The Hannya Mask

[warandpeace]

Who: Event Post | Open
When: Dec. 5th - 15th
Where: Around Avagi
What: A demon is haunting the station, spurred on by emotional responses. More information can be found here.
Warnings: Violence, possible death, body horror, etc.

THE HAUNTING

The onryō starts making her first patrols in the early morning when most people are comfortably asleep and not wanting to wake up. The sense of unease she creates is palpable, and initially she just looks at who is around. She chooses in the dark who she should be angry with, who is a foolish idiot for making her mistakes and who is an ignorant soul who ignored the anguish of someone else's attention. Everyone else is unimportant.

Occasionally, rarely though, she'll stop and look at something. Usually carved or drawn or molded, something someone used their hands to create. The very faintest of scraps of who she used to be, though that's barely significant. There's not enough left of that self to deter her from stopping more of the foolishness that damned her.

The Noh mask appears the same day, the same time as her first investigations get underway, and there it remains, conveniently close to where the Ingress once was.

The mask will always return to this original state the moment it's not being observed. It'll be returned to its resting place. If it's been destroyed or altered or damaged in any way, it'll be back to the state that it was when previously examined (even permanent marker would disappear).

It's made of cypress wood and is covered in layers of chalk paint and a glue-like sealant. On the back is a raised signature, indicating that it was handmade by an artisan. On closer examination (like swabbing or enhanced senses or super scanner) there's a bit of smoke damage, but otherwise it's not been worn many times. The straps attached are hardly frayed at all. However it's aged, it's not from scuffing or rough handling.

There might not be much time to notice or to bother with it, though. Not when people are being hunted in the shadows, when quick hands reach out from cabinets or a hunched form hangs upside down from underneath a table, waiting for someone to sit down too close to her.

Comments

[alan_1]

[Alan had hoped the blow might at least slow down the creature enough to get back on his feet, but barely a second passes before it’s coming at him again. It grabs his other wrist, ignoring Alan’s attempts to pull free, and twists. Something in Alan’s arm strains and then snaps, sending a white-hot spike of pain up his shoulder and forcing out a choked cry. The pain only gets worse as the creature starts pulling him forward, but Alan yanks back anyway, gritting his teeth against the agony as his now-broken arm is once again stretched to its limit.

Sseveral things happen in very quick succession. Alan sees a blur of orange and white flash through the creature’s arm. He himself lurches backwards as the grip on his own arm is suddenly released. And another, much larger blur of black and orange-red slams into the creature an instant afterwards.

Alan staggers backwards to his feet as the fight careens away, clutching his mangled arm to his chest. Every instinct in his body is screaming for him to run, but he can’t leave Rinzler and he can’t leave Flynn. All he can do is stand paralyzed, unable to tear his gaze away from the carnage unfolding before him.]

[notglitching]

[One hand derezzes. Three remain, all contorted like a gridbug's claws, grasping and twisting as momentum slides him forward with their host. Rinzler eels between the reaching arms to snatch up his rebounding weapon, splits it into two with a flare of red and white. His mask tips back just enough to catch the motion as his user staggers: damaged, but intact.

He doesn't look at the other form still on the floor.

He does meet the next arm with a disk's edge. He does press forward, giving the threat no space to stand, much less circle around. Black eyes meet his through a fall of lank dark hair, and the enforcer's snarl rises, loathing fixing to a sharp, familiar point. Rinzler remembers the shadows.

He doesn't recognize this one's form, but he isn't going to assume less risk. Or that there might not be more waiting for an opportunity. Both disks burn brighter—supercharging—before slamming down toward the thing's core and jerking apart. However impressive its self-repair, being sliced in two might buy them a micro.]

[gridfather]

[ Get up. Get up get up get up get up getupgetupnononono-

He blocks her at every turn, an obstacle she might normally have evaded, were she not pinned. A second hand flops onto the carpet, fading from sight as the first had. No matter. Cold fingers climb over her opponent's hip, reaching, stretching, straining. When his searing chakrams find a home in her ruined torso, she's staring still at Alan with that outstretched hand, no flicker of pain in those empty sockets.

Retreat.

She melts away under Rinzler without a sound. ]

[notglitching]

[No blood. No flesh-parts. Not even the sticky darkness that the shadows left behind. Rinzler watches the thing melt away against his disks, and Rinzler waits, stare fixed and scans wide, to see where it might reform. Fifty nanos. A hundred.

Nothing.

He doesn't trust it. He can't be sure. Whatever it was, and however many more will surface, one priority queues far before the rest. Rinzler steps back from the empty space, disks merging to one hand as he turns.]

User.

[The enforcer's tone is clear and sharp—more so, by far, than he would normally take with his programmer. But this is a threat, this is a danger, and even (especially) to Alan-one, he isn't making a request of it.]

Going. Now.

[Both of them. Rinzler takes a step forward, mask jerking toward the exit out.]

[alan_1]

[Like Rinzler, Alan also isn’t convinced that it’s over just because the creature disappears. He’s already looking to the other shadows in the room, half-expecting another swarm of arms to reach out of the darkness. It isn’t until Rinzler speaks that he looks back at the program, eyes wide. The words get a twitch of his head to the side in aborted negation. They shouldn’t stay. There’s nothing they can do. But how can they just leave?]

Flynn…

[The single word is more plea than argument. They can’t just leave him behind with the creature.]

[notglitching]

[The need to get Alan-one clear outweighs any other consideration. Still, Rinzler's helmet will reluctantly twitch toward the body at that word. The user (Flynn) is utterly still, limbs contorted and shell pale. It's a configuration Rinzler's seen enough, even without the (raw) (aching) (lost lost lost) numbness that his scans return.

Even without the process-freezing keen of failure.]

He's—gone.

[Vocals hitch, tone bleeding static. Alan might see the blue-white flicker. (Rinzler) doesn't; Rinzler can't. Alan-one is still in danger, and none of him can afford to lock up now.]

Going.

[Another step, crowding his user toward the exit.]

[alan_1]

[Alan steps back as Rinzler steps forward, but he’s not looking at the program at all. Instead, his gaze remains fixed on the body of his friend lying still on the floor.]

I know, [he hears himself say, but he can’t turn away, his mind still racing as he tries to think a way out of this nightmare. He had died, too, once upon a time. It hadn’t stuck. How had they brought him back? The only thing he remembers is the chill of cryonics and opening his eyes what felt like moments later.

He finally looks at Rinzler, eyes searching for something behind that black mask.] There has to be something we can do. [It’s small and desperate, but Alan has never been able to not act. Somehow, he can still fix this. At least, he can make sure there’s still a chance.]

[notglitching]

[Alan-one still isn't moving. Still not leaving, still stuck (stuck, stuck) on the dead shell back on the floor. Noise builds, a growl of pure frustration overriding the low ticking of mismatch. They can't stall now. He can't, and Rinzler turns toward the body, forcing his stare not to linger on $flynn's face.

A stoop, a reach, and he turns back, closing the gap before Alan-one can reverse momentum.]

Here.

[The ring of light is slim and dark, a single stripe of white illuminating the inside. So unremarkable, for something that has meant so much for so long. Rinzler locks, just for a moment, and this time, the pulse of blue is longer lasting.

Alan's program presses Flynn's disk into his user's hands, and turns to lead the way.]

[alan_1]

[Alan doesn’t reverse momentum. He stays rooted to the spot as if shackled until Rinzler presses a now-familiar weight into his hand.

He doesn’t know if it will make any difference. Perhaps in a system, resurrection would be as simple as recompiling from a disk, but this is no system. In the end, it’s not the disk at all that stirs Alan out of stillness: it’s Rinzler, lights pulsing unmistakable blue, in what has only ever been a sign of distress and conflict to Alan. It’s enough to shake him out of his stupor—to remind him that there’s still more he could lose if he doesn’t snap out of it now.

He steps after his program, still holding his injured arm awkwardly against his chest.]

It came out of the shadows, [he murmurs, voice hoarse but lucid.] Wherever we go has to have working lights.

[notglitching]

[Now that Alan's moving, his program certainly won't stop. But he Rinzler does nod. It's useful data, and lights shouldn't be difficult to ensure—though with or without them, he certainly isn't leaving Alan-one unguarded.

...Alan-one isn't the only one at risk. Not even the only one who's died, when [Rinzler] wasn't there to save him. The thought prickles in his throat, stuttering through audio with a rising mismatch as the enforcer's lights slowly flicker back toward red.

Clu.

He need to contact his admin. After. The mask tips back to Alan-one, lingering on the broken arm.]

Medbay first.

[Then somewhere more secure.]

[alan_1]

[Alan only nods, gaze drifting to his broken arm like it’s an after-thought.]

They have cryopods there, don’t they? [The words are soft, almost to himself. If they had been able to bring him back from a bullet in the head, surely they’d be able to bring back Flynn. And if not…

If not, Alan still has all of Flynn’s being stored in backup. That must offer some alternative. He holds the disk in his hand a little tighter, the dig of its curved edge into his palm a cold comfort.

Alan will follow Rinzler, but unless spoken to, he'll remain silent for the rest of the way there.]