damned_institute | Night 44: Main Hall, 2-West

By this point Depth Charge had adjusted to the vomiting- well, about as much as he could adjust to the feeling of emptying reams of someone else's hair from his throat onto the floor- and could just about see the Scarecrow to his right and fumbling for his flashlight. Clumsily he ducked and grabbed his own, gasping and choking all the while, and staggered closer to his partner. The hair followed.

Wait, the hair followed? Depth Charge's eyes snapped back to the growing pile, and sure enough it seemed to jerk, as though an animal were trapped inside it somewhere. But it was so hard to think about it when he could barely blink back the tears enough to see and barely swallow down enough oxygen to survi-

- someone was there. Now the Maximal was on full alert, yanking himself back up to his full height and scanning the area for... for... where were they? He gagged, just about managing to get out a strangled, "Show your face!" before doubling up again. The Scarecrow was closer this time, though, and he found himself grabbing ahold of the man's shoulder for support. "S-slag it..."

The light in the Scarecrow's hand made its way toward his companion as he heard him speak- it sounded like he was facing the same affliction, whatever it was. His own body felt foreign, trembling again as it heaved, still struggling to rid itself of that clog in his windpipe.

He managed to hold his footing as he felt Depth Charge's hand land on his shoulder; however, he did not keep hold of his flashlight as she shined it once more down the hallway and spotted something he didn't expect- someone actually there. Spooked, he dropped his flashlight a second time. Even though he retrieved it fairly quickly, the form was gone when he moved the light to the same spot. The light flickered unnervingly, threatening to leave the two with even less vision.

He tried to ask his roommate about it, but could hardly get a word out before choking again. He breathed shallowly, his eyes catching sight of something even more disturbing- some sort of black something gathering from the dark, tangled masses of what seemed like hair being pulled from their own bodies. Unable to utter anything coherent, he instead shined his dimming light toward the pile and pulled on Depth Charge's arm with his free hand to get his attention.

Depth Charge was probably going to regret that demand, but for the moment it seemed as if the end was in sight -- the choking finally began to ease, coughing subsiding until only a few strands of hair could be pulled from the throat. Doubtless a relief for the two patients, though the pain of having dragged large handfuls of hair up through the esophagus would linger for a while. And, for the moment at least, the figure disappeared from the edge of the flashlight beam.

But it wasn't the end. Even as they were able to claim with certainty that the majority of the hair that had been in their systems (however it had gotten there) was out of them, the pile of hair that had built up between began to twitch and move more violently. Slowly, jerkily, a roundish form pulled together from the still-damp strands, moving almost as if in a strange time-lapse.

And then suddenly it flipped upwards and a human face was staring at Depth Charge and the Scarecrow, eyes wide and bloodied mouth open, a long, extended death-rattle gurgling from it. Still looking up from the floor, the head began to rise, and underneath it unfolded a body: but a body that had obviously been warped and beaten, malshaped and not quite fitted together. It cracked now and again as if bones were straightening out while it rose from the floor as if it had been there the whole time, though moments ago there had definitely been nothing but hair.

The sheer fury that suddenly saturated the air was nearly palpable. There was no doubt: the sight of this body, the empty rage in those wide-staring eyes, was a curse.

The hair seemed to be coming up more slowly; Depth Charge couldn't feel more than a few strands through the bile, and, even in spite of a raw, convulsing throat, he became aware that he could actually breathe again. Wait, the Scarecrow. Scrap! Was he-?

He was pulling on his arm. Relief flooded the Maximal's senses for five nanokliks of peace before he finally registered his roommate's urgency. By the time his eyes refocused on the Scarecrow's flashlight beam, though, the pile had already stopped moving and started rising.

Human biology wasn't a subject Depth Charge would ever be well-versed in, no matter how long he spent as one, but even he could tell that what he was looking at wasn't right. That bodies weren't supposed to twist that way, and that limbs and joints shouldn't look as incongruous as they did now. Six days of human activity suddenly overwhelmed stellar cycles of robotics as something primal within him wrenched at the bloody figure it was now sensing so acutely.

"By the Matrix..." he muttered hoarsely. Instinctively, he stepped in front of the Scarecrow; that thing- no way was he going to accept that there was anything of a person in those dark chasms of eyes- may not have been like anything he had ever seen, but like Pit he was going to let it get past him.

The noise accompanying the rising form before them was enough to send shivers down the Scarecrow's now-human spine; the face that appeared from the mass of hair, followed by the twisted tangle of limbs, caused him to take a few clumsy steps backward. This poor girl looked like she'd been taken apart and put back together all wrong- surely this sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen to flesh-and-blood folks!

The Scarecrow found his breath again as his roommate stepped in front of him, separating him from the girl. He looked around quickly- the rest of the hall was dark, but seemed clear. Better yet was the fact that they were no longer hacking up hair from the inside-out. His flashlight was providing little light as it flickered, but it didn't matter- he could somehow still feel the presence of the mangled woman hanging in the air. It was a feeling he was certain he didn't like.

"Depth Charge!" he said in a raspy whisper, his throat uncomfortable, "Let's get out of here while we can!"

The spirit's blank eyes trailed their movements slowly, like a predator that wasn't particularly interested in its prey: although there was a hunger in the air that needed to be satisfied, now, a fulfillment of a blood curse that had new targets. When Kayako turned her head the movement was another twitch, the same unsteady jerking way in which she'd risen.

Her head tilted dangerously to the side even as the Scarecrow counselled escape, much further than a normal human's neck should bend, almost dangling at the strange angle, and then she moved --

Not in any way a human would, or most living things. It looked like the difference between two photographs; one moment she was standing, hair dangling in front of her face while she stared at her new victims, and in the next she was in front of Depth Charge, hands on either side of his head. Almost affectionate, her small hands settling into place like a lover's and gripping with a strength that could not be anything but supernatural.

Depth Charge's glanced back to the Scarecrow's frightened face, flashing in and out of the darkness against the flicker of his torch. As much as it pained his pride to admit it, 'getting out of here' sounded pretty good right about now. He could nurse the bruises to his ego when they weren't face to face with something that looked like it had just crawled straight out of the Pit.

I'm on it was what he had meant to say, but in the nanoklik it took to blink and summon the words the woman seemed to shift through the air like a hologram. And suddenly escaping wasn't an option anymore, because the delicate, waif-like hands placed oh-so-very gently against his temples might as well have belonged to Rhinox for all the good struggling against them was doing. His own hands were clenched from tension, muscles spasmed and tight so that they clawed uselessly around his flashlight.

Which left only one option. Through gritted teeth, he hissed a single command to the Scarecrow: "Hit her. Now."

He could feel bad about making a fighter out of a civilian when he wasn't in mortal peril. Primus only knew what this was leading up to.

"You want me to-- but-- she-- what if--" The Scarecrow fumbled over his words, trying to grasp them with his free hand as if they were in the air around him, completely taken aback by the order. He was a thinker, and wasn't the type to hurt anyone- not intentionally, at least. He would have been happy to just frighten this strange, mangled witch away if he were actually frightening and had the brains for it, but actually causing harm to her was another issue!

Then again, she was already somehow causing harm to Depth Charge. It didn't look like it, but the guy didn't seem like the sort to take this-

He cut his thoughts off, realizing this was not the time for internal debate. His roommate needed help. Get to it!

The Scarecrow sidestepped the taller man quickly, flickering flashlight raised, and brought it down as hard as he could toward the witch. He could think about the consequences later.

As the Scarecrow took his time deciding whether to strike or not, Kayako kept her empty-eyed focus fully on Depth Charge's face, hair sweeping slowly out of her face as if stirred back by a wind that couldn't be felt. Improbably, despite her diminutive frame, her head shifted up higher, closer to Depth Charge's, as if to examine her victim or to make the rattling sound coming from her throat clearer.

At the same time, her hands crushed in at either side of his head, as if trying to push through his skull (and was it just a trick of the mind, or were her fingers pressing inside his temples?). Eyes wide, almost curiously so, and neck still tilted, she looked like she neither saw nor expected the blow that came when the Scarecrow made up his mind.

But her body jolted, the flashlight landing with a dull smacking noise, as if her flesh had long rotted. And her head -- jerked around, still dangling in that broken way, eyes rolling slowly over to focus on the Scarecrow now. Her grip did loosen on Depth Charge's face, but otherwise the blow looked like it hadn't hurt her in the least.

It had drawn her attention. As suddenly and quickly as she'd moved the first time, Kayako was in front of the Scarecrow, one hand reaching up and right through his head, with all the attendant pain expected of suddenly having a limb slammed through bone and no visible wound. Fingers extended out the back of his skull and gripped into a fist, grabbing a handful of brown hair.

Dark, cold eyes stared into his face, staring in a way that would have been curious were it not for that alien inhumanity within them. Was it even capable of being curious? Like Pit it mattered, Depth Charge wasn't about to wax philosophical while he was still caught and- "S-scrap!"

Those same delicate white fingers he'd felt, vicelike, against his head, were suddenly forcing their way into his head, through flesh and bone. His processor was on full alert and telling him it wasn't real, but reasoning could only go so far while his senses burned.

And then suddenly release, and the hands were away from his face and the pain was subsiding, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Scarecrow's horrified face.

"Sorry," he managed to hiss out- much to his annoyance, when he realised barely a moment later. Geeze, this guy was better than a quart of oil at getting him to say things he didn't like saying. Next thing and he'd be admitting that, actually, he might be out of his depth. Which he wasn't.

But before he could recover the figure had moved again (Too fast for any alien I've ever heard of, what the Pit is that?!) and the next thing Depth Charge knew, the Scarecow's face had been impaled on its hand. Distant memories stirred, ghosting across the the Scarecrow's face with mech fluid and exposed circuitry; but she wasn't X. He wasn't going to just stand by.

Tearing the shears out of his back pocket he charged, points held together like a dagger and aimed at her neck.

All his thoughts came to a halt as the Scarecrow found himself face-to-face with the witch, and then faced with another new sensation- one far more horrible than any he'd felt before- as she seemingly reached right though his head.

His body flew into panic as his mind desperately told him to do something: call for help, whack her again, flail arms about- anything! Still trying to comprehend what was happening to him, he tried to pull away from the witch, only to feel her hand gripping his hair from the back of his head.

He froze, knowing he was in trouble. He finally managed to sort his thoughts into a statement: "D- do something!"

Kayako's features remained locked into the same almost-curiosity as she stared into the Scarecrow's face from scant inches away. Her height meant that she was staring upwards to catch his eyes, but as with Depth Charge there was something strange about the physics of the situation: those wide empty eyes kept coming closer and closer, the hair that partially covered her face shifting with some unseen movement. The rattle of her endless dying breath was interrupted now and again with a sharp twitch of her head on its broken neck --

And though it seemed like she was satisfied with her handful of hair for the moment, the sheer rage that the Scarecrow would feel building in the air around him was heavy enough to be felt -- a furious lust for blood vengeance irrespective of the target. Though her attack had lulled for the moment, the promise of violence could all but be tasted.

But the one who fulfilled it first was not Kayako. The shears found home, digging into the back of her neck and sliding straight through with barely any resistance beyond a few faint crunches as the blades met and pierced her pharynx and larynx. The points burst out from the front of her neck, scattering a few stray drops of dead blood onto the Scarecrow.

And the rattle filling the air distorted, sputtering into something closer to a gurgle as blood leaked into her already-ruined windpipe.

Slowly, she turned just her head around to focus her gaze on Depth Charge again, bones and organs cracking and popping in her neck until her head was fully facing the opposite direction from her body. If the Scarecrow were to attempt to pull away now, he would find that her hand -- and a fistful of hair with it -- would pass right through his skull. Agonisingly, but without leaving behind any visible wounds.

Night 44: Main Hall, 2-West

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