Horizon Assault Basement

[Fractured]

Heathcliff looks at the bodies all around him.

I'm a murderer.

Grimm's dead eyes stare up at him vengefully.

I've helped kill these men. Their blood is on my hands. That one doesn't even have a head! Well, he does, he does. It's just over there.

The eyes keep staring at him.

I'm a monster.

"You're the monster," he tells the corpse of Horizon's most enthusiastic research scientist, but without much gusto behind it as he tries to convince himself of that with the man's blood fresh in his mouth. "And him," thumbing towards the abomination. "He's definitely a monster." Heathcliff looks at Dog and smiles weakly.

Then, the screams. Loud, piercing wails, yells, hissing, grunts, pleading, as the veins of every captive Kindred are fed the Lost Nights virus directly.

Its over in seconds. Who knows how many lost?

Heathcliff looks at Dog for a moment as though afraid he might explode. When it becomes apparent the Gangrel will not combust, he says sadly, "Our work here is nearly done. I must destroy their research. You are free to leave if you please, and thank you very much for your assistance." If the crazy-assed head ripper wanted to give his name, by all means, he would give it, and Heathcliff wasn't going to press the matter.

[Dog]

Dog didn't react as Heathcliff talked to the corpses. It was hard to get judgmental about shit like that when you howled at the moon.

He shrunk a little into himself as the screams sounded. It was like a pack dying, all at once. Not his pack, because that was hair of spun gold and red silks with black leather.

Long gone.

"Yeah," he finally said. Thick black claws paled and unfolded into dirty fingers.

After what they'd done to him, the weak lighter flame was almost comical.

"No Veritas," he affirmed. "Roxie? Shadow?" A pause. "Erika Brady?"

Wafts of smoke came out with each name, dull and cloudy like the memories.

[Heathcliff Staley]

Heathcliff nods, relieved to have what he hopes is good news for the liberated prisoner. "Shadow? Yes, she is still among us." The Seneschal frowns as he tells him, "I have not seen Roxie Hart in many months and do not know her fate. Erika Brady left the city shortly after the Lost Nights, I believe."

[Dog]

Dog, now with opposable thumbs, began putting on the hybrid's boots.

"She was the Seneschal," he grunted, as if that meant that Heathcliff, by dint of having the same position, should know more.

He stood with a squelching sound, as blood ran over and out of the boots.

"If you see her 'fore me, tell her Dog said 'hi'," he finished, obviously speaking about Shadow, rather than Erica.

"Don't suppose you have any cash on you?"

[Heathcliff Staley]

"I'll be glad to extend your greetings to Shadow," Heathcliff smiles, and checks his pockets. "I didn't bring a wallet, of course, but I usually keep- ah, yes. Here." Heathcliff hands Dog a folded fifty from his interior jacket pocket, presumably for cigarettes. Damn things were so expensive in California. He also gives him one of the business cards he had made up specially for Kindred business. Centered on a white linen card are the initials S.HS along with his cell phone number. "You may find more on...eh...what's left of these men. Possibly car keys? We have an exit through the sewers, but as I presume that's where all those who frenzied went, you may wish to avoid them."

[Dog]

Dog was already rifling through the pockets of those nearby, and every half empty pack of gum warranted a curse. A tin of chew got an appreciative growl, and a few minutes later he was done.

A long brown stream of spit launched from his mouth in a flat trajectory before arcing downward onto Grimm. A nod to Heathcliff, and the card disappears into a pocket. Given the shiny wet red sheen to the fabric, Heathcliff doubts it's legible any more, but Dog didn't seem to notice.

"Right," skwiiiiiiiiiirzzzzzzkkkkt goes another stream of chew-spit, "Maybe I'll find some more fun on the way out."

And that seems to be all there is, as he lopes off.

[Heathcliff Staley]

Heathcliff smiles as Dog departs, allowing himself a relieved sigh once the Gangrel is out of sight. Not dead? Good. Get to work, then. Heathcliff moves into the Room, taking in the rows of labeled jars full of the ashes of Grimm's failed experiments, the cold steel tables, the powerful restraints, the Rube Goldberg-esque equipment that all seems to end in something sharp or nasty, like oversize needles and giant pliers. Heathcliff suppresses his imagination for the time being, but his day-mares in the weeks to come...

He sits at the desk and looks at the computer. The information is already being transmitted elsewhere, perhaps he can trace it, or stop it, or...

or what if something in Horizon's research could help Heathcliff lift the Curse? A cure...Beth...Rachel...

Heathcliff would be sweating, dead heart racing, if he were Blushing right now. As it is, he slowly removes a thumb drive from his jacket pocket and begins downloading Horizon's files. He puts his Cloak back on, just in case, as he waits...

Cloak'n, baby.

2010-06-28 21:42:44 heathcliff rolls 9 to int3+ste3+obf3 (10 Again) 7, 8, 5, 2, 8, 3, 1, 9, 5 3 successes

Scene Ends. If Second Floor goes to the Basement, I'll bring Heathcliff in that thread.