who: Helena and others! what: March catchall log when: All month where: Across campus warnings: Potential gore, body horror, psychological horror in dreamscapes.
it's cold, he'll note as he goes into the forest. even his body is susceptible to it, as he moves on. still, there is the sense that he should, pressing him onwards, compelling footsteps even as they seem to be louder. a heartbeat in his ears that's not his own, fine mist that creeps over the forest floor, his breath visible before him.
sensory input at heightened levels. the flex of his fingers, the rise and fall of his chest. a bird's wings in flight, flapping - the faintly chemical scent that invades the woods. not the decay of life, but something different, and it cannot be placed in what he knows. it's much, it's too much, but it cannot be stopped. and then, the scent of burned wood and ash.
it's a husk of a place, ruined by fire, an explosion, stone reduced to rubble and metal twisted, wood blackened by it. what could have been a small building, gutted and destroyed by fire. broken machinery, what might have been very fine tools.
and something lying under a blanket on a table. still, quiet.
[ Ranger shivers as he takes in the scene, but not just from the cold. It's the setting of one's nightmares, an eerie forest with an indiscernible chemical scent mixed in with that of ash and fire. It overwhelms his senses, puts every bit of his mind and body on edge, and he finds that unease only grows worse as he reaches a small clearing of a sort.
It's a mess. Ranger draws in a breath, looking about before slipping behind a tree as he considers the best course of action here. There's stories about places like this, and not one of them suggests to him that approaching an unknown figure is a good idea. He peers out from behind it after a few seconds, narrowing his eyes as he tries to get a better look at whatever might be hiding beneath it... A person? An object? It seems still enough, yet... ]
[the worn, dirty blanket remains still, the vague suggestion of a person under there if he's had much exposure to it. nothing moves, save the wind - the breeze is sharper here, against any exposed skin.
papers rustle on the floor, damaged by fire and water, what would have been fastidious notes gone to ruin. no use for machines or tools if the entire place is empty, cold, long left to rot in its own burns.
somewhere, the crow flies, comes to settle on the edge of the building, in the hole that would let clouded light in. so far, Ranger is alone. not even the impression of another heartbeat.]
[ There's a part of him that screams at him that thinks to leave now. It might be better to risk the dangers of the forest than to proceed here, but he has the distinct sense that he'll get no where if he does that. For the moment, he can see nothing that will bring immediate harm, and all signs seem to point toward the building before him.
Ranger braces himself before slipping out of his hiding place. He keeps his footsteps light as he moves toward the building, making a conscious effort to avoid making any noise that might draw attention. He turns his head to the left and right, straining his senses as he tries to remain aware enough to catch any anomalies. He thinks better of disturbing the body beneath the blanket, if that is in fact what it is, instead focusing his attention on recovering the items on the items left inside. It doesn't seem like much more than ruined notes, but perhaps he'll find one or two that are still readable? ]
[the notes are the only thing worth salvaging, the instruments damaged and warped beyond use. most of the files are stained, crumbling, half gone, but Ranger can make out some information off a few scattered pages:]
3. Self-protection [Inclination] The perfect "control group"
---
...we conducted pharmaceutical interventions in stages with a more reasonable dosage on No. 0-0-3...making incorrect judgements in extreme situations.
---
In conventional cases, once a control group has been "broken," it would rapidly assimilate into the experimental group....ultimately...instability and insufficiency of the medicine, or No. 0-0-3's inherent characteristics, that led to such results.
[ He skims the pages. It doesn't tell him much at all, but even this little bit is more than enough to start to give the first few lines of a story. There were experiments of some sort being conducted, and one can imagine that they were the less than savory sort. He commits it to memory, the key words reminding him to be cautious, before deciding it best to move on without delay.
He walks over the table next, inspecting the object - a body, he assumes - covered by the blanket. To be left out in the open, and in such a conspicuous manner no less, there must be a reason that it's here. He takes the edge in one hand, carefully peeling it back to see what's hidden beneath. ]
exactly as he looks now, new clothing and all, except this one has a hole through his head, eyes gone lifeless, face splintering and cracked in different areas. and there's another injury across the second Rio's chest, a deep gouge, as if someone slammed an axe into his sternum. ripped clothing, broken body.
and as he looks, a phantom wave of pain will overtake him - as though he can recall getting these injuries, the agony they'd come with, but not who inflicted them. shadows at the borders of his mind -
and then it settles, leaving only the suggestion of a racing heart.
[ The sight of his own lifeless body is unsettling, but its the sudden jolt of pain that makes him stumble back, his free hand instinctively gripping at his chest. It's a pain he shouldn't be able to feel with such intensity, but there it is, as painful as it would be for any human. He shudders after it passes, ripping his gaze away from the body laying on the table.
His breath is a little heavy, his heart beating a little too quickly, and he has to work to get both to settle. For a person who's never truly felt pain, it's all the worse when he does. But there's no time to linger on it, and he has little desire to waste time confronting the inevitability of death.
But the image lingers in his mind as he spins on his heel and starts walking, turning his head this way and that to see if there's anything else of interest, or otherwise if there's any suggestion of which way he should go. It's not advisable to simply wander about blindly at times like this. ]
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ranger.
it's cold, he'll note as he goes into the forest. even his body is susceptible to it, as he moves on. still, there is the sense that he should, pressing him onwards, compelling footsteps even as they seem to be louder. a heartbeat in his ears that's not his own, fine mist that creeps over the forest floor, his breath visible before him.
sensory input at heightened levels. the flex of his fingers, the rise and fall of his chest. a bird's wings in flight, flapping - the faintly chemical scent that invades the woods. not the decay of life, but something different, and it cannot be placed in what he knows. it's much, it's too much, but it cannot be stopped. and then, the scent of burned wood and ash.
it's a husk of a place, ruined by fire, an explosion, stone reduced to rubble and metal twisted, wood blackened by it. what could have been a small building, gutted and destroyed by fire. broken machinery, what might have been very fine tools.
and something lying under a blanket on a table. still, quiet.
the crow shrieks.]
Re: ranger.
It's a mess. Ranger draws in a breath, looking about before slipping behind a tree as he considers the best course of action here. There's stories about places like this, and not one of them suggests to him that approaching an unknown figure is a good idea. He peers out from behind it after a few seconds, narrowing his eyes as he tries to get a better look at whatever might be hiding beneath it... A person? An object? It seems still enough, yet... ]
no subject
papers rustle on the floor, damaged by fire and water, what would have been fastidious notes gone to ruin. no use for machines or tools if the entire place is empty, cold, long left to rot in its own burns.
somewhere, the crow flies, comes to settle on the edge of the building, in the hole that would let clouded light in. so far, Ranger is alone. not even the impression of another heartbeat.]
no subject
Ranger braces himself before slipping out of his hiding place. He keeps his footsteps light as he moves toward the building, making a conscious effort to avoid making any noise that might draw attention. He turns his head to the left and right, straining his senses as he tries to remain aware enough to catch any anomalies. He thinks better of disturbing the body beneath the blanket, if that is in fact what it is, instead focusing his attention on recovering the items on the items left inside. It doesn't seem like much more than ruined notes, but perhaps he'll find one or two that are still readable? ]
no subject
3. Self-protection
[Inclination]
The perfect "control group"
---
...we conducted pharmaceutical interventions in stages with a more reasonable dosage on No. 0-0-3...making incorrect judgements in extreme situations.
---
In conventional cases, once a control group has been "broken," it would rapidly assimilate into the experimental group....ultimately...instability and insufficiency of the medicine, or No. 0-0-3's inherent characteristics, that led to such results.
no subject
He walks over the table next, inspecting the object - a body, he assumes - covered by the blanket. To be left out in the open, and in such a conspicuous manner no less, there must be a reason that it's here. He takes the edge in one hand, carefully peeling it back to see what's hidden beneath. ]
no subject
exactly as he looks now, new clothing and all, except this one has a hole through his head, eyes gone lifeless, face splintering and cracked in different areas. and there's another injury across the second Rio's chest, a deep gouge, as if someone slammed an axe into his sternum. ripped clothing, broken body.
and as he looks, a phantom wave of pain will overtake him - as though he can recall getting these injuries, the agony they'd come with, but not who inflicted them. shadows at the borders of his mind -
and then it settles, leaving only the suggestion of a racing heart.
look not too long into the abyss, else...]
no subject
His breath is a little heavy, his heart beating a little too quickly, and he has to work to get both to settle. For a person who's never truly felt pain, it's all the worse when he does. But there's no time to linger on it, and he has little desire to waste time confronting the inevitability of death.
But the image lingers in his mind as he spins on his heel and starts walking, turning his head this way and that to see if there's anything else of interest, or otherwise if there's any suggestion of which way he should go. It's not advisable to simply wander about blindly at times like this. ]