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The creation of LCE E.G.O gear is, arguably, a more refined method than the type utilized by the original L Corp. Thanks to a collection of advents in the technology and a greater understanding of the task at hand, Abnormalities have only gotten simpler to contain and harvest from - not easier, but at the least simpler. In tandem, the extraction of E.G.O has only become more and more streamlined; Hohenheim has been talking about the augmentation of gear into forms different from L Corp's blueprints for a while now, it's simply just a matter of changing the equipment directly, rather than extracting something entirely new.
The first time Marton puts on Lantern, the synchronization spikes his sensations instantly like an icepick to the frontal lobe. His spine and his skull tingle from the new sensations, the bramble-like horns sprouting his head only slightly less invasive than the 'tail'. The depth of field of the laboratory becomes nearly incomprehensible to look at through dozens of new eyes, sending deep anxiety flooding through his nervous system, and all he can think to do is blink sensitive receptors against the fluorescent lights from the ceiling until Hohenheim shakes him back to reality.
Attunement - both a miraculous invention and the equivalent of slowly submerging the body in quicksand. The old L Corp. could have only dreamed of being able to manually control how deeply the exposure to remnants of an Abnormality affected the mind and body. It feels like putting a leash on it, Faelantern, when Marton turns down the connection with the simplicity of turning a dial. The world comes back into regular perception, his flight response calming and dissipating like the brightness of the lure behind him. The instructions are clear: attunement in non-defensive situations is to stay below 15%, with the clearance to go above 40% requiring explicit permission from his superiors or when the only other option is death. The rest of the conversation is indistinguishable from what he'd hear at some mental health seminar, regarding keeping his psyche afloat lest Faelantern dig its roots into his amygdala and send him into a panic-induced corrosion.
He simply nods and leaves the room so Alyssa can receive her assigned gear. The bramble making up the suit crackles like dead twigs as he walks, the coldness of the air all the more chilling when detected by his horns. The blue light of the fairy behind him has dimmed, but he can still see her faint glow, the way the lights shift on the walls as she flies in circles, kicks her legs, waves at researchers who pass by. She's not alive, of course; simply a lure in the shape of a sprite, friendly and unassuming until he resorts to seeing through Faelantern's eyes once more.
(Eventually, once he begins tiring of just calling her "the lure" over and over and stunting the rhythm of his sentences, he names her "Carablosse.")
The first issue arises when Faelantern realizes that Marton has become an extension of its senses, and thus its thoughts. Though Faelantern may not be able to see him, it can certainly feel what he is feeling, thinking what he is thinking. Synchronization of sensation puts it in what can only be called a constantly anxiety response, gnawing incessantly at the back of Marton's thoughts, not enough to affect him but just perceivable enough to annoy.
I don't like it here.
Faelantern, ambush predator, carnivorous diet. By resting below the dirt, the esca atop its branch-like, dry pterygiophore charms and lures prey towards itself, where it rises from the ground and devours them whole. It is not an opportunistic creature when not in a state of duress, preferring to consume one at a time unless it detects vibrations in the soil that it believes to indicate a larger threat in the area, prompting it to trail behind the carnage and pick off stragglers in an attempt to secure its food shortages. Yes, a majority of Faelantern's behaviors relied on stealth and deception - it was only natural such an entity would feel in danger when it shared its consciousness with Marton, who spent his days among groups of people, fully exposed and seen as he is.
"I'm aware," Marton says to himself as he pushes himself through the lab, looking for Hohenheim to deliver the results from the latest tests on the newest contained specimens. "I can't do anything about it."
Leave. They see me. Leave. They see right through me.
Despite its propensity for harm and willingness to do so in the act of being given freedom, Faelantern itself is an Abnormality defined by its cowardice. Deceptive tactics, avoidance of proper confrontation, and quick ensnarement before retaliation were its modus operandi, preferring to avoid as much actual confrontation as possible in its hunting cycle. Even with how little he is attuned, so little that Carablosse only faintly glows and sits inert on his tail like a doll, Marton can see the way the eyes on his coattail tremble at the sight of someone walking by him with their hands in their pockets.
"Nobody is going to touch you," he sighs. It's a common reassurance he's learned to give the Abnormality. "The lure is right here."
As long as the lure is intact, it means that Faelantern is underground. That's how its always perceived things, animalistic and simple. Unfortunately, sharing the same brain space as Marton and his thoughts means its fright is only quelled for so long before the fear of persecution begins again.
I'm hungry. They see me. I can't do anything if they see me.
It's a very fake statement. The way Marton can feel branches sprout beneath his feet as he slowly turns up the attunement says as much, casting a glance at the scientists behind the blast-resistant glass on the wall. Faelantern can act perfectly fine when perceived; it is just the fragility of the snappable branches and rotten trunk that makes up the lure that frightens it. It knows how fragile it is, how easily it could be felled by something that sees right through its facade. It knows Marton, the eyes it sees through and the sensations it shares with, cannot be deceived in any possible way. Underground or with a lure, Marton can see it for what it is, feel the branches it spreads like extra limbs. Breathes the air it breathes, feels the soil of swamp it hides in.
It fears that he is putting himself into the spotlight, staying above ground, completely open. It fears the way Alyssa burns like a flare from the other side of the room, and Marton wonders if she is having the same type of conversation with O-01-20-07. The shadow of anxiety floods through his body when F-04-03-04's egg is deposited in the chamber, recognizing from primal instincts that it is about to become prey itself.
"Calm down," he mumbles again, adjusting the grip on his weapon. "We're fine. Focus; I'm using the lure. I'll need to bring it closer."
I'm scared.
"I know."
Alarms ring and metal shutters drop closed as the facility is bathed in a red glow, the alert sending scientists running for safety as Marton and Alyssa push through the crowd.
There's a breach, because of course there would be, after so long without any issues. Good things cannot last here, underground with beasts beyond comprehension. His hands are clammy against the wooden grip of his hammer, eyes blinking in unison, as if excited for the upcoming carnage. Attunement is as high as it's allowed to go, the fairy glowing brightly and giggles practically ringing in his head as he has to keep sprinting at top speed, lest bystanders see her shine and follow him into the brawl unwittingly.
Faelantern, of course, cannot handle this course of action. Ringing in Marton's ears is screams and the crackle of sticks as it tries to pull itself away from him, wanting to stay back and wait for the threat to come to them, where it could be in its natural element and consume the bodies left behind. The beginnings of a splintering headache are beginning to crop up behind his forehead as the attunement causes the shared psyche to sink deeper into his body, vision flickering between his own and the eyes around him. He has since trained to understand this point of view, use it to his advantage. Brambles wrap his hands tighter around his hammer, the thrum of his footsteps leaving seeds of roots behind in his steps. He is spreading across this facility, digging into the walls and bending beneath the metal floors in the harness of the earth around the building.
T-02-11-04 crawls across the walls and ceiling, appendages digging into solid steel to support it as it essentially glides around the hallway, crackling with blue light. It hisses at the sight of them, recoiling where it stands at the presence of new researchers. It is usually a docile beast, remaining coiled up during most times he had worked with it personally. Energy harvesting, however, usually required extreme force to prompt it for more enkephalin to harvest, leading to moments like this where it would grow fed up and sprint out of containment at the sight of another worker.
Attunement slides upwards once more, and the lure gets to work.
Carablosse glows with a bright teal light, Alyssa's arm coming up to block her eyes on instinct once the shimmering sight fills the hallway. Faelantern goes completely quiet in his head, silenced as its enveloped into Marton's flow state. T-02-11-04's antennae shoot up in response, from both the brightness and the sudden, faint scent of petrichor flooding around them. Shot, chaser, and it begins approaching slowly, tips of its legs tapping across the floor. Faelantern's predatory instincts come out in full force, anticipating its arrival in its grasp.
The moment it is in Marton's range, it practically screams at him and sends his response time to max speed, and he slams the head of his hammer against the floorboards.
Thicket bursts out from under the floor, sending shrapnel and piping flying in different directions as T-02-11-04 is impaled and stabbed against the ceiling. It screeches like its dying, electric bolts zapping across the room towards him and Alyssa. Alyssa turns into a swathe of flames, pressing the advantage and rushing closer with a flutter of burning wings as Marton drops into the floor. Multiple eyes watch as lightning curves above him, only barely missing the trunk of his tail, still above ground.
Trapped. It's trapped. Pull it under.
He does not, not with the strategy him and Alyssa have. He can smell the smoke gathering as Alyssa scorches his branches, trapping T-02-11-04 against the hard ceiling and a burning forest fire. As Marton rises back up from the floor, he sees Alyssa shooting flames from her hand at the creature, static shock clinging to its carapace as it desperately tries to keep itself away. Marton leans back, prepping his hammer as he approaches, and Faelantern begins ringing alarms again.
Don't go to it. It comes to you. Stop. Drag it under. Consume it. Will kill you.
"I can't do that," he mumbles. "Work with me, here."
Scared.
"I know."
He breaks into a running sprint, using the weight of the mallet to brace his legs on the floor and swing it down onto T-02-11-04's head. The carapace cracks on impact, the Abnormality letting out one more screen of pain before it becomes a ball of light in front of him, transforming into its egg form in moments. Hohenheim must have been watching from the security room, because the sprinklers come on just moments later.
Faelantern seems to calm down again, with the threat gone and the feeling of perspiration upon Marton's skin.
(Him and Alyssa get employees of the month. There's no other reward for it.)
As expected from the wielder of Lantern, he often works with Faelantern personally.
Faelantern is noted to be comparatively calm in the presence of a lone worker. It simply stares at him from across the room, eyes shaking, not moving or lashing out. Its fairy hangs idly and glows faintly on its branches, beckoning Marton over with the wave of its small hand. He is immune, of course, his mental fortitude hardened enough from attunement that he does not bother even pretending that the Abnormality's attempt at bringing him closer affects him. He taps the head of his pen against the side of his tablet, waiting for it to do anything. There is something about its placated nature while he is here that can be refined into energy, so his job is simply to sit with it until it grows tired and musters up the courage to try and grab at him while it is above the floor. The cycle is simple: sit, get up, clear his head, go back in in forty second intervals. It's annoying, but it works.
Ten seconds.
Marton thinks to what he could be doing aside from this. He could be with Hohenheim and giving him second opinions on his latest experiments. He could be with Alyssa, relaxing in the breakroom, talking over the latest shows they've watched or whatever recent events transpired in the facility. He could be socializing with the newbies, giving them advice for the future and playing mentor as he liked. It was nice when people trusted him and looked up to him for things. It reassured him, and it would destroy him later once they were destroyed by the beasts around them. Still, that was simply part of the job. He was not doing any of that; he was with Faelantern, keeping it at bay and doing his job, even if he was not allowed to do anything to it.
Specifically, he cannot interact with it as much as he would like to. He has tried before, and it has led to disaster. Faelantern reacts very well to excellent work results, reaching an equilibrium of satiety and predator instincts to muster the energy to escape. It has happened before, and he cannot guarantee it will not happen again. The last time was a disaster, caused by experimental attunement exercises, to which some researchers were swallowed up by the floor once his attunement was high enough for long enough. It was tragic, and regret still hung on his mind. Maybe that why he was still eager to work with the beast, that he had it under control more than others and could understand what it wanted.
Twenty seconds.
It took him a while to realize he had grown comfortable doing this, this little song and dance. It was a hassle to keep flitting in and out of the room, and yet, Faelantern never followed him out, sitting still where it had taken root in the containment chamber. It is not tamed; to think so is a fool's errand. But it and Marton seem to have reached some form of understanding, that there is nothing Faelantern can do to him and Marton in the same position. Never touching, never interacting, simply staying in the same space, waiting for the other to make a move or crumble. It is an equilibrium, a calm reached only by the knowledge that there was nothing either of them could do that matters. Marton wonders if it was aware of that, or if it was simply acting in accordance with its nature.
That it was exposed and scared.
Thirty seconds.
Marton gets up and makes for the door, Faelantern rumbling in some sort of goodbye as he undoes the latch and steps out into the hallway. The fresh air clears his mind, and recuperates himself before he takes a deep breath and steps back in.
Once again, for the who-knows-how-many-times time, Marton wonders how different things would be had he had the foresight to know what would have happened today.
Maybe he would have brought his weapon to him to the conference, regardless of how uncouth it made him look. He would have told Hohenheim and Alyssa to bring theirs as well, to run extra security measures on the lab and ensure all the emergency exits are working. He would have suggested they run some diagnostics on the generators deeper in the facility, making sure the backups were ready to go as well.
Unfortunately, nobody can tell the future, especially him. No amount of foresight could have prepared either of them for the way they were cornered, backed up against the wall with little options. The Sinners laid on the floor motionless while him and Hohenheim debated what to do; it was hard convincing Hohenheim to let him do this. Deep down, he doubted that T-02-11-04's E.G.O. gear would be enough to disable the Ring Nursefather, his metal chassis seeming impenetrable. Deeper down, he knew he did not have the knowledge of the facility's machines Hohenheim did. If Hohenheim went, there was the chilling chance that Marton would be unable to get the facility back up in time, and all of this would be for naught.
Hohenheim breaks eventually. Marton tries to take solace in that, that he is leaving him behind with proper closure.
Faelantern is, for once, astonishingly calm as Marton stands alone among the routers and machines, attunement climbing up slowly like he was being submerged in its swamp. He could not risk doing it all at once, where the pain may become too much and render him too paralyzed to continue in time. There is a low rumbling that he can barely perceive, content in his actions. It makes sense, of course, there's no question: it is back in its element, Marton using its preferred method of subjugation against a foe. Ambush predator, carnivorous diet, by resting below the dirt, the esca atop its branch-like, dry pterygiophore charms and lures prey towards itself, where it rises from the ground and devours them whole. Marton is performing akin to its nature, the way it lives and breathes.
Coming. Something is coming. Perfect prey.
"Focus. This is our one chance."
Wood spreads over his skin, rooting to the floor as he keeps his breathing steady. Carablosse is only glowing brighter and brighter, bathing the room in a deep teal light, his shadow cast upon the floor, showing him the way his horns are growing, twisting into a collection of larger branches. He's reached the point of no return, corrosion seeping into his bones and boiling the chemicals in his synapses. He is out in the open. The Ring Nursefather will see him, and approach him, and the roots within the ground, entwined akin to brambles, will reach up and ensure he is taken with him. Marton hopes that he will already be gone when he appears, so he does not see the way he has become inhuman, the pain that will come from his body twisting and growing in ways it never should have.
And for a brief moment, Marton truly understands Faelantern. The brilliance of hiding and allowing prey to come near you without putting yourself at risk. He wished that he had that kind of ingenuity, the ability to sink into the metal floor and simply devour the Nursefather whole once he was in his clutches. Maybe if he attuned it fast enough, Faelantern would appear beneath his feet and do the job for him - but he knows its long been suppressed, waiting to hatch once more, and when it is fully awake it will be alone in its solitude all over again.
His coat has long since merged with the thicket growing around him, eyes on all sides giving him a perfect view of the entire room around him. There is a shadow cast along the wall, the clack of heels on metal as someone approaches Hohenheim. The growth is up to his face, dry and brittle, akin to bark. His tail stands tall upon his back, the lure brighter than he has ever seen.
Coming. It's almost here. Finally. Fairy. Light the fairy.
"I am," he says through grit teeth, losing all feeling in his legs. "I'm trying."
And for a moment, a fleeting moment before he is gone, Marton synchronizes completely, and he understands further. The flight response of being seen. Of the possibility of harm. Of the fact that he is fragile in the grand scheme of things, and that all it would take is one second of seeing through the facade for Carablosse to be crushed beneath the Nursefather's grip and all of this to be for nothing, and he would be in oblivion. But there is also the fight response, that he needs to lash out in any way possible as proof that he exists.
With a shaky voice, he admits his last words to the only thing that is listening.
"...I'm scared."
There is a buzz in the back of his mind when he says it as the bark covers his eyes. It is one of understanding. It is one of empathy, as much as an Abnormality can muster.
A simple I know.
The teal glow envelops his vision, bright as the sun, and in that fleeting second before darkness, Marton knows how it feels for someone to see it and be dazzled.