After the abduction of Lance Screamer and subsequent sabotage of containment protocols by Alfimi Elwren, life had taken a very obscene and hazardous turn for those aboard the Oasis Research Facility. Few had escaped with their lives. Those who remained were infected and turned into ravenous beings, ghoulishly mutated into fusions of organic and inorganic, and marked by senseless behaviors of violence and aggression.

Garr Shyver and company winded their way through the labyrinth of alien threats and horrors over the next several hours, each encounter more macabre and lethal than the last, until finally only Garr remained, the sole survivor. Locked in place with no more than a vending machine for food and water, and some small tanks of fuel for his acquired flamethrower, the hours turned into days. Eventually, it was certain the military man would’ve had enough, and looked to make a move. The small waiting room he was in offered three directions and possible opportunities for progression. One was clearly marked as the cafeteria. The others held no indication of where they led. None of them could foretell of the nightmarish things they yet contained. Whatever decision the Newtype could make, he didn’t need his intuition to tell him there was still plenty to be done if he wanted to escape the Oasis Research Facility alive.

Garr looked at his options and mentally clicked his tongue in disgust at the whole setup.

Seriously, Lance. WMD-grade xenobiological hazards that took over a whole fucking colony and you can't be arsed to install some fucking turrets? Useless goddamn colonist fuck!

Over the past time he'd spent in this facility his thought processes had gotten darker and darker. In the back of his mind there was a very nasty letter being formed to everyone's "dear" Lord Commander and he was pretty sure it included at least three mentions of Lance's ancestors being incestuous goat diddlers. The waiting room had offered the most defensible position he'd come across in his time in the facility so he'd taken up position here. The infected people he'd come across so far had not struck him as the most subtle of individuals; having lost their higher reasoning and reverted into animalistic horrors they had actually been surprisingly easy prey for him so far.

He still had his pistol with most of it's ammunition having discovered they weren't quite as effective as he'd have liked. His acquired flamethrower had been something of a disappointment thus far but it did the job. Seriously, what was with this place being full of shit equipment and untrained personnel? Times were hard for researcher facilities due to the Cataclysm still but damn! This place was set up more as a bad horror movie set than a military research outpost...

Garr stopped his thoughts as he looked at the cafeteria entrance slightly stunned at his own thoughts. Had Lance set it up this way deliberately? Maybe to study the way the gribblies had managed to spread and render a whole colony useless? Worrisome if true. In his heart, a few new lines were added to the letter. His left hand patted at where he'd stored the passcard he'd gotten from the now-deceased Sansone. Seeing the utter worthlessness of the cheap hazmat suits in stopping the spread of these things he'd chosen to discard it and slim back down to his - admittedly far more NBC-proof - flight suit to maximize his agility. A few of these things had come close to getting him but not close enough for him to immediately worry.

Thank goodness this shit isn't airborne, Garr thought to himself. Everything he'd observed and been told so far by the now-deceased researchers here all indicated that the ickyness was more of a parasitic touch-transferred invasive lifeform than anything else. He finished off the bottle of water that he'd been drinking and stood up. Thankfully Sansone's pascard also doubled as a free pass to the vending machine's contents so he didn't have to break it open. Either that or he was spending a dead man's money. Neither scenario bothered him in the slightest. He hadn't seen the gribblies in some time and was honestly surprised he hadn't been swarmed by now. All the other people in Oasis were dead as far as he could tell. No sense in questioning his luck so far, he supposed.

The worst part of all of this had been the alien doppelganger of his beloved Hanmyo. The living quicksilver fiend had been moving like a thing possessed. Wild, fast, vicious beyond almost anything he'd ever encountered in his life: despite the danger it had presented he could only describe it as breathtaking violence in motion. It wasn't that he was in love with the thing. He'd figured out a way to kill it with a combination of a falling catwalk and a cleverly-timed hosing with liquid nitrogen and had barely escaped harm. But the way it shifted, the way it moved; it was a near-perfect effigy of the way he always felt Hanmyo would have been if she'd been a Gundam Fighter instead of a Newtype. The cacophonous reverberation of it's distorted Hanmyo-like pressure had ruined the illusion, of course. Nothing could compare to the real thing after all. What worried him about it was the fact he knew there was two more somewhere in the heart of this facility waiting to get free and probably come and hunt him down.

Tossing the now-empty bottle into the trash can nearby, Garr stood up and closed the visor on his helmet. Things had quieted down considerably otherwise, so that meant it was time to make his move. It might be callous, but it was easier for him to do things when there wasn't an ally or innocent in the way. He liked it better when he was surrounded solely by the enemy. It made things so much clearer despite - no, because - of the danger that situation presented. No need to watch his lines of fire, no need to focus on anything but his own survival. It left his senses and his judgement clear. There was no need to hold back for fear of harming others.

To that end, he chose to proceed to the cafeteria. It was no doubt a big open space, but as long as it hadn't been corrupted somehow it could perhaps serve as a stronghold with some defensive modifications to the local terrain. Plus the fact that it probably had better food than this vending machine, though to be fair the vending machine had a surprising amount of healthy options. The irony of that in this situation almost made him smile despite himself. Maybe he'd finally find a fucking data terminal there. He needed a map of this place's layout to peruse to figure out his next move. Should he go for the hangar? To his knowledge his Gundam was still up there, not to mention the possibility of escape. The Gossamer Chains should have still been outside, probably worried sick after all this time. One good positron cannon shot should vaporize this place and everything in it quite nicely. Then he could write and send Lance this letter he'd been formulatng... After time with Hanmyo. That came first. Or should he hug Madeline? Ah, decisions decisions!

Garr’s thoughts of home would certainly be short-lived, overridden by trepidation as he entered the cafeteria and assessed his new surroundings. The space was dimly lit by yellow emergency lighting, but its openness lent to easy visibility. This place was evidently meant to service the entire facility, and to that end, was large enough to hold a number of people. Standard issue metal tables, long benches and assorted food service counters were placed in three organized rows in vertical arrangement through the room. Of more pressing matters, four bodies could be clearly seen having collapsed forward from their sitting positions at one table near the center of the room in the middle row. One scientist, three military men, all face down, their identities remained yet unclear, the only hint as to cause of death in the sprinkled clutter of playing cards strewn amongst their environs. It had been sudden and swift, evidently. Their neat arrangement held in stark contrast to some of their less fortunate comrades.

To Garr’s sharp right from his entrance, he would observe several more bodies piled in a gruesome slop, victimized and mutilated beyond recognition. The disgusting mass could be recognized as comprised of several former beings, forcefully bent and destroyed to make a wicked amalgamation of parts. Blended slurry of the mechanic and organic, the grotesque thing was massed several feet high and peaked like a stalagmite to climb the crook, almost touching the localized brown-and-yellow stained ceiling tiles above.

No visible life occupied the room. Garr would once again have to choose whether to stay put, explore further into the cafeteria, or turn back. At each far end of the cafeteria, two fire exits could be identified by the appropriate signage. The right emergency exit appeared to be spattered with remains and a dripping substance similar to what amalgamated in the right-hand corner closer to Garr. The left passage was nondescript and held no indication of what might exist further. There were other avenues to consider as well. Near an island of three cash registers to the left center, well before the fire exit, a two-door warehouse-style swinging doorway held eerily still. Most likely a preparation and kitchen area, Garr could perhaps find something of use within. The final choice of a hallway, which displayed signage at its entrance that explained it led to research and containment areas, was the final choice for Garr.

Something just outside, from the room Garr had previously occupied, suddenly clattered loudly against the floor, accompanied thereafter by a terrible moan. The ensuing skitters and unnerving clicks near the door informed the lone Newtype survivor that any lethargy in his selection might come at significant cost to his health and safety. Then again, he was armed. Perhaps best to attack whatever came through the door, assess the situation more closely, and not rush into anything haphazardly…

His face twisted into a frown as he observed yet more dead bodies. The four at the table had clearly been caught by surprise and to his personal disgust there seemed to be some sort of grotesque monument to carnage built up to his right side. These gribblies were certainly industrious little fuckers. His sense of danger didn't jiggle his nerves as he looked at the pile and so after a moment he ignored it. He'd already seen more scenes like that play out through the parts of the facility he'd already gone through but he was made of sterner stuff than most people thought.

Yet more doors. Of course there are. Why wouldn't there be? Well, at the very least he was spoiled for choices. All these paths and the two back where he'd come from left him with a myriad of paths to follow. Quickly running through his options he almost immediately discarded the gore-splattered door as a clear trap. Whatever of the gribblies had made the pile of gore to his side had clearly been using that path and he was pretty sure it would be a waste of ammunition to try and bring it down right now. The double doors to the food preparation area were tempting but set aside for now due to the fact he hadn't secured the area yet. No sense in drawing attention to any food stores that they could try and ambush him at. Overall, the door that led to the research and containment areas appealed to him the most. There would likely be something there he could make use of; plus it held the greatest promise of access to the facility's computer network and a proper map of the place. That would let him make the best strategic decisions as to where to base himself out of.

The part of his mind he associated with his psychic danger-sense vibrated in his skull about two seconds before the sounds back where he'd come from sounded out. Well, it was bound to happen. The gribblies were too quiet recently, and he was the only living thing left on the facility. Made sense they'd get around to him. Now, the question was one with four possible answers. What to do? He could go back and fight them off, using the doorway to create a chokepoint. He could draw them into the cafeteria where he'd have room to make it a running mobile battle. He could hide somewhere like behind the cashier's island or inside the unexplored food preparation area. Or he could hotfoot it towards the research area hoping for a better defensive position or some nice blast doors.

The first was tempting, as they'd probably not expect him to be so bold and he could funnel however many there were into one spot - a perfect scenario for the flamethrower's use. The problem was it'd give them a single point to concentrate in and they'd shown no regard for friendly fire or using each other as shields. The second was less ideal but it gave him the ability to spread out and take them on in less concentration. That obviously opened him up to getting surrounded; which was a non-starter. The third relied on them being stupid and not searching the room. The fourth relied on him being stupid and giving up whatever benefits this room offered to his survival. None of these options were overly great, but these things hadn't displayed a high intelligence. Making his choice of his limited options he quietly scooted to the cashier's island and made sure his helmet's headlamps were off. A near-silent *click* muffled by the sheer volume of the room ignited the flamethrower's pilot light. He took position behind the island, prepared to move as needed to keep out of observation from if the gribblie (or gribblies) entered the room.

The island would give him at least momentary defensive cover, and quite frankly they only seemed to know he was alive in the facility. His pressure only attracted the metal ones as far as he could tell; else-wise he'd have been swarmed days ago as the strongest Newtype on the facility. What preparations he could make being in place, he crouched and waited to see what he was up against this time.

To his credit, Garr had entered the cafeteria with the poise and stealth of a trained assassin. His controlled movements were precise and professional, even knowing the danger that lurked behind every door and around every corner. His efforts could have been a model for any aspiring surreptitious soldier. Without fault, Garr had been as unobtrusive as one could possibly be…

Regrettably, his intrusion into the stillness of the cafeteria had not gone unnoticed, despite a valiant effort. The thing that has scratched by the entrance never came, and apparently carried on in some different direction. There were certainly more pressing issues for the seasoned Newtype veteran right in front of him however.

The bodies of the four dead men seated at the table snapped to attention with a soundless scream that would reverberate in Garr’s mind and signal their coming. In fantastic horror, three of them tore from their seats with feral ferocity, gibbering madness as they moved across the cafeteria with animalistic speed hunched over like small dinosaurs. Two would come at him from more of a vertical angle as they maneuvered around the other tables. Another awkwardly climbed over benches and counters but was coming straight on for its prey. One rushed in total the opposite direction, diving headfirst into the disgusting mass that occupied the corner. A wretched squelching could be heard as the man enveloped himself entirely, as if stepping into a dirty flowstone formation of rotten Jell-O. The stench, if Garr could have smelt it, would have likely killed him on the spot. That is, if the infected didn’t tear him to pieces first.

His face twitched angrily as he felt the soundless scream echo from the four bodies at the table. The gribblies were getting slightly smarter, it seemed. Knowing his cover was blown, Garr chose to make a move towards the angle that would give him the most time between him and the approaching gribblies, and took off in a classical strafing maneuver. The flamethrower was already up in his left hand while his right went to the pistol at his hip. The fire-spewing weapon was light enough and he was strong enough that it could be handily wielded in his offhand. As he freed the pistol into his right hand it joined the flamethrower in being pointed to the gribblies.

He directed a pistol shot from the pistol towards the right leg of one opponent and the left of another; aiming for a shot to kneecap them and bring them crashing down even as the flamethrower roared to life and hosed down the space they'd be occupying when the bullets and a half-heartbeat later the flaming liquid got to them. The pistol by itself wasn't as effective as he'd want it to be but it helped slow them down to leave them open to something heavier.

The one scrambling over the tables seemed to be having trouble getting traction so by the time he dealt with the faster two he'd still have plenty of time to handle that gribblie. The fourth of their quartet had taken a headlong dive for the pile of gore he'd passed on the way into here. It didn't take a degree in rocket science for him to figure out that it was most likely going to come out of the pile as a stronger gribblie than when it went in. This fight had to wrap up quickly. The noise would likely draw others, and he wasn't really in the position to engage in a pitched battle just yet. All of these decisions had taken place in a handful of seconds; a testament to both his danger-triggered precognition as a Newtype and his battle-hardened senses as a fighter. One had to multitask effectively or the battlefield would become a shallow grave in heartbeats.

As an exit strategy, he decided that heading towards the research section was probably a better option than trying to secure the cafeteria right now. But he still had to deal with the present threat even as he subconsciously started to angle his strafing towards the door that would lead towards the labs. In the depths of his heart, the strongly worded letter to Lance Screamer gained a line composed of some very choice words...

Screams melted into a wave of flame as two of the creatures immediately abandoned pursing their lunch in heated panic. Slamming to the ground and writhing like crushed insects, the horrible sounds of their demise were overshadowed by an explosion of filth from the corner.



What emerged slithered with inhuman speed, and almost seemed to glide in effortless motion. Drool and slime left in its wake, it spiraled up the wall and onto the ceiling at the other side of the room, disappearing up a self-made hole of filthy ceiling tiles. It’s gibbering could still be heard, and it’s mass crashed tile after tile to the floor in its wake, accompanied by drips and slops of slime and biomass.

Fortunately for Garr, the thing’s excursion into the ceiling didn’t last, as its weight at last crumpled enough tiles to bring it down right on top of the last skimmer, still encroaching on Garr’s position. Unfortunately for Garr, something worse had taken its place. The disembodied tentacle-head rose to full height, towering well above the Newtype, and locked eyes.

Murder!!!

Garr wasted no time with the whole tableau of the worm rising from where it had fallen. Pistol and thrower lifted as one even as Garr's pace towards the lab's pathway quickened as much as he could in a slightly-backpedalling strafe. He could practically taste this gribblie's bloodlust. And it was much bigger than when it'd gone in. This was a new one, and he'd been right to judge that it'd be harder to deal with once it emerged.

There was still plenty of fuel in the tank, and shots in the pistol. He responded to the thing's thirst for death with the icy chains of his own wrath, roaring forth as shot and flame sought to engulf where it's head would be when it began to move after him. Not waiting to see the effectiveness of his twinned attack he turned on his heel and bolted full-tilt for the lab access hallway.

Now, you might be thinking to yourself "Garr, how do you get yourself into these situations; what with the horrible alien biometal-tainted nightmare fuckshits chasing you all over a goddamn asteroid 'research facility' like some shitty C-grade movie, all the while some so-called Lord Commander colonist fuck doesn't have the common sense to put proper security measures or even a goddamn self-destruct mechanism into said 'facility' in case the gribblies got out?" To which I respond; "Self, this is what happens when things that go bump in the dark between the stars stops being afraid of the light. Now shut up and find a goddamn blast door!"

The bio-mechanical beast crowed at the cloud of flame, but unlike its less refined brethren, had the sense to immediately recoil. It’s metal body grating loudly upon the floor and trailing slurry of rust-colored slime, the worm-like thing slithered back to the other end of the room. Its apparent retreat halted as it coiled up near the wall, and then sprang forward with enough momentum to launch itself clear over all three rows of the cafeteria.

Garr had already moved for the access lab, and the thing barreled after him with reckless abandon. Winding down long abandoned, dimly-lit hallways, clearing short blackened corridors, the hunter and the hunted travelled deeper and deeper into a facility that studied all manners of macabre stranger things, or in Garr’s case, had opened a portal to Hell. Three fast-paced minutes of the ultimate in alien terror would ensue. Several times, as the faster of the two, the creature gnashed its teeth as it gained ground, yet only to be rebuffed by flame with continued murderous laughter.

Before long, Garr would find himself faced with some impulsive decision making. At the end of the dimly lit hallway he so frantically negotiated, an open elevator handily existed. There were also two more options, a simple right or left, accompanying the elevator’s entrance. Although it would be well too dark and difficult to read the signage, a left turn indicated a trip to the Testing Chamber would be in order. A right turn alternatively offered further passage into the Containment Areas. The light within the small elevator shone brightly in the dark, the light at the end of the tunnel. Truthfully there as no telling where it might lead, or what help, if any, it might provide against the monstrous thing Garr was so eager to avoid. But he certainly had to choose well and choose fast, if he wanted to survive a second longer.

Garr was already getting tired of this giant worm behind him, and while he was in great shape and in not-full-gravity this run was starting to take it's toll on him. Having holstered his pistol during one of the times he'd driven the pursuing gribblie back with the flamethrower to free a hand, he came to a split in his path. If anyone had been there to see it they would have noted a disgust in his pale eyes as he looked upon his choices.

Of the three ways he chose to go for the Testing Chamber. The Containment Area was bound to be full of all sorts of horrors he very likely didn't have the ammunition to deal with, and while the elevator was easily the most tempting of the options it would also put him into a defensive position with an enemy that he didn't have anything strong enough to drive it back far enough or hard enough to make it anywhere in what would essentially be a giant metal coffin at that point.

As he hooked the left into the Testing Chamber's path Garr added another line to the strongly-worded letter in his heart for Lance Screamer.

Down another hallway, the corridors grew wider and longer as Garr raced for salvation. Another slughead had apparently caught onto his flight, exploding from the elevator not a moment after he’d passed in favor of greener possibilities. The two things coiled together like an errant floating strand of DNA, cackling and gibbering madness as they gained on their prize.

Two turrets, double-barreled gatling guns, would suddenly stare Garr down as he turned to flee through another passage. The swiveled gently, but was it a subtle evidence they were active, or perhaps in his quickness nothing at all? A small trough ran through down through the center of the strip. Garr would have to squeeze in tight, and hope the guns did their job, or he could continue deeper still into the test chamber.

Turrets! Lance wasn't quite as useless as he was seeming!

There wasn't any obstructions other than the hefty-looking defensive positions for the range he knew he had to work with due to the two snake-gribblies bearing down on his back. His muscles were feeling the burn of his exertions and all this full-tilt running. While he wasn't quite at his limit yet there was no denying that this presented his best option. Steeling himself for what he was about to do, Garr turned mid-stride and let his momentum slip his feet across the polished floor. The mid-stride turn and subsequent skidding forced him into a slide in the lowered gravity as he slid where he'd aimed just before starting the maneuver.

The padded and armored right knee hit the floor with a jarring jolt he felt up his spine as his sight oriented on the two sources of death coming for him. Normally one would have to worry about the material tearing but his flight suit was made of sterner stuff than something he'd be wearing if he'd come over here to the facility less-prepared. The additional point of contact with the floor robbed him of even more forward - or was it backwards at this point? - momentum such that Garr had to grit his teeth at the jarring ride to his destination: right into the groove in the floor right before the turrets. Too late he noticed the gore in the trench; his stomach beginning to turn in the slow-motion way he was perceiving the world in his adrenaline-fueled state of hyper-awareness. Even as the slide finished he could see the streak his maneuver had left in the carnage he'd unwittingly slid into.

With flamethrower raised, Garr let fly his killing intent such that it would shake the bones of anyone who could feel it. His pale gray eyes widened in his sudden rage even as his trigger finger pulled. A searing jet of flaming liquid shot forth into the path of the two worm-gribblies; Garr relying on their sheer momentum to keep them from dodging the dousing of the remainder of the tank onto them. There was no turning back from this course of action.

Work, you damn turrets, he mentally shouted into the aether as he once more stared death in the face. He could only hope he'd simply been fast enough and had gotten into the dip in the floor at just the right time to avoid any gunfire and not that they'd either run out of ammunition or were just shut off.

A deafening buzzer interrupted Garr’s fury as the trench he kneeled in gave way, giving the lone survivor no chance of escape or choice but to fall down the cramped bloody chute that had opened beneath him. Not even offering enough room for the outstretched flamethrower, Garr could only hope the thing didn’t come down on his head, or worse, explode on impact, if he even survived this. The roar of gunfire from above as some solace, but accompanied by slurry of blood and gore and his own adrenaline, Garr would likely never know his assaulting alien had been virtually disintegrated.

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?

Garr lay at the bottom of the chute sprawled out on top of some of the piled bodies and various bits of gore he'd rather not consider; staring up at the ceiling of the large chamber far above his head as his wildly open eyes fought to match his furious intake of filtered air. The run had taken him for a hell of a ride, and the chute opening beneath him had given him a moment of heart-twisting terror. The lowered gravity of this place had made all of this not hurt too much but even with his armored and padded flight suit he could feel the aches and bruises building in his flesh. Another moment went by as he finally sat up; his wild-eyed panic settling back down into a survival-oriented paranoia.

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."

Whether it was one last gasp for life, or a more malevolent desire, the attached hand of a departed suddenly snapped for Garr as he passed on by. Nearby, something else retched, and another thing kecked horribly, one right after the other. Nothing moved other than the hand, seemingly having a mind of its own, but the disgusting guttural sounds communicated for several seconds. Then, in a true moment of dread, so many more piped in and joined the ever rising cacophony.

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?

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.

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.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CUHLRcwRr0Y

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.

「Icon, I must profess ignorance as to the 'child' you speak of. I can tell you as well I did not come either to this place or here specifically seeking a child of any description. I am open to listening to you describe this 'child', though.」

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.

“We have seen his mind, and now yours.”

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.

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.

With the implications of the message apparently lost on the Newtype survivor, the Icon promptly exploded. Green and red, steamy hot liquids of putrid bile splashed everywhere as the thing seemed to burn away from within in a flash. How or why the Icon had suddenly ceased to exist would remain a mystery for now, but with dozens of worm head, several zombified and corrupted personnel, and other grotesque horrors now rushing Garr's position, he would have to consider the possibilities another time. His options for survival would be extremely limited: He could try and fight his way around the circular chamber to an apparent exit or dive into the sewage pit the Icon had once occupied, even as two corrupted former humans crawled up and swept wildly in a dive for Garr's legs.

As the Icon burst into a wave of scalding bile that thankfully didn't reach him, Garr closed his eyes for a moment and sighed deeply. Though he doubted the rot-god was truly gone he felt the putrid force against his mind ease up for the time being. These things didn't seem to like holding a stable form so this probably wouldn't be the last he saw of the Icon of Putrescence. His eyes snapped open as his danger sense flicked into high alert. He saw the small horde rising from the muck and starting towards him and glared down at the two gribblies with a look of disdain forming in his eyes. Lance would pay dearly for all of this once he got out.

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!]