Dessert (Mitsu)

[ZeonDad]

As you wish.

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?

[MitsukaiNoZenkai]

Madeline.

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...}

[ZeonDad]

The Icon existed unfazed from Garr’s mental gymnastics. It cared nothing for his pursuits. It ignored his confusion, as it cared for nothing, other than survival, and fresh meat. From its stomach-mouth belched forth a small blade, which it took into the right hand, and sliced across the palm of the left. A gangrene-flavored oozing slid out as it squeezed and pumped the hand. Then, it offered Garr the knife to do the same, while holding its hand out to shake hands and cross blood with the Newtype.

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.

[MitsukaiNoZenkai]

Though it took instants - perhaps a handful of Garr Shyver's again-quickening heartbeats - the images of shattered worlds drenched in gore and the Icon's will forced him to physically recoil, stumbling back a step and a reeling lean. That crack in his mental fortress had let the apocalyptic visions in and he was now paying for it. His first thought was to vomit his guts into his sealed helmet just to drown in his own innards to escape the vision, but the shock of the image passed as he regained himself and settled back into a more aware state of mind. The point of the vision that had drawn to the man with that shining crest allowed him to focus and force his visceral revolt down to a manageable level.

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.