>>35862917

It is a scene of oddly sterile atrocity - the last flames crackling with dry, brittle sounds as your boots crunch over the shards of safety glass. Shell casings litter the ground, the walls peppered and riddled with small-arms fire, punctured, holed and splintered in distinct arcs and sprays - as if sustained automatic fire had been trying to chase and catch...

Something. A target that moved with frightening speed, heedless of frenzied automatic fire.

Your badge of office, on a lanyard, has never felt heavier. Neither does the gun knocking against your hip - Or the briefcase in your right hand, finished with chrome, the faintest gleam of purity amid all the ruin.

It is close to midnight, and it feels like time is running out.

[ ] Call the main office.
[ ] Investigate the site.
[ ] Investigate the vehicle.
[ ] (Psychometry) *Focus on the scene*.
[ ] (Auspex) *Activate your Auspex tracker*.
[ ] Write-in.

>>35862946
>[X] Investigate the vehicle.

>>35862946

> [X] Call the main office.
> [X] Investigate the site.
> [X] Investigate the vehicle.

Time to be a DETECTIVE.

>>35863121

This, but

[ ] Call the main office.

> [X] Investigate the site.

You pick your way through the scattered bodies - steam rises from them, the sickly-sweet smell of burnt meat hanging like a haze over the scene, mingling with the harsher stench of charred fabric and plastic. It takes a moment for the scene to make sense, to recognize the sharp dichotomy between the two sides-

On one: Big men, tall, thick through the chest and shoulders, at the peak of fitness. Helmets and ballistic vests, the shiny black shapes of guns - snub-nosed carbines and angular rifles - still clutched in blackened finger-bones. Burnt almost beyond recognition, as if they'd bathed in raw flame.

The others, more numerous, run the gamut - A scattered cross-section, male and female, old and young, with deaths that tell of massive tissue trauma. Some of them have been shot so many times, the gunfire has partially dearticulated them. These are burnt, too, but each one lies in it's own crater of char-

Burnt from the inside-out.

> [X] Investigate the vehicle.

The armored car is a heavy-duty one, customized - No logo, made to order. Exceedingly solid, thick with armor plating...Not that it did them much good. The side of the vehicle is crushed inwards, as if by some immense force - A missile? Something worse? - the back doors flung open...

-It's pitch-black, behind. Utterly black, climate-controlled, the systems still hissing as they bleed air out into the feverish night. The silence is troubling: An attack like this, the whole city has to be aware of it. But there's no sign of people rushing in, of reinforcements, of support or relief.

It's as if the whole city is snow-blind.

There's a recessed section in the floor of the vehicle. A hidden compartment, wrenched open - from the looks of it, it was done with immense force, divots left in the sheet metal. No sign of cutting tools, or explosives...

(Continued)

File: reiko.jpg (35 KB, 1024x768)

35 KB JPG

>>35863296

Whoever did this did it by hand. A compartment about seven feet across, a foot wide and angular...Something was taken from here. Something heavy, of immense value.

You circle around to the front. The safety glass is shattered, here - From the outside in, enough for you to glimpse the driver's lolling head, his expression forever set in terminal surprise. His throat is a ragged horror, the ballistic cloth of his tactical vest soaked in blood. Still drying, you note; the attack must've happened mere minutes ago.

A faint beeping catches your eye-

There, on the dashboard. A GPS unit, flickering between fizzing snow and a view from above. A dot, moving - Northeast, tracking...Tracking *what*?

> [X] Call the main office.

As recently as the last generation, the Secretists relied on the blunt brink of a handset - Solid, reassuringly heavy, that buzzed and spat static each time you keyed the trigger. Time, and technology, marches on - And now it's a simple earpiece with a drop-down microphone.

You've left yours off for the past hour. All you've been hearing is the screech of static, and the buzz of auditory snow.

Calling the main office. Calling the main office.

"...say aga...ber..."

Calling th-

"...ding...ou...?"

And then, blessedly, a lull in the storm.

"73, 73, this is Command, please respond."

You're here.

"Where the hell have you been-?"

That's Secretist Special Class - Reiko Kishou. There's a *snap* to her voice, beneath the veneer of calm - Notes of frustration, worry, relief.

Your boss.

...If you keep making that face, you're going to get wrinkles even faster.

"None of your business."

She's like that because she cares. (Really.)

"73, what's the situation?"

[ ] "-It's a mess. Everyone's dead, and the van's a wreck."
[ ] "Some kind of attack. They're on the move."
[ ] "Where's my backup?"
[ ] "I got here too late."
[ ] "Sorcery. The psychics were right."
[ ] Write-In

>>35863338
>[X] "Some kind of attack. They're on the move."

>>35863338
>[ ] "-It's a mess. Everyone's dead, and the van's a wreck."

>>35863452

> [X] "-It's a mess. Everyone's dead, and the van's a wreck."

"And the VIP? 73, do you see the VIP?"

You look around, at the scene of devastation on all sides.

...No?

On the other end of the line, Reiko exhales, slowly - She's probably pinching the bridge of her nose, the way she does when things don't *quite* go the way they should.

"Perfect," she murmurs, her voice low, taut. "-Perfect."

The call, such as it was, came from the very top...And, as with all things from the very top, rather sparse on detail. An abrupt emergency - An attack, and a request for support...Which couldn't have come at a worst time, given the wave of incidents erupting across the city in minute profusion, like a reflection of the storm above.

This place breeds recidivists like a pond breeds scum.

> [X] "Some kind of attack. They're on the move."

"-Just like the rest of the city, then. 108 and 42 are engaged; Rerouting a cleanup team in your direction-"

Static hums and fuzzes across the channel.

"...73...reaking up-"

Your boss's voice dopplers in and out of audibility.

"-o *after* them, 73. Don-"

And you wince, as a burst of white noise makes you cut the channel. Worse than useless - The storm's playing absolute havoc with electronics. Onscreen, the tiny dot continues to pulse, to throb, snow flickering across the cracked GPS - It's a wonder that the unit's survived the crash and all that followed.

[ ] Secure the site.
[ ] Radio for backup.
[ ] Go after them.
[ ] Write-In

>>35863736
>[X] Go after them.
>[X] Radio for backup.

>>35863736
>[ ] Go after them.

Rolled 4 (1d100)

>>[X] Radio for backup.

(One moment, please.)

>>35863784

> [X] Radio for backup.

73, calling for assistance. 73, calling for-

...Damn it.

> [X] Go after them.

You reach through the shattered window - Around the lolling corpse - your fingers locking in the metal bracket of the unit. You pull *hard*, and the GPS comes free: It's a portable unit, thank god for small mercies. Snow and glass crunches underfoot as you stride to your car-

...It's not really *your* car, admittedly, but that does have a certain ring to it. The vehicles of the Secretists don't have distinctive markings or sirens - You don't, in fact, have a uniform...Though a nice suit and tie makes for a professional look. Fortunately, there's rather more going on beneath the hood-

The engine growls at it comes to life. The throttle revs, as you steer onto the open road, wheels churning up torrents of snow from the curbs-

Heading northeast.

There are fires burning across the city. Black, sooty plumes of smoke, coiling upwards into the sky like lost prayers: In the distance, there's a *crump*, a flare of light, then a throaty detonation that makes the windows tremble. It's a stark glow against the coming storm, as you put pedal to the metal-

The dot's stopped moving, somewhere in a tangle of streets. You're headed right for it.

You don't like the look of this storm. There's a charged feel to it, a oily, greasy sensation that makes your skin crawl, that brings a rawness to the back of your throat - It has the distinct sensation of...

-Sorcery.

...Is that what this it? Cult activity? Some kind of...coordinated attack?

Why tonight, of all nights? Why Halloween?

More - What are they *after*-?

(Continued)

>>35864195

Disquieting thoughts. You glance past the skyline, where the dark, dense spires of new construction loom off the coast: You've heard vague, warped rumors, whispers - Not quite the full picture, but enough.

[ ] ...It's enough to turn a rookie's head, fresh out of the Academy or not. (You're 18.)
[ ] ...You suppose you'll have to get used to it. (You're 23.)
[ ] ...You're surprised they left a senior out of the loop. (You're 30.)

The briefcase - Finished in chrome - rocks against the passenger-side seat, never far from your reach. It's a reassuring presence, just like...

[ ] *The Synapse Mines in the glovebox.*
[ ] *The Kirlian goggles beneath the dash.*
[ ] *The Ward pendant against your chest.*

>>35864403

> [X] ...It's enough to turn a rookie's head, fresh out of the Academy or not. (You're 18.)
> [X] *The Kirlian goggles beneath the dash.*

Young is better.

>>35864403
>[X] ...You suppose you'll have to get used to it. (You're 23.)
>[X] *The Kirlian goggles beneath the dash.*

But if we're too young we won't be able to date our boss.

>>35864403
[ ] ...It's enough to turn a rookie's head, fresh out of the Academy or not. (You're 18.)

[ ] *The Kirlian goggles beneath the dash.*

>>35864577
>>35864912

> [X] ...It's enough to turn a rookie's head, fresh out of the Academy or not. (You're 18.)
> [X] *The Kirlian goggles beneath the dash.*

It's not *quite* your first day on the job...But it's close. Admittedly, the two-year course wasn't big on rote learning: There was about three months worth of procedure, and the rest was physical training.

Your car's tyres drum over the ribbed plating, as you swing up to the main street - Headlamps picking up fragmented, momentary glimpses of the world beyond, as the wind continues to howl. The fat snowflakes look almost yellow, as they mill down into the amber glow of your headlights; You're driving nearly blind, more by intuition than by sight-

You reach beneath the seat. Perhaps Kirlian goggles is a misnomer, though the heavy-duty units definently fit the term. The set you have resemble a particularly bulky set of wrap-around mirrorshades, as you settle them in place...

-High-gain, low-light. Go.

The focal field lights up with cold green illumination. Storm or no storm, you can see the way ahead. Each moment blurs into the the next, as you navigate through the frosty-green world of surreal spectral images: There's a visible haze, a distortion, in the air before you - Glimpsed through the windscreen, through the extra filter of your Kirlian visor.

Dark matter, bleeding from the thing you're tracking. A backwash of sorcerous energies, staining the air and everything around it.

(Continued)

>>35865222

You're close, now. The trail leads into the industrial district - You can already taste the chemical burn in the air, between the looming shapes of angular power-plants. Your car's engine tone labors as it copes with the snow - Just a dark blob on the thoroughfare, as you glance at the GPS again; You're close, now, and the trail leads right...

-You're right on *top* of it.

Your vehicle grinds to a trundling stop, the engine ticking over as it begins to cool, rapidly. You stand in the shadow of a massive cooling tower; Steam leaking slowly up into the dark sky, a pale smudge like a thumbprint on reality.

It's close, now. You can feel your palms prickling, your heart beating slow and hard in your chest like a funeral march.

A flight of industrial-looking steel stairs lead up the side of the cooling tower, to a small gray door set into the mass of sloping concrete. To your left, an F4 entrance descends into dank, frosted darkness; A faint creak coming to you, across the distance. The power plant's doors are somewhere ahead, the glass crazed with rime - It doesn't look like anyone's in.

Where are all the workers? Where is everyone?

[ ] Head for the cooling tower door.
[ ] Head through the F4 entrance.
[ ] Head into the power plant, proper.
[ ] Write-In

>>35865417
[ ] Head through the F4 entrance.

>>35865417
>[X] Head through the F4 entrance.

Gotta stp questing with the lights off.

>>35865528
>>35865554

And as before, you descend. Your Kirlian goggles cut through the darkness - But beyond a certain distance, everything becomes a blur. The sharp-cut steps down lead to a concrete corridor, cold, a maze of pipes and cables overhead...

The doors before you are open. One of them swings, creaking back and forth - The electronic card-reader fizzles, sparking forlornly. It's been torn right out of the socket, wires still trailing from the half-severed ends.

Not a good sign.

The corridor beyond is wreathed in steam and filled with oily black machinery; You're in the very guts of the plant, as you make your way forward - It's a noisy business of clanks and thumps and piston-whines and vapour-hisses, and...

-And you stop.

You don't see it, not with your eyes - But your Kirlian goggles pick it up, a peripheral burn at the edge of your vision. On the walls and floor, scratched into the stone and inked with blood - A ward. A booby-trap.

Your foot is mere inches from the curving lines.

You exhale. Very slowly.

You feel all the hairs on your body stand on end, over the clatter of machinery. In the distance, dimly, over the machine-noises, you hear...An atonal sound. A ragged sound. It sounds like...

-Chanting.

You have a nasty feeling that it's going to reach a crescendo.

[ ] You can't go around the ward. You should go back, and pick another entrance.
[ ] Try and subvert the ward. It's painstaking work, however.
[ ] Rush through, and hope you can avoid whatever happens.
[ ] Write-In

>>35865783
>[ ] Rush through, and hope you can avoid whatever happens.

>>35865783
>Write in.

If these are triggered by proximeiety then take a stone and toss it through the ward to trigger.

If its needed some life sign cut yourself on some knife and smear blood on the stone before casting it out.

>>35865783
>[ ] Rush through, and hope you can avoid whatever happens.

>>35865783
>[ ] Rush through, and hope you can avoid whatever happens.

>>35866306

There's a likely stone next to you, a shard knocked free at some point over the years. The edges are sharp, flinty; you squeeze it in your hand, and a trickle of blood oozes over the pitted surface. It doesn't hurt, not really, but it stings all the same.

A flick of your wrist, and the palm-sized fragment skims across the distance. The glow of the wards swell, burning bright in your field of vision - and then they dim to nothing, at the distant skitter of stone against stone.

Hmmm. It's on a life-sign trigger, but sensitive enough to distinguish between a minor and major contact.

>>35865927
>>35866411
>>35866485

If you had the time, and the necessary tools, you might be able to do something about the ward. With care and painstaking precision, like a team tasked with defusing a bomb...

-You don't have the time.

You back away, and your coat flutters in the breeze. Then you grit your teeth, taking one, two, three long strides...

-And leap. You hurl yourself forward, in an impromptu dive that becomes a shoulder-roll; A lurid crimson glow at the edges of your vision, as something plucks at your clothes as you hit the ground and tumble - there's a sound, a shriek, that makes the air judder-

You wrench the briefcase up, and curl into a ball behind it-

Then there's an explosive sound, the CRACK of lashing barbed limbs, as the air erupts into a snaking maze of tangled brambles. They smelled of blood and burnt-bone, slashing at you - One whips against your coat, snagging it for a heart-stopping second; Scads of fabric billow into the air, as you pull free-

(Continued)

>>35866547

You reel to your feet, drunkenly. A barbed lash snaps against the gleaming surface of your briefcase - you actually skid back a step, your wrists stinging, jarred by the impact - metal rending beneath the blow, a deep scar in the steel. The boneless, writhing limbs snake out in every direction, reaching, clutching at pipes and stone and metal, bony hooks scouring deep lines in the ground...

[ ] Kill it when it's weak.
[ ] Keep going.
[ ] Write-in

>>35866583
>[ ] Kill it when it's weak.
Either that or we keep going and get caught off guard.

>>35866719
Second

>>35866547

Our briefcase has a Quinque, doesn't it?

>>35866583
Still here, QM?

>>35867425

I think he's thrown in the towel. Can't say I blame him.

>>35867015

Maybe the magical equivalent, since this setting seems to have outright magic.

>Halloween Quest with TG undertones
>I wake up when it'd dead

No please come back.

>Kill it when it's weak.

>>35866583
>[ ] Kill it when it's weak.

>>35869694
Don't you have your own quest to run? Stop falling asleep, it's practically karma that you don't get to play this one.

>>35870845

It's 7 AM over here. I'm only awake because insomnia.

(/tg/, I am terribly sorry. I closed my eyes for a moment, and I ended up passing out for about seven hours. I'm on medication, but that's hardly an excuse.

The question is, should I finish off this Quest, or should I close things off at this point?)

>>35866719
>>35869694
>>35870845
>>35866809

There is a...*thing* emerging from the wards, a vague shape taking form. Filthy matter, hungry and agitated - Fused into a twisting, gnawing shape, hungry and agitated and impatient to get in. You feel your skin crawl, your thoughts chased from your mind by bursts of filthy urine-yellow light, hot and sour as old hatred-

You realize, dimly, that your nose is beginning to bleed. The clatter and pound of steam hammers, of industry, is the beginnings of a migraine to come.

You focus. You've been trained exactly for moments like this. To wall your mind off from the horror, to think each moment into slow motion and-

And your sidearm is in your hand. There's a full clip, your motions practiced to near-insanity as you thumb the safety off: Twelve rounds in the magazine, each one ink-black and dense as the abyssal darkness beyond the stars. You straight-arm your weapon at the emerging thing, the red thing whining as it fights free of its bonds, flayed and skinned and drooling red plasma that loses cohesion mere seconds later, melting into boiling vapor...

It reaches for you, as you fire. The shots are loud, stunningly loud in the low metal space; You can hear the sickly tearing sound it makes as the reaching limbs turn into blood-spray and recoil, violently, around the single glistening black orb of a basalt eye, glittering madly in the poor light.

(Continued)

>>35871198
>I'm on medication, but that's hardly an excuse.
Actually mate that's a great excuse

>>35871312

You keep shooting. You can see it happening, the hurt - the summoned horror is weak, still-forming, your shots punching into stippled flesh as it begins to come apart. Flesh settles and slumps; it already has trouble stretching its limbs, as your bullets punch into the knot of will that holds the false flesh together-

Then comes the sharp, metallic sound of the last shot, smoke oozing up from the barrel as the gun locks. There's a ringing in your ears, the taste of copper in your mouth...

-and you hurl yourself flat as the ragged thorny shape twitches and heaves and strokes out with one lashing tendril, the motion so blurringly fast you hear it cut the air overhead. Behind you, a shrill whistle echoes in the air, as metal piping parts like stretched cloth beneath a knife, superheated steam gusting out in a whirling torrent-

And because this is as good a time as any - once your hands have stopped shaking - you reload.

They don't pay you enough for this.

*****************************

Forward. It's not too hard to find your way, now - You don't need a map. You just follow the electric charge in the air. You prowl past a room full of blown monitors, your feet crunching on the glass. You past dozens of small fires, casting flickering shadows around the remains of shattered strip lighting.

The spaces are beginning to open up. The hulking pieces of machinery, the the gangplanks and walkways, the bundles of wire—everything illuminated in a pale white light that grows stronger and stronger as you walk on-

And then you see it. In the distance, in the wide metal space of the plant's silo. Sick light pulses, like part of the screen of reality has burnt out - But it's the stink of blood and excrement that hits you first, fuses sputtering in the weird, twitching illumination. There's a stench, a strong smell of filth and fouler chemicals.

(Continued)

>>35871524
What other quests do you do? I like your prose and suspect you may do JQ

>>35871524

There's close to twenty of them, crowded around a makeshift altar of twisted metal. Humans - And you use the term loosely, their features almost lost in the light, rife with grotesque physical mutation. Overalls are stretched and splayed around pulsing slabs muscle, are wrapped in ragged strands around mutated limbs, around arms become thick and branching, arms that end in flapping tentacles, in snapping claws-

The oily, greasy feel to the air becoming worse, moment by moment, as that awful atonal chanting brings the copper taste to your mouth again. Streamers flutter, hideous patterns inscribed on the walls, limbs swaying in the suppurating light. There's a rhythm to it, an order - Beneath the trappings, the rite is a science, a procedure, centered around its own mad logic.

And at the focus of it all is...

-It's a box. Seven feet in length, one across, angular - It looks like it weighs a ton, made of some black metal that looks reassuringly dense. Elegant script, all flowing lines and curves, spiders across the surface, tapering around the shoulders...

Something clicks. Not a *box*.

A coffin.

The second thing you notice is the figure standing back from it all, straight-backed and upright. It's not the size of him - though considerable and heavily-muscled - that strikes you first, or even the tattoos inked darkly onto his tanned skin. It is the presence of him: Tall, with short-cropped hair, in army fatigues, he is the sanest thing in the entire room.

He is also the most terrifying.

[ ] Start shooting.
[ ] Get to the gantry overhead, and start shooting.
[ ] Aim for the cultists.
[ ] Aim for the generator.
[ ] Aim for the man.
[ ] Aim for the coffin.
[ ] Call for backup.
[ ] Write-in.

>>35871629
[ ] Aim for the man.

>>35871629
[ ] Call for backup.
[ ] Aim for the man.

> [X] Call for backup.

This close to the source of distortion, your headset is useless. You wrench it off, and key the emergency beacon; It clatters to the ground, as you toss it aside.

You hope like hell that the signal makes it out.

>>35871689
>>35871957

You have a clear shot. You level the gun right at him, and your finger squeezes the trigger-

The sharp CRACK of the shot splits the air, echoing like a thunderclap. Your shots punch into him from behind; there's a spray of blood, as you put three shots centre-mass. Pink mist puffs into the air - you can actually see a round exit, pinpricks when going in, craters when coming out-

He staggers. Doubles over.

Not one of the cultists respond. The chanting continues, without missing a syllable - Why hasn't it-

A vast strand of flesh explodes from his form, and smashes into you. It is a blunt, jointless arm of flesh and muscle that powers into you, lifts you off the ground, drives you backward - You crash into the back wall of the room, your head bouncing off pipes and machinery-

It feels like your back is on fire. The awful limb uncoils from his back, with a sickening, suppurating smell - Strands of it claw at you, as it continues to *grow*: A psuedopod of pink, doughy flesh, climbing like a creeper, wrapping up and around, coiling around your throat-

It begins to *squeeze*.

"Too late."

His voice hisses, an electrical crackle at the back of his consonants. There's something like distortion at the edge of his speech, a screaming echo to every word. He's turning towards you, his eyes black-in-black-in-yellow, bloodshot and veiny. There are too many teeth in his mouth, and they come to needle points.

"I've done it," he says. "We're bringing it through. And you're too weak and too exposed and too fucking *small* to turn it all around. We've won. You're too late."

The gun, the gun, where's your *gun*-

(Continued)

>>35872050
ffff I missed the voting

>>35872050

Dark spots dance in your field of vision. Your stomach lurches, as the snaking tendril-limb hoists you up - Bringing you over his head, like he's windmilling a sack of so much flesh and bone-

And then he brings you down.

Your head makes a dull *thwack* against the concrete. Your breath bubbles through blood. He's moving, slowly - He knows there's no hurry.

"Looking for this?"

His boot comes down on your gun, and kicks it away. It skitters across the floor, rotating like a child's spinner, until it clatters into a gutter and out of sight.

"There's only ever one end to this, but you don't seem to understand. When will you realize how futile this is?"

Behind you, the foul light pulses, pulses - there are tiny flashes in the air, though that might be entirely in your head. It might be your imagination, but you can already smell his foul breath - Heavy with bacteria, with decay - as he closes in-

Your briefcase is three meters and a lifetime away. Metal buckles; sparks leap from the ruptured surface. Except-

[ ] You've already pressed the release catch.
[ ] "Remote...activation..."
[ ] You're already wearing *it*.

>>35872158
[ ] You're already wearing *it*.

>>35872158
>[ ] You've already pressed the release catch.

>>35872158
[ ] You're already wearing *it*

>>35872158
>[ ] You're already wearing *it*.

>>35872166
>>35872209
>>35872293

A moment in time:

The armory is a vast place. The faint hiss and sip of the machines are a constant background noise, a subliminal whisper.

"-Here."

What's this?

"From now on, [it] belongs to you."

A shadow of a smile.

"I have every confidence in you, partner."

*********************************

[It] is heavy, unlovely, beneath your clothes.

[It] is cold against your skin. The inhibitor chip at the back of your neck buzzes shrilly, as it disengages. The nausea runs a familiar jig through your guts, forcing a wince. Your fingers curl in reflex, as their connections to your motor neurones are temporarily interrupted-

And in a liquid surge, [It] uncoils across you, and swallows you whole. Thin threads worm in through your skin, seeking direct connection: The sensation is so wrong - they wriggle and slide, and you can feel them, you can feel *every one of them*, and you reject, you *deny*, you *refuse to feel*, but you can feel the *wrongness* surge up your throat like vomit and...

(Continued)

>>35872440
We have an Arata!

>>35872524
>Arata

I don't know what that is.. but I'm somewhere between Warframe and the Venom Symbiote.

File: armor.png (541 KB, 2024x1400)

541 KB PNG

>>35872440

In it's base form, [it] is liquid. It boils around you, engulfs you, forming plates and spines, dressing you in hooks and bone. There is no disguising the savagery of it, all brutal lines and gnashing teeth as the spinal filaments branch out in every direction from behind, trailing like a thick writhing crest of cable dreadlocks.

You hear a keening howl in your ears-

Your fingers end in hooked, barbed claws. Your arms bulge with artificial muscle.

When your hand comes down, it makes a keening shriek as four evenly-spaced talons split the air apart. They rip through the mass of muscle constricting you, spraying ichor and pus in all directions-

There is a frenetic clicking sound, mandibles chattering together. Your vast, black claws are the color of scorched bone.

You think, dimly-

-Bad merge-

-Spoiled meat-

-Rejection-

-i and you and me-

[ ] Cut loose.
[ ] Fight for control.
[ ] Merge

>>35872568
>[ ] Merge
Whats the worst that could happen

>>35872568

> [ ] Fight for control.

>>35872568
>[ ] Merge

>>35872568
>[ ] Merge

>>35872594
I have no frame of reference for this... so I have no idea.

>>35872568
Well then!

I want to go merge but I am very afraid of the fall out. Fuck it!

>[X] Merge

>>35872894
I had the same though process influence my vote for similar results.

>>35872910
I'm kind of tempted to do a write in that is sort of an expanded Merge. It can obviously think to a degree, could we corrupt it in turn? For lack of a better term, it does seem to be 'corrupting' us into a mindless beast but could we while merging force it into a more advanced sort of intelligence?

>>35872941
I'd assume that's what merge is in general. It's not lose control/submit or Fight

Of course perhaps merger is submission... It'll be interesting either way. Love this sort of thing.

(Systems:

- Your Condition is your current health, with the following levels: Unharmed, Lightly Wounded (99%-80%), Wounded (80% - 60%), Severely Wounded (60% - 40%), Mauled (40% - 20%), Crippled (20% - 10%)
- You take increasing penalties from Severely Wounded onwards; Below Crippled, you're unable to fight.
- With VURUTOGA, you're significantly faster, stronger and more resilient. Your primary weapons are your talons, but you can also extrude bone flechettes and strike with your filament tendrils.
- VURUTOGA has three configurations, depending on your level of control. This is the balanced one.)

>>35872594
>>35872659

-us-

-*we*-

TYPE: VURUTOGA [RANK 3]

Slowly, achingly, the snaking filaments retract. You ride the wave - you feel your Cypher's prey-hunger, your claws aching with death-heat. They smoke as they slice the air, boiling with vapor.

The flesh-tendril reels back, whipping away. Pressurised gore squirts from the severed limb, with such force that it spatters the ceiling.

The man stops smiling. He *moves*.

This is something different. Beyond the limits of the human body. Cracks open in his skin, for the split second he's in the liminal space, in the split second before he's on you-

But now you're fast, too.

You leapt at him with a howl, stabbing out with claws outstretched, spined shoulders glittering in constellations of darkness. A deflected kick wheels away, as your claws rip - the trunctuated end of that flesh-limb whips at you, with a CRACK that sends flaws splintering through your shoulder plating...

Your talons gouge into the tendril, and rake deep furrows down the length. Like barbed hooks, like flaying knives. The dense muscle *recoils*, and flings you aside - you smash into a gantry overhead, bisecting the railing with a casual flick of your claws-

(Continued)

>>35872998

You hit the ground so hard, it cracks.

Across the chamber, past the closing circle, limned by hideous light, he comes at you again. You catch a glimpse of motion: A fist drawn back. That molten, lumpen tendril snaking out, ending in a lamprey-mouth, now, with a ring inside a ring inside a ring of teeth-

STATUS: Lightly Wounded

[ ] Write-in

>>35873049
Shoot yo flechettes into that lamprey mouth

>>35873049
Barrage of bone filaments to keep it moving towards us, once it gets close juke/doge out of the way firing filament tendrils into things to give us an extra pull out of the way. If we get the opportunity go for limb removal. Legs/Arms/Head.

>>35873049
Get in close to him then rip and tear with claws

>>35873083
>>35873088
>>35873230

The muscles in your arms tighten, as you put up your palms with a snap of the wrist. Vurutoga grows new orifices: Long spars of sharp bone clatter into the air, in a puff of pinkish discharge. Jagged length of bone punch into that lamprey mouth - The shriek blitzes your ears, as it lashes out anyway with uncoiling fury-

"You *shit*-!" the distortion in the man's voice is worse than ever. Powerful muscles bunch beneath raw flesh, the tattooed contours of his face warping, twisting. Great cleavers of toothed enamel push through his skin, along his forearms - The blades whistle as they slash through the air at your head.

"Swallow your soul *raw*-"

Your filaments lash out, coiling around the railing above, wrenching you into a balletic flip that sends you spinning through pools of dark shadow and eerie light. Claws meet cleavers like a pealing of razor bells, as you bash a savage blade aside...

-And smash a kick into his legs. A jagged extra angle appears, as the bone of the limb shatters - He crashes to the ground at an angle. Ichor erupts; An unearthly shriek. You pivot, as you touch down - He's thrashing, making hideous, lethal growls, three remaining limbs scrabbling at the ground to lever himself upright.

STATUS: Lightly Wounded

[ ] Write-in.

>>35873268
Rip him up with yo talons before he gets up.

>>35873268
Run in quick then go for his other leg

>>35873305
>>35873286

He's still trying to get up, snarling, spitting. There is nothing but frustrated hate in those black-in-yellow eyes.

"You-" he begins.

You draw your foot back, and bury it in his face.

The impact is atrocious. You feel flesh, then bone, splinter as his skull caves in. Your talons puncture into his torso, tearing through fabric and meat, down into bone and organs - Then they split apart and rip his ribcage open, emptying him onto the wet concrete. Something within screams - The slaughterhouse stink fumes around you, Vurutoga's pitted surface clotted with thick ropes of foul gore...

And then you feel the sickening, unholy sensation of new mouths opening across the parasite, sucking in the mist of gore. Drinking it in. The inhibitor chip at the base of your spine begins to pulse again, as the cold mass of the Cypher - Sated, bloated - relaxes into engorged lethargy.

A shadow, behind you. You turn.

The cultists have become liquid, flesh flowing over the bundles of wires that lead to the coffin. They're melting, into a spreading pool of themselves - A lapping wave of skin grasping at rivets in the floor, clamping down on them so that they poke whitely through the stretched tissue. Their very forms are betraying them, becoming roots that push into cracks in the concrete floor, the hum of the generator building, building...

-And they continue to grow.

There are heads in there. Torsos. Eyes wide-open, and bright-white. Mouths full of light, too - As if the electricity is in them, as if the hideous conjoned mass is brimming over with the stuff. It's going deeper into them - The golden inlay on the coffin beginning to smoke, the awful unlight of sorcery make the air boil-

Radiant filth, in the air.

Poison in their veins.

[ ] Write-in.

>>35873473

Can we shut down the generator? Or destroy it?

>>35873473
Fletchet the generator steal the coffin. Gtfo.

>>35873473
Kill the generator, theft the coffin, use tendrils to whiplash and stab people if we can. Rush the exit and rip tear all in that path.

>>35873552
>>35873556
>>35873620

Electricity. It all comes down to electricity.

They're sucking the power from the world.

You raise your arm. Bone spears erupt - Flechettes punching into the metal casing before you. You can hear them smashing around inside; the thrum of machinery choking, dying, with a crackle of smoke and a burst of flame. Something whirs around and smashes into the casing, denting it.

There is an ungodly shriek from close by. The light, the lightning - For a moment, it flickers.

All right then.

Another volley of spikes. Another snap, crackle and scream. This time, you have to back away from the machinery - The flame leaking out is jetting more insistently, now. You catch sight of something else, something critical-looking...

You fire again. And something really goes this time - the casing deforms massively, metal ballooning out. Wires flicker out of jagged holes spitting sparks. The warped, merged flesh regards you through white eyes, eyes that are utterly, utterly hollow-

One more shot. The last jagged spike impales the generator like a stake through a vampire's heart, and the lightning storm dies - Just vanishes. The tear in the world healing, as machinery explodes. The impossibility of the flesh-melded form recedes, churning like a dark sea lashed by a hurricane. It rills, as if fighting to separate, all that sick suppurating meat turning grey, dying, writhing in frantic accelerating motion...

And then comes the last victorious thunderclap, a hollow boom that seems to sunder the world, that shatters every remaining light in the chamber-

And, mercifully, silence and darkness descend at last.

(Continued)

File: vip.jpg (82 KB, 705x765)

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>>35873739

Afterimages dance, in your field of vision. It is absolutely, utterly quiet, the complete stillness of the grave: The plunge from near-blinding light to pitch-blackness takes a moment to adjust to-

...Somewhere, in the distance, you hear a bell begin to toll. Low, brassy, mournful-

Midnight.

There's a sound. The sound of bolts being drawn back - The creak of a hinge, as a faint blue light fills the room - Just enough to make out the faintest outlines, as your eyes adjust to the wan illumination...

-the coffin is *opening*.

Slowly, with ponderous slowness. The faint hiss of escaping air - And...a fragrance?

A pale arm emerges. Slender, graceful - Slim fingers alighting against the sides of the coffin, tracing the golden inlay with a caressing touch...

A low chuckle. You glimpse her in silhouette, first, the light limning her form. The faint *creak* of criss-crossing laces, platinum hair framing paler, aquiline features; A quizzical glint to her crimson eyes, one that fades to realization as her gaze darts across the scene...

And then she laughs, a low, smoky sound, husky and throaty at once. There's something honest about it, honest and amused and relieved at once - Full lips curving in a slow smile as her hand comes to rest on a curvy hip, giving you her full and frank attention.

"My..."

That smile again.

"-I seem to have caused a great deal of trouble."

[ ] "...Who are you?"
[ ] "Wait. *You* were the VIP?"
[ ] "-They were after you, weren't they?"
[ ] Write-in

>>35874003
>[X] "Wait. *You* were the VIP?"
I do not trust this lady.

>>35874003

Hot.

> [X] "...Who are you?"
> [X] "Wait. *You* were the VIP?"

Oh shit, the bad guys were trying to corrupt her or sacrifice her, weren't they?

>>35874003
>[ ] "-They were after you, weren't they?"

> [X] "...Who are you?"

Her smile becomes a little more amused, as if charmed by the novelty of your words.

"-The Countess von Karnestein," she says, the lilt of an accent to her voice. Her eyes are bright with secret delight. A pause, as if to let her words sink in; Then she goes on-

"...But I prefer 'Lucretia'."

> [X] "Wait. *You* were the VIP?"

"Mmmmn." It's a low sound of affirmation, in the back of her throat. Lucretia's gaze lingers on the open coffin behind her; Her heels click lightly as she paces forward, heedless of the ash that coats the ground. She carries herself well, that tall, statuesque form moving with an unselfconscious, casual grace.

"-Guilty as charged, I'm afraid~" she allows, with a slight cant of her head - "This isn't common knowledge, of course...More's the pity. If the right parties had been alerted..." Her lips curl, slightly, her gaze momentarily downcast - "...Perhaps all this unpleasantness could have been avoided."

A sigh, a low, easy sound.

> [X] "-They were after you, weren't they?"

"Oh, undoubtedly." Lucretia mock-shudders, her slim shoulders lifting in a slight shrug. "-Rogue elements. Quite mad, really. For them to have come so close...It doesn't bear thinking about."

"But-" And there's an arresting look to her crimson eyes, as her gaze settles on you once again. "...Their efforts have been entirely thwarted - Thanks to you, of course."

Lower, softer; "-You really were quite valiant."

She's closer, now - The poor light, and your armor, seeming to trouble her not at all.

"Rest assured - The Secretists have risen considerably in my regard. Perhaps if an escort had been arranged from the beginning..." Lucretia seems to consider this, then exhales, slowly - Her eyes squeezing shut, for the space of a breath.

"-Well. A trifle late for that."

[ ] "Just doing my job, ma'am."
[ ] "-The others are on their way, Countess."
[ ] "What will you do now?
[ ] Write-in

>>35874444
>[ ] "-The others are on their way, Countess."

>>35874444
>[ ] "Just doing my job, ma'am."

>>35874550
>>35874476

> [X] "Just doing my job, ma'am."

She considers that, for a moment.

"Modest, too," Lucretia murmurs, almost to herself - Her hands clasped behind her back, that secret little smile playing over her lips.

> [X] "-The others are on their way, Countess."

And that makes her brow furrow; not in alarm, but in contemplation.

"Ah. I'll be long gone by then, I'm afraid - Believe me, it's for the best. After all-"

A sidelong glance.

"...my arrival isn't supposed to be common knowledge." A pause - "-Though I suppose it hardly matters now...Still, the forms have to be observed. Besides; it'd save your superiors quite a bit of embarrassment."

You're wondering exactly what she means by *that*, when a more immediate sensation dawns - Her hand coming up, without haste, to rest lightly against the visor of your armor. The blackened-bone face seems to be a cause for curiosity rather than alarm; her gaze lingering, that lilt returning to her voice...and with it, a half-smile.

"But I do have one request - A rather selfish one."

There's something almost impish in her voice, now, a flicker of mischief in her red eyes.

"...May I see my rescuer's face?"

[ ] Write-in

>>35874730
>"Sure"
>Undo Merge

>>35874730
Nahhh i cant say i trust her for shit

>>35874730

Go for it.

>>35874730
>>35874816
Seconded bad choice is go

>>35874730
Naahhhh.

>>35874798
>>35874816
>>35874928

Sated, Vurutoga responds to your thought-commands with sluggish compliance. It's a relief to feel the connection diminish, the slanting plates of chitin sloughing away a little at a time. The cool air is a blessing, though the smell of ozone lingers...

-As Lucretia's gaze locks with yours. Her crimson eyes are very large; Her hand soft against as your cheek, her face drawing closer, closer, as she leans forward-

And then, without any warning at all, she kisses you.

Those full, pouting lips press against yours, a slight arch to her back nestling her against you - Her free hand settling lightly against your arm, slim fingers squeezing, ever-so-slightly. There's something tentative about it, oddly shy, even as those crisp platinum tresses rustle in time to her delicate motions, almost inquiring...

[ ] Write-in

>>35874988
Swoon.

>>35874988
>Recoil
>Tell her you don't swing for sisters, if she gets what you're saying.

>>35874988

Are we a guy in this one?

>>35874988
Y-you too..

>>35875091

(Yes. My apologies, I should have specified.)

>>35874988
Push her away. Aren't we married?

>>35875091
>JQOP
>female MC
How new are you?

>>35874988
Kiss her back

>>35875109
Thou we were18

>>35875114

Seconding.

>>35875109

We're 18 years old, and fresh out of the academy. It's unlikely that we are.

>>35875142
>>35875114
>>35875073
>>35875096

> Kiss her back

Lucretia's eyes widen, behind long, long lashes - her lips parting just a little more. A low sound, a soft sound - almost a gasp - of muted surprise thrums in the back of her throat; the beginnings of a flush in her cheeks, the slightest shift in her stance, a slow roll of her hips...

-as she presses up against you. Her eyes - very, very slowly - slide shut, her hand releasing your cheek, coming to rest on your shoulder. Your hand finds the small of her back, and you feel a delicious shiver course through her - the fabric of her bodice is silken, sheer, beneath your touch, and you can feel the warmth of her smooth skin through your palm.

Then there's the faintest relaxation to her; letting her head tilt back, a low, half-startled, half-husky "Mmmm-" coaxed from the very core of her being - a plangent note of to that soft sound, as if startled by her own response...

You're the one who has to pull away. It's your only chance to come up for air.

For a moment - just a moment - the only sound in the air is Lucretia's hushed breathing. Her chest rises and falls with each breath, the faintest haze to those deep red eyes - she's actually blushing, now, somehow contriving to look amused and composed at once...

-though the impression's quite belied by the high color in her cheeks, the slow gaze she gives you through her lashes, before she draws away.

Just a little.

(Continued)

>>35875468

"And to think - that was meant to be *your* reward," she says - in low, dulcet tones, with the faint lilt of a woman who's been surprised...but pleasantly so, her lips curving in a restless smile. A soft laugh, almost silvery, peals forth.

"-I might have to think of something else."

There's the creak of leathery wings, like the folds of an opera cloak - Veins spreading across the silken membranes in spiderweb patterns.

"Perhaps I shall see you again - number seventy-three."

[ ] Write-in

>>35875571
"The feeling is mutual."

>>35875571
Call me!

File: lucretia.jpg (95 KB, 627x766)

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>>35875681
>>35875726

Lucretia smiles - and her smile is a secret one, somehow conspiratorial. Perhaps she has the same thought, too, color briefly suffusing her cheeks...

Then the light dims, as the air erupts in a swirl of chittering, flapping forms. They whirl past you, in a cloud, in a swarm - surging away, swirling through the corridors, towards some destination only they can intuit.

You retrace your steps. As you emerge from the doors, the air glows with the sodium light of headlamps - Welcoming, somewhere - and the thrum of engines as the first cars close in.

*********************************

Two cups of coffee and an hour later, you're finally beginning to feel human again.

"-I see," Reiko says - her expression pensive, thoughtful, as she mulls over your report. She's businesslike, more brusque than usual; it's hard to blame your boss for that. The past few hours having been taxing ones.

Well, not as taxing as it's been for you, but still...

(continued)

File: reiko.jpg (69 KB, 719x761)

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>>35876036

Her arms fold across her chest, her fingers cupping her chin lightly as she settles at her desk. "There's a lot to take in - and you can expect a more comprehensive debriefing, later - but...Good work, 73."

"-We had the makings of a genuine disaster on our hands. A few minutes too late, and..." Reiko lets her voice trail off, as if unwilling to consider the scale of the catastrophe. Her shoulders lift, in the slightest shrug; "There might be a commendation in it for you. All hush-hush, of course, but...I'll be sure to put in a good word for you."

So she says, but the entire time, she's been carefully avoiding your gaze. You wonder wh-

"Before you go - you might want to wipe the lipstick off. The others do gossip, after all."

There's...Wait, the entire time? And no-one told you?

A low chuckle. Reiko allows herself a smile; It's startlingly, probably the first you've seen from her in a while...Possibly the first *ever*.

"Oh, and 73?"

A faint chime. At the end of the proferred keychain, a little Jack O'Lantern grins at you, a wide, gap-toothed grin. The Bureau's a cold place, but now - With the numinous lights on, with the storm giving way to the soft velvet of snowy skies, the mood is oddly festive.

"-Happy Halloween."

BUREAU QUEST

TO BE CONTINUED (?)

>>35876107
I like your writing, sorry that I didn't get here earlier.

Have you written anything else before?

>>35876156
It's JQOP.

>>35876156

It's clearly JQOP.

>>35876107
It'd be cool if it continued. Half ass posted from Uni and traffic.

>>35876177
What's a JQOP?

>>35876259
>What's a JQOP?
A famous shitposter for /b/ who spams threads full of CP

>>35876259

He runs Joker Quest.

>>35876259
Joker Quest op. If you like this you'll probably like Joker until it bogs down around thread 50. There's an episode guide but I don't have the link.

>>35876318

http://pastebin.com/DNGtTt04

Linkie.

>>35876355
That's the one. Has Wata gotten around to completing it?

>>35876107

> "Before you go - you might want to wipe the lipstick off. The others do gossip, after all."

God damn it. Totally worth it, though.

>>35876036
>>35876107

So, who's hotter? Boss or Lucretia?

>>35876763
Lucretia. She's a goddamn vampire. WE can play with her wings and get into bite play.