Laurie sprinted towards him, and through blurry eyes Ace could see the panic lines that cast shadows on her face. He could feel her tugging furiously on his armpits, and he fell into the poor woman as his muscles gave another painful spasm. He attempted to get off her, well aware that any more dawdling would lead them into a personal appointment. His muscles just wouldn’t cooperate, and he would shout in frustration if he didn’t think it would speed up their impending doom.
With a final wrench from Laurie, he managed to stumble out of the doorless way, static licking hungrily at his heels, needling its way into his spine. There wasn’t any feeling to describe it, the lawless bloodlust that clouded the senses, a projection forced into his head. The air was hot and heavy around his ears, Laurie’s commanding screams barely piercing the overwhelming pressure.
Post by Quentin Smith on Feb 19, 2019 23:29:52 GMT
Quentin watched from behind the various debris as Laurie hauled Ace up and got him running. He noted that the static licking at his own feet seemed to be lessening as the other two ran, though it still felt like it was humming in his ears. He didn't know enough about the various killers to know exactly what that meant, not yet, but he did know that three survivors in one place was a terrible idea. He stayed low and started trying to creep away. If he got noticed, maybe he could draw attention off the two of them, but if not, he could head back to the generator he'd been working on, and finishing that up might also draw attention off them.
It seemed luck was on his side, at least for now; the static around his feet disappeared entirely as he snuck back through the hallways, and he couldn't hear any sounds from the killer... or the others. He took a moment to pray, for whatever good it would do, that the other two would get away from the killer, and that Laurie would be able to help Ace. She had a better understanding of how the trials worked, after all.
He was pleased that he was at least able to find his generator again in the maze of corridors, and although he felt like he could still hear static in his ears as he got back to work on the it. Still, it had been almost finished when he broke off to find Ace, and so it took not even a minute to get it fixed. He wasn't a huge fan of the level noise it made, and it startled him enough that he sprinted away into the nearby rooms. As he ran, he already knew he'd make a mistake--how many times had he been told they were easier to find if they ran?--but he had already made the mistake, so he sprinted further, looking for somewhere he thought it might be safe to slow down.
Not that anywhere in a trial was going to be particularly safe.
He crouched behind a shower stall in a bathroom, taking a moment to catch his breath. Another mistake; even the momentary pause without movement had him feeling sleepy. He beat his fists against his head for a moment--stay awake. stay awake.--before moving on. Even still, as he began to creep through the halls again, it was difficult to keep his eyes open. When he ducked into another room, he took a moment to lean against the wall, despite knowing what a terrible idea it was and how likely he was to fall asleep standing right there. Still, he rested his head on the tiled surface, losing the battle to a micro-nap for a brief few moments.
Post by Herman Carter on Feb 20, 2019 22:01:37 GMT
If a man could moan with delight, he would have. He needed more of those screams to echo down the forgotten hallways. They were once filled with screams of the living and it would even put the screams of the damned to utter shame. If he could rip more of those blissful noises from them- How happy he would be. Punishment flipped into his thick fingers, the steel reflecting his gruesome smile that would last for eternity. Red glimmered for a second before he slammed the weapon down between the shoulder blades of the older survivor. It was implanted and then he raked the spikes lovingly down his spine, feeling the bump of each vertebrae.
Not even the ring and pump of a generator coming to life brought him down from his sudden high of bloodlust. The weapon was brought back up, insanity dripping off of him just as scarlet sweetly ran in delicious rivers down Punishment. He brought the pike back down into his left hand, feeling the life source drip into his palms like a sweet kiss of life. Soon there would be more and he would relish in the satisfaction of them crawling at his feet.
He would wait, however. They split like a bunch of pack rats, running in all types of directions to lose him and his overwhelming heat. Those two? They would go for now, running with their nails embedded into their palms and screams sounding loud for him to find them later. Their sanity was dispersing. His? His was not theirs. Instead of chasing the two rats, he turned on his heel and sauntered away, Punishment tapping back towards his right leg as his left palm raised threateningly, ready to fry the nearest survivor that had dared to fiddle with the generator while he was working nearby.
Herman began to hunt around the area, hand propped and ready to grab the nearest little wanderer by their throat.
Laurie didn't think she had ever run so fast and honestly, she would probably never move this quickly again.
Unless it involved the Doctor...
Her forced screams soon quieted and she was left a whimpering mess, trailing behind Ace as the two made their escape. Her lips were parted as she cried to herself, the static breaking her down already. She refused to give in to the Doctor so easily, but damn he made it hard. Was he aware that she was here? That the woman who had raked her nails down his face and ripped at his headgear was now at his mercy within this institution? She sure hoped not, for it would surely result in the most painful torture she could experience. She swallowed thickly, barely able to even swallow with how choked up she was from the events that had just occurred. As the static faded, Laurie knew that he was farther away. Whether he had somehow missed their cries of insanity or chosen to ignore it, didn't matter to her.
She had felt his static before, but this was the first time she had really felt it. It was unpleasant to say the least.
Catching up to Ace, she was heaving, her eyes puffy and red as she walked beside him. She recalled hearing the ring of a generator being finished.
Good, the faster we get these done the faster we get out of here...
"Come on--let's get away from here and find another generator." She hissed under her breath desperately. Her hand reached out to place itself lightly on Ace's back in an attempt as subtle comfort and encouragement. "Are you alright?"
He had managed to sprint, to grab ahold of his shitty legs and move, damnit, but it wasn’t enough. The Doctor knew no mercy, and as the mangled iron raked down his spine, pinging off his bones a wave of nausea swept through his system. He managed to propel himself further against the hit, clinging to the cold metal framework of beds as he scarpered away in an animalistic panic. Waves after waves of fire pushed through the haze in his mind, and only when the blood (oh god, the blood) was cold against his exposed skin did he finally slow.
There was a figure, small and petite behind him, and with a gasp he stumbled forward. There was a hand on his back, and it brushed aggravatingly over the raw flesh. “Stop- oh jesus-” He was crying out through the fist in his mouth, puffs of air stifled in an attempt to stop crying. The Doctor (did he lose him, or did he leave?) was not behind him anymore, but the lingering static weaving it’s way around and around was enough to spark embers of paranoia within him. “Fuck, I think- augh- maybe we lost him?” He was uncertain, the pure unpredictability of The Doctor impossible to comprehend. “I just- have any bandages? He got me real bad, see.”
Reluctantly, he peeled away the sticky fabric away from the flesh, wincing at every sharp tug from the skin. One could clearly see the gouge marks made from the various spikes that made The Doctor’s weapon, a beastly tool unfitting of such a high-class name.
Post by Quentin Smith on Feb 24, 2019 23:37:38 GMT
Quentin jolted awake, and quickly pushed away from the wall he had been leaning against. Terrible idea.
He was also completely disoriented. He couldn't recall which direction the finished generator was in, or where the other Survivors--and the Killer--had been. So he just picked a doorway, and stayed low as he headed out and back into some corridors. He passed a generator, but was pretty sure he was still too close to the first one for it to be a good idea to try and work on this one.
Through another room, out into a corridor again... he heard voices, then, and realised he'd found his way back to the others. They were in a room just a short distance away, and it looked like Ace was hurt.
Quentin was about to cross the corridor to join them when he heard the heartbeat sound kick up again. He ducked down behind a hospital bed instinctively, but quickly realised that the Killer hadn't seen him.
The Doctor was, however, striding through the parallel corridor towards the room that Laurie and Ace were in--he had definitely seen them.
Quentin, though, was closer. And so he sprinted, and arrived at the doorway that the Killer was approaching first. The Doctor was only a few metres away, but Quentin stayed put in the doorway, and called over his shoulder to Laurie and Ace. "Go!"
They'd be able to get out the other doorway behind them, and the Doctor would either have to go through Quentin or all the way around.
The dreamwalker had a feeling he knew which the Killer would prefer, but he stood his ground.
there's too much time for idle minds imaginations armed with hooks and knives we count our fears to pass the time tired or not, don't close your eyes
Circles and circles, rotating hallways with glassy screens that flickered back horrified expressions... Everything was endless, every corner turned and the exits were a grueling find. Hope came with them but each one was a battle to find and eventually became a disappointment when one was dragging by their nails through the facility again, away from freedom. Looping windows were a dangerous ordeal as doorframes were never far away from them. Chases could end fast, finishing with a sweet hand around the throat that could barely squeeze to feel the pulse of life.
This was what he wanted and he was on the verge of tasting the sweet liquor of life. Faint scratch marks, as red as wrists once tightly bound with leather, danced their way through the hallways. White on red, blood on frost, made it extremely easy for the Doctor to find his way through the facility and after the poor little rats that scrambled for safety. But the corners would not protect them. The belly of upright gurney's and beds would never save them this time as his static would reach them and assault their pretty little bodies. It was what he desired and judging by the movement in the distance that caught his single eye of pulsing vermilion.
That movement was all he needed in the distance was all he needed. Punishment drove itself neatly into his hand, ready to pick at more little holes into the backs of these filthy little vermin that wandered around in his lab. They needed to be taken in for vaccination and a screening, that much was for certain. Should they spread their disease, he wouldn't know what to do!
What a determined little runt, coming around the bend to save his friends. Despite the looming size of the Doctor over his frame and despite the electricity that rolled off of him like currents of a raging river- How fascinating. This little boy was standing up for his friends, against him at all costs to ensure that they would run away and get to safety. No. No. That wouldn't do. ₮Ⱨ₳₮ ₩ØɄⱠĐ₦'₮ ĐØ ₳₮ ₳ⱠⱠ.
His left palm slowly came up, snapping electric licking at his face. His thumb slowly grazed down the front of his lips before his fingers wrapped around his head, as if looking to suck the life from him. In this case? It was what he wanted for this little thing after he blocked his path.
But what a curious little piece of evidence.
Hmm, to shock or not to shock... I wonder. His voice was faint and not directed at anyone. It would be interesting if Quentin could even remotely hear him.
Laurie's eyes widened, feeling that oddly familiar queasiness in her stomach that begged her to turn away. But she just couldn't, she did have to swallow down some bile though. A shiver ran through her as she slowly got closer to Ace to inspect his wound. Dammit, Claudette was the best at this sort of thing--where was she when they needed her? She lowered into a crouch and murmured small apologies for touching his back before.
"Do you have anything? I have some wraps but--not much else." She explained sorrowfully, eyes wide and troubled with concern. These things happened, she had stumbled upon injured survivors so many times at this point that it should seem like a natural routine. But everytime she saw someone get hit, it mentally hit her as well. Not in the selfish way, she didn't blame herself or anything. But it was just horrible to have to watch these things happen. Every time she and the others thought they were getting better at outwitting the killer, the killer would strike--brutally.
It was a cruel cycle that the Entity relished in.
Reaching in her back pocket, Laurie revealed a few wraps that looked somewhat worse for wear. If Ace's injuries didn't automatically heal once the trial was over, Laurie guessed that these wraps would have given him an infection. But still, there wasn't much else to do unless he had supplies.
She had briefly witnessed Quentin's act of defiance and boldness on their behalf. It was strikingly odd, and although Laurie and him were similar in a lot of ways...Laurie wasn't like that. She would never try and throw somebody else under the bus so that she could get away, but she couldn't imagine herself facing the killer like Quentin was in order to give her teammates a possible chance.
Still, she respected him.
He didn't know about her connection to the doctor, she hadn't told anybody. But if anybody witnessed her and the brutal man together, they would definitely sense an abnormal amount of hostility. She despised the timer that kept ticking within this trials, counting down the minutes until she had to face the doctor again. Focusing, she shook her head and looked to Ace's back, beginning to do what she could with what she had.
With time, and a stunning amount of efficiency on Laurie’s behalf, the wound was stitched together with the bare material from their pockets. The flesh still pulled, still carried with it the tingle of electricity and the smell of singed tissue, but it would do for now. He knew that some others had gotten away with less. He tried to ignore the pressure that was pooling in the back of his head, the lasting damage from The Doctor’s attack being ignored for now.
“Thanks. We should- augh, sorry- we should get on a generator. You seen the mysterious fourth survivor?” Truth be told, the complete silence from the fourth had confused Ace. Unless it was someone like Jake, they hadn’t heard a fourth scream all trial, and though it was pretty tough to focus under The Doctor’s influence, (an understatement, a huge understatement,) he probably would've noticed a male cry or a female scream.
The generator was an unsightly beast, ever so slightly worked on. The innards were warm despite the frost and creeping snow, and provided a sort of uneasy comfort for his chilled fingers. He worked in very uncomfortable silence, remembering just the slightest flicker of Quentin in the corner of his vision and wondering if the boy was a mere illusion in this trial, because who would throw themselves in front of that beast?
Post by Quentin Smith on Feb 28, 2019 22:07:47 GMT
Quentin stood his ground as the doctor advanced on him, all but holding his breath. The static around his feet intensified and felt like it was beginning to creep into his head, but he didn't move, wanting to be sure to give Ace and Laurie enough time to get far away.
When the killer touched his face with a palm full of electricity Quentin flinched slightly, and he leaned his head away when the man touched his lips like a creep. He'd had more than enough of creeps, thank you ever so much. The crackling static was starting to echo in his mind, making it hard to think properly. He hissed as the man grabbed his head, both at the sudden increase in the staticky feeling in his brain and the roughness of the contact. He rather wished he'd maybe decided to run a little sooner, but at least this way he knew the other two were far away.
Then he heard a voice that clearly wasn't his own, echoing in his mind. It wouldn't be the first time he'd had some kind of sleep-deprivation hallucination, but given the current circumstances, he didn't think that was what was going on here. Rather, he guessed that it had something to do with the killer that he hadn't faced before.
Well, that was new and horrible.
"If it's all the same to you I'd go with 'not'," he commented dryly, lips quirking up slightly. His voice trembled slightly, but other than that he managed to mostly mask his fear. Plenty of practice, after all.
He could...hear him? This boy that barely came up to his chest was communicating with him openly and with the slightest smirk that twisted his teeth-bitten lips. A huff of a laugh seeped from his broad chest before he leaned down, overtowering the boy's height without a problem. How amusing of you, boy, he murmured. But I implore you to stay out of my way. His fingers squeezed a little more, proving he had so much more strength behind his fingers before he let the static wave rip into Quentin's body. It wouldn't damage him but it would certainly stun him, make his coordination between mind and body unsteady. That was what he wanted in the first place, wasn't it? Quentin was in his way and he knew it, too.
How dare this little rat impede his progress with his little quips of amusement? Did the boy wish to get punished?
Quentin didn't release that much noise and, oh, how curious he became. The boy didn't scream! There were bubbling gasps that seeped to the front of his mouth, followed by sweet whimpers of pain as he took the hit directly. It was too bad Herman couldn't experiment with him further. The man had a trial to get to, an Entity to please and his own beastly desires to get to.
With a wheeze from his chest that twisted into a malicious giggle, the Doctor was throwing the dazed kid over his shoulder. My, my, whatever am I to do with you? he mused, the same way a cat would do if it let a mouse go. He began to walk, almost uncaring of how hard Quentin struggled against his broad frame. He could struggle all he wanted but it wasn't going to get him out. Not unless he had a specific skill that would allow him to break loose of the Doctor's hold. That? That was unlikely.
A heartbeat or two passed as the Doctor propped his hands beneath the boy's body, thick thumbs pressing against his ribcage with surprisingly steady precision. Then the disgustingbeautifulsound of ripping flesh echoed. Herman openly cackled between his pried teeth before he turned away, immediately deciding to go the direction that he had seen the last two in. Surely, he could find them. Surely, through his everlicking static, he could find his prey and subject them to the same fate of the hook.
The deafening vibrations that plundered through Laurie's body forced her to pause, and she turned to look back the way she and Ace had come. In horror, she shook her head, despite knowing that the hook would most definitely be the price Quentin paid for his boldness. Her lip curled back in a snarl and she almost had half a mind to storm back there immediately, to go rescue Quentin that second. But she was almost certain the Doctor knew she was here. He would expect her, Ace, or the mysterious fourth survivor to come running to Quen's aid.
Looking back to Ace in despair, her face said everything. She was conflicted, her body vibrating with anger and distress at the thought of Quentin being dangled on the hook like a piece of meat for the Entity to feast upon. But this was nothing new, it happened every dammed trial. That didn't mean it didn't shake Laurie to her core every time though.
Her thoughts finally registered Ace's words, as his speech and Quentin's dire fate had occurred at the same time--and she blinked in confusion. They truly hadn't seen or heard anything of a fourth survivor with them. Was it Claudette perhaps? Just being as stealthy as ever? No, that was near impossible. No totems had been cleansed, no generators had been repaired. With everything that had happened, it was impossible for them to not have heard or seen the fourth survivor. At the horrific realization, Laurie felt defeated immediately.
Her gaze hardened and she swallowed thickly. "I don't think there is a fourth survivor. We would have seen or heard some sign of them..." She hissed, standing firmly beside Ace as he began to work on the generator. She didn't say anything else, deciding that she didn't need to explain herself, she just knew she was right here. Her eyes flashed with conflict as she looked back and forth between the generator and the way the pair had come from. She gave a hissy growl and her hands lowered to her sides as fists.
"I'm going to go back for Quentin...You stay here, work on the generator." She commanded him, pointing a finger aggressively at the generator as she flipped into a leadership role. It came naturally, she she regretted that she tended to be very snippy in this state. But dammit, she was going to get them out of here alive. Crouching down low, she didn't wait for Ace's reply before she crawled out of the room, eyes and ears on high alert as she made her way back.
Laurie's explanations passed over him, a vague understanding of a mix of consonants and vowels. Quentin's voice (he knew it was him- and yet he was so blind,) was loud yet muffled, layers upon layers of concrete doing nothing to stifle the panicked ringing inside his head. He just had to focus on his hands, on the callouses, scars, the dried blood staining an uneven pattern on his flesh, the pounding of the machinery, the hardened floor and the flashes of sparks parading in the corner of his vision. It wasn't enough.
The generator blew up with a resolute bang, the shockwave running a spindly crack down his left lens. Cursing, and sufficiently distracted, he furiously worked on the machinery til it was purring under his fingertips. In a rather anti-climactic fashion, it finally sprang to life, igniting the flickering lights for good. His footsteps were quiet, as muffled as they could possibly be, lacquered soles clicking against the bruised floor. Another generator- silent as a mouse- sprung up around the corner, yellowed sides providing a contrast against the neverending blues. He wanted so badly to run for Quentin, to get him and leg it, but his logical side begged him to trust Laurie once more, to trust in her hardened experience and unfailing knowledge.
Expecting pain didn't make it hurt less. That was something Quentin was becoming more and more certain of. Being fully aware of what was coming wouldn't dull the ache one bit.
But experience, and the knowledge of what was about to happen, meant he was ready for it, and helped him control his reactions just a little. It helped him dull the fear, too.
When the static lanced through his head, white-hot, demanding all of his attention, he didn't scream. He had to choke it back, and the breaths that he took escaped in pained whimpers, but he didn't scream.
Quentin knew he should run, but he was disoriented, his legs felt almost like they were temporarily disconnected from his brain. And so the killer was easily able to throw the dreamwalker over his shoulder.
His struggling was only sincere in part; he didn't believe he'd be able to get free, after all. In truth, he was flailing as much as was possible with as little energy as possible--after all, he had less than none to spare on pointless exercises--and he avoided striking at the killer's shoulderblades or digging is knees into the man's diaphragm. His aim was to try and slow the killer down, make a nuisance of himself and buy as much time as possible for the others, rather than to cause harm or to escape.
He could still hear the killer in his mind, even clearer than before. He didn't bother answering this time, but he did huff out a breath in acknowledgement.
And all too soon the Doctor was gripping his sides, hoisting him up and--
It was harder to stifle a scream when the hook pierced his flesh, when he was left dangling by the wound. He gave a strangled whine, the result of trying to close up his throat altogether to avoid making a noise. He choked on whimpered breaths, then, ignoring the sounds of the killer's amusement.
The Doctor didn't hang around, and all Quentin could do was hope he'd bought the other two enough time to get out of the way, and maybe work on a generator.
The sound of a generator exploding almost as soon as Quentin had the thought made him wince. So much for that. It was at least a fair distance away, and hopefully the person who'd worked on it would have time to move. But, no--shortly after the initial explosion, the generator roared to life in the distance. Whoever was working it had chosen to stick around, despite the risk. Quentin just prayed they'd manage to escape, or hide, or something.
Concern for the others was probably the only thing that was keeping Quentin awake, even with the pain of the hook through his shoulder.
Another generator popping like that made a vicious shudder roll down his back with force.
Oh no, no, no, no. Getting this match done? On his patrol? That would not do. But it was interesting to know that the boy would openly sacrifice himself for the others. It had been quite a clean catch but it wasn't what She had wanted. There was a strange sound in the back of his head. It was needy, gnawing at the bone of his cranium, telling Carter to work faster and with the vengeance of a thousand suns.
Forced to obey the beck and call of bloodlust, the man only stop to take the time to careen his foot into the diaphragm of a generator. Wires snapped like bone of the phalanges and clavicle before fluttering with a slight wheeze, angry sparks of car-light yellow hissing to the ground. He didn't take the time to admire the sight of electricity sparking heavily within it then dying from his handiwork. He had to keep going, had to keep looking, had to keep moving.
Footstep after footstep made their way through the barren and whispering hallways. In the back of his head, he could see the illusions collecting themselves from the memories of his work. Tier II madness was something nothing of them had experienced quite yet, so he believed. That was when his illusions began, recalling factual codes and numbers of the scientific variety, looking for the snapping of neurons in the brain, the muscle from bone reaction and the relief-giving satisfaction of torture. The whispers in his head began to no longer be the Entity but, instead, his own.
Herman felt his breath heighten into a new pace of encouragement as Punishment was brought down and therapy violently sparked, nearly matching the brightness of the gurgling generator he had come across. The smell of blood was ripe in the air and a quiver shot itself to his knees. His eyes followed the ground, searching for those bleeding scratches that were accompanied by that wonderful smell of iron.
Don't hide from me now, he hummed, that makes me very angry.