mario took a step forward, the ceiling light above him flickering. Perhaps it was age. Or maybe, Charlie found herself thinking, It is something else entirely.

"After all, it's not your fault that you came here tonight," Mario continued, his voice low but audible, "You were lured here by your grief. Your longing for a friend who was taken from you - unjustly, of course- by a malicious force that held no remorse nor empathy for the victims he left bleeding. For that I cannot fault you. For that, you have my sympathy."

The ceiling lights soon followed the example of the first, all flickering at a pace with no rhythm, no justification given the functional state of the generators.

As Mario continued his slow approach, Charlie and John dragged a pale Clay to the safety of their group. There was a small gasp from within their half-circle, grabbing Charlie's attention like everyone else's.

"The exit!" Jason called out, panic creeping into his tone.

Following where the boy pointed, the group felt dread crawl its ugly head to peek into their hearts as they realized the root of Jason's distress- the broken down bricks that Clay had entered through the restaurant was mended once more into a solid wall.

Their exit was gone - including the sealed door.

"However," Mario gained the groups attention as the atmosphere grew tenser, "In spite of my lenience to allow you to make your peace while you could, you have continuously encroached upon my territory, disrupted my nest. My haven, with little apology and little sincerity in your promises to leave, with an intent to keep coming back. Like your redhead friend, you've all reached too close to the sun little Icarus's. So now, there must be a penalty."

His words became more distorted as he spoke, an echo behind his voice as his body began to twitch as unnaturally as the lights above them.

With each passing flicker, Charlie witnessed how his body changed; the skin on his face hardened and grew pale, his body slimmer till his skin seemed to cling to his bones, like some starved beast. Limbs elongating until he was tall and lank, his uniform morphing into his body as it darkened and changed color.

Claws that weren't too dissimilar to steel broke from his finger tips, as well as femur spines that belonged to an insect protruding from his thighs. His withered into nothing, white stripes forming across his dark limbs.

Despite what she was witnessing - what they all were witnessing - the worst part was the sounds. Hearing flesh tearing like paper, snapping and crunching like bones, and a guttural groan unlike that of a hungry predator was an unsettling experience that sickened Charlie.

The transformation neared its completion, with Mario's head widening to inhuman degrees; his forehead, complimented with a concerning crack on the left, became a discerning appearance, just as his mouth widened too- spread past the limits of an actual human.

Various unnatural features decorated his face and body; the circles imitating rosy cheeks, the pair of twin specks that seemed to emulate brows, red lipstick around the lip-less mouth and the twin trails of blue that ran down to his smile. His no longer wore a uniform; it was instead replaced with a sleeveless buttoned vest that manifested a small cape that reached down to his hips. A flower bloomed on his right side, and a bow tie at his neck.

The last change was his eyes; the white of his sclera melted into the creeping darkness, his silver iris with it. A new pair of eyes replaced them, rolling up from below. His pupils were white instead of black, his irises shined silver with a small darker ring separating the pupil from the bigger, more mesmerizing rings.

His appearance was alien and wrong and... so familiar to Charlie. Perhaps an unfinished animatronic glimpsed in his garage. But this... was warped and personalized in a sense - tailored to fit his preferences. The thought invoked rejection towards the impossibility of the situation; seeking logic that wasn't there as confusion froze her in place.

Everyone else were more afraid than anything else. Except for Mario, who seemed apologetic rather than enthusiastic.

"You have disturbed my nights long enough, taking what little I could grant you. What little I could conserve. And thus, there must be a 'give' to return on your part," Mario stated or... whatever he truly was, with voice littered with guttural snarls and chitters, "Know I did not want this. I'd never think to do this. But you've left me with little choice. I've ignored my hunger long enough. And besides..."

Mario gazed directly into Charlie's shocked brown eyes.

"...you can't fight your nature."

Jessica's hands gripped onto Charlie, pulling her closer to the huddled group as Carlton took over supporting his dad from John. His grey eyes glanced over to the animatronics that were by the sidelines... including the golden bear that Michael was inside.

"Uh... guys," he caught the others attention, directing it to the animatronics on standby.

Until all, with exception to Michael, began to make their way to the hallway.

Why aren't they staying?

"Go join the others Michael," Mario tells the Golden Bear. There seems to be some garbled indiscernible reply from the suit... a protest perhaps?

Though it's seems to be all for naught when Mario snaps back, "Go back to slumber Michael. I'll make this quick."

Michael lingers, but the glint of life in the bear suit's sockets flicker out; darkness cast over the yellow suit.

"Now," Mario growled when he turned his attention to them, clawed tendrils breaking from under his shoulders, as another pair of thin legs extend out from the two limbs, reminiscent of a spider, "It's time to feed."

For Silva's Hope, allow me to present to you Silva's first of many face-offs with one Nadi Sinclair, aka John's right hand (and simp), aka former member of Taskforce 141 (from Call To Arms duology), aka a really good shot! Enjoy below:

[TW: Violence and blood and dead Peggies]

Another shot rang out, the glass of the wrecked ute shattered above her.

Silva scooted away from any openings her unseen attacker had on her, shrunk low while she kept her limbs close to herself.

With another shot, a bullet dented into the ute, but remained strong against her attacker.

She could hear gunfire and shouts from enemies and allies alike, as the peggies assault Fall's End and the valley's Resistance defend themselves.

She inspects her glock, swiftly checking her magazine.

Empty.

Silva banged the back of her head against the vehicle's metal, cursing herself for her shortsightedness.

She puts the glock back into her holster, hand reaching for her knife.

Until a peggie rounded the corner of the ute, shovel in his hands and raising it to hit her.

Surprised, Silva barely had enough time to roll away from the strike. The peggie, who's eyes seem glazed with a misty green, slammed his shovel against the dirt, face etching with confusion.

And clarity once I'm done with him, Silva thought as she brought out her knife, the stone handle feeling right in her gloved hands. As she moved to deliver a killing blow, there was a small part of herself that felt like she was forgetting something.

A familiar bang rang out, and Silva realized she was going to get a painful reminder of the situation she had gotten stuck in to punish her instincts.

Silva doubled over, her knife dropped as the sharp sting was replaced with a burning pain once the bullet excited her bicep. Silva clutched her wound, blood seeping into her gloves. She dropped to the floor when another shot was fired, hitting the ground nearby.

The peggie used her disadvantage to attack, throwing himself onto her. Silva had rolled to her back to counter, but only managed to grip onto shovel's handle.

She quickly realised he wanted to choke her out with it, either to kill her or render her unconscious. Neither was appealing, and opted to keep his shovel from her throat.

Which was proving difficult from the strain of the wound she received from John's sharpshooter, the pressure and applied strength weakening her grip against the ridiculously strong peggie.

As the handle crept closer to her throat, her strength just about ready to give in, a shot rang out.

And the peggie's brain matter and blood sprayed against the white ute, his corpse collapsing onto her.

Shoving it off, she searched for her attacker. Until she recognized a familiar green laser pointer that belonged to her rescuer.

Following the green light, she saw Grace had set herself up on the garage's roof.

Her radio burst to life, Grace's voice piercing through the chaos of gunfire and yells, "You good Deputy?"

Silva let out a relieved huff, hissing when she moved her wounded arm. She used her functional hand to grab the radio and reply, "Got a gunshot wound to the bicep. Went clean through but got nothing to clean it or stitch myself up with. Not to mention-"

A bullet denting the roof of the ute interrupted her, followed by a shot to the hood and the deflation of a tire.

"-I've got this gillipollas hounding after me. How's everything over on your part?"

"Jerome's leading the push back against the Peggie's front assault while Mary May's keeping the wounded inside her bar and restocking any ammo we need," Grace informs Silva as she fires a shot far off from Silva, "John's bodyguard, Sinclair, is holed up on the water tower. I guess neither she nor John were happy with the destruction of their new toy."

Silva could guess she was referring to the Revelator. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she responded, "Can you reach her from your position?"

Grace hummed, but not the affirmative kind, "Negative, and neither can she, though her ire seems more focused on you. However, I can take out the blissed-out peggies running toward your position."

Of course there's more of that guy. Which wouldn't be an issue if she could use both her hands, a loaded gun and didn't have to worry about John's enthusiastic psycho sniper blowing her head off.

Taking slow methodic breaths, Silva used the dropped shovel to safely reach for her knife, managing to return it to her waiting hand as another shot broke off the shovel's spade.

She inquired, "Is there any cover I could run up to?"

"Barely, but enough to be out of Sinclair's scope," Grace affirmed, much to Silva's relief, "I'd advise going for the peggie van furthest to your right."

"Can you cover me?" Silva asked, legs prepped to make a run. Her wound ached, but she forced herself to push back the pain. Gripping her knife with her good hand, she awaited Grace's response.

The radio came to life once more, and Grace assured her, "I've got your back, Dep."

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