legionmissions | TOTAL ECLIPSO THE HEART [modplot/log]

Some of the team has been tasked with fighting the monsters to clear the way for the engineering teams to come back in and finish building the threshold gate that can move Apokolips to where the Catastrophists can't get it.

Even as they attack, these half-made creatures beg for death, communicating the ways to stop them to the same victims they're trying to kill.

[ooc: Go ahead and start threads with your partners here.]

Okay, they might be half-made fallen angels with flaming swords, but that just means they have no knowledge of modern, scientifically-developed fighting styles. Turns out you can hip-throw a person-sized blasphemous entity of shadow and pain almost as easily as you can a mercenary, and the blasphemous entities don't even carry ranged weapons to complicate things. Shepard rips one of the flaming swords out of the creature's many hands as it goes sprawling, and follows up the throw with a slash backed by her full enhanced strength, right through the center of the thing's amorphous mass. Re-form that.

Even if it hadn't been making a respectable attempt to murder Ray and her, Shepard would have defended her actions as a mercy kill, but given the hell the Legionnaires have found themselves in, she doubts the question will come up. In death, or perhaps merely unmaking, the creature melts away, but to Shepard's chagrin, so does her stolen supernatural sword.

"Oh, come on, I wanted to hang that on my wall," she complains to no one as she ducks back into cover, drawing the pistol that she hadn't had time for when the thing had ambushed them. She misses her HUD. "More on the way, Doc. How do you want to play this? I can hold 'em while you make a sprint for the building."

Ray had come armed with a boson pack, rather than his usual proton pack, having foreseen a difficult fight ahead. It was for this reason, among others, that he cocks an eyebrow Shepard's way, being honestly surprised by her suggestion.

"You're kidding, right? I appreciate the sentiment Sentinel" he says, unhooking the boson pack's rifle from his back, "but I don't call myself Ghostbuster because I'm not prepared to fight half-formed abominations from the depths of the multiverse."

That said, he moves out of cover, and aims his rifle at the Spoken.

"Hey uglies! Eat hot fundamental particles!" Ray shouts, and fires. The blast of energy from the gun vaporises one of the angels, and damages two more enough to cause them to fade out of existence.

Shepard shrugs at Ray's back, but she's smiling. "Okay, frontal assault it is," she says, though Ray's probably too busy loudly shooting fundamental particle death at nightmare angels to hear her.

She throws up a biotic barrier, more from force of habit than need, and follows him out of cover, putting a shot dead center of one of the Spoken that looks like it's getting bright ideas about charging. Eh, probably her imagination. The explosive round goes off, blowing her target to inky black shrapnel. Thanks for the idea, America.

"Not a lot of people are less subtle than I am, Doc," says the woman loading explosive rounds and glowing blue-white.

"I'm hauling around a nuclear-powered particle accelerator on my back." Ray says as he neutronizes another monstrosity.

"Sometimes I use one to blow up gods. Subtlety went out the door years ago. Really, I'm not certain it was ever an option to begin with."

"I wasn't criticizing," Shepard says mildly. "Hell, I might have a job offer for you when this is all over." She doesn't think the supernatural really applies back home, but the guy knows how to build portable nuclear reactors with 21st century technology. The 22nd century could use a mind like that.

Of course, first they have to live through today, and they are vastly outnumbered. What the Spoken can't accomplish through whatever limited tactical skill they have, they might manage through press of their half-made bodies. "If they get our backs to a wall, things are going to get ugly." Uglier. Whatever. "Right flank looks weaker. Blow through that and we can both make a run for it."

Rico's on Apokolips doing what he does best; running and shooting everything that moves that isn't him. Or the brightly colored one with the dumb looking bucket on his head fighting near him. He's mostly content to ignore his presence in favor of picking out Catastrophists from the sky, which is his way of showing the most respect he'll give to these people.

But he starts to hear a strangely musical sound in the chaos of the battlefield, washed over by the stinging air currents, and Rico cocks his head to the side as he puzzles out what it is. It sounds like... giggling? Is that children?

Rico curses under his breath and starts running towards the sound.

"You! Nova Prime!" he snaps as he passes the man in question, gesturing him to follow with a hand. "You hear that? There are children here."

Edited 2017-09-24 19:14 (UTC)

Rich is mostly trying to do the same thing. Fight. Protect garrison members. Avoid hitting the grim-looking guy in an even dumber-looking bucket.

But then the sound of giggling children echoes around them and his hair stands on end. Between the Lovecraft monsters and the space zombies back home, he's learned that the instincts carefully honed by years of watching horror movies are sometimes on point.

"Like hell there are," he says. "Just think for a second. Why would there be random kids in a fight like this? The only people here are us, the garrison, Catastrophists, and monsters."

The giggling is getting closer and starting to surround them.

Rico stops running, not just because his words have gotten through to him, but rather because he recognises that voice. The one with the vaguely familiar Mega City One accent. It pings something ill at ease in the back of his brain, but he pivots smoothly on one heel to cover up his discomfort, scowling viciously.

Sure, it's strange that the children would be laughing instead of screaming, but Rico would be a hypocrite if he said he didn't understand that reaction.

"Exactly. If you won't help, then fine." He snaps. "But their presence is so far-fetched that you'd assume..."

He doesn't quite get to finish that thought. The laughter suddenly surrounds them, and it's pretty difficult to defend his reasoning when several things that are most definitely not children flashes into a corner of his vision from a distance. He grips his lawgiver, training his aim as he backs slightly towards Nova.

"-- that I'd assume they're some kind of unholy horror from realms of existence man dare not imagine?" Rich finishes. "Yeah, I'm gonna assume that. That's just how this day has been going."

They start to see them, little creepy etched figures moving towards them with jarring movements. They're not even close to being solid and alive. The only solid thing about them is the very real and solid blood that's spattered on them.

"Oranges and lemons" say the bells of St. Clement's
"You owe me five farthings" say the bells of St. Martin's

"Creepy nursery rhymes? Seriously?" Rich blasts at them but it does nothing. "Physical attacks don't seem to be cutting it"

When will you pay me?" say the bells of Old Bailey
"When I grow rich" say the bells of Shoreditch
"When will that be?" say the bells of Stepney
"I do not know" say the great bells of Bow

They start creeping closer and closer, their movements almost playful. Rich blasts one of the pillar-like constructs of Apokolips so it falls on one of them, but the little sketchy creature just pulls itself out from under it.

"Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
Here comes a chopper to chop off your head,
Chip chop chip chop - the last man's dead."

"Oh come on."

Way over the top.

Rico keeps merrily blasting away, ignoring Rich's little quips and comments. As he's completely oblivious to common horror motifs, nursery rhymes are not that terribly creepy as far as things go. So he doesn't know what the hell he's complaining about.

Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall
And down will come baby, cradle and all-

That's quite enough. "High-ex!" Rico barks, squeezing the trigger with a little more force than necessary. A nearby Abstract Child just a little too close for comfort blows apart in an angry scribble, but only for a second. It reappears back in real space only a moment later, seemingly unharmed. But as it does, it flashes an almost-garbled message to both Rich and Rico, the information entering their brains. Rico jolts back as it lances straight into his mind, and his face freezes for a split second in confusion.

"Lullabies?" Rico echoes dumbly. Of all the things. What even was it? Nothing but an emotional comfort, something sung to coddled children to put them to sleep, who dreamed knowing they were loved and cared for. It takes a second to even remember what it is, being so far removed from any relevance or experience in his life. He shoots it again just on principle, and snarls when it has no effect. Drokk it.

"Nova Prime! They need to be sung a lullaby! That'll put these creeps to sleep!" he exposits, just a tad unnecessarily.

There's a very expectant pause and look after the end of his sentence.

He hears it, too. These things have been doing that, even as they've tried to kill them. It's like they want to kill but also want to die and are willing to give people the knowledge to put them out of their misery. The problem? Rich hasn't heard a lullaby in ages.

"Don't look at me. I can't carry a tune in a bucket and I haven't been around kids for years," he says, blasting one of them, but it just reforms.

Lullabies just haven't been something he's needed in his mental rolodex for a while so it's hard shifting gears from the combat that's been his entire life since Xandar fell...to whimsy. God, can he even remember the ones his mom sang him? There are plenty of common ones that he probably knows, that are on TV all the time, but it's not like he's used to mentally going there that often.

"I'm many things," a soldier, a cop, a superhero, "but one thing I'm not is the singing star of 'Happy Funtime Gymboree.'"

An Abstract Child flits closer to Rich, alarmingly close before it snatches back, giggling in the wind. Next time it lunges forward, it won't just be teasing.

"What, and you'd think I'd know any 'Happy Funtime Gymboree'?" Rico replies sardonically. Whatever the hell that means. "I don't know any lullabies! You think the Academy would allow me to hear that? So unless you want be part of a new finger painting, out with it!"

If it really comes down to it, Rico's already thinking of a tiny strain of music in the back of his head. A melody that he knows, that he caught on the Tri-D display in the Mega-Mega-Mall while he was on one of his jaunts. But he's not quite sure if that would count as a lullaby...

Just that second, an Abstract Child creeps just that little bit closer to Rico and tries to 'tag' him. Rico ducks under the attempt, but the next one scores a slash down his uniform despite him throwing himself to the side. He backs into Rich and snags his other arm, shouting into his ear.

"Try!"

Of course it's down to him. They've criminalized fun where Rico's from. With how much of a hot mess his and America's universe is, there's no way Rico's going to be able to find inner reserves of whimsy.

Shit shit shit.

"Uuuh. Rock-a-bye baby on the treetop," he sings, wildly out of tune. "When the wind blows, the cradle will rock. When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall. And down will come baby, cradle and all."

It's very obviously not working. One of the children darts forward and slices his thigh right through his uniform before he manages to blast it back.

He can't tell if it's because he can't sing for beans or ... wait. Wait, he knows what it is. The feeling's wrong. He can't just recite a lullaby at them like a spell, these creatures feel like...like they're made of ideas. And feelings. And even though these little monsters very obviously want to turn them inside out, they also want to be put to sleep the same way little kids do when they're the ones scared of monsters. He can't just shout musical words at them, he has to comfort them to sleep, like they're actual kids.

He has to comfort them as he puts them out of their misery.

The idea of that, that something made these twisted things so malformed that all they want is to be comforted to death, causes something to pang in his chest, and that feeling helps. It's a road that leads outside the soldier mentality, and that means something finally clicks, and he remembers. His mother'd never sung normal lullabies. She'd always sung lullabies from things like musicals, like stuff from the Sound of Music. Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens...

But this was the one that always made his heart ache a little, as if he somehow knew, even as a small child, that life would never get that simple again. The song is still a little out of tune but there's more feeling behind it and the more morose sound to it is something he can manage better.

"Summertime, and the livin' is easy
Fish are jumpin' and the cotton is high
Oh, your daddy's rich and your ma is good-lookin'
So hush, little baby, don't you cry..."

This seems to be working better. The little stick children slowing down and swaying in place as they listen.

"Hum with me," Rich says quickly under his breath. "It's the same melody every verse."

Hum if you want to live, Rico.

Rico has zero objections to that if it'll keep him alive. Even if he's acting as Nova's backup singer. Out of sheer self-preservation, he starts humming with him. He picks up the melody fairly quickly, and his voice isn't half bad, rumbling and gravel-deep as it is. But that isn't strictly the problem.

It's the feeling behind it. His involvement seems to make the Abstract Children agitated and restless again, some stirring from their half-slumber. It could be the sentiment behind it, grudging and only just technical. Rico notes this with some slight mental surprise, and starts humming harder. It doesn't help.

Drokk. What is it that Rider is doing that Rico isn't?

There's something undefinable in Rider's voice, in his expression, something Rico can't quite pin down. That must be it. The secret behind how he's doing it. But what is it? He rakes his mind as he quietly puzzles at it, staring at Rider with an intent focus, but suddenly something just clicks, shifts mental gears, and an entire world opens up for him. He gets it and it's right there like a diamond in a safe, bright and shining in his mind's eye, and he darts forward and snatches at it with eager hands.

And suddenly, whatever the hell Rider is feeling, Rico's feeling it too. There's his own ache in his chest (except it's not his - not really) that makes him feel horribly uncomfortable and strangely jealous, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling with unease. The ghost of the love that Rider's feeling settles badly in the hollow of his throat, but the melody manages to come out of him with genuine emotion even as his thoughts are jumbled and alarmed and confused.

As the lullaby progresses, some of the Abstract Children settle, and lie still.

They don't get back up.

Zenyatta's role in this mission has been mostly support. When Legionnaires start falling under dark influences, he uses an Orb of Harmony to guide them back the other way. He has similarly healed wounds and tried to stop as many of the Catastrophists he can from tossing their lives away. Where the Orb of Harmony fails, an Orb of Destruction (or sometimes the orbs themselves) to the head does the trick. They cannot throw themselves to the fire if they are unconscious.

He also keeps an eye on Washington. Zenyatta wants to help the man to come out of this mission in better condition than the last. He's not babysitting Wash, merely checking in from time to time and offering his aid when needed.

"Washington, be wary. I sense something approaches us." It could be the heat of the fires that cause the air to shimmer and swirl in the distance, but it could be something else entirely as well.

Wash is pretty damn certain Zenyatta is keeping tabs on him, even in the middle of the chaos. On one hand, he feels like he should be offended, because he can damn well handle himself; on the other hand, he sure hadn't been acting like it when he'd met Zenyatta, and he can't exactly blame the guy for making sure a teammate comes out the other side of a mission in one piece.

"It's Freelancer in the field, Avatar." No better time to test terrible nicknames that may or may not work, right? "And this place is playing hell with my motion trackers. Do you have a direction?" Between the shifting scenery and the aerial combat, his motion trackers are false flagging so badly they're just about useless to him.

"My apologies, Freelancer." Maybe at a later time, Zenyatta will comment and ponder on the name he was just called. (He also files away the need to learn everyone's heroic name after the mission.) However, he's more concerned about the disturbance he feels. The shimmering becomes more pronounced, and it appears to grow larger. Or... is it coming closer?

"The location is at your 5:00." Zenyatta opts for that directional instead of saying South South East, hoping it would be understood quicker and accurately. "I believe it is coming nearer or growing larger." Both?

At your 5 is speaking Wash's language, and he turns to face the- the-

His brain stutters a bit trying to categorize the entity rapidly approaching them, and after a moment he gives up and bypasses that process entirely. He'd like a fucking week where he doesn't have to deal with a brand new horror movie monster trying to kill him. Is that too much to ask?

That question's not going to do anything for him now, and he dodges out of the creature's path, turning to take a shot with stun ammunition-

That does nothing. Great. "Any ideas?"

The disturbance gains focus into a bundle of nerves twisting into a helix shape. Nerve tendrils reach outward. A Figmented swirls with its nerve tendrils reaching towards the two Legionnaires. If anything, the Figmented has fully noticed their presence due to Wash's shot at it. It wants to know; it wants the information contained in their minds. Could they do what it wants? Yes, yes. It will have them.

Zenyatta's orbs spin around his neck and take on a brighter glow, and that says more than he needs to. Pulses of discord travel up and down his wires. His soul sense danger and steels itself for a fight.

But discord isn't evil. It is pain and sorrow, and Zenyatta senses something else within it. Something buried deep. That something gives Zenyatta pause. He doesn't launch a volley of energy at the Figmented and allows it to draw closer.

Great. It's hell's DNA, and as far as Wash can tell, they have its attention. He backs up, trying to put some distance between himself and the double helix of death, and-

And evidently Zenyatta does not have the same idea. He looked battle ready half a second ago, and now he's just letting the thing approach him-

Yeah, no, this isn't happening. Wash fires another shot at the creature - it won't do any damage, but it might distract the thing long enough for Zenyatta to get out of range. "What the hell are you doing? Get away from that thing!"

The second shot makes the Figmented pulse then spin furiously. Arms whip at the air around it as it pulls back and starts flies straight towards them.

"Something is not..." The bright glow in Zenyatta's orbs fade as he returns most of the energy to himself. He's made up his mind. Fighting did not need to be the answer for this encounter. Even if self preservation protocols try to influence him, Zenyatta purposely ignores them. He places himself between Wash yells, "Freelancer, stop! Do not fire at it further."

The Figmented stops its charge as if it is surprised that one of the targets is stopping the other from firing at it a third time. Then it throws tendrils at Zenyatta. It's easy to attach them to his cranium, wrapping tightly around the gaps within his frame to stay secure.

Zenyatta and his orbs plummet from the air and crash to the ground. A surge of commands run through his brain. He's accessing memory after memory, bit after bit of information. There are errors messages flashing in his consciousness. His sensors are rapid firing, but through everything being accessed, Zenyatta hears something that feels outside of his own head.

"You are staying. Yes. Help. Yes. I will kill you. Help. Your knowledge, give it to me. I will take it. You could help. Help. Help. Help. Kill. Yes. Stay. Help. Kill me. Nothing. Empty. Kill. Death. Fill me with nothing. Experience oblivion. Help. Kill me. Help me."

Zenyatta's voice is thick with popping static as he struggles to speak. Aloud, in his head, he's not sure which. "I... un... der... stand..."

He jerks back and holds his fire for now. It's possible that Zenyatta knows something he doesn't - maybe he's able to sense it or something - and so he waits.

He doesn't have to wait long, as the creature wraps its tendrils around Zenyatta and the omnic hits the ground. He's never seen Zenyatta not hovering, and it looks for all the world like he's short-circuiting, and-

Yeah, no. Wait time's over.

"You've got to be kidding me," he snarls as he draws his knife, dodges around the downed Zenyatta, and tears through the hellbeast's tendrils with the blade. There's a time and a place for pacifism and this is obviously not it.

There is a brief respite in the overload as Washington cuts some of the tendrils. Unlike the shots, these are doing something to it. Zenyatta senses, feels the pain the Figmented goes through in the discord, and anger bleeds into it. A tendril tries to grasp Wash's arm, but Zenyatta reaches out and intercepts. It wraps around his arm instead.

"Freelancer! I can help it. I know how." His body jerks, and his voice fills with static once more. "Peace."

But he doesn't know if his words were understandable enough for Washington. Zenyatta wills himself to rein in his attention, force stops as many non-essential processes (even a few more essential ones) and chooses breathing as his focus. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breath out. Close a few more processes that had been reactivated due to the Figmented. Breath in. Breathe out.

The Figmented's tendrils begin to slow in their movement.

Well, that does something. At least Zenyatta is able to move again, if only a little. He ducks out of the way of the searching tendril, only for Zenyatta to grab it instead, like he's not dealing with enough already - and now he thinks he can help it?

"That's great," Wash grinds out, taking another swing with his knife and severing a few more tendrils in the process, doing his best to free Zenyatta from their grasp. "How about I keep it from killing you in the meantime?"

TOTAL ECLIPSO THE HEART [modplot/log]

PART 1: THE UNMOLDED ONES

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Soldier and Healer vs Woes and Fragmented

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it's only been a literal month 8DDDDD

Coin has spoken (link for ease of finding the info again)

You are the best

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