the new hunt

[darkov]

WHO: Martin, assorted (prompts by request)
WHERE: Maurtia Falls at night
WHEN: Groundhog Week
WHAT: Terrible things happen in rapid succession
WARNINGS: violence, murder, self-harm, self-loathing, blood, some nasty vom, wowie there's a Lot going on...



This week is a bad dream that seems to only get worse each time he wakes. In the repeating nights -- the ones where Martin still has courage to step outside and wander -- he finds himself tossed into the madness orchestrated by Woden's whims, in a world even screwier than it was mere hours ago. The rules were barely clear to begin with, but now the world he found himself in is even madder than before.

He's not ready for this. Taking this world even in tiny bits is tough to chew, with things being so big and complicated, crowded and...exposed even at the most calm and stable of time. But this?

How is this supposed to go? What is he supposed to do? Fight? Run? Hide? Die? It's a question he rarely expects to answer for himself: He's been raised to follow the whims and orders of others. Smarter people. Wiser people. People who raised him, who would surely know what's best for him.

So is it a pity or a privilege that the others he's now found himself among are so different? And the answers to that question, far, far from his expectations? Because some of them are certainly not the answers he wants to see through, and, perhaps...a nudge closer to autonomy. Dreadful, necessary autonomy.

Comments

ANDERSON.

[darkov]

[there's hours late in the night where the downtown streets are quiet enough to seem safe to traverse -- where the blinding lights of cars are sparse, and all the bars closed up, and the last remnants of activity has been whittled down to all-night pharmacies that even then, seem asleep.

with the dreadful news coming in from the south, things are even more still from a business standpoint, as though in solidarity. it'd be ideal...save for the hunt.

the canal dividing this section of town makes things seem brighter than they are, and eerier still. water is dangerous, he knows that well enough from home. regardless of the new rules here? he's not testing his luck with it anytime soon, least of all tonight. he needs to get out of here and find his way back to the neighborhood he's staying in before--]

!!!

[Martin's heart stops, hearing the whooping call behind him. he springs out of his crouch behind a street light and darts across a street as fast as he can make himself go, the sounds of pursuit hot on his heels, all chains and drunken madness. he banks sharply between buildings to find smaller, darker places to zig-zag through and hide, but finds his crossing barred by a high, cast-iron security gate.

after a few short, fruitless shakes to beg it open, he backs up, bracing himself to jump and climb, but his feet barely get a chance to roll forward before hands catch him by his collar and arm, yanking him away. a blind, desperate struggle begins, with Martin frantically trying to shake free, a hand catching an iron bar as means to try and pull free.

things move very, very fast, and then suddenly very...very slow. between a hard fall and near-harmonious screaming, Martin finds himself staring up from the ground at wide, white eyes and hair dripping wet with sweat.

after the echo of the impact his lance made has finally faded, all he hears are the few strained, brisk breaths of the man as life leaves him dangling over him, propped upright over Martin's outstretched arms -- and the weapon that's sprung forth from them.]

[wronganswer]

[ Before Anderson's told of the upcoming mission, she spends her time in the first few days of the loop policing as best she can, taking the law into her own hands as she's used to. It's oddly comfortable, and familiar, and she falls into the brisk pace of crime-respond-dispatch that has become her entire life.

That doesn't mean she forgets everything else, and she is in fact keeping a conscious, deliberate mental eye out for Martin, as the lost duckling she's most concerned with. As a general rule she's keeping her abilities at a dull roar as well, scanning for distress and using it as a beacon for where she should go next.

That means it's doubly impossible for her to miss Martin's reaction, and she practically stutters to an abrupt stop, whirls on her feet, and races toward him down winding alleys with the brusque, efficient crouch-run of trained military personnel everywhere, gun leading the way, angled toward the pavement.

The scene she finds doesn't give her pause at all. Anderson's gun jerks up to point at the corpse slumped over and suspended on a ludicrously large lance, but only for a moment, because she can of course feel that he's not alive any longer. After a quick mental scan again, she confirms there's no other threats present, and clicks the safety on her Lawgiver and holsters it. Unlike when they'd first met, she's in full Judge's uniform, body armor and leather and array of sci fi weaponry.

Threat confirmed disposed of, she approaches Martin more conservatively, expression openly assessing. ] Martin, are you hurt? [ She can't tell in between all the other emotions. ]

[darkov]

[his mind is a numb panic, present only for the pain this position causes his arms the longer it's prolonged. there's a sharp spike in that terror when he hears his name called, for in that moment, with his eyes locked with the dead man's, he thinks it his victim that speaks it. this causes him to shudder, roused further as blood drips from the man's mouth and onto his face, pulling him further back into the physical present.]

Huhh-!! N-! [he shudders, fingers twitching. the lance disintegrates to dust, dropping the body upon him. he yelps, struggling to get out from under the literal dead weight.] N-no, please-!

[wronganswer]

[ Whoa. Okay. Her eyes widen at the lance outright vanishing, and then Martin's panic pushing against her brain. Thankfully, this isn't Anderson's first time dumped into a situation like this, and she's still not very good at sending rather than receiving, but she tries to steady herself and project forced calm as best she can, even as she trots forward and hauls the corpse off of Martin with the briskness of someone who does it every day.

The body is pushed heavily onto the bloodied, roughened concrete of the alley, and she speaks sharply. ]

Martin. I need you to calm down.

DEREK & ANDY.

[darkov]

[another day, somewhat wiser. things...haven't changed, have they? the uneasy quiet of traffic, drowned out by Woden's hunt. it's a dream Martin seems to be able to navigate and learn from, then? or...perhaps it was a dream before, preparing him now.

try again, a voice had said. so...maybe a prophecy?

all the same, he's supposed to help people, protect them from the monsters -- not themselves. how is he supposed to navigate this? is he supposed to? this stinks a bit of insolence, interfering in affairs much bigger and more complicated than he could possibly understand.

that, and the dreadful visions from the "dream" are what turn his feet away from the downtown and to other parts of the city, where the working class won't have to check in until the dawn, and all the machinery and production lay dormant, stinking of their metals and chemicals.

i shouldn't be here, he thinks belatedly, his feet crunching gravel and broken glass. he's lost his supernatural sense for fell beasts, but there's still something in him, something deep and instinctive, that's setting off alarm bells. it feels like...something's here...]

rises from the dead

[calloused]

[ derek's been called a monster by so many, his kind condemned since long before he was born. his mother, the leader of his pack, constantly said they were predators, not killers - he hunts to survive, not to hurt, not like so many others. under all the guilt and the shame and the desperate scrabbling for security, derek's a good person, at least compared to other wolves he's met, other people. he thinks he is, at least.

but the hunt has him scared, the state of maurtia falls making him lose his composure. he's already killed once over this week - a panicked, desperate swipe at someone trying to hurt a friend - and he still feels the ghost of all that blood under his claws. those same claws are out now; sharp, black fingernails that taper into points, his eyes glowing an unearthly red, his teeth long and serrated into fangs made to rip and tear.

he was raised to always run when werewolf hunters breached their territory. he hasn't seen a hunter since coming to this version of America, but the fear is still ingrained in him. he's paranoid, made all the moreso when he hears footsteps that shouldn't be here, in a tucked away part of the city where nobody should find him. was he tracked? who tracked him?

he's tired of running. the only way out is forward.

Derek's behind Martin, stepping over that same gravel, that same broken glass, making enough noise to draw his attention. any other day, the sight of this kid would be enough to make him lower his guard - he can't be, what, older than fifteen, maybe even younger? - but people are being hunted in the main area of the city. things are too much like home for him to treat a potential threat as anything other than a potential threat.

he growls, a low, almost demonic noise, a canine rumbling that matches the tension in his posture, the flexing of clawed, calloused hands. he just wants to scare the kid, make him leave. he just wants to be alone. ]

with starbucks

[darkov]

[the sound sets Martin's skin to crawling, his stomach going into an immediate, tight knot of dread. his breath cuts short with a little gasp, freezing on the spot.

dogs again? ...no. it's different. bigger. he shudders, his eyes alight and fingers twitching at his sides. there'll be no one here to swoop in and save him, no mystery heroes or allies hidden in the shadows, he's sure. and as certain as he is of that, he's also sure that if he simply stands there, he'll die. he has to move, or he'll hurt. so just...move...


his foot scuffs the ground as he forces himself to shift and turn, his body tensed up and stiff with fear. his heart stops at the sight of the red in the dark -- the only potent color he can see, leaving the rest simply shapes of different gray. that's not natural. it's--it's wrong. it's evil. this--this thing is...

i'll die, he thinks, over and over again, his heart starting to race again and set his breath into fast, frightened puffs. i'm going to die.

and rather than think finally, as often he has, part of him rattles into action as the threatening growl reverberates around him, making those red eyes seem brighter and fiercer than they may truly be.

this is what you're born to do, something in him says.

Martin's arms lift, slow and shaky, and stiffen at the elbows. his shoulders heave forward and, with a bracing breath, the blood in him rushes forward, and bone and metal blast forth in the shape of a large lance, shot forth with violent, deadly speed -- speed that knocks him backward in turn as it's cast forth.]

AKIRA.

[darkov]

[as a rule, animals loathe Darkovs. Martin doesn't know the science behind it, just the facts, and he's seen it in action here. it's maybe one rule from home that's still standing, so it's all the more a surprise when instead of fleeing his presence, an already mad dog attacks him.

he's able to untangle himself from snapping jaws quickly enough, able to retreat with only a few bites on his hands and a leg that he barely feels in the midst of his escape. and for a time, that's enough! the threat is gone, and as hours pass by on the other mad oddities the night has to offer, an angry dog is the last on his mind.

until it's back again, and not alone.

there's something more sinister about the glittering sets of eyes which stalk him in the dark, and he only catches onto their shapes when he can hear the garbled, uneven growls. it sets a very old fear in him from an old memory, one that leaves his feet frozen to the ground and his heart stuck in his throat. he goes cold, his eyes gaping, unblinking as they hobble and stalk over, staggered by wet, dreadful hacking, leaving trails of dark liquid in their wake.

this is all too familiar in a foreign place. it's...it's like the mad dogs of home, come back to finish the job they had set out to do years ago. this time there's no one here to help him. this time it's finally happening: he's the one to be ripped to shreds.]

cw for gory violence + horrible mutant dog death

[wahey]

Martin!

[The voice may be familiar, but Akira was nowhere to be found. Something else is prowling in that darkness, something with footsteps and a mass far larger than a dog - or a human, for that matter.]

[The dog that makes the first move at Martin is swiftly sliced in half with a thin beam of energy, going instantly from beast to two useless lumps of flesh. Its death marks the beginning a brief but brutal massacre. Huge claws reach out of the darkness to drag some of those mutants back inside, where they're slaughtered with no chance for reprisal. Bones are snapped like twigs. Flesh and viscera are ripped open instantly and splattered on the ground. Some of that mess may reach its way all the way to Martin himself in the form of thin streaks of blood or stray pieces of meat flying in his direction.]

[There were sounds of an attempt for some of the pack to fight back - but it was a one-sided endeavor from the very beginning. An earth-trembling snarl is all the survivors get before they too are killed with frightened, gurgling whines. If one or two survivors attempt to run away, he lets them. Then the darkness goes totally quiet.]

[It was just him and Martin.]

[darkov]

[a cry from the dark -- just like before. Martin's not blind in this night, even with its fabricated lights glaring and blurring the place up, but the shape from the shadows is foreign to him, and it moves too fast to understand before one of the beasts before him is sliced in half.

his breath gets stuck in his throat, frozen with a fresh wave of horror that tightens in his chest like a hand reaching through his ribs to squeeze his heart and lungs. he barely blinks as dark fluid spatters his face and clothes, but his teeth can't help but chatter as a dreadful sound rumbles throughout.

it turns his legs to jelly, and he drops, plopping to the ground with his hands to catch him from falling flat, his breath leaving him with a staggered grunt. the quivers, his eyes glued on the shifting darkness that rent the mad dog in two -- which he...ought to consider, really, as it's begun twitching, oozing, attempting to reform.

for all his want to disappear, to have justice served and to die, he...still is afraid. very, very afraid.]

RYO.

[darkov]

[mad dogs have plagued Martin's dreams for years, so this shouldn't be as surprising as it is. but this displacement of time, this recurrence of events out on the street, changed only by his awareness that he's changing them, is leaving him disoriented and staggered.

these aren't the beasts from home. the sick dog that lunges at him from the dark is just that -- a sick dog, nothing more. and yet in getting its lips wet with Martin's blood, it does become something more, and so do the other unfortunate strays who cross its path as the night hours pass in the madhouse Maurtia Falls has become.

he's not risking the same path he tread before, which means it's not him this mutating pack hones in on first. no, that honor goes to a complete stranger.

(COME ON DOWN RYO AND CLAIM YOUR GROSS PRIZE.)]

[granddevil]

[ Ryo isn't dealing well with this, naturally. He was stuck inside a timeloop for about 4 billion years and he is being thrown into one again; this means he isn't just freaking out, but he is also feeling that dreadful feeling of despair and the memories of all the pain he suffered in each timeloop.

To add to injury, as he is walking through Maurtia Falls hoping to find some way and some clue to break this, there is suddenly an angry dog in front of him. He reaches for his gun, but instead of shooting, he stops in his tracks and gives up on that idea.

(Ironically, Satan doesn't kill animals) ]

Don't. [ a shaky sigh follows ] Come one. [ HE HAS SO MUCH TO DEAL WITH ALREADY WHY IS SHOOTTING ANIMALS ON THE LIST NOW ]

[darkov]

[all paths lead to terrible outcomes; it's just a matter of when. tonight it takes another turn in his alternate path to discover the standoff between what appears to be a man and unhappy animal. right away, Martin halts, filled with a dreadful feeling at the sight.

at the sound, though, he shudders back into movement, urgency boiling up and him and begging him move. were it him there, beset by a threat, he'd no doubt barely move, but this is different. he can't just stand and watch.]

Run... [too quiet. he gulps, taking a step forward and drawing breath to call out louder, having to compete with the dog's sudden snarling:] Run!

VIAGO.

[darkov]

Guh...

[maybe...maybe going outside is the real problem here.

another night, the same dog, nearly the same place again. he got away with fewer bites this time around, but it's been a trying evening all the same, one where he's struggling to strike a path that's not laden with disaster.

so, higher up this time -- a pedestrian bridge over the freeway, where Martin can crouch and feel small and out of sight enough to catch his breath and check the bites on his hands. they're not...that bad, but it's just a bloody mess. Rex will probably be angry with him...]

+ 1 Guest

[awakeywakey]

[ It's been a pretty crazy night for Viago. He's never been in a land so full of chaos and it almost makes him wonder if he was wrong for escaping to more peaceful lands before the war in his own country really broke out. Tonight he's fed well, but he's also fed on people who were high on all number of substances to make him feel like a little more just wouldn't hurt.

It helps and doesn't help he has an enabler at his side. Itsuki is incorrigible and easily, Viago thinks, the best friend he's made in the few weeks he's been resident on this world. They've been on a 'tour' of Maurtia Falls, but they're also on their way out, crossing onto the pedestrian bridge to give them a vantage to take off, on the way back to home.

But the smell of blood... Viago can't rightly ignore that, and glances to his compatriot to try and confirm the same thing. They might whisper a little plan and they move on, only to find there's a teenaged boy hiding in this partition.

Viago wilts a little - he doesn't usually eat anyone who looks young. ]

Oh no... what happened?

[ He asks the youth, all frills at his edges and looking like he just stepped out of an 18th century museum, knowing damn well this was probably the result of the city at large in the few hours before the missile strikes. ]

[fervidclaret]

[Itsuki nodded along with Viago at catching the scent of blood. Of course they had to follow it! They'd been having the time of their lives(un-lives???) so far, enjoying wreaking havoc on a Maurtia Falls that will not remember it in the morning.

His brows raise at the look of Martin when he sees him. The fact that he was young didn't deter him as much as it would Viago, and he couldn't help but wear a smile as he approached.]

Did you need some assistance with that... wound?

[The kind of assistance he offered was probably not the kind that most people wanted to receive.]

ARCHIE.

[darkov]

[it might've taken a few nights, a couple deaths, and many, many injuries to learn, but the lesson's been learned and learned well: going outside is bad and will bring nothing but misfortune. for this reason and several others, Martin's exiled himself to the bedroom he's been given at the home he shares with other imPorts.

more specifically: he's curled up under covers and seems to be resolved to never move again, hunger or thirst or anything else be damned. he'll rot here. die here. it might be better that way -- finish work that he should've taken care of years ago. memories that are creeping up and into his head, keeping him from dreamless sleep or anything else for that matter. the events of these past few nights -- dreams? terrors? whatever they are -- they leave him paralyzed, weighted down. and the longer he's there, the more these terrible thoughts start sponging out all other feelings save for dread -- perhaps it's only a matter of time before that, too, is sucked out of him, leaving him truly empty.]

[h2no]

[and then there's this asshole.

how did archie get in? it's quite late -- dark out, at least. his criminal past and history with both team rocket and team aqua have... well, he's not the best at sneaking around, but he's good enough and well versed enough with the government housing that he knows how to get the back doors open without making too much noise. he doesn't end up in rex's room - if the guy's even home - and shot in the face, because he uses crobat to make sure.

he knocks softly on the door. he has a payload: a glazed donut. he feels awful that it took him so long to remember that he'd told martin about how it goes mad sometimes, and hadn't so much as messaged him to see if he was okay.

maybe that'll be a peace offering.

and... really hopes any other roomies don't come out and see him standing here.]

[darkov]

[Martin's eyes snap up to the door, suddenly wide and alert at the knocking. he holds his breath, straining to hear if that was real or in his head.

or if it's Rex. or Anderson. or...or the man he killed. or...


there's some shuffling to be heard as Martin burrows deeper into the blankets, curling his fingers around the covers to keep them away from his eyes, the only thing he's willing to let remain visible outside of his nest.

it's not real, see? it's still quiet.]

REX.

[darkov]

[this whole week could've been a month or a day for all Martin's concerned: each time he seem rose and left the house, something dreadful happened, and even with no memory of ever returning home, his eyes would suddenly snap open, back in bed again. it's jarring, dreadful, and suffocating, and after a point the things he's seen -- and done -- are too much.

in the final loop, his eyes snap open, but he doesn't leave the bed. not this time, he thinks. nothing bad can happen to me if i don't move.

people won't die if he doesn't move. dogs won't chase, won't bite. people won't scream and hit. he won't smell the blood anymore if he keeps still and stays put.

so he stays, letting the hours stretch, and the light shift from day to night without protest, deaf to hunger and all else, staring at the texture of the carpet on the floor as if there's riddles to solve there. keeping his eyes there keeps them from closing, because closing them brings back dreadful things, still clawing at the back of his mind for his attention. but if he's tracing odd patterns in the carpet, if he goes fast enough, they can't catch him.]

[ct_7567]

[ That Rex has been told what happened by Anderson at least gives him some semblance of a leg-up with dealing with the situation at hand: Martin, locked away in his room, likely labouring underneath the weight of what had happened to him. There isn't a single bone in Rex's body that believes that Martin did anything wrong, but he remembers his first kill. He had been created to be a soldier, had carried a blaster as soon as his hands could wrap around the hilt, been told that it's his job and that failure to carry out his job, that which is good and noble, would result in being decommissioned. But fighting against training droids and battle droids had been a poor substitute for the first time he stepped foot on a battlefield to fight against other sentients. Geonosis had been a storm of violence and misery, but nothing matched the odd feeling in his chest when he pulled the trigger and instead of the grind of metal against metal, he smelled burning flesh as his enemy crumpled to the ground, twitched, then fell still.

It rarely bothers him now, but it had then. And he had been far, far older, far better equipped for it back then than Martin is now. It needs a deft hand, but at least this time, he's at least halfway capable of dealing with a kid coping with too much violence for their short life and tired heart.

He knocks on his door three times, swift and decisive. ]

Martin. It's Rex.

[darkov]

[without a thought in his head, Martin is on his feet. that soldier’s training and cadence Rex is instilled with resonates with the grooming Martin himself is laden with — not from Darkov to Darkov, but more the relationship between Darkov and Lumas, the handlers, caretakers, and directors. it’s familiar and safe, and it guides his feet blindly forward until he’s standing before the door. that’s where his thoughts catch up.

he’s already begun to wonder, here as he’s burrowed himself in blankets and a head full of torments, what a true Lumas would think of him now. what they would say and do. the punishment has never been more clear and more mysterious; just what does “decommissioned” truly entail? would it hurt? was it fast? would one even know it’s happening?

Rex isn’t Lumas. he doesn’t know all the rules. but somehow, Martin begins to feel a need to believe that despite that, there’ll be much the same reaction in him as he’d begun envisioning back home. it stays his hand from the door knob, temporarily freezing him on the spot.]

...

[but what if it’s like Anderson. what if he says what he did was good?

his stomach does a little flip. there’s always, always a part of him that craves those kinds of gentle words and comforts — he’s still young, and despite the harsh nature of his world, he’s grown up knowing safe places where he got just that. yet he’s convinced it’s undeserved and false, because...well. his father certainly isn’t around to tell him kind things anymore, is he? and Martin knows exactly whose fault that is.

Rex should be angry. tell him Martin did wrong to go out and say nothing beforehand. to go out at all, really, because look what’s happened? he deserves every bite and blow he’d collected since, real or imagined. it’s true. it’s true!

he’d be angry if Martin doesn’t answer. angrier.

so Martin’s hand falls back to his side, his sullen stare fixed on the door. Be angry, then, a miserable voice in him speaks. It’s the least I deserve.]

JUGHEAD.

[darkov]

[perhaps the things he thought had happened were actually dreams. perhaps premonitions to keep him away from dangerous paths, highlighting again and again what threats lie ahead. the same angry dog rushing down the same street. the same shrill of sirens from far away just before a pack of madmen emerge from a bar. but from there...things would change.

one thing that’s changed tonight is he actually makes it home before the reset, which has his eyes snapping open wide, still in bed, as though none of the madness ever happen. Martin shoves the door open without a thought for it already being unlocked, hugging stinging, bit-up hands to himself as he staggers through. he rarely has a mind for time, but he’s distantly aware of how strange it is that so many lights are on this late...]

[burger_king]

[ Jughead is in that strange limbo of not having moved out or in completely, stuck in the inbetween of hauling duffel bags and wondering if he's forgotten anything. Add to that being alone in the new apartment - Tate is off somewhere else - and Betty staying at the Meadows in De Chima and the whole world going to absolute hell-

Maybe he's feeling vulnerable. Maybe he was just closer to his old place and didn't want to risk a trek through the city this late, in this madness. Either way he's lurking about in #10, contemplating if there's a room open or if he can crash in the living room, when the door opens. ]

Hello? [ Jittery, wild-eyed, sleep deprived. ]

[darkov]

[that gets a sharp, startled gasp out of Martin, who has barely cleared the foyer when he hears the call and freezes up.

jittery, wild-eyed, sleep deprived? meet jittery, wild-eyed, sleep deprived. like and like, gawking at each other as if they're trying to pantomime each other's alarm.

after a few, troubled beats of this silence, Martin begins to worriedly wonder if he's wandered into the wrong place.]

O-oh, no, I-- [he backs up slowly.] Ss...Sor-sorry, I...I didn't know I was...wrong...?