#probably gonna give the main three anomalies too for the funny

[sirofreak]

Whollies hear me out,

SCP foundation x unwind au⁉️

I already have sooo many ideas for it but I wanna draw them out first so I’m gonna make a reblog chain with all my ideas

[helpimdrowninginfandoms]

The Anomaly.

(( Yes hi hello, I am ask-the-blind-archer but this is my main blog

I’m gonna slap this down for @sayijo ‘s @loving-cryptor-day

it’s the first chapter of my rift fic/Deity’s rift travels but it is SUPER relevant for everyone’s lovable General so here y’all go

@ceata88 @tyeler-kostlan @montyrouge @lloyd-garmadork @grumpy-zane @noramutaofrost @s-obbles @elizabethjullien if ya’ll wanna check this out ))

Another day, another set of experiment subjects.

Cryptor had learned by now that not all the people dragged in here could handle the super virus that Cole and Borg demanded be injected and force fed into people.

Some of them would die within minutes of the virus being administered.

Others would seize, bodies convulsing while the dark ooze of the virus seeped from every facial orifice.

Truthfully, he was tired. How long has he been doing this? Trapped in this computer while Mindroid ran freely amongst the infected, escorting them to chambers to be stored. While he silently prayed they wouldn’t destroy each other. To make matters worse, anytime he looked to the corner of the room, he could see it.

His body.

Cole had ripped his processor out with his bare hands during his fight to flee the facility, and then he’d been shoved in here. Why did they keep him? Because he was good with numbers? Because he’d shown defiance?  Cryptor had no idea. He glanced over at his body lying in the corner of the room, vines grown over it and other signs of deterioration present. Rusted vents, broken eyes from the fight years ago.

It hurt to look at.

He couldn’t touch it.

He couldn’t go back into it.

It was too damaged and Borg had put coding in place to prevent transfer.

“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Cryptor growled and slammed his fist on the inside of the monitor, slumping forward in frustration and pressing his face to it. He missed having a physical body. He missed being able to feel, as limited as his sensors had been.

A short beep ripped him from his thoughts.

Mindroid made his way over to the screen, gently patting it and letting out a soft warble. [You know what Borg said, your anger can cause power outages if you’re not careful.]

Despite him speaking in warbles and beeps, Cryptor understood him.

He slammed his fists against the inside of the massive monitor. “I don’t give a fuck what that bastard says! Min, you came in after me so you might be more content with your role, but fucks sake, I want free-”

Another soft, quiet warble. [Freedom.]

Cryptor watched Min, letting him finish talking.

The short droid sat down on the floor in front of the monitor. [I wish for freedom, too. Do you think I’m content force feeding and forcibly injecting people with all this? That I like dragging the bodies of failed subjects to the incinerator? I thank whoever created me for not giving me the ability to smell, but I’ve heard Borg talk about it. The scent of burning flesh. People disposed of as though they were scraps of paper. Neither Cole nor Borg care. They only want control. Of everything and everyone. You have no body to return to, yet you still crave freedom. Because it’s what’s right. We weren’t activated for long before you realized all this was a terrible tragedy. You fought back against Cole, and lost. But at least you fought because you knew what they’re doing is wrong.]

Cryptor huffed, turning his back to Min and clearing his throat. “I just wanted to get out of here, I don’t give a fuck about-”

[Liar.]

“What?” Cryptor whipped around and looked at Mindroid. “What did you call me?”

[A liar.]

“What the fuck, Min? Why would you do that-”

[Drop the tough bastard act for three seconds you overgrown can opener.] Mindroid huffed, steam coming out of his vents. [You care. You care about all these test subjects, and you’re tired of all of this nonsense Borg and Cole are doing. I’ve seen you give some of the sleeping test subjects extra blankets when the virus hasn’t taken hold yet.]

“Listen you-”

A soft beep let them both know the doors to the main chamber had opened.

In walked a little girl who couldn’t have been any older than seven, rubbing her eyes and holding a partially destroyed teddy bear. “Mister Cryptor, are you two fighting?” She looked as though she’d rubbed a newspaper all over her face, ink smudges across her skin.

Cryptor knew better, though. Her genetic scans had been abnormal, and he’d kept her aside in a room just outside of Borg and Cole’s sight.

Mindroid stood up and looked over this girl. [Who is this? I haven’t seen her in the main facility before-]

Cryptor looked at Min, then back at the girl. “Inkjet, I told you to stay out of sight. I don’t want you to get hurt-”

Mindroid couldn’t smile, as he didn’t have a mouth-but the look he gave Cryptor was enough.

“I told you I don’t care about anyone, stop looking at me like that!”

Inkjet rubbed her eyes again and wandered over to the monitor, looking up at Cryptor. “Mister Cryptor, are you gonna read me a story again tomorrow?”

Mindroid looked between the two of them. [May I? I will not tell anyone the room she resides in.]

She giggled and went over to Min, rubbing his cheeks. “You make funny noises. Can you read me a story in beeps?”

Cryptor reluctantly nodded and watched Mindroid take Inkjet into a false panel outside of the main chamber, that he’d converted into a rather large room.

He sighed and looked to his broken body in the corner again, slumping down inside the monitor.

Everything hurt.

Maybe he did care. But why admit it? He’d already been called out on it, with Min giving him that look about caring for the kid.

“Fuck, I can’t even comfort the kid when she needs it-”

He took a deep ‘breath’ to calm himself when the lights in the facility flickered.Cryptor winced when the surge happened, holding his chest. Power surges felt like an amplified shock, that jolted through his body.  No no, couldn’t have the power going out. Inkjet and the other hundreds of subjects relied on the power for all kinds of things.

A warning siren tore him from his thoughts and sent a panic through him.

Had someone found Inkjet?

Had the facility been breached?

Digging through the various cameras the alarm was trying to guide him to, he stopped and stared when he saw the sky torn open.

“What the fuck?” Cryptor huffed and tried to pinpoint the exact location of this tear. “Damn..super virus creatures..” He grumbled and sat down in the monitor to figure out these coordinates. “Now the sky is torn open.” He fell silent when he saw something-no, someone dropping out of the tear.

The flying drone sent out another warning and Cryptor quickly silenced it.

A person fell from the sky.

“Scan.” Cryptor demanded of the silent but still functioning drone, squinting at the inner screen.

{Unknown persons. No public record exists. No known information on partially artificial life form. System labels life form ‘Anomaly’.}

“What the fuck do you mean, partially artificial-” Then, he saw what the drone was talking about.

The woman stood up and dusted her arm and leg off, tearing away part of her destroyed sleeve and pant to reveal the metal appendage. She said something, but the drones never had external microphones.

“Some kinda..Cyborg? Huh.” Cryptor watched her look around in confusion.

[Very keen observation, Captain obvious.] Min had walked back into the room, watching the woman on the droid cam. [Who is that?]

“I don’t know. She just fell from the sky.”

[The sky? You’re joking, right?]

Cryptor remotely controlled the drone, having it look up at the rapidly closing tear in the sky.

[....Damn. Do you think she could-]

He sighed and let go of the drone controls. “I don’t know. She probably doesn’t even know where the hell she is.”

[She has insignia on her top.]

“Insignia? What, where-” Cryptor went silent when the camera switched into a different direction.

Mindroid gasped when he saw what was on the screen.

Far in the distance, the drone had spotted Cole and some infected speeding in a jeep toward the woman. She couldn’t see it, only Cryptor and Mindroid could because the drone had zoomed in on them.

[Will she be alright?]

“I don’t know, I really don’t. Min, maybe she’s our ticket to-” Cryptor couldn’t say it. He was afraid to jinx it.

Mindroid went over to the monitor and gently patted the screen. [Freedom.]

[gaperezmakes]

Original Fic Fest Day 2 & 3 – Romantic & Non-Romantic Relationships (Iblan Light | Black Empire)

...That is still a title, but that’s okay. We’re getting through it. Anyway, welcome back to here, I’m glad you’ve decided to join us here in the super secret second entries for Days 2 and 3 of @originalficfest. If you somehow found these before the other not-secret entries, you can find them here. Anyway, let’s get to what you’re here for!

Day 2, if you missed it, was Romantic Relationships Day. For Black Empire, I stretched myself a little by writing about Synoth and Orvyn. For the Iblan Light series, we’re going to look at a relationship that has a lot of depth to it, but never really gets focused on: the marriage of Joseph and Helen Burmen. They are an interesting couple. Joseph is a biomancer, a mage with magical powers that are banned throughout most of the world. In fact, there are only a handful that are allowed to exist. Helen is a refugee from Nobe, a country that literally walled itself off from the rest of the world by creating a mountain range on their borders (Nobe is a country of geomancers). Her brother had potential to be a biomancer and was extracted from the country so that he could be trained to become one.

Then he escaped and they haven’t been able to find him.

Also: Joseph and Helen aren’t even their real names. They’re in some kind of like witness protection program. Because Joseph is a dangerously powerful mage and Helen is a refugee from a hostile foreign nation.

I don’t know, can I write anything more interesting than that? Probably not, but I can write this thing.

Joseph looked in the mirror, adjusting his tie. Helen walked up behind him, checking to see what colors he was using. “Black and white again?”

“Black and white again,” he nodded, “We have yet another fundraiser to sit through.” He watched her sigh and roll her eyes, “Is the babysitter here yet?”

“I just called, she’s on her way,” Helen nudged Joseph aside, comparing some of the jewelry she was thinking of wearing with Joseph’s choice of color. “Do we have to go dressed so plainly?”

“We can’t stand out too much, you know that.” Joseph pointed at the pair of earrings he preferred Helen wear: a pair of small hanging diamond earrings. She shrugged, knowing he wasn’t a fan of the hoops anyway. They both walked away from the mirror, Joseph walking to his closet and Helen to her jewelry box.

“You know what you should wear?” Helen looked over at Joseph, who was already shaking his head, “Why not? I worked very hard on yours.”

“I know you did. But you know we can’t risk the Imperials finding us. Nothing would stand out more than a couple of Imperial shiroshi at a National fundraising event.” Joseph looked at the several black suit jackets he had. “Pinstripe or no pinstripe?” He whispered to himself. He looked aside and saw Helen eyeing her traditional dress longingly. He walked behind her and kissed the back of her head.

“You know, only the man’s robe is called a shiroshi. Mine is a shirashe.” Joseph looked at the light blue robe. Wrapped around it was a brown soft leather belt. On the cuff of the right arm were three brown stripes, each getting thinner as they got farther from the cuff. The outer two stripes were connected by diagonal lines. Above the stripes was a very stylized depiction of a brown boar. Although he couldn’t see them, Joseph knew there were three water lillies just to the right of the boar. The left arm had been removed and replaced with a jade-colored arm with a silver dragon swirling around it. This arm had no stripes on the cuff.

“I did not know that,” he told her, “You’ve never told me. What do the colors represent?”

She smiled, “You know what they stand for.”

He kissed her temple, his facial hair tickling her face, “But I forget, love. You know that I am an aged man, after all. We forget things, sometimes.”

“You are not a jungdshi, not yet. You still have a few years to go. This,” she ran her fingers across his mustache and goatee, “helps you keep from looking old, however.”

“You know, here in the Union, most young men try and grow this to look older.”

She gave him a peck on the cheek, “But you’re not a National, dear.” She walked to the robe and touched it, “The brown represents earth, and is most often used by farmers. My uncle, as you know, was not a particularly wealthy man, but he did well enough for our family. We are of the clan Dyunhou, represented by the boar, a strong and hearty animal. I remember on our family farms, we bred huge pigs that we used to till our lands.”

“Did you have a favorite?”

“I had a small piglet. I named her Basleunne, after the peach tree she loved to sleep under. I assume that she has been slaughtered by now, although whether for food or by the government as a price for our desertion, I will never know.” She shrugged sadly, “Or perhaps she’s still alive today. I hope she is, and that she still naps under her favorite tree.”

“We can get a pig.”

Helen laughed, “I am not raising a pig in this house, Joseph. You already give me enough messes to clean up.” She continued looking at her shirashe, rubbing the delicate silken cloth between her fingers, “The blue represents health. My family was very hearty, very healthy. Sicknesses would roll through our village and my family would remain untouched. The jungdshi in the village would often say that a Dyunhou chooses when he is ready to die.”

“Must be nice. What about the other arm?”

“That’s from your shiroshi. I made yours before we married. The colors and the dragon are normally reserved for the royal family, but you--the exceptional person you are--you deserve these colors. For what you are, and what you’ve done, the Emperor and his family are right to fear you and those like you.” Joseph watched her stare at the garment a few seconds longer before sighing in defeat.

“You know what? I think we can afford to show off a little bit.” Helen turned around and saw her husband undoing his tie, walking back to his closet. “Let’s show these uppity Nationals some culture.” Joseph pulled out a wire hanger with a long white bag hanging off it. He unzipped it, revealing his long jade-green robe covered in intricate silver details. The left arm had been replaced with a light blue one with a brown boar on it. He looked and saw Helen covering her face, the excitement glittering in her eyes.

“You will have to help me wear this properly, however,” Joseph told her, hanging it up on a hook nearby. He walked up to her and took her hands, “We can’t do this all the time, but tonight we will indulge in your pride.”

I like domestic Joseph and Helen. Again, they’re an interesting couple, and it’s a shame they don’t get more attention in the main series. But that’s okay, because that’s what this is for, right? Right.

Anyway, feel free to keep reading below if you want to catch up on the interesting friendship between the Dealer and Ellis the Damned.

So the Black Empire Day 3 entry (for non-romantic relationships) will focus on a duo that might or might not get a lot of attention in the main series: the Dealer and Ellis.

I mean, it probably will get a lot of attention, because they’re kindred spirits. Everyone in the Black Empire series is absurdly old, but none of them actually have any response to their age (everyone is basically an ageless, beautiful 20 or 30-year-old). Only Dante and Ellis are really aware that they’re old. Like, really old. And it bothers them.

They’ve also bonded thanks to Mira. They were both her mentors and saw something valuable in her that they wanted to cultivate. And then, well...

So we’re gonna introduce the dynamic between the Dealer and Ellis.

Dante’s eyes shot open. He closed them and sighed, sitting up in his bed. He rubbed his forehead, letting his fingertips slide into his hair. The dull thudding in his head had not ceased. He opened the drawer in his nightstand and pulled out the small bottle of ibuprofen, dropping one of the white pills into his hand. He filled a small glass with some water and downed the pill. It would work eventually.

He stood up and stretched, feeling the satisfying crack of his back. One.Two. Three. Four. Aw yeah, it was going to be a satisfying day. He put his shirt and jacket on and walked out his door. He walked past Ellis, who was leaning on the wall just outside his door. As he walked by, Ellis started following him.

“You slept for 30 minutes this time,” Ellis said plainly, “You must have been tired.”

“Hey, look, you’re learning sarcasm! That’s nice.” The Dealer put his hands in his pockets, “Did you get concerned? Think I was finally dying?”

“It’s funny that you think you’ll die peacefully in your sleep.”

“Oo, two for two! We’re making progress!” He pulled his hands of his pockets and fist pumped for a second. “So, what’s going on? Anything new happening?”

"Still the same as it was thirty minutes ago. The anomalies have not been able to break through our wards, and it doesn’t look like the Children have noticed we’ve put them up. Or, if they have, they don’t seem to care.”

“That’s still good. Any news on the Carter Investigation?”

“High Magister Carter has been interviewed, but Magnus Embras is not cooperating. We have subpoenaed her, but she is ignoring our summons.”

“I will get Synoth to sign off on a warrant for her arrest. Embras will cooperate one way or another. I don’t have Deathwatch for people to ignore it.”

“I appreciate your assistance.”

“Anytime, Ellis. Anytime.” The two continued walking down the hall until the Dealer suddenly stopped. “Do you ever think about her, Ellis?”

“Of course I do,” Ellis continued walking, passing the Dealer, who started to follow, “I’ve just accepted that she’s gone.”

“No, you haven’t. I can see it in your face.”

“I didn’t love her like you do.”

“Ellis,” Dante’s stern voice stopped the death knight, “You’re a bad liar.”

Ellis stayed silent. He sighed before turning to the Dealer, “I didn’t love her like you do. But I do think of what we lost. Orvyn is a good Grand Paladin. He will make a fine leader for the Prime.”

“But he can’t replace Mira.”

“No one can replace Mira,” Ellis shook his head, “But I’m not going to replace her. I can’t. You can’t. So, we won’t.” Ellis turned away, “Now let’s go, General. You have a busy day ahead of you.”

The Dealer and Ellis will get a lot more attention as friends as the books go on. I think the next book in the Black Empire series does a better job of establishing their dynamic. Anyway, thanks for reading. I hope you’ll check out some of the other things I’ve done.

[tgr489]

Race to Big Yellow

A break at the servo. A needed rest, for both me and my rental car. I was tired from the long journey and the emotional drain of the past couple of months. I knew the road ahead would be empty so grabbed some time to collect myself before I took it on. I’d spent the day in Berlin looking at a vacant building with Kristof, a friend, and its possibilities for development. He wants me to come in on this project with him. I’m not so sure. He has a vision which I don’t think he’s totally thought through, despite voicing my concerns. I thought about it on the flight back and wrote him a pretty comprehensive deluge of thoughts. He now has it in writing so he can pour over it for a while, and I can get some headspace away. 

The flight was half full of weary travellers and uneventful, so I got to spread out across three sets, get me. I wrote Emily and told her briefly of my brief visit, letting her know I’d to call her the next morning and fill in the details. There’s something there between us, well for me anyway. Our rally of conversation has increased enough that she’s now in my thoughts often. I mentally collated my wardrobe change for colder climes in a fly-by visit to my flat. The two days in Berlin was tagged on to three glorious weeks in Ibiza, with the same Kristof, plus others. I’ll come back to that at some point.

Even with flights half full, we were delayed, and passport control was as expected, full of pissed off vacationers itching to get through the check. I pondered on what airports may be like, post-Brexit, and whether there will be a UK nationals queue as well as an EU and RoW sections, or will the EU one disappear. I’m sure no one has thought of this eventuality. Or they have and maybe decided to do away with all sections a free-for-all scramble type set-up. 

Convinced I had a wait ahead of me for the train, I was ambling along buried in my phone when I heard the beepers signalling the doors were closing. Realising I may not have to wait however long the next train would be, I ran like an idiot towards the closing doors, only to face plant into side of the train with one arm halfway through the door. Thankfully there was no one in the carriage or on the platform to complete my humiliation. I’m sure the station staff had a good laugh when reviewing the CCTV footage. I pryed my arm free and stood back from the now departing train and watched the passengers, longing to have been one of them, and then I saw the girl. It was her, the girl with the long blonde hair who plagues my dreams. I jogged along with the train, banging on the window, and she turned to look out, but the train was already going too fast. I stood there for a minute, shocked and astounded, trying to play the whole scene back, capture the details. I wandered back to my bags and got a telling off from a guard for my ‘antics’. I grumbled some half apology as he slopped off totally uninterested.

I was pretty wired for the remainder of my journey, calmed a little by eating most of the Baumkuchen I’d bought at this great patisserie on the way to the airport. All I wanted was a smoke and some Percocet. To try and speed up time I started a convo with the cabbie about the football, which was a mistake, as he slowly revealed himself a fascist and total nut-job. However, because of his anger fuelled driving prowess the journey was short-lived. As I was passing the cash through the glass I caught his iD badge, and his name ‘Dave’. I found this quite ironic, laughing, as I mentioned the ‘Book of Dave’ to him; If you’ve not read it it’s about a London cabbie who’s journaling forms the basis of a future religious order in life. It’s very funny. I told him he should read it as it may give him some perspective in life. He looked confused as I turned to my front door.

There were two pairs of sneakers in the hallway as I came into the flat, a girls and a guys, not mine. I crept in, prepping myself for a conscientious burglar, but the flat was dark and silent. I crept to my bedroom, looking for other anomalies along the way, but nothing. I quickly found my gear, skinned up and mellowed it out amongst the detritus of clothes on my armchair. Was the girl on the train the same one I saw all those years ago, and from my now nightmares? Because that’s what they are now. I don’t know what it’s about and it’s confusing the hell out of me. Is it her, or is it me projecting my dream onto anyone looking vaguely similar…. Maybe this is how dementia starts. 

By the time I finished the banger I’d decided I didn’t wanna hang around until daylight, so packed the clothes I would need for the next month, plus some other stuff like cameras and my stash, leaving some for the girls just in case. Like a ninja, I exited as quietly as I’d entered. I came to the conclusion that the shoes were Lexi’s, they had to be. The guy’s…. I don’t know. A friend, a date… it would be quick work on her part if it were, we only parted ways a week ago. I felt a bit pissed at this eventuality as I hit the street, but I rationalised it that our lives carry on. It was indeed a mutual parting, for all three of us, and we are all still good friends. 

The whole multi-love thing was mental fun, but eventually, it checked into my head and trashed it, like a hotel room. The more we continued, the more the thought of it ending hurt. And it would end at some point, a relationship like that only works in Utah. Also, I sensed an element of jealousy between us, usually when we’d been apart like we had FOMO of each other. When we were together it was bliss, as were the bedroom activities, but we couldn’t be together long term.

With a head full of herb, a tank full of gas and a belly full of coke, I pulled out of the servo and took on the A303 to Exeter. Google laid down the gauntlet, indicating it was gonna be 2 hours 15mins. My aim was 1hr45, which is totally achievable at 4am-ish when the roads are totally empty. If you are ever travelling to the West Country from London, this is the better, more fun route to take, but you only do it late, because in places it’s only one lane and you don’t wanna be stuck behind some muppet with a trailer. But the road is straight and long, so the horses under the bonnet can be unleashed.

My Focus ST did me proud, with 1hr38. No traffic, no wildlife, just me and the tunes on my pod. The storage facility was a nondescript concrete edifice, devoid of any features whatsoever. The carpark was empty and probably wouldn’t have another occupant until 8 when it opened. I killed the time catching some long overdue Zzzs, parked up on the fringe facing the main door. I slept past the opening time, but only just, and was awoken by a truck pulling in. 

Hurriedly I grabbed my bag and made for the doors. I wanted this to be quick and painless, knowing it would be neither. The dude at the desk was organising himself, somewhat protractedly, as I waited for him to be ready. I understood his torment. Sometimes precious alone time is needed once work has started before you actually do anything, and no matter how trivial or minor that first request is, it will be painful to action. All I needed to know from him was the location of my storage room, a simple request one would think. I stood there, half asleep as his computer finally booted up, smelling his instant coffee, wishing I had one of my own, but something more refined. My iD matched his records and with the log signed, my entry, the first ever to the facility, was confirmed. The short distance to the lock-up was taken with some trepidation. The cavernous elevator crawled up the shaft two floors, prolonging the feeling of unease. When I arrived in front of the doors I stood there nervous, with my heart thumping like a kick drum. It felt stupid and scared. The journey to the doors in front of me had been protracted and taken the best part of 10 years. I’d purposely put it off so I didn’t have to deal with the anticipated pain of resolving my earlier life. I unlocked the door, took a deep breath and walked through it to face the music.