His pressure flared as he felt the pinpoints of murderous intent around him even as the Icon offered it's Damoclesian choice. Thoughts were almost visibly rushing through his mind as he regained his step into range of the Icon's reach, his pale gray eyes locked onto the oozing wound in the corpse's hand. The gaze flickered around towards a number of the points of promised death around him before settling back on the Icon's hand. His response was to take another step forward and wriggle his left hand out of the detachable glove of his flight suit. The air around his clammy and sweat-soaked hand reeked to his psychoactive nerves; as though he could now physically feel the death around him. He hesitated for a moment before his eyes steeled themselves and before the Icon could move swiped the back of his hand over the edge of the bony knife it held to open a wound that while not debilitating was clearly intended to acquiesce to the Icon's request.
[Very well. Icon of Putrescence, I; Garr Shyver; agree to these terms. I would ask that you center the benign thing somewhere and not let it flow through me where others could contact it, though. What you ask will take some time as I'll have to find this individual as well as handle my own requirements. I cannot perform what you ask if I become a walking plague without my knowledge. Others I cannot command would destroy me immediately if they suspect your existence within me.] With that, Garr pressed the open cut into the oozing wound of the Icon's hand; sealing this unholy pact. A deal with the Devil was too polite here, but Garr recognized he was truly outgunned here. He couldn't outrun an entire facility of these things hellbent on his death and working as one. If he'd been within his Gundam he'd have weighed his options better but in the depths of this place with no recourse events forced his hand.
Giving it sufficient time to do what it needed to do on it's end, Garr then pulled his hand back and slid his glove back on. He took care not to let the gore on his flight suit get into the wound. It wouldn't do to catch something from the viscera on him after he'd sealed this pact to escape. The act done, Garr Shyver quietly began looking for a path to the nearest console or map to guide him to the elevator shaft so he could ascend and leave this place. Hanmyo was probably sick with worry at this point, and they had a child to rescue.
Lance Screamer had a lot to answer for now. With their new link the Icon could undoubtedly feel the heat radiating within him as he searched for directions out of this place. It would probably find the focused rage utterly delicious.
Statistics:Posted by MitsukaiNoZenkai — Wed May 23, 2018 3:31 pm
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We will show you.
Garr's mind would surely reel as he would be treated to a lifetime of the Icon in an instant. Worlds scoured and corrupted by infection. Moon’s malformed and eerily luminescent. Incubator colonies oozing with the filth of life in all it’s infectious glory. A tall man, furious and fighting, with a glowing seemingly "supernatural" crest atop of his right hand that depicted an image much resembling the King of Hearts playing card, fighting for his life against innumerable hordes. He broke wave after wave, thousands of things, beings larger than life itself, by the power of one man. One machine. Until he was the only one left fighting. But he too fell. He too was ultimately assimilated. Devoured just like all the rest, against a planet-sized wave of infectious life. As the infinite supply of imagery raced through Garr’s mind, it would become clearer that the Icon was not from this universe, or any other Garr could possibly imagine. It would also become clear the Icon had been toying with him the entire time. Testing him. It had hundreds at its disposal in this place. To swarm him, the lone survivor, would be of no task or consequence.
You must find and kill the one you call the King of Hearts, it telepathically instructed. This one is yet beyond us. Choose quickly.
Indeed, the Icon told the truth. A single mobile suit was slowly closing, although to what capacity a single machine could yet destroy an entire asteroid installation remained to be seen…
Join hands. Assure your compliance. You will carry us from here in blood, as we arrived. A benign thing, we will promise, if you wish to proceed.
Knowing the implications, Garr would be forced to choose. Trust the Icon, allow himself to be infected, with the promise to pursue the King of Hearts to assure safe passage, and get his vengeance for Madeline. Or refuse, and face the very real possibility of total annihilation, although the Icon's infection would perhaps be contained for good, here and now.
Statistics:Posted by ZeonDad — Thu May 17, 2018 10:53 am
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As the Icon's smaller form completed it's transition to a more human-like configuration with an expected level of nauseating visuals it would be able to taste the change in his mental defenses. There was a clear crack in his glacial fortress, and a visible twitch growing on the fist that clenched the flamethrower. Things were starting to fall into place now. Why had Lance shown him all this? Why had there been no evacuation orders or stronger containment systems in place here at this facility? This was all too...
NO. Don't think about that right now. If you go off on the tangent, you'll lose your chance. Through the crack in his glacial defenses, the Icon would most likely get a sweet taste of the rage starting to heat up Garr's bones. His chest expanded in a controlling inhalation even as he began moving towards the access stairway he'd been going towards beforehand. [..Thank you. This information helps put some things in perspective. This place. The metal simulacrum of my wife. The gribblies. You. This whole thing was to get me out of the way. This whole facility is a goddamn TRAP! It was meant to be my rotting tomb; the dead my jailers for all time.]
His thoughts were sliding to a very dark place even as he felt his feet come into contact with the first of the rising metal steps out of this place; presumably with the Icon in tow. His right hand moved a finger and killed the flamethrower's pilot light, then he hooked it to a loop on the combat webbing as he continued to ascend. This preceded the transfer of the plasma cutter to his dominant hand as he raised it to cover the door on their approach. There was no need to use physical words, so he kept his mouth closed as he mentally continued the conversation with his new companion.
[I came here under the pretense that Lance Screamer - presumably the other one you spoke of - wanted to show me something in this facility. They turned out to be those metallic copies of my mate which are now likely to be hunting at the very least me. As we were leaving, we were ambushed by an old nemesis of mine. At around the same time some breach occurred in this facility and.. Well.. I'm sure you can feel the results.] The tone of the mental words was melancholy, since the more he spoke the more he was becoming certain this had all been one giant trap and a pretty good long con. One had no choice but to applaud the sheer audacious fortitude of the plan. It was also a new and bitter lesson for the gray-eyed Newtype that even his paranoia-honed sense of danger was vulnerable to a slow boiling execution attempt.
In the end, that was a matter to be settled later. He could rage here all he wanted and not hurt his would-be executioner in the slightest, or escape from here and take his time with the dark thoughts in his mind. This place was terrifyingly good inspiration. He glanced back to the Icon, lips twisting behind his blood-streaked helmet visor with something that the Icon of Putrescence would be able to easily sense: bloodlust. {Icon, thank you. I think I understand what I have to do once I get out of here. But I'm certain those two quicksilver hunters will be after us now. I am intimately aware of the woman they are based on, and I can tell you we're in for a bloody war if we can't evade them. I am unaware of your combat potential in that ambulatory form. Don't let them catch you. Their form's origin is as fierce a warrior as they come, and these things lack any shred of hesitation. It was a stroke of luck to take out one...}
Statistics:Posted by MitsukaiNoZenkai — Tue May 15, 2018 1:34 pm
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The Daughtress Neo that had fallen behind caught up, but its pilot, too, was unsure of what to do next. Stealing the mobile suits had been an act of rebellion, but there seemed to be no need or want to use the thing to cause damage.
The V-Dash, on the other hand, did not hesitate: Gavin watched the I-Field absorb the initial attack and knew immediately what was going on. A beam saber was readied as it took off toward the Gable, while it was distracted by the GINN.
Statistics:Posted by Cream — Fri May 04, 2018 8:37 am
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Garr's telepathic prayers had seemingly been answered, as a snap of the fingers from somewhere detonated every unliving thing in a vicinity. Heads rolled from their bodies, bodily fluids sprayed from every orifice, and beings convulsed as they showered virtually everything around them in putriescent filth. In the middle of the chaos and pestilence, one headless figure clad in scientists garb approached Garr. Lacking the madness of the others, it unbuttoned it's white scientific coat and revealed a face embedded within the former human's stomach. It showed no fear of Garr, and did not seem particular impressed by him.
They're coming for us both now. Remove us from this... confinement, we will assure safe passage.
The thing paused, the stomach-head slowly worked it's way up from the stomach to the chest cavity, before disappearing behind the sternum. A gentle bubbling at the top of the neck gave way to the gradual formation of a new, anatomically correct head that sprouted forth.
The girl we speak of... is the one named Madeline. You did not come for her, like he did, and yet... she is yours to you. Why are you here?
Statistics:Posted by ZeonDad — Thu Apr 19, 2018 1:55 pm
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A silent snarl formed on his lips as he danced back enough to avoid the clumsy twinned lunge and drew the plasma cutter with his left hand. Though he was right-handed that hand currently held the flamethrower so he opted for the weapon with presumably less kickback in his off-hand. Said flamethrower lanced a tiny arc between him and the two that had tried to grab him; establishing a small burning wall that would likely not stop any of the ones behind the two foremost gribblies. With that dealt with Garr mustered up the reserve to set his screaming leg muscles back to work as he turned and ran for the access staircase he'd eyeballed earlier before the appearance of the Icon.
Going into the middle of the pit was suicide. His only hope was to ascend the staircase and use the position to limit what he could from swarming him. As he ran, his right arm - the one on the side facing the horde as he raced for the stairs - raised and in time with the swinging of his arm as he rushed for the height and narrowness promised by the staircase sprayed a stream of fire in an arc towards the closest of the horde in an effort to drive them back. Dimly, he noted it was another helixing pair of the worm-types. With any luck their swirling motion would have them not be able to separate in time to avoid their flaming bath. Garr held no illusions that any screams of pain would hold the others back.
Through it all - the running, the bestial mind that was the subconscious panicking to find a way to survive this all, the pains and aches and draining stamina as he was nearing his physical limit - Garr found time to telepathically scream into the nearby aether. It was amazing what the thinking mind could prioritize in such grave circumstances...
[Damn Icon! You could stop this! I'm not stupid enough to think you're really gone! Your bastard servants and that show earlier have already proven that you all change forms and states of being too easily! Now get back out here, stop this attack, and start with some goddamn answers!]
Statistics:Posted by MitsukaiNoZenkai — Thu Apr 12, 2018 5:32 pm
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The waves crashing against his mental armor rolled harmlessly off him as though drops of rain. There was no attack to be found here on his part, though. Even as the Icon of Putrescence's fangs bared and it's face shifted between ones he knew there was a surprising serenity to the way he simply stood there and let the storm rage fruitlessly around him. Long ago he'd learned that to jut oneself out to clash invited the pain of an opening. There would be nothing of the sort here just yet.
A simple sigh echoed from his lips into the silence of his helmet. This was almost refreshing in it's own way. A pure clash of wills - one seeking to fill it's gullet and another one quietly refusing to be devoured - was a battle he had more confidence in than trying to bring this thing to heel. He would opt to allow it to tire itself out on the smooth flow around him. Though what it said did make him curious.
It made no hint of even considering the broken souls around them to be minds it could hear. It had to mean a Newtype. Which meant that Lance Screamer had to be the other one the Icon mentioned, since as far as he knew they'd been the only two Newtypes on the facility when everything went sideways. Hell of a thing not to mention, Lance. 'Oh, right! In addition to the quicksilver aliens shaped like Hanmyo, I've also got a giant rot god in the basement. Wanna see it?' Garr could almost see Lance giving him a shit-eating grin as he thought of the mocking tone he'd subconsciously put into the parody.“We have seen his mind, and now yours.”
He shifted slightly as he rebalanced his weight. Where he'd ended up stopping was a nice flat section of metal decking, and it felt better on his legs to be on solid ground right now. His steely gaze was firmly locked onto the Icon, and it could be assured it had the majority of his attention. It could probably sense his calm; his lack of fear at the sight before him. He was no stranger to the grip of the Grim Reaper, and the thing before him could probably smell his previous brushes on him even through his defenses. His left hand raised slowly only to stop in a gentle open palm-up state, an unbidden gesture of gentle encouragement for it to calm down and explain in it's way. At this time, fighting would get neither of them any closer to what they might want.
Statistics:Posted by MitsukaiNoZenkai — Mon Mar 19, 2018 4:16 pm
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The Icon melded and morphed accompanied by a howling symphony of sickness. It displayed features of several different persons, one after another. Lance Screamer, Alfimi Elwren, Hanmyo Starwind, and finally Garr and Hanmyo’s own young daughter, Madaline.
“We have seen his mind, and now yours.”
“He came for the child. Do you as well?”
It snarled at him, teeth growing longer, and sharper. His defenses were irritating, and futile. It blasted the sphere surround his mind with undulating waves, eager to break the walls down. Each wave grew stronger, and stronger, lashing out with increasing cruelty.
Statistics:Posted by ZeonDad — Mon Mar 19, 2018 3:18 pm
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Garr's eyes snapped down to the moving hand, the flamethrower but an instant behind to level at the lone appendage. As the dead laughed around him the gray-eyed Newtype felt his hackles rising. A swift flick of the right neurons brought his pressure coalescing into the now-familiar rime-chained cape he had chosen for the representation of his psychic defenses. Just in time for the raining torment and despair to wash over and around him like a storm of putrid rain he watched the world around him shift and obscure for those scant heartbeats.youtu.be/t6zhuFAoC6Y
By now, Garr was very used to mental attacks. He'd been with Hanmyo for decades now, and while this was nowhere near the insidious power of that thorned beast that had assaulted him with the vision of the Mega Zeta it was clear that the Icon of Putrescence pulled from it's rotting bed to gaze upon him was a monstrous thing on par with what he was used to facing on the astral battlefield. He felt no fear for his sanity. No fear for his flesh. Here was something before him that for all it's macabre nature he could wrap his mind around. A conduit to at least part of these things. It was worth a shot.
「What child do you speak of, Icon?」 Most people didn't know this about him, but Garr Shyver had been working on his telepathic ability for a long time now. In the presence of familiar pressures or within range of stronger ones he was able to speak in what could be considered a normal manner. He'd spent a long time working on this skill in preparation for the day he would no longer be able to speak with his own throat after one scream too many; one time too many he lost control of his temper and threw his well-being to the wind in a bloody roar. He also tended to see others in a more symbolic manner than he let on - often seeing the icon before the person. But to be honest, a title like Icon of Putrescence suited this thing before him much better than something as petty and confining as a name.
Even with his frigid mental armor in place, he still had plenty of psychowaves to go around and thus kept an eye out for any of the Icon's less intelligent minions that would try something during this dialogue. Nothing he had would probably put a serious enough dent into this thing, and while he was sure he was out of range of a physical attack there was no sense in provoking something he could avoid. He was outnumbered and despite his acquisitions heavily outgunned.
Statistics:Posted by MitsukaiNoZenkai — Mon Mar 19, 2018 2:20 pm
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Elsewhere, Stelline and her Gable followed suite, although with a fair bit more brute force behind it. She refused to budge, and was prepared to test the strength of her machine against the oncoming missiles. Her confidence in the opportunity might have been worthless however, as Ash Wednesday seemingly danced around the GINN like it was truly a stationary object. A slice here, a cut there, he effortlessly poked, prodded, and carved the GINN with ease. To be fair, it wasn’t a massive amount of skill on account of the pilot. The GINN was simply not even in the same league as the slender, agile Correl.
Kate and her Britova remained off balance and on the defensive. Her only option for survival was to obfuscate and hope the GINN’s pilot was equally rushed. Her Britova rolled forward and onto its side, diagonally away from the building it had smacked into, likely crushing one or two unfortunate souls in the process. Whether the bazooka hit home, or the surrounding area, neither outcome was looking great for the young newtype woman.
Outside the colony, Captain Clemente received word that a ship of unknown IFF was encroaching on the sector. He furrowed his brow, issuing the order for all other pilots aboard the Longsword to wait in their mobile suits at full readiness until further notice. Whatever was coming, he would be ready.
Statistics:Posted by ZeonDad — Mon Mar 19, 2018 11:47 am
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Blaaaaaaagh, Blaaaaaaaagh! Bleegh!
They howled like wild things, screeching and shouting, loosing every hideous vocalization imaginable. From what or where it came from remained unseen, hidden, but from every corner, every crevice, every ledge, it seemed like the room was brimming with life after death. Then, they laughed. They laughed at him, laughed into his soul, picking away at his deepest, darkest secrets. Deafening machinery whirred from above, only eclipsed by the cackles and gibbering madness, although one might have to wonder if Garr was truly hearing or experiencing any of this at all. Something now crashed down on him in waves of dread and terror, and a disorienting sense of what was reality. Incredible psychic might of some Lovecraftian nightmare bore down on Garr Shyver with oppressive intensity.
Owooooo! Aaaahhh! Aaah-ooooooooooooooh!
Have you come for the child?
It asked, the melting mass of flesh appearing before him, plucked out of the center garbage disposal. It gnashed a rotten mouth of teeth, an unnatural licking of chops. Its one perceivable eye remained sealed shut, but something in Garr would likely warn him, this thing could see right through him.
Have you come for the child?
It repeated impatiently.
Have you come for the child?
Statistics:Posted by ZeonDad — Mon Mar 19, 2018 10:29 am
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Scooping up the flamethrower that had landed gracelessly next to him atop someone's heavily-slashed back, he fought down a wave of nausea the likes of which he'd never felt in his life. This was just too much fucking carnage. He could handle some bloodshed - hell, he'd caused plenty over the years - but this was just... In an automatic motion he switched out the tanks on the fire-spewing tool, flicked off some random bit of gore from the pilot light nozzle, and clicked the weapon experimentally. It took a trio of clicks before the little flame came on but it was enough to satisfy Garr. Shutting off the flame to conserve fuel he managed to lever himself up on the uneven footing of dead flesh and finally surveyed his surroundings properly. The tools and weapons immediately caught his attention. The slithering in the distance also caught his attention.
Before he took a step over the uneven terrain to get to the new acquisitions, he took a quick assessment of himself. Okay, I'm on my feet and not screaming in pain, so nothing broken. Goddamn my knees hurt! Still got my stuff, still got Sansone's card. Flamethrower's functional, thought this is my last full tank. Short bursts, Garr. That armor looks like it's in decent shape, and it's got combat webbing! Fuck yes! Now I can carry all this shit properly. His careful stride over the unmoving flesh fields got him to the woman with the armor and tools first. It was a matter of quick ghoulish work to unbuckle and slide free the desired items. Don't think of them as people, Garr. They're just meat now. Just let your mind gloss over details.. Wait, is that what a squished eyeball looks like? Ugh! He pursed his lips together as he tried to find somewhere for his eyes to alight that wasn't a particularly macabre display.
He took a moment to slide his forearms across the upper parts of his torso to get the worst of the gore off of himself. He didn't want something slipping because of some slick innards that were clinging to him. After what cleanup he could manage he looked around as he fastened the armor and tools to his person as best he could. The vest was a bit tight even with letting out the straps all the way - which made sense since it'd been for a woman's frame!- but he managed to secure everything to himself. He was a little bit heavier now, but he knew it didn't matter too much since he didn't have enough in him for another of those long dead-run sprints in him right now. Man, there are days I'd almost give up being a Newtype for a Gundam Fighter's stamina.. He scooped up the weapon near the woman and held it up to examine it. A small counter above where his hand was displayed a counter which was easy to presume was the number of charges it had. Huh. This looks interesting... Guess the colonists were holding out on me in the tech department. Or was this something someone put together in this facility? Should keep an eye out for more goodies like this!
Hooking it into the webbing in an easy-to-draw position, he clicked on the flamethrower's pilot light and moved for the assault rifle. He'd been in one place for more than a few minutes now, and he was expecting all sorts of trouble to come down on his head. Keeping a weather eye and hyper-alert precognitive sense to his surroundings, he quickly scooped up the rifle once he got to it. A glance down at the person who'd had it proved to be a bad idea as they'd clearly been had at before they got dumped down here. A single intact magazine was all he could salvage, which gave him a full one and whatever was in the rifle he wasn't bothering to check at the moment. He had to move.
Garr tried his best to go towards the rim of the room where there were less oceans of gore. It looked like there was an access staircase near to his position so he made for that. He was pretty sure he was at or near the bottom of the facility now. That meant he had a hell of a climb ahead of him. Maybe the elevator was safe to use now? That assumed he could even get to it readily.
"Hm. Maybe I should think about what I want out of Lance for dealing with this shit. Lord knows he's gonna pay dearly for this debacle. And my astronomical drycleaning bill."
Statistics:Posted by MitsukaiNoZenkai — Sun Mar 18, 2018 5:37 pm
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There were multiple turret installations set up throughout the facility. All of them had a drainage and disposal system that ultimately intermingled and mixed with the rest of the sewage from the station. There was no chance of Garr landing on his feet, or landing much at all, as he seemed to fall through various chutes and tubes for almost a full minute. Down and deeper still, he would ultimately find himself crashing into the lowermost point within the asteroid, the septic and drainage system.
Thankfully, he would have well avoided the massive pit in the inner room, filled with blood, waste, garbage, and as a result of the infection, a number of pooled bodies. More bodies lay piled upon the chute exits, and Garr’s was no exception. He too would have landed amongst the dead. But he was not dead yet. Nor was he alone. If the fall didn’t kill him, as something in the far distance slithered, all the way on the other side of the massive disposal room, might soon…
Thankfully, one of the dead Garr had landed upon offered a plethora of options. Had he been some kind of construction worker or odd soldier or perhaps a former test subject, it was too late to say. All that mattered was the protection her tools and body armor might yet offer. A small handheld beam weapon used for welding and repair lay not far from the dead woman. Another body nearby offered some more conventional weapons, but would an assault rifle be of any use against what still lurked about?
Statistics:Posted by ZeonDad — Thu Mar 15, 2018 12:31 pm
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Ash's attack on the second GINN struck home - the Correl's knife carved clean through the outstretched machinegun, to the considerable surprise of the GINN's pilot, with a spray of sparks. The front half of the weapon clattered to the pavement below as the suit staggered back, raising its arm against the spray of birdlime as it did. The missile launchers mounted on the suit's legs flared to life, six of the projectiles lancing out at the oncoming Gable as the GINN attempted to bring its bazooka to bear, struggling as the adhesive that now coated it began to take effect.
In the spaceport, the third GINN Insurgent seemed determined to outrun the charging Gable - but the thrown container stopped it as its boosters flared, causing it to stumble, and fall sideways into a pile of stacked shipping containers. Starting to recover, it dropped its machinegun, and instead brandished its heavy sword at the newcomer, daring it to come closer as it sought to disentangle itself.
Statistics:Posted by GEAR — Mon Mar 12, 2018 12:15 am
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