#umb.open event: first monster kill

[samranumb]

how to greet a cat.

“Here, kitty kitty.” 

He felt it - the gaze full of murderous intent - but that wasn’t enough to deter him from saying what he said and raising a stalk of catnip that he’d stolen from some random old lady’s backyard. Samran was born ballsy, and if one day that should get his head ripped off of his neck, then so be it. 

“No purr?” He grinned, flashing his teeth. “I guess I am getting ahead of myself - not all kitties warm up right away.” The stray that he used to let in through his bedroom window certainly didn’t. It stared at him with wary eyes for the longest time, body tense and ready to fight. Why did it come in the first place then? Samran wasn’t sure. Maybe it was drawn to the warmth - on a cold winter night, perhaps his companionship (however irritating) was preferred to the muddy sidewalks. 

“Do I have to feed you for two months first?” Samran attempted to toss the catnip into the nearby garbage can and missed. Didn’t pick it up and try again though. “Fine, let’s do greetings the normal human way. I am Samran. They told me I’ll with working with you on the next mission.” They didn’t tell him exactly what the mission would be about, which was probably a good thing. Samran was the type that needed to be surprised when it came to work, otherwise he’d try everything he could to avoid the really shitty tasks - like that one colleague of yours that always called in sick on Mondays. 

“Is it really true you can turn into a cat? What about a dog?” Moon Dea (@umbdea) would make furries so very happy. 

[markumb]

deadlock.

Do heroes wear capes? Are they graceful in the air, hair lightly tousled by the breeze and shining under the warmth of the sun?

Or do they grovel. Do they pant and bleed with cracked glasses, their hands grasping at the air as they struggle for one last breath.

This is life and death, he told himself. My life, and its death.

Nothing else would be acceptable.

Pain radiated through his left leg, but negligible in comparison to the other, far more pressing issues. The monster’s grip wasn’t loosening, yet it wasn’t tightening either, this meant Mark was as close to victory as he was to death. He had done his best, and now it was up to fate.

Another wave of agony as something else exploded, this time in his torso. Mark hoped that it wasn’t something vital, for there were only so much the field medics could do, even if some of them were highly skilled. 

The monster stared, its six beady eyes meeting Mark’s two.

Die. Mark silently willed the monster as he continued to drain its energy. Right here, right now. You will die for me.

The creature growled, but weaker than before. Its claws loosened just enough for Mark to suck in a painful, but much needed gulp of air. He imagined the oxygen flowing in through his nostrils and filling his depleted lungs in a trail of purifying blue. I can live, he informed himself. I have to try. He raised his knife and brought it down towards the monster’s eyes, drawing it across the row of three at the top, then turning the blade downwards for the rest.

His second swipe missed, but the first one was right on the money. Finally, the creature dropped him. It would have been a bone-breaking fall, if not for a dead teammate’s last service as cushion.

Thanks, let me borrow this. Mark pulled his leg out of the unpleasant bloody mess and helped himself to another dead squad mate’s gun. His hands were shaking, but he managed to reload the gun. He could barely aim, but thankfully his target was a large, slowly drooping mound. How many bullets did he fire? That, he wasn’t certain, but he had but two remaining by the end. The thing eventually stopped moving, and at its stillness he laughed.

Nothing about this situation was humorous, and such a devastating scene should earn no laughter, yet he couldn’t stop himself. Something was cracking inside, worse than his glasses, and somehow the hysterical noises he was making  felt soothing on those frayed nerves.

Report. Static. Report.

What was that sound? Did it come from his ear piece? Oh yes, he still had that, didn’t he?

“Mission completed.” He put a hand over his mouth to contain his laughter and rolled onto his side. “Rank B monster eliminated.” Was that how he was supposed to report? His commanding officer should be doing this, except she might have been the first to die trying to save somebody else. Such a good person. “Civilian casualty...nine. I think that’s everyone. They all died, we couldn’t save a single person.” He wanted to raise his head and have a look around, but maybe that could be somebody else’s job. “Six of us died trying, though. You are talking to the last kid standing, or, uh, lying.”

What’s the point of all this? What’s the point of all this?

“If a medic doesn’t get here soon, we might have a total team wipeout.” Now that the battle was done, he was actually beginning to feel all his injuries. “Since I have you on the line, want to sing me Happy Birthday? Yeah? Awesome. To Mark please. Oh? Yeah, I am turning sixteen.”

[yoonjaeumb]

flashback.

A moth fluttered, its papery wings determined against the strong evening wind.

It was a life, full of endless possibilities.

The moth dipped, and into the fire it spiralled. Drawn to the light and the warmth, the hope and the promise. Its patterned wings caught the flame, and fluttered several times more before they ashed.

Death. How devastatingly final.

There was a tiny voice whispering in his head, repeating the same terrible sentence that he wanted not to believe in. You will not survive, it said. You will both die here.

Blood reeked and corpses piled. Monsters fed in a frenzy, delight evident through the grotesque noises of pleasure they made. And to think, just minutes ago, these monster had been children just like him, playing hide-and-seek in the courtyard under the watchful eyes of their caregivers.

Yoonjae felt the strong desire to turn around and face the corner, retch to his heart’s desire and then squeeze his eyes shut. Pretend this wasn’t happening, tell himself that it was all a nightmare, soon to be ended by dawn.

Dawn was indeed coming, but the reality was already here. Deep down, he was painfully aware of this.

You are going to die. The little voice persisted.

And that was the likely outcome, wasn’t it?

Why would he be different than the others? If the adults couldn’t run from the monsters or fight them off, then why should he, a scrawny little orphan kid who couldn’t even protect his own meals, dare to hope for anything different? Maybe he should just accept death and start on a prayer for the purity of his soul.

Yet there was a part of him that wasn’t satisfied with that. Life was difficult when his parents died. The car crash that took them both left him alive, and made him face a bunch of decisions that a kid wasn’t really meant to handle. Did he live through all that suffering...all that loneliness, just to die between the teeth of these things?

He swallowed back the bile that rose up in his throat and ran, clutching onto the hand of his last standing companion. No. He was not and must not be satisfied with dying.

They were going to hide.

Under the staircase they stayed for a while, and when they were discovered by a monster, Yoonjae tried his best to not scream.

They were going to run.

Up the stairs they went. He gripped Yizhen ( @yizhenumb )’s hand so hard that it must be hurting her, but he was too scared to be gentle. They couldn’t afford to get separated - couldn’t afford to trip. If these hands were ripped apart then they might never find each other again.

Yoonjae couldn’t breathing, his lungs felt like they were on fire. The monster was behind them, its three eyes multiplying into six, each a different colour. One of them seemed eerily familiar, though Yoonjae wished not to focus on those details.

The two of them were in the orphanage owner’s room, the one with the strongest doors in this building. It took the monster only one swing with its fleshy fist to create a massive hole in the middle of the door, and another to rip it completely out of its wooden frame.

Now they must fight back.

Yoonjae stumbled back, eyes frantically searching.

The monster lunged forward - time was running out. That decorative sword hanging on the wall to their right would have been a good weapon, but it was too far away. Only if Yoonjae could reach.

He raised his hand and something strange happened. The sword that he had his eyes on flew towards him as if it heard his desire. It landed, hilt atop his open palm, bloodied by the monster that it stabbed through in order to get to Yoonjae. The thing collapsed, black blood oozing from the hole the sword made through its neck. “I don’t think it is dead,” Yoonjae whispered, wrapping his fingers slowly around the hilt of the sword and turning the blade towards the still wiggling enemy.

Now they must fight back.