11-20-2017, 12:14 AM
The poorly maintained road was a long one, taking him in a wide birth around the grim little town from before. The ride was almost calming, letting him think. The roar of the engine drowned out the screams in his head by giving himself something to focus on. For now, he just enjoyed the dull sense and the sensation of the ride. Memories from so far back were still vague - almost nonpresent, but he thought for just a moment that maybe his past life enjoyed rides such as this? Maybe Dana would be sitting on the back seat of a cruiser, or riding in a sidecar. Wouldn’t that be amusing?
That was over though. Dana had betrayed him, and now all he had were vague memories of a sister he would protect and the fresher, more vibrant memories of her betrayal. It hurt more than bullets, but it was still just pain. The Prototype had become quite used to pain as of late. His jaw tensed and he again forced his mind clear. Dana was not here; it was just him, this motorcycle, and the long, winding road ahead of him.
Sadly, one of the list came to an abrupt end. He loosed the throttle, letting the rumbling beast coast into what looked to be a small little hamlet. A farmhouse of some sort with the looks of a battle ruining the crops strewn around it. Whatever creatures had left the mess appeared to be gone, but Mercer saw no tracks leading away.
It was odd, but as he rolled up to the house he was met with a small group of people. A man, cut up but bandaged, a woman who trembled from shock, and two children. The youngest seemed well enough, her eyes so wide he could see the entirity of her blue saucers in a sea of milk. The boy was like his father - a connection Mercer assumed by their identacle hair and jawlines - and covered in bandages and light cuts.
“Howdy! Three visitors in one day, are you guys starting a patrol of the Moors or something?” Three visitors... Mercer could only guess he was following in the wake of other wandering souls. “You look like a third walk of life; like neither of them lovely ladies.”
“Like a league of super heros!” The young boy chimes, his throat weak but still so full of life. Mercer left the engine running as he dismounted. “You coming to help us too?”
“You bet,” Mercer chimed, throwing on a fake smile. “Just making sure everything is alright before I move on. Mind if I come up?” He gestures to the only steps to the porch. He placed his hands on his hips, keeping his distance until invited. It worked; the light voice, fake smile and almost cocky stance had a disarming effect.
“Sure, sure, would you like to come in for some tea?” This region was too grim for this to be the farmer’s natural state of mind. Something happened. The two that preceded him must be the do-gooder types, and he attributed Mercer’s arrival as just another coincidence. His wife did not seem too sure, giving her husband a look. “Oh come now, just till that fiery lass returns!”
Mercer chips in here, just to try and further wriggle his way into their comfort zone. “That would be lovely. I won’t burden you too much, I promise. If my friends are coming back, I’d love to wait here, I’m betting I already passed them once today. Maybe twice.”
The children giggled at Mercer’s falsified airbrained persona. “Tha’s the Moores for ya. Always getting people turned around, especially when the fog rolls in.”
“I hit a patch on the way.” Mercer pointed at his bike, the scraped side and splotches of blood made it look all too convincing. “Ran smack dab into a deer.” The farmer shook his head as he crained his neck to look at the bike.
“That’s too bad, my boy. Glad yer fine though, you and your friends do a might bit of good around here. Anyway, c’mon in.” He turned towards the door, shooing his wife inside with a playful swat to her backside. She seemed to ease up just a bit, but she was not nearly as convinced.
The farmer and his children plopped onto a couch in the den, a seat just wide enough for four. “Take a load off, my wife will put on the kettle! Oh, snacks as well.”
Now the woman’s glare was focused on her hospitable husband for other reasons. “Oh no you don’t, dinner is already cooking, you will NOT spoil it with junk food.
“Oh come now! We just survived near death, surely a few cookies won’t hurt?” A unison raid of puppy dog eyes from her husband and children earned a begrudging acceptance. Even as she turned for the kitchen, Mercer spotted his chance.
He gestured to the kitchen and offered another false smile. “Let me help, I can carry a few things at least.” HIs sweet tone almost gave himself diabetus, if he was not already a walking mass of viral cancer. The woman’s brow rose in surprise. She did not turn down the help though.
The moment they are out of sight, Mercer’s arm quivered. The biomass of his limb, even the sleeve, shift into a macabre concoction of black tendrils and hardened blade-fingers. The faint, foreign sound of quivering cancerous flesh had the woman turn to look. Her lips parted to scream, but before she could utter a sound, three blades were impaled into her neck, cutting clean through her spine.
Her flesh was so soft and tender, it felt as if Mercer had cut through butter. The Prototype held aloft his victim, not letting her fall announce his deed to the others. Sickly biomass tendrils spread through her, converting everything that once was this farmer’s wife into an extension of the walking retrovirus.
Flashes of memory rise to the forefront of his mind, little snippets of this woman’s life, and the memories of her family. She did not know much about the world at large. Her world of focus was like many bystanders; small and petty.
That man might know more… He had hoped the woman would be able to fill in all that he needed, but she was useless to him. She served only as extra biomass, as sustenance for his survival. Mercer peered around the corner, into the den. The three sat, chatting idly, completely unaware that their family had just been shattered. Unaware that their family would soon be eradicated.
Claws slowly shrank. Squirming biomass instead filled out his fists. The swelling and hardening of dense brackish mass weighed his shoulders down. With slow, careful steps, he moved in behind the couch, staying out of sight to the best of his ability. All it would take is one, compound movement to complete his goal.
As his hands rose, the young boy looked up at him. His cheer turned into terror. The boy’s frightened eyes were soon torn away, along with most of his head. The resounding crunch of three skulls and the massive crashing of twin hammerfists brought the room to a crescendo of sound, then a sharp, complete silence as a soul-wrenching encore. Soul wrenching to those who had one. The Prototype had long since given up any sense of morality.
Even as the three bodies were pulled from the couch, shredded and slurped like warm noodles in trickling red sauce, Mercer heard another sound. As memories flooded his mind, he became aware of this family’s full structure. Loving, doting mother… hard working father… and three children.
The eldest had tried to fight the… what were those things? He could remember - through the memories of the old man - creatures made of darkness and bone. He felt a twinge of pain, the mourning lingering over the loss of his eldest son… a loss perhaps not so definite with the help of a Prime.
Prime? Such an odd word… Memories of mentions of a faceless Omni - a being he too had met - could only mean Mercer was as this Sister Evangeline; a Prime. Beyond these, his freshest memories, things were muddled. Four minds in less than four minutes left a lot for Mercer to sort out. It was enough though, he had learned something of value. Primes…
Bloodied fists shift. One reverted to its fleshy form, while the other elongated back into the wicked four-fingered claws. He could hear the coughing again. After a moment, Mercer began walking down the hall towards the boy’s room. He lay unconscious, heavily bandaged and very pale.
Mercer could tell he was not likely to live without the attention of his family. For a moment he hesitated. He could remember waking up in the morgue. The fear of death still lingering and panic running through his mind. The cold darkness he had awoken from was this boy’s fate.
Was it mercy? Or malice? Something drove the Prototype to sink his claws into the boy’s guts. His eyes shot open and he stared into Mercer’s eyes. “Shhhh…” The Prototype did not comfort the boy with a false smile. Instead, he leaned in, pressing the other hand to the boy’s brow, holding him down. “Don’t worry, Jacob…” A name pulled from the cosmos. He felt as if he knew the boy - raised him, even gave birth to him as odd as that memory was.
With the claws deep in his belly, he could not speak. He should have died, but no blood escaped the wounds. Mercer stared into the young man’s fearful eyes. He watched as the fear faded, replaced by the same defiance they had when attempting to fight off those creatures, to save his farm. The infection in his body slowly patched his wounds, causing them to seal in a shimmer of biomass.
As the claws pull free from the flesh, Jacob sat up, taking a breath for the first time since Mercer’s hand had pierced him. The boy coughed up blood, but it was only the remnants of what filled his lungs before. He almost made the mistake of covering his mouth with a hand - but in place of his fleshy fingers he found only blades. His entire right arm had transformed into one that mimicked his savior’s. The claws were smaller, and his arm was not quite as distorted, but there was no mistaking what had happened.
“W...What did you do to me?” Jacob was surprised. His words were weak, but even in the single sentence Mercer could hear the recovery of strength.
“I infected you… made you better. I’m afraid your parents are dead… and your siblings… Two women tricked them… I can’t fight them alone… and I know they’ll come back…” The Redhead was supposed to bring medicine back.
Jacob’s world had been thrown into disorder. He remembered the fighting of monsters, then pain and darkness… and now, he awakes to such grim news? “I… I’ll fight with you… For my family.”
It was almost sickening even to Mercer how accustomed he became to deceit. So many times has he been betrayed, it felt natural for him to do the same to others. Continuing his ruse, he helped Jacob out of bed and walked him towards the porch. The sight of gore along the way did as Mercer hoped it would and reaffirmed his defiant spirit.
That was over though. Dana had betrayed him, and now all he had were vague memories of a sister he would protect and the fresher, more vibrant memories of her betrayal. It hurt more than bullets, but it was still just pain. The Prototype had become quite used to pain as of late. His jaw tensed and he again forced his mind clear. Dana was not here; it was just him, this motorcycle, and the long, winding road ahead of him.
Sadly, one of the list came to an abrupt end. He loosed the throttle, letting the rumbling beast coast into what looked to be a small little hamlet. A farmhouse of some sort with the looks of a battle ruining the crops strewn around it. Whatever creatures had left the mess appeared to be gone, but Mercer saw no tracks leading away.
It was odd, but as he rolled up to the house he was met with a small group of people. A man, cut up but bandaged, a woman who trembled from shock, and two children. The youngest seemed well enough, her eyes so wide he could see the entirity of her blue saucers in a sea of milk. The boy was like his father - a connection Mercer assumed by their identacle hair and jawlines - and covered in bandages and light cuts.
“Howdy! Three visitors in one day, are you guys starting a patrol of the Moors or something?” Three visitors... Mercer could only guess he was following in the wake of other wandering souls. “You look like a third walk of life; like neither of them lovely ladies.”
“Like a league of super heros!” The young boy chimes, his throat weak but still so full of life. Mercer left the engine running as he dismounted. “You coming to help us too?”
“You bet,” Mercer chimed, throwing on a fake smile. “Just making sure everything is alright before I move on. Mind if I come up?” He gestures to the only steps to the porch. He placed his hands on his hips, keeping his distance until invited. It worked; the light voice, fake smile and almost cocky stance had a disarming effect.
“Sure, sure, would you like to come in for some tea?” This region was too grim for this to be the farmer’s natural state of mind. Something happened. The two that preceded him must be the do-gooder types, and he attributed Mercer’s arrival as just another coincidence. His wife did not seem too sure, giving her husband a look. “Oh come now, just till that fiery lass returns!”
Mercer chips in here, just to try and further wriggle his way into their comfort zone. “That would be lovely. I won’t burden you too much, I promise. If my friends are coming back, I’d love to wait here, I’m betting I already passed them once today. Maybe twice.”
The children giggled at Mercer’s falsified airbrained persona. “Tha’s the Moores for ya. Always getting people turned around, especially when the fog rolls in.”
“I hit a patch on the way.” Mercer pointed at his bike, the scraped side and splotches of blood made it look all too convincing. “Ran smack dab into a deer.” The farmer shook his head as he crained his neck to look at the bike.
“That’s too bad, my boy. Glad yer fine though, you and your friends do a might bit of good around here. Anyway, c’mon in.” He turned towards the door, shooing his wife inside with a playful swat to her backside. She seemed to ease up just a bit, but she was not nearly as convinced.
The farmer and his children plopped onto a couch in the den, a seat just wide enough for four. “Take a load off, my wife will put on the kettle! Oh, snacks as well.”
Now the woman’s glare was focused on her hospitable husband for other reasons. “Oh no you don’t, dinner is already cooking, you will NOT spoil it with junk food.
“Oh come now! We just survived near death, surely a few cookies won’t hurt?” A unison raid of puppy dog eyes from her husband and children earned a begrudging acceptance. Even as she turned for the kitchen, Mercer spotted his chance.
He gestured to the kitchen and offered another false smile. “Let me help, I can carry a few things at least.” HIs sweet tone almost gave himself diabetus, if he was not already a walking mass of viral cancer. The woman’s brow rose in surprise. She did not turn down the help though.
The moment they are out of sight, Mercer’s arm quivered. The biomass of his limb, even the sleeve, shift into a macabre concoction of black tendrils and hardened blade-fingers. The faint, foreign sound of quivering cancerous flesh had the woman turn to look. Her lips parted to scream, but before she could utter a sound, three blades were impaled into her neck, cutting clean through her spine.
Her flesh was so soft and tender, it felt as if Mercer had cut through butter. The Prototype held aloft his victim, not letting her fall announce his deed to the others. Sickly biomass tendrils spread through her, converting everything that once was this farmer’s wife into an extension of the walking retrovirus.
Flashes of memory rise to the forefront of his mind, little snippets of this woman’s life, and the memories of her family. She did not know much about the world at large. Her world of focus was like many bystanders; small and petty.
That man might know more… He had hoped the woman would be able to fill in all that he needed, but she was useless to him. She served only as extra biomass, as sustenance for his survival. Mercer peered around the corner, into the den. The three sat, chatting idly, completely unaware that their family had just been shattered. Unaware that their family would soon be eradicated.
Claws slowly shrank. Squirming biomass instead filled out his fists. The swelling and hardening of dense brackish mass weighed his shoulders down. With slow, careful steps, he moved in behind the couch, staying out of sight to the best of his ability. All it would take is one, compound movement to complete his goal.
As his hands rose, the young boy looked up at him. His cheer turned into terror. The boy’s frightened eyes were soon torn away, along with most of his head. The resounding crunch of three skulls and the massive crashing of twin hammerfists brought the room to a crescendo of sound, then a sharp, complete silence as a soul-wrenching encore. Soul wrenching to those who had one. The Prototype had long since given up any sense of morality.
Even as the three bodies were pulled from the couch, shredded and slurped like warm noodles in trickling red sauce, Mercer heard another sound. As memories flooded his mind, he became aware of this family’s full structure. Loving, doting mother… hard working father… and three children.
The eldest had tried to fight the… what were those things? He could remember - through the memories of the old man - creatures made of darkness and bone. He felt a twinge of pain, the mourning lingering over the loss of his eldest son… a loss perhaps not so definite with the help of a Prime.
Prime? Such an odd word… Memories of mentions of a faceless Omni - a being he too had met - could only mean Mercer was as this Sister Evangeline; a Prime. Beyond these, his freshest memories, things were muddled. Four minds in less than four minutes left a lot for Mercer to sort out. It was enough though, he had learned something of value. Primes…
Bloodied fists shift. One reverted to its fleshy form, while the other elongated back into the wicked four-fingered claws. He could hear the coughing again. After a moment, Mercer began walking down the hall towards the boy’s room. He lay unconscious, heavily bandaged and very pale.
Mercer could tell he was not likely to live without the attention of his family. For a moment he hesitated. He could remember waking up in the morgue. The fear of death still lingering and panic running through his mind. The cold darkness he had awoken from was this boy’s fate.
Was it mercy? Or malice? Something drove the Prototype to sink his claws into the boy’s guts. His eyes shot open and he stared into Mercer’s eyes. “Shhhh…” The Prototype did not comfort the boy with a false smile. Instead, he leaned in, pressing the other hand to the boy’s brow, holding him down. “Don’t worry, Jacob…” A name pulled from the cosmos. He felt as if he knew the boy - raised him, even gave birth to him as odd as that memory was.
With the claws deep in his belly, he could not speak. He should have died, but no blood escaped the wounds. Mercer stared into the young man’s fearful eyes. He watched as the fear faded, replaced by the same defiance they had when attempting to fight off those creatures, to save his farm. The infection in his body slowly patched his wounds, causing them to seal in a shimmer of biomass.
As the claws pull free from the flesh, Jacob sat up, taking a breath for the first time since Mercer’s hand had pierced him. The boy coughed up blood, but it was only the remnants of what filled his lungs before. He almost made the mistake of covering his mouth with a hand - but in place of his fleshy fingers he found only blades. His entire right arm had transformed into one that mimicked his savior’s. The claws were smaller, and his arm was not quite as distorted, but there was no mistaking what had happened.
“W...What did you do to me?” Jacob was surprised. His words were weak, but even in the single sentence Mercer could hear the recovery of strength.
“I infected you… made you better. I’m afraid your parents are dead… and your siblings… Two women tricked them… I can’t fight them alone… and I know they’ll come back…” The Redhead was supposed to bring medicine back.
Jacob’s world had been thrown into disorder. He remembered the fighting of monsters, then pain and darkness… and now, he awakes to such grim news? “I… I’ll fight with you… For my family.”
It was almost sickening even to Mercer how accustomed he became to deceit. So many times has he been betrayed, it felt natural for him to do the same to others. Continuing his ruse, he helped Jacob out of bed and walked him towards the porch. The sight of gore along the way did as Mercer hoped it would and reaffirmed his defiant spirit.
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