Re: The $300,000 Fight-A-Thon! [Round One: Storage Park!]
09-01-2012, 08:43 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by SeventeenthSquid.
For a moment, Eriz completely lost her grip on reality. The fear, confusion and frustration had built up in her mind to the point where she knew nothing else. They manifested themselves in a shrieking bellow, amplified massively by her suit's speakers. Fears of giving away positions or drawing attention were totally forgotten, for the moment, as she lost herself in the sound.
She screamed until her lungs were empty. As her voice fell silent and she gasped for breath, another shout took the place of her own; the human in her arms was bellowing and flailing. She stared at him for a moment, totally confused by his spasming ululations. She realized, hazily, as if reminded by someone else, that she was crushing him again. With a sigh, she opened her arm and dropped him onto the floor.
“Are you trying to kill me?” he shouted, rising to his feet. He slammed a scrawny fist on her expansive chest plate, drawing it back a second later and shaking it in pain. “You stupid fucking tin can! You crush me, you scream in my ears with your stupid fucking speakers!”
Eriz was suddenly and unceremoniously pulled back to reality by his tirade. She took a step back from him as he trembled in rage or pain or frustration or Ship knows what. Eriz couldn't read the expressions that crossed his naked face. He took a step closer to her and grabbed onto her chest-piece in an expression that, when performed on another Kyelz, might have seemed somewhat intimidating. Eriz was simply confused as he tried to shake her with no success.
“You've probably drawn the entire fucking zoo of horrors down on us!” he screamed at her, his red and sweating face staring at her face-dome, his eyes unable to make contact with hers behind its mirrored surface. Eriz put one huge metal hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him back, breaking his grip. He smashed one hand into her arm and twisted out of her grip, uttering a continuous stream of cursing as he turned away and vaulted through the hole in the wall into the newly-revealed storage room. Eriz watched him jump over and vanish behind the lip of twisted metal and concrete before clearing it herself in a single jump, thumping heavily onto bare concrete flooring on the other side and nearly crushing the man underfoot, forcing him to throw himself onto the floor with a flourish of cursing.
He stood and dusted himself off, staring furiously at her face-dome. Eriz hesitated to meet his gaze, even knowing that she couldn't see his face. His eyes were alight with some kind of fervent anger and fear. He spat on the floor. “Clumsy idiot!” he growled.
Eriz uneasily turned away from him to survey the room they had just entered. In most ways, it was identical to the one they had just left; its vaulted metal ceiling arched far over their heads, halogen lights dangling from it on long black wires. Stacks of precariously balanced crates and rows of shelving blocked any line of sight into its interior. It seemed, for all intents and purposes, identical to the battleground they had fought to escape. The despair and frustration returned. She sank to her knees, dropped her hammer and fell back against the wall with a long, low groan that leaked through her speakers immensely amplified.
The man turned from surveying the room himself to look at her slumped against the wall. She met his gaze from behind her face-dome.
“Just giving up?” he said. He turned to walk away into the rows of crates. After a few meters, he turned back for a moment and looked at her. She felt suddenly pathetic and weak, crumpled as she was against the wall, unmoving. He grimaced, hesitating a moment.
“You shouldn't stay there. They'll be looking for what made all that noise.” With that, he turned an vanished into the maze of detritus.
Eriz watched him leave. She felt ashamed at her own weakness. How could she, a Sauthai, let a stupid weak Kyelz make such a mockery of her? She could almost hear the scathing hatred of her battle-master as she raised her cane for another strike. On your feet, she would scream at her as she lay bloody and bruised on the floor of the training ring. You will fight! You are Sauthai! You will forget your fear, your pain, your injuries! You will remember only one thing: a Sauthai fights.
With a growl, half of self-hatred and half of anger at her situation, she rose to her feet. Her Sauthorn clanked and whined as its hydraulics re-adjusted to standing balance. She lifted her hammer from the floor and held it across her shoulder as she followed the man into the maze of storage. Where had he gone? She wondered if she'd ever find him in this mess.
As she entered the narrow aisles between stacks of crates and dangerously overladen shelves, she sensed something... wrong. Something very amiss about the place. While the Coach's storage had given off an aura of stuffy forgetfulness and decades of aimless clutter, the stacks and piles here seemed... threatening. Vaguely malevolent. They loomed at least twice or three times her height, boxes formed from wood, metal or cardboard. Labeled and sealed in a language she had never seen. There was none of the loose garbage and detritus that had littered the floor of the Coach's warehouse. It was neater. Organized. Like something was making a conscious effort to keep the vast stacks and shelves carefully sealed, archived and secured.
Ahead, from around a bend obscured by a tall pillar of cylindrical metal drums, she heard a curse and the sound of something falling to the floor. It's him, she thought! She quickened her pace and rounded the corner.
The man stood in a clearing, its walls formed by piles and shelves. He was standing stock-still, his back to her and arms at his sides. He was staring at something in the center of the room. A metal crate lay at his feet, its hinges and latch crudely sliced through by the torch that lay, discarded, on the ground. Hearing her heavy footsteps, he spun around. His face was ashen, his eyes wide. He opened his mouth.
“We need to go back.”
Eriz took a step forward, craning her neck to look past his shoulder at the opened crate on the floor.
She nearly vomited into her helmet. Eriz had seen violence, yes. And blood, much of it her own. But she had been spared from the worse parts of war; the bodies, the organs bared to the air, the smoldering wrecks of vehicles filled with charred meat.
A twisted, flayed and shredded arm poked up from the crate, still glistening with fresh blood. It vanished into a morass of meat, tendons and bones that filled the rest of the crate. She raised her eyes from the horrid sight to see what the man had been staring at in the clearing.
A sculpture, she thought. At least four times her height, it towered over even the high walls of crates. It looked, she thought, vaguely like a tree. A tree, she realized with horror, built of intertwining limbs, rib cages, skulls. Loops of intestine and muscle hung from its leafless branches. Blood soaked the floor around its base, where huge, monstrous bones split out to form its roots. Twists of tendon and offal wrapped around its trunk. It was impossible, she thought. She couldn't really be seeing this. She stumbled back a few steps, and realized the man had already ran back towards the breach in the wall.
She followed as fast her hydraulic legs could carry her.
The Coach had been right. It's best not to poke around in other people's property. You never know what you might find.
For a moment, Eriz completely lost her grip on reality. The fear, confusion and frustration had built up in her mind to the point where she knew nothing else. They manifested themselves in a shrieking bellow, amplified massively by her suit's speakers. Fears of giving away positions or drawing attention were totally forgotten, for the moment, as she lost herself in the sound.
She screamed until her lungs were empty. As her voice fell silent and she gasped for breath, another shout took the place of her own; the human in her arms was bellowing and flailing. She stared at him for a moment, totally confused by his spasming ululations. She realized, hazily, as if reminded by someone else, that she was crushing him again. With a sigh, she opened her arm and dropped him onto the floor.
“Are you trying to kill me?” he shouted, rising to his feet. He slammed a scrawny fist on her expansive chest plate, drawing it back a second later and shaking it in pain. “You stupid fucking tin can! You crush me, you scream in my ears with your stupid fucking speakers!”
Eriz was suddenly and unceremoniously pulled back to reality by his tirade. She took a step back from him as he trembled in rage or pain or frustration or Ship knows what. Eriz couldn't read the expressions that crossed his naked face. He took a step closer to her and grabbed onto her chest-piece in an expression that, when performed on another Kyelz, might have seemed somewhat intimidating. Eriz was simply confused as he tried to shake her with no success.
“You've probably drawn the entire fucking zoo of horrors down on us!” he screamed at her, his red and sweating face staring at her face-dome, his eyes unable to make contact with hers behind its mirrored surface. Eriz put one huge metal hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him back, breaking his grip. He smashed one hand into her arm and twisted out of her grip, uttering a continuous stream of cursing as he turned away and vaulted through the hole in the wall into the newly-revealed storage room. Eriz watched him jump over and vanish behind the lip of twisted metal and concrete before clearing it herself in a single jump, thumping heavily onto bare concrete flooring on the other side and nearly crushing the man underfoot, forcing him to throw himself onto the floor with a flourish of cursing.
He stood and dusted himself off, staring furiously at her face-dome. Eriz hesitated to meet his gaze, even knowing that she couldn't see his face. His eyes were alight with some kind of fervent anger and fear. He spat on the floor. “Clumsy idiot!” he growled.
Eriz uneasily turned away from him to survey the room they had just entered. In most ways, it was identical to the one they had just left; its vaulted metal ceiling arched far over their heads, halogen lights dangling from it on long black wires. Stacks of precariously balanced crates and rows of shelving blocked any line of sight into its interior. It seemed, for all intents and purposes, identical to the battleground they had fought to escape. The despair and frustration returned. She sank to her knees, dropped her hammer and fell back against the wall with a long, low groan that leaked through her speakers immensely amplified.
The man turned from surveying the room himself to look at her slumped against the wall. She met his gaze from behind her face-dome.
“Just giving up?” he said. He turned to walk away into the rows of crates. After a few meters, he turned back for a moment and looked at her. She felt suddenly pathetic and weak, crumpled as she was against the wall, unmoving. He grimaced, hesitating a moment.
“You shouldn't stay there. They'll be looking for what made all that noise.” With that, he turned an vanished into the maze of detritus.
Eriz watched him leave. She felt ashamed at her own weakness. How could she, a Sauthai, let a stupid weak Kyelz make such a mockery of her? She could almost hear the scathing hatred of her battle-master as she raised her cane for another strike. On your feet, she would scream at her as she lay bloody and bruised on the floor of the training ring. You will fight! You are Sauthai! You will forget your fear, your pain, your injuries! You will remember only one thing: a Sauthai fights.
With a growl, half of self-hatred and half of anger at her situation, she rose to her feet. Her Sauthorn clanked and whined as its hydraulics re-adjusted to standing balance. She lifted her hammer from the floor and held it across her shoulder as she followed the man into the maze of storage. Where had he gone? She wondered if she'd ever find him in this mess.
As she entered the narrow aisles between stacks of crates and dangerously overladen shelves, she sensed something... wrong. Something very amiss about the place. While the Coach's storage had given off an aura of stuffy forgetfulness and decades of aimless clutter, the stacks and piles here seemed... threatening. Vaguely malevolent. They loomed at least twice or three times her height, boxes formed from wood, metal or cardboard. Labeled and sealed in a language she had never seen. There was none of the loose garbage and detritus that had littered the floor of the Coach's warehouse. It was neater. Organized. Like something was making a conscious effort to keep the vast stacks and shelves carefully sealed, archived and secured.
Ahead, from around a bend obscured by a tall pillar of cylindrical metal drums, she heard a curse and the sound of something falling to the floor. It's him, she thought! She quickened her pace and rounded the corner.
The man stood in a clearing, its walls formed by piles and shelves. He was standing stock-still, his back to her and arms at his sides. He was staring at something in the center of the room. A metal crate lay at his feet, its hinges and latch crudely sliced through by the torch that lay, discarded, on the ground. Hearing her heavy footsteps, he spun around. His face was ashen, his eyes wide. He opened his mouth.
“We need to go back.”
Eriz took a step forward, craning her neck to look past his shoulder at the opened crate on the floor.
She nearly vomited into her helmet. Eriz had seen violence, yes. And blood, much of it her own. But she had been spared from the worse parts of war; the bodies, the organs bared to the air, the smoldering wrecks of vehicles filled with charred meat.
A twisted, flayed and shredded arm poked up from the crate, still glistening with fresh blood. It vanished into a morass of meat, tendons and bones that filled the rest of the crate. She raised her eyes from the horrid sight to see what the man had been staring at in the clearing.
A sculpture, she thought. At least four times her height, it towered over even the high walls of crates. It looked, she thought, vaguely like a tree. A tree, she realized with horror, built of intertwining limbs, rib cages, skulls. Loops of intestine and muscle hung from its leafless branches. Blood soaked the floor around its base, where huge, monstrous bones split out to form its roots. Twists of tendon and offal wrapped around its trunk. It was impossible, she thought. She couldn't really be seeing this. She stumbled back a few steps, and realized the man had already ran back towards the breach in the wall.
She followed as fast her hydraulic legs could carry her.
The Coach had been right. It's best not to poke around in other people's property. You never know what you might find.