entry #bGllc2xpZXNsaWVz ( video/action )

[postictal]

[He should have known it was coming. He should have known it, when his Mirror took something of his, knowing full well what would generate. What it would do. He combs through the mansion in a frenzy, too late. The closets aren't giving him what he needs, and his focus is too fraying, too suspect to its own paranoid dips and peaks, to keep trying and risking and venturing until the correct result is administered.

He knows what's coming, and he knows there's no - no escaping what comes next, the locking up of his limbs, the arching of his back, the spasmodic jerking of every muscle, the burning in his chest and throat.

There's no one here to stop it. There's nothing he can -




A very strange video appears to the network, and its uploader is anonymous. All in all, it's about twenty seconds long, but what it sacrifices for brevity it makes up for in sheer surrealism. There plays, first, a high, piercing tone, followed by a recording of a man long gone.

The video itself entails little more than simple white text over black, torn through as the whole thing appears to be with horizontal bars of static.]

YOU TOOK IT
I SAW

BURNING

[An image flares in a brief sputter of black and scarlet, and is gone again.]

/////////////////////////
////ecps lgyckr qmutb////
///////sm ymu fkmw///////
///////wbht ymu scs///////
/////////////////////////

----ibaifjhta----

[And then - nothing.]

[[ooc: Tim will be in his "masked" state for the duration of the next two days, which you can read more about here. Anyone who wishes to decrypt that message may receive a reply, though you're welcome to threadjark in order to icly collaborate.

Those wishing to encounter Tim's masked persona will encounter them in the forest or Checkerboard Hills. Be warned that they are hostile and will attack on sight; though slightly stronger and more durable than your average human, they are not a highly skilled combatant, and will try to escape an encounter once they realize they're losing.]]

Comments

action

[postictal]

[The masked figure throws itself flat to the ground, movements simultaneously sharp and intent while atypically, inhumanly fluid. It straightens, regarding the other figure warily. Results are inconclusive.

Its intent: dangerous.

Therefore: eradicate.

They circle it slowly, cautiously, watching. If they run, it will pursue. Enabling mechanical failure will enable a difficulty in giving chase.]

Re: action

[zackthekiller]

What the hell...?

[Is that thing even human? It's not really saying anything, just staring. He can't even see the guy's face.]

[Maybe Zack got the wrong person, but then again, this thing feels like some sort of threat. Zack eyes the guy as he circles, scythe at the ready.]

[This has become a deadly game of chicken. Who shall make the first move?]

action

[postictal]

[What is its nature? It is, undoubtedly, hostile, but in a decidedly unprovoked fashion. And why? And why? And why? They're not, in essence, particularly skilled at stopping obstacles in their tracks, but they do give people pause. And the figure opposite does pause.

They feint right before ducking left, attempting to slam into it by the side and topple it.]

Re: action

[zackthekiller]

[Well, maybe if he didn't think you provoked him a few days- holy shit!]

[Zack blindly grasps at the masked person by the collar of his jacket as he stumbles back. He hastily recovers with all the grace of a newborn horse, looking more murderous than before.]

[Nice going, you pissed him off.]

[postictal]

[It does not expect that. They get very little time to celebrate the relative victory, as the thing staggers, winded. But its face, its face - its face twists in such a fashion that gives way to a low bubble of something answering in their borrowed chest, in their heart, in their lungs. They have seen faces like that before, one face, distorted into an ugly snarl as it raged and cursed. As it let itself be led astray, hounded by something tall and gangling. Glinting with twin panes of glass over its features like a pair of windows, only instead of letting the light in they reflected it out in startling glares, shielding it, fencing everything out.

The target wobbles, and all caution is flung outward as they surge at it with haphazard abandon, fingers this time oozing for its throat. Choke it out, stamp it out. Make it hurt!]

[zackthekiller]

[Zack raises his arm in defense and swiftly moves to knock the psycho out of the way. The impact should be enough to hurt make their side sting.]

[Zack has his scythe in his other hand, and almost immediately rushes in to slash the other guy in the chest.]

[postictal]

[Too much, too fast. Fatal error. System crash, data restructure. A hot streak of pain across its middle, burning down in a diagonal slash from ribs to hip. Surface area wide, wide enough for it to bleed, even if it is not - it cannot be deep.

They utter little more than a low, strangled rasp of sound, barely more than a grunt. And then they are twisting, jerking back.

When it is hurt, it requires reconfiguration. It returns. It has a friend, it - they are not here, they are not here, and the notion gives rise to a painful break and swell, coiling deep in borrowed lungs.

Nowhere to go.

So run.

So, run.

Get out, get out. Get out.

Get out.]

[zackthekiller]

[Yeah. You better run.]

[Zack grins as the jackass scuttles away, quietly counting out 3 seconds as a head start. He would have skipped that chance if they put up a good fight.]

One...

[He grasps his scythe, his fingers curled tightly around the handle.]

Two...

[He's ready to finish the job, yet his adrenalin blinds him a bit. The masked freak might have a chance to live if they are clever enough to seek shelter.]

Three.

[The killer of B6 gives chase.]

[The hunt is on.]

[postictal]

[It bleeds. The problem with the vessel, the use of its muscles and joints and tendons and limbs, is its weakness. The odd, limping gait that drags its leg behind it, an unignorable phantom pain, even now. The warm drool of liquid out from between clasped fingers slows them, but the chemical stamina presses them onward, still.

Swerve sideways, taking advantage of gravity, moving downhill to the sanctuary of the woods. The treeline, dark but undoubtedly ahead, and the breath is rasping in stolen lungs but they are still fast, faster, faster than their borrowed meat allows.

If it gives chase, they will stop it. Stall it.

Worse.]

[zackthekiller]

[Zack chased after him into the woods, ready to tear the bastard limb from limb. Luckily for his intended victim, the forest of Wonderland were extremely easy to get lost in. It didn't take long for the killer to lose sight of them.]

Alright, you asshole! Where the fuck did you go?!

[He yelled at the void. He angrily screamed and searched, but there was no answer. He was way off the mark.]

[In fact, he just realized he managed to get hopelessly lost himself.]

... Shit.

[postictal]

[The masked figure, for what little it's worth, has thrown themself flat into the leaf-mulch as soon as they breached the tree-line, concealing the pale blur of the jacket on their shoulders, the round, bright disc of their face, in the arching of the ferns and the black tangle of the surrounding bracken.

Their breath escapes in ragged wisps, low, painful drags, hands pressed across the burning along the length of that wide, terrible wound.

But...alive.

Alive, and free.]