Corvala

Helge fell into the officer ungracefully, being caught off guard by the action. Lucky for her, he was more on point in this situation than she was now. In her defense, it wasn't a common occurence for her to be thrown. She stood there awkwardly as he spoke to Chloro, unable to object or agree to his propostions. If they call The Major, Chloro gets exectly what she wants, and they'll most likely be killed right after. Who knows if this other person is in league with this abomination and is more terrifying than her! Maybe The Major will be the harbinger of their demise!

Despite the tension and nervousness looming over them, Helge picked up on the man's scent as he held her lightly. His cologne was intermingled with a faint detection of sweat and cigarillos, and Helge found this to be somewhat soothing. She recognized the brand the officer smoked- someone from her past, someone she cared deeply for, preferred those to the other types being smuggled around here. Black Stones. The robust and sweet smell brought her back to the days of her misguided youth with the strongest person she knew. She thought upon the times they had defied all expectations and preconceived notions of how people their age were supposed to act and be. She thought of the mislabeled acts of 'terrorism' they caused in their neighborhood late at night. She thought about how angry and resentful their parents were of their relationship. She even thought of the night their lips first touched, right after he had smoked that cherry cigarillo.There was no one else in this galaxy that ever made her feel as significant as he did.

Thinking of him, her beloved, gave her the strength that had been so fleeting moments ago. Just as she was about to finally pull out her knife--

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The notification noises of the man's comlink startled her. She looked to the officer, wondering what this deus ex machina would ultimatley lead to. The connection crackled, and a stern voice penetrated the silence.

"Officer Rippach, this is HQ. Communications have not been up to date. Report status. Over."    

"Get off of him!" Helge screamed hoarsely. She grabbed who she felt to be Karl by the back of his jacket and pulled as hard as she could away from Chloro. She lost him once before, and she'd be damned to lose him again- especially to this wretched excuse of life. He was still woozy from the blunt trauma he just suffered, and was unstable in his footing. He stumbled backwards, causing them both to land on the floor on their backsides. Helge groaned as she laid supine on the ground. She had landed on to the knife that rested in her back pocket; the blade lodged itself into her lower back nearly half way down. As Karl's head lopped up against her chest, she saw the gaping void where his cerulean orb once resided, blood trailing down on her ivory shirt. She wimpered pathetically, once again the damsel in this story. 

Footsteps are heard. The little bell attatched to the door twinkles. Boots scuff against the linoleum of the two star restaurant. The soldiers assess the situatuon and it doesn't look good in their eyes. Two figures lay in a slump, obviously injured and bleeding. Two... monsters, standing over them with malicious faces. The small group of men and women cock their weapons. Iron sights set on the standing figures.

Automatic timers were such opportune stalkers. Free of intention, they cling to the final orders and loop and loop and loop, following the long dead master until the battery gives one final surge, one deadened pulse, before collapsing in electro-current death. Remarkably, this was not at all different from the gut seeking Schiff: who often surged in one moment of tormented glory before being decimated by higher level beings. Admittedly, not many were higher, but there was always someone better. Timers were hilarious, and as this one clicked at the predetermined time, something sinister happens. . .

? You always break the kindest heart
with a hasty word you can't recall ?

A sweet tenor fills the eatery by means of crackling speakers. Nay, the speakers weren't at fault for the distortion -it was the quality of the recording itself. Droning on in a half wail, half throaty seduction, the man withers on the lyrics of You Always Hurt the Ones You Love at a soft volume in the background of a crawling Helge, a stumbling and slipping Karl, and the sudden metallic bouncing of grenades against tiled floor. Karl, reacting to the noise in a reflex like twitch, pulls out his pistol -ready to commit to a suicide gunfight in the middle of restaurant. He'd hit the bitch once. Just even having a single bullet strike her maw would complete his life before the grand explosion.

!BANG! PLANG! PSHHHHHH! FSSSSSSIMMMMM!

Karl was never that fast. Missing an eye, he was just a bit too slow. But he does manage to flinch and brace at the expectant wave of hot shrapnel and death.

"Eeeeehhh Hehh hehh hehh."

Blindness again, deafness, like roaring thunderclap or the smashing of fists over the ears. Bright spots and white light obscures the Officer's divided field of vision, but then he feels them, arms and gear wrapping around him. Was it Chloro sinking her claws in? It didn't hurt. A sudden gust of wind tears his cap off, and he feels cold hands steadying him on concrete. Somewhere nearby, Karl hears another disgusting, half chuckling voice barking something about using more flashbang and smoke grenades on the target in the Fatherland's tongue.

Oh no, they brought them here too? Here, of all places?

"Haben Sie Schmerzen; wo tut es weh?"

"Ahhhah. Heir. Mein Auge."

"Heheheh. Sie leben, aye, Hauptsturmführer? Sich setzen." And before Karl can protest, he feels (because his vision is still clouded in a white haze) the same cold hands shoving him unto his hindquarters. A hatch closes and then the vibrations begin.

Overhead, on the rooftop of a 16 story apartment building directly across the street.

Schiff were already ridiculously dangerous as random blenders of ghoulish violence. Train them, arm them, militarize them, and mitigate their inherent need for taking and giving their lives, and you might get a freakish but effective force. As Major Emono planted her boot on the rampart and provided a bit of overwatch on the scene below, she could not help but see the need for things that looked, talked, and spat like humans, without the freezing limitations of humans. Naturally, Liza sort of had to look at the world in such lopsided ways. Espiecally since about a dozen more of the Freaks had bounced up to the rooftop behind her, no doubt expecting orders on how to proceed.

"Get a camera or sumthing. Record keeping, people. Record people."

And from her perch, she watched as the hover truck that Officer Rippach and some messed up looking civilian got thrown into rumble and zip down the street. She noted that while the three Schiff below had also scooped up the five living soldiers out of the diner, they had not offered them escape, instead zipping them to firing angles left and right of the smoke screen. These humans still had to get their bearings without panicking. Meanwhile, she could see one of the three freaks hefting what looked like a Panzerfaust up. He bellowed something before firing the charge. From up here his voice sounded like a meager hiss, but she could imagine how bloody loud his shout must have been at street level.

"Kekekekeke. Krieg ohne Hass, AHAHAHAHAH!"

!FWOOOOOSH! Goes the antique looking but heavily upgraded rocket launcher.

In the back of the unmarked impromtu medical truck, the two men and single woman inside saw to Karl's and Helge's injuries. One of the men who helped carry Helge sussed out the unconscious one's stab wound, unsure by the angle and penetration depth if it was self inflicted or otherwise. He rifled through the supply case he had brought along, found what he was looking for, and applied a large regenerative strip on her lower back. He knew it wouldn't be the ultimate cure-all, but it would be just enough until they reached the base's clinic. Karl mumbled incoherently as the field nurse did what she could for his eye socket. There wasn't much she could do, as there was no eye left to attempt to salvage, but made sure that there would be no infection at least. She also patched up his bleeding ears, helping to deter any permanent hearing loss.

The truck drove on with the five humans and the three ghoulish guards in a morbid and uncomfortble silence. The troopers were tense, unsure of the outcome this scenario could lead to if any one of them said or did anything unagreeable with these... things. Their weapons were loaded, ready for any altercations inside or outside the truck. One garish rogue looked incredibly amused at the present scenario as he fervently licked his lips. When this story would be inevitably told to Karl and Helge, they would be grateful for having been rendered blissfully unaware of this predicament. Luckily for the troopers, the clinic was only another two miles away.

Where it is quiet, everything is loud. The living would describe the puffy numbness that went with the ringing sound in their ears as noise hangover that seemed to make them acutely aware of even the smallest sound.

There was a crunch of gravel, someone shifting their stance.

Then the sound of something hitting bone at high speed. Judging by the thud and hollow clap, it must have been a head. But there was no report, no bullet whine and no muzzle flash. If it was for the meaty thump of body falling over, someone might have easily dismissed it as a trick of the mind. But one schiff at the one end of the dust bowl had been quite thoroughly brained. That was to say, most of his brain had been fairly evenly spread across a wide cone behind him. The Mouth thought it was quite neat, a perfect 55º arc behind him. She knelt over and picked up his radio. On an open channel, she hesitantly asked:




A tooth of the schiff presently being pummeled by Karl finally came loose, at which point Chloro smiled under the mask of blood. It couldn't be her, but there was no mistaking her porcelain imitation skin that had cracked under the force of the blows. But it didn't hide her smirk, the smug contentment of the high ground, twisted with the malicious glee of watching someone try and fail.

You've. Hurt. My. Smile.

But. That's. Okay.

Blood gushed between the impossible white teeth, painting an outline between each calcium wedge. The earlier memory of her hands in his mouth returned, the latex flavoured fingers curling around his lower jaw again.

You. Can. Have. It.

But before she could give it to him, the fingers were gone as was she. When he looked again, the only thing there was the syrupy, pulpy mess of the schiff's head, as if he had been left in a microwave for too long. And he wasn't laughing anymore. Schiffs could and have survived worse, but this was one who had clearly just been beaten to death by a bog standard human with his bare hands.

What happens when the humans turn on the monsters?

Miscellaneous sounds were filling the operating room. Running water. The snap of latex gloves. The screeching of wheels. Helge's pallid body was quickly being swarmed by the doctors preparing for surgery. At the count of three, she was lifted by all four quadrants by four surgeons from the stretcher to the operating table. At another count, she was turned over. A nurse quickly administered anesthetic, though it seemed unecessary at this point. Helge's pulse was declining rapidly. It was only a matter of moments before she would slip away. A scuffle was commencing just outside the room as the regenetive strip was being removed from Helge's wound. Karl was desperately trying to enter the room, begging the interns to let him see his "wife." He would be damned to let these scrawny pathetic excuses for wanna-be doctors get between him and his lover. They implored him to calm down, and that if he continued to act in this way, that he would be escorted from the building. Karl motioned to leave, but as soon as the interns turned around due to another casualty entering the ambulatory entrance, he slipped right into the operating room.

The room Karl had entered was a horror house- four doctors were in the corner of the room having a loud yet inaudible argument as one nurse was crying and another moaning. The loud blaring beeps of the EKG was announcing Helge's diminshing heart rate as her body was undergoing convulsions. She flatlined before Karl had a chance to run to her side. He stood there, in a stupor, feeling absolutely nothing. How could the doctors just stand there!? Why weren't they attempting to save her!? What could they arguing about at a time like this!? How could she be dead after finally finding each other again?! 

The nurses suddenly ran out of the room. Karl looked up and saw why- one of the surgeons opened up a metal cabinet and removed a vial from a container ominously labeled "D" in midnight blue marker. The other three rushed over to Helge's lifeless form to remove the machine and anesthesia. They then began to strap her down against the table. As they tightened the leather bonds over Helge's wrists and ankles, the fourth surgeon was filling a syringe with the jet black liquid, it then dawned on Karl what was going on. They were going to turn Helge into an... experiment! A monster! Like her! Karl screamed at the surgeons, calling them murderers, telling them to leave her alone, and that he would kill every last person in this hospital if they shoved that needle into her. The two surgeons closest to Karl, who hadn't noticed him in there until he began his rampage, rushed toward him to subdue and remove him. He was already knocked out cold and thrown outside when Helge was injected with the latest synthesized version of Diva's blood.