Chapter Text
Guest 1337 pulls splinters from his hands as he runs. Prying a plank off of a window to swing at the Slasher seemed a good idea at the time, but it exploding in a storm of black and red sparks after a few seconds gave off a different impression. He didn’t miss the new engineer’s look of shock at the rather abrupt destruction of the pallet, but it was something Guest was already used to.
Speaking of…
“Is there any chance you could build something of use?”
Two Time chimes in, saying, “How helpful that would be, fine guardian, but I believe we are still being pursued!”
Carepad nods gravely. “Anything that would help right now would take too long to set up. Where’s the, er… monster?”
“One moment, architect!”
Two Time crouches low and plants their dagger into the ground, becoming markedly harder to see immediately afterward. Guest and Carepad keep running, hearing the thuds of the Slasher’s footsteps follow behind not too distantly.
A shockwave ripples through the air, causing Carepad to stumble. Guest pauses briefly to pull their wrist forward. Right after the aftershocks clear, a horrid scream erupts behind them as a daggerless Two Time happily darts back up to pace with the group.
“By my estimate, it’s far enough behind us that we need not worry about it! Give thanks to the Spawn, their adoration endures eternal.”
Carepad looks only ever-so-slightly relieved. “Thank you… Dagger?”
“Two Time.”
“Thank you, Two Time.”
Guest sighs and looks at the fence in front of him. He digs in his heels and walks up to it, trying to catch his breath. A shockwave ripples through the air.
Guest turns to the engineer. “Carepad, do you want help over this fence?”
“I am a little bit winded. If it’s no issue…”
“It won’t be. Here.”
Guest vaults himself onto the top of the fence, then extends his hand downward to Carepad. They grab it, and he pulls them up with him. Both drop down, with Two Time landing quietly next to them.
The occult pseudofeline squints briefly, as if considering something.
“Carepad, I note your remarkable inclination for teamwork. Wheresoever did you get it from?”
“I don’t know. Fear of death? Can we get moving?”
Two Time begins walking forward, eyes darting about erratically. “Certainly. Thank the Spawn for your trust, though.”
Carepad mumbles something about creepy people.
Guest runs a little ahead, hearing footsteps around the corner of the depot they had come to, looking around the corner, he sees the green-yellow jester and the armored leader from before. The latter spots him and shouts, “Hail!”
“Hello. Could you help us out over here? The Slasher — the stealthy one with the machete — is inbound.”
The jester signs, “Wasn’t the robot the monster? I think this is a CUT above what we can manage.”
Guest is not particularly surprised by the mention of another killer, but it doesn’t make it any less unfortunate to hear about. The periodic explosions sending waves through the ground wouldn’t reasonably come from anything the Slasher could do, even with the help of the arcane book stabbed through his shoulder.
Block gives a scalding look at them. “Nonsense, civilian! These civilians have proven that every one of their foes can be impeded. I say, we take on this Slasher. The worst comes to worst and we attempt it again postmortem.”
Carepad and Two Time turn the corner behind Guest, who looks back and continues to see no sign of the Slasher.
“Fine, fine. So where do you think he is?”
Banana screams out silently as a chainsaw whirrs to life behind them and slashes through their back.
The chorus of whispers around the Slasher sounds almost like a laugh, Guest thinks.
Taunt is getting fed up with this Chance person. They’re a good talker, and they’ve got a confidence that he respects, but damn it is he not aware of anything going on. Caretaker looks like they want to shrivel up into a ball for the rest of time and he’s instructing them on wiring. Every jokester needs to know when to throw off the act.
Another explosion. Taunt’s ears ring, half from the tinnitus of a bomb and half with the phantom screams of Revolver. Caretaker pauses and drops the wire, hand getting singed by the sparks.
“Gotta keep moving, buddy. Stings less when you can get a wire connected quickly.”
“Hey, Chance.”
“Yeah?”
“Clearly, your lucky charms didn’t give ya social awareness. Can’t land on heads to read the room, can you? Grow up.”
“Now hey, that’s just—”
“Oh, I’m sorry, mister five-leaf. I thought maybe you’d notice a pattern or something, guess that’s my mistake. Why would any rational person just hold somethin’ that burns ‘em, hm? Any particular sound, maybe? Really, y’know, I’d be stumped in your position too.”
The panel of the generator slams shut with a resonant clang. “C-calm down, Taunt. It’s okay, really…”
Taunt rolls his eyes. “Ugh, fine. Grow a spine already, ‘Taker.”
“…I guess I’m sorry?” Chance says, still ignorant.
Better be, Taunt thinks.
Taunt feels another explosion ripple through his body, the world shaking around him. It should be louder, like a rumble and a gunshot, but he only hears a scream.
Cloak finds this little fiesta through walls and boxes rather amusing. It’s a little like a dance, really, thinking back to when the M.P. robot still worked. CarePad’s replacement was good at playing music, but its dancing skills…
Beep, beep, beep, and step! A pair of rockets flies right past Cloak, stepping just behind a wall. Her fellow dancer jumps through a window to her right and orients its rocket launchers at her again. The back-up dancers have it covered, though, glass jar shattering against the back of its head. It turns around, off to dance with that Hatchet lady.
Beep, beep, beep, and step. Hatchet’s as good a dancer as any. Hotdog’s skateboard is the next act in the symphony, the next step in the recipe. The Killdroid’s backpack dents, sparks flying everywhere in a violent explosion.
Hotdog immediately drops the skateboard, watching it light on fire from said sparks. Such a sweet girl, Cloak thinks.
Beep, beep, beep… thunk. Hatchet’s axe being swung, what a good switch-up. Cloak decides to help out, darting over in a brief moment to plant her knife into one of the robot’s rocket launchers. The sound of alarms is a lovely melody.
The dancer swings its leg at Cloak, and she obliges its performance by stepping away. Hatchet notices its imbalance and chops at its other leg, causing it to fall over with a mighty percussive thud. Cloak gives a light applause and pats Hotdog on the back, who is still catching her breath.
“How long do you think that will keep this robot down for?” Hatchet asks.
“Oh, maybe a minute. I remember seeing its design somewhere; it takes a good while to get back up.”
“We’d best move, then. That pizza store behind you is relatively safe.”
“Oh! Thank you, Hatchet!”
“Jane.”
“Hee-hee. Thank you, Jane.”
What an odd name. Cloak starts pulling Hotdog over to the pizza place with her, arm around Hotdog’s neck. Less running and more of a fast hobble, but the poor girl can only go so fast for so long. They walk through a hole in the wall, from some sort of storage garage.
The entire building looks absolutely wrecked: tables, chairs, and benches in the front area strewn about chaotically, charred pizzas dropped on the ground, and an active fire on one of the countertops. Storage containers, bright and colorful, spill out in an avalanche from a closet in the opposite corner. Stray bricks from destroyed wall segments are strewn haphazardly across the floor. Lockers are pushed over, visibly dented from some sort of impact. The cash register is completely ransacked.
Whoever did this, Cloak would like to congratulate. A nice bit of tomfoolery from the younger ones is always nice.
A red drone-like sphere propels itself through another hole in the wall, swivelling about and beeping erratically. It turns to face Jane, Cloak, and Hotdog, emitting a series of overwhelmingly loud siren wails. Cloak grits her teeth and moves to cover her ears, but is interrupted by a small rocket flying directly toward her.
She doesn’t think about dances.
She dives to the side and hopes Jane does too.
The pain spreading through her body tells her that didn’t happen.
Cloak tucks herself onto the ground, prone and tugging on her shroud to stay hidden. Red and black static shimmers up her body, and she finds herself completely invisible. A small drizzle of blood stays visible from her torso, pooling slightly onto the floor. The drone hovers past the counter, seeming to scan for her.
…It doesn’t find anything. Cloak collapses, seeing her hands fade back into presence. She looks forward, and watches the Killdroid launch itself into the air. Ignore the two corpses, and everything will be fine. It’ll be okay.
[INIT.PROPEL]
[PROPELLING…]
[Propulsion successful!]
[CALIBRATING LANDING POINT…]
[Landing successful!]
[Foreign entity detected.]
[INIT.IDENT]
[IDENTIFYING…]
[Entity is humanoid. Prominent features include…]
[Chainsaw; knife; machete; stitched mask.]
[Entity does not match any known criteria for a criminal. Mark as safe?]
[Y]
[Entity marked as safe!]
[INIT.DIAGN]
[RUNNING DIAGNOSTIC…]
[Communications equipment destroyed. Right arm damaged. Audiovisual processing unit hampered.]
[INIT.TRGE]
[RUNNING REPAIR PROCESS…]