Work Text:
Franz Kromer's Ironclad Grip: Part 1
Miss Faust’s cold and authoritative voice rings out in your ears as she gently instructs you all. “Sinners, we will be navigating an abandoned Lobotomy Corporation branch in N corp today. Refer to Miss Outis and Dante for any further instruction. Charon and Vergilius are remaining behind to perform maintenance on Mephistopheles.”
After the tumultuous yet comforting night you had endured with Rodion, you’re quite drowsy. And sore…very sore. Rodion is a tight hugger, and while you were able to ignore it in the heat of the moment, the day after has proven your fragile form unable to withstand what can best be described as a beautiful hydraulic press. You don’t even register the ticking that you somehow are able to ascertain into a language from Dante as you stand there staring off into the distance. However, you are quickly broken out of your merry daydream by being completely trampled down to the ground as your yellow haired coworker hastily rushes to the window seat beside you to observe the colorful fires.
“N…N CORP?! Forsooth, I hath studied this! Many a powerful fixers originate from this merry corporation!”
Don Quixote bellows out, almost deafeningly loud. You can appreciate her whimsy though…it’s like a warm mirror into childhood joy, untainted by the evils of the world. She begins to chatter off about the various fixers in N Corp, as well as the general culture of the taboo hunters. What you can’t appreciate however, is Sinclair huddled into a corner of the bus, shaking like a frightened dog, yet somehow emanating an aura of anger, one of burning, smoldering revenge. You walk over to hope to console him, in any way. You’re familiar with the feeling of being scared, while somehow also feeling called to action.
“S…Sinclair, are you feeling alright? You’re shaking a lot…” You reach out to grab his arm. He looks up at you with an awful, horrifyingly empty stare, his eyes painting a picture of grief that a million words can’t summarize. “N…no…that woman, her hateful smile, her echoing cackles as she drove the nail deeper and deeper…I can’t go back, I can’t…I have to kill her!” Sinclair, frantically stammering utter nonsense as you attempt to console him. After a few minutes of just sitting with him and holding his hand, he’s calmed down enough to speak.
“If you ever see that damned woman…run…she isn’t normal. Something about her…she thinks differently than us…a psychopath..” Before you can even get a word out, he runs off to his room, presumably to begin sharpening his halberd. You just sit there bewildered, wondering to yourself “what woman? Different from us? People on this damned bus are crazy, she can’t be too terrible”. As you think to yourself…tick…tick tick…
Dante orders everybody off the bus, as several inquisitors halt your progression. As per standard procedure, you grab your stolen Dieci key to begin mincing up whatever's in front of you. They seem to be especially fixated on you however, yelling about your prosthetic hand. No matter, you’ve grown relatively desensitized to the blood and screams caused by whatever nonsense Dante, Faust, and Outis have commanded you to do. It's become a mindless task. Fuel your key, butcher whoever is closest, and promptly forget your name and where you are because you can’t properly use the key. Which made it all the more surprising when you were swiftly tied, bagged, and hurriedly carried away, all the while Faust was the only one who noticed. Faust knows all, however, so she let this play out.
Kicking and screaming, you’re dropped out of the bag about an hour later. You don't know where you are, only that you’re in the chambers of somebody…important. Shining white paint lines the walls as bloody handprints lead to a door. And out of that door comes…an interesting figure. Standing scarily tall with white and yellow hair, adorned in a cream colored militaristic uniform, perfectly unblemished and clean, as if fresh out the wash. On various parts of her body lie armor, though her torso remains completely unguarded, as if to mock those who she bests in combat. Attached to her side is a nail almost as long as you are tall, rusted over and clearly worn.
She gets directly in your face, your noses nearly touching as she just stares at you for an uncomfortable long minute, assuring herself you are indeed who she requested. “It's YOU…! Hahaha! I’m surprised you haven’t been killed yet. Little you…no aptitude for much of anything…that's okay, you always relied on me, Franz Kromer anyways!” This woman is sickeningly teasing. She rolls her F’s when pronouncing her name as if she’s royalty, but with an outfit like that, you can’t exactly say she isn’t. “Ma’am….uh…who are you again? I mean…you said your name but…I don’t know you” you manage to stammer out a sentence as you take a step back, her wide smile coming off as frightening.
“You don’t remember me? Wow…joining the Dieci was the worst choice you ever made! And…that sickening hand…you used to agree with me…it’s appalling just looking at it…I want to, no, I HAVE to rip that thing off your stupid arm! But first…does this remind you who I am?” Kromer pulls you into a bone crushing hug, your face nestled against her chest as her fingers claw into your back, almost ripping your coat off. You do have to agree with her, the Dieci was a terrible choice. It led you here. Right into this crazy woman’s embrace. But you can’t deny that it is comforting somewhat, her intense hug almost makes the sore spots from Rodion fade away.
In a maneuver that can only be comprehended by a world class acrobatic, she spins you around, grabs your arm, and wretches your prosthetic hand clean off. It’s clawed, so she cuts her hand a bit. Not that she minds, but she does take note of it. “Hehe…no more nasty prosthetics…ahhh!~ It's like the good days we used to share, we held hands…had plans to cleanse this world, we even bonded over our love of nailing!” She mocks you as she embraces your cold, detatched metallic hand as if it was a dear partner. You remember none of this, and stand there bewildered and confused. Your arm doesn’t hurt, but you are very unused to not having your right hand.
“Soooo…let’s catch up!~ My inquisitors will have those silly friends of yours busy for a while! Maybe…12 hours or so? Who knows, I sent so many of them, they listen to me because they know they fight for a true, pure dream...humanities peak is impeded by people like you...” She picks you up bridal style and carries you to her personal room. She plops her oversized self down onto the couch, with you sitting in her lap. She claws through your hair with her metal gauntlet, meanwhile her other uncovered hand slowly rubs your chin and cheeks, kneading you like human bread dough.
“Do you remember when we used to do this after class? Oh, you always blushed so adorably! It was cute, you were so pathetic…you’d always try to struggle away, and i’d just squeeze you tighter!~” You shiver and remain silent, unsure of what to do or say as your vague foggy memory is starting to return. You…used to be friends? Surely…but why? Were you close coworkers? Dating? You can’t remember. You start to tear up slightly, afraid and confused. “...Are you crying? Wow…I expected better! Hehehe…” She rubs your tears into her fingers as she pinches your cheeks roughly. “Shh…little birdie…Kromer’s got you now, hehe…so obedient and malleable… stay with me forever~ Let’s kill…mutilate…and utterly destroy those heretics…okay? Do it for me? You love me, don’t you? Shh…stop crying! It’ll be okay…it gets easier after the first hundred or so…you love me…you’re staying with me…close your eyes…hahaha!~”
…That cackling…it bothers you…immensely…but before you can think of why, you begin dozing off. You forgot that you just fought for hours, before being kidnapped and then knocked out. Of course you’d be tired and dazed. You pass out in her arms.
You wake up in the same spot, only to see her staring at you, as she inspects your belongings. “A key huh…little thief! I know you don’t have the capability to use this silly thing. And what's this here, your prosthetic hand has such sharp pointed claws…for digging out eyes? Aren’t you just the little tricky, nasty fighter! We could use that…a little indoctrination and you’ll be perfect! Back to how you used to be, my second in command…I can’t wait! Hehehe…HAHA!”
That damned laughing…you remember now…Sinclair warned you about her…the awful cackling…her psychotic nature…this is who he feared so much, and apparently YOU used to work with her. What will the sinners think? Will you be able to face them? You don’t remember what you did, was it horrid? Sinful? The only one who knows now is Kromer, but you don’t dare ask her. She finally inspects your coat, seeing the logo in the inner pocket.
“Limbus…Company…you work for Limbus Company? Aww…~ you little birdie, you wanted to sprout their wings beyond the Dieci and N Corp! Was N corp not good enough for you? Did we not offer enough benefits?” She asks mockingly, treating you like an old friend…or enemy. You are unsure at this point. Her face turns white as she reads something she found in your pocket. A copy of your colleagues names and faces, provided by Vergilius to aid in your memory loss”
“E…Emil Sinclair? You know Sinclair? That little frail, fragile soul…hehehe. So full of aptitude, so easy to turn into greatness…this is going to be SO much fun...two old playthings just come crawling back to Franz Kromer!…Say, be a good birdie and bring him to me, would you? I’d like to catch up~”