Event Log: Assassin

[hadrielmods]

Who: Everyone!
What: The Assassin event
Where: Throughout the city
When: April 15th-23rd
Warnings: Inevitable character death, potential horror and gore and unpleasantness. Please remember to tag for warnings in the header if it things get too bad!

The morning of April 15th in Hadriel is cheerful, with artificial light streaming through your window. Your blankets are warm, jabberjays are shrieking, and you're probably going to experience a murder attempt today.

Maybe it'll be from a stranger, maybe it'll be from a friend, but the bottom line is that everybody is after somebody and nobody is safe (...okay, twelve people are safe, but that's beside the point). Time will only tell when you'll be overcome by that murderous rage and try to kill someone else. The best thing you can probably do at this point is stay calm, keep your head high, and try not to die for the next eight days.

Helpfully, Rage will have restocked her armory for the event, for those of you have yet to arm themselves. Additionally, for a limited time only, the armory will be stocked with bear traps, tripwire (in both 'general wire' and 'barbed wire' flavor), and voice recorders. Use all of them, use none of them, just get on out there and kill each other!

Oh, and one last thing...

► This log covers April 15th-23rd.
► Feel free to make your own logs as well!
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► Did your assassin catch up to you? Please remember to hit up our death post!

Comments

[watashinonamaewa]

Cibo stays still. Knees barely bend to direct the momentum she's about to push. When the first swing comes straight down for her and she leaps away with a short jump. She's sure he's going to chain this into a full swing of attacks, so she gets ready to bounce away again instead of prepping to retaliate.

In her own experience, it's best to let them run their energy for the first few minutes. When they start to slow down is when she can finally go for it. Unfortunately he looks like he's built for endurance. And that he's enjoying himself right now. Meaning that this could take a while.

[fleshing]

The chain-blade swipes through empty air, an immensely dissatisfying event that changes Krieg's howl of delight into a low, frustrated growl. He spins with the momentum of his failed strike, swinging around to aim the blade for her midriff.

His vision's cloudy, the bloodshot veins around his eye turning everything into crimson mist. All he can see is red, red, red, red like everyone's blood and his mingling together in a glorious baptism of meat. He'll bathe in it. Swim in it. He's immortal like this, godlike, untouchable, and soon they'll all burn for him.

"JUST HOLD STIIIIIIIILL!"

[watashinonamaewa]

Same routine. She puts the momentum from her body to her knees to her feet and then— It connects.

He's haphazard and rough, predictable even. But he's also put a lot of frustrated energy into making that second swing fast as shit and it plunges several inches into her side. A dark red spills out— It's an almost inhuman black, but still a deep, oozy thick red. Those lower few ribs are probably broken too.

There isn't a usual sensation of pain, more like a tingle and a sense of urgency to get the fuck away. Her hand grips onto the nearest part she can latch onto in a rushed attempt to rip herself free. Meanwhile that baton surging with almost eight million volts suddenly jabs forward. Preferably for his throat; She isn't particularly aiming.

[fleshing]

Krieg gets the briefest snippet of a second to celebrate his victory, the fountain of madder blooming from her side, the satisfying catch and tear of his buzz-axe cutting past fabric and into flesh and knotted muscle. It's glorious, he revels in it, his eye widens in breathless exhilaration, he sucks in a deep, cleansing breath, he wants to soak up all the red as it gushes from her side, and then -

- and then everything burns.

The baton connects with his collarbone, and his eye widens, his largely-concealed expression still frozen in manic delight. The laughter stutters in his throat, hitching with an in-drawn breath, and splinters into nothing.

His whole body feels like it's on fire and he nearly loses all sense of himself as he falls back, away, barely managing to roll with tumble and end up on his knees rather than splayed on his back. He's accustomed to the crackle of shock coursing through his system, even revels in it, but this is ecstatic.

Ecstatic. Ha-ha. What a joke. What a riot.

"Y-you're a mighty fine dancer," he chokes out between spasms, his shoulders heaving, fingers twitching. His tone is one of unmistakable admiration.

[watashinonamaewa]

She moves a few steps from him. Her fingers still pulling at the axe while he's on his knees recovering. The blade suddenly rips free with a sickening squishing noise and a release of a large amount of dark blood. Just enough to make her literally queasy. The torn fabric of her suit starts to mend itself, doubling as a seal for the wound to keep the bleeding to a minimum. Except even through the black material, her blood makes a shiny, wet mess.

Now she shifts the axe weakly in her hand, holding it as strongly as she can though that whole side feels a little numb now. The baton sparking madly in the other.

She's breathing slowly. Heavily. Focusing best she can.

"Then let's dance."

[fleshing]

Everything's twitching, his whole body aflame with an incipient nociceptive agony. Salt the wound, he says. Salt the burning wound, make him hurt, yes yes yes yes yes yes. Make him bleed.

Krieg claws himself to his feet. His axe is gone, but he doesn't always need an axe. He's grinning beneath his mask as he thrusts out a hand, and a shotgun manifests there with the crisp blue glow of digistruct technology. The thing looks barely functional, held together with duct tape and crudely wrought metal, but he cocks it with the menacing chunk of a round being forced into the chamber.

"Come find me!"

His laugh comes out ragged, torn with pain, but the pain is delicious and he's lived through worse. The spread-fire of the shotgun rattles out in a horrendously inaccurate metallic burst.

[watashinonamaewa]

The statistics of it all speed through her head. A split-second decision turning into a full mathematical debate.

She uses the axe to block her face while her other arm crosses her heart. Without moving, she takes the slew of scattered pellets. She's still close enough that she can feel each individual one pierce her suit and burrow into her skin. Blood leaking from the holes left in the suit before stitching itself together again.

In the moment he may need to prep another round, she drops the axe to lunge forward and close that short distance between them. She simultaneously launches the fist gripping the baton at his jaw while reaching for the barrel of the shotgun. As long as it isn't pointing at her in this moment, she'll still be having a good day.

[fleshing]

She manages to block quite a few of those little lead balls with the flat of his own weapon, a horrible insult that culminates in Krieg's roar of displeasure. He takes sloppy aim again, but gets a hard fistful of flesh in the face for his trouble. The blow is surprisingly strong; Krieg might be built like a brick house with a cement foundation, but the force of the strike rocks him, very handily unbalancing him.

"Puncture me!" he screams. In that moment he's not quite sure if he's goading her or taunting her or trying to scare her or pleading with her to just end it. He spits out a salvo of "p's" in a string of ridiculous alliterative nonsense. "Put holes in my chest, paralyze me with potent purifying pain!"

She's got a grip on the barrel of his shotgun, but his legs are free, and he lashes out to kick at her, knock her down if he doesn't trip himself first.

[watashinonamaewa]

His kick gets her.

While trying to keep her death-grip hold on the barrel and use that strength to keep herself from falling, the wound tears. Her hand goes numb and the grip on the shotgun releases. She hits the ground flat on her back. Using what strength is left in her arm she presses her hand to her side to put pressure against it, blood wrapping around her hand and dripping from her skin onto the ground beneath her.

The baton now slashes in a wildly powerful movement to connect with him again.

Now she's just fighting for an opportunity to run.

[fleshing]

The kick gets him too, thanks to Krieg's total lack of self-preservation, and he overbalances, landing heavily on one shoulder. Cibo's swipe lands roughly where his liver is, which grants Krieg an excellent idea as to why in the rotten dang-fang-skaglicking hell it hurts so much. He howls, back arching as the electricity courses through him, releasing his shotgun. He doesn't want it. He doesn't want it but it hurts so good.

No words. His brain can't grasp words. He simply writhes there, straining to pick himself up for another onslaught, but his nerves have seized and aren't listening.

No, no, this is when they cut into him. This is when they fill him with dark and horrible thoughts. Help help help you don't deserve it help help help you're a dirty little skagsucking monster and you deserve to burn help help help don't fight what you've earned help

[watashinonamaewa]

Oh, good. He's on the ground too. It wasn't what she knew she wanted. Now she's pushing to kick him back before he can pick himself up. In a hurried shuffle she's crawling on top of him, straddling and pinning him into the ground with that inhuman strength while his body is stiff with voltage. Her weak hand grabs his right wrist, the strong one slams the butt of the baton down onto his fingers.

The world spins.

Her warm blood now covering him. Even the suit can't keep it in. Must have hit an organ or something a voice in her head reasons. She knows what she needs to do, but her body is suddenly not cooperating. She's fumbling for his other hand when she slips entirely. It takes her another few tries to bring the baton down on what she thinks is the correct set of fingers, of the double she's seeing.

Time to go. Gotta go. that voice keeps saying. It doesn't sound like her voice. It sounds like a man's voice. Oh, wait. She knows that voice.

She's slowly trying to stand off of him now.

[fleshing]

She pins him before he entirely knows what's going on, fingers crunching painfully beneath the impact of a hard strike. Hurts. Hurts. Hurts. All of it does. It should. Come on, make him bleed. He knows what he is.

A weak little chuckle trails out from beneath the mask as his single eye peers woozily up at her.

"Make it hurt more," he whispers, desperate and pleading. "Bleed me out, wring me dry."

There's blood snaking down her front, down his, sticky crimson mixing together in delicious harmony, gloving him in beautiful red. He twitches, wanting to rise, but unable to for the remaining electricity pulsing through him.

"Go - go on!" Krieg abruptly snarls, lurching again as he tries to get up, to no avail. "Carve me up! You don't get to leave until you finish what's on your plate!"

[watashinonamaewa]

"Shut up!" She finally yells down at him.

She doesn't want to stay. She wants to run. Her eyes shut tight, forcing her body to move. It's not listening; Her legs aren't moving. They stay locked in place over him. Then a knee buckles. A quick decision makes her fist curl up around the baton and slam it against his face again.

"Shut." Again, but weaker.

"Up!" And again. Even weaker.

She reels back for another go when the baton slips from her fingers. Confused, she reaches to pick it up only to fall the short way onto the ground beside him.

You have to get up. That voice. He'll kill you. You have to run.

Her body is pins and needles. But at least the bleeding is slowing down. She really should just stay still and rest..

[fleshing]

Thud. Yes. It slams into his face, cracking over his jaw, dislodging his mask. One side of his mouth is exposed, creaking upward in a ragged, delirious grin. Glorious dark red is leaking out from his nose, and he can taste the iron tang of it wetting his mouth, his throat.

"Fork and knife, knife and fork," he says in droning singsong, "cut me up like a side of pork."

Everything's quiet now. He hates quiet. Quiet means his thoughts meander, quiet means the voice comes back, quiet means he starts thinking about what happened to him, the swell of muscles he shouldn't have. Where's she going? Where's she gone? Finish the job, girl, finish the job!

Krieg tries gamely to rise again, but only succeeds in rolling onto his side. She really smacked up his brain. Feels all leaky inside his skull-head. Everything's cloudy. Why didn't she finish it?

"Knife...'n fork," he mumbles.

[watashinonamaewa]

As he turns, it probably isn't shocking to see that she's got the baton back in her hand. ba dum tss

"Shut... up."

She thrusts it forward onto him. He seems rattled already so this should give her enough time to—

Damn. Everything is going dark. She should just close her eyes.

Instead she's staring at his eye and skewed mask. Who is he anyway?

[fleshing]

Currently, he's about to follow Cibo's lead and lose consciousness entirely, because she packs a hell of a punch and he might be a tough customer, but evidently so's she.

The baton connects one last time, and it's enough.

She sang us such a pretty song. Losing it all, trickling out drop by drop.

His visible eye drifts shut. Just a catnap. Quick, and then he'll get back to the killing.

Just a quick one.

[watashinonamaewa]

You know. That doesn't look like a half-bad idea. Her head rests gently on the ground as a numbness takes over.

She closes her eyes, breathing easy. Only for a few minutes though. Then she has to leave.