Page 1 of 70 12361151 ... LastLast
Results 1 to 20 of 1396

Thread: Maybe I'm a Lion (KnK/Prototype Crossover)

  1. #1
    nicht mitmachen Dullahan's Avatar
    Join Date
    Mar 2011
    Blog Entries

    Maybe I'm a Lion (KnK/Prototype Crossover)

    Chapter 1 - What do lions think about? / Alex Fucking Mercer / Kaboom, Kaboom

    Chapter 2 - Never say die / The men in black / Regretting your decision to go into Medicine

    Chapter 3 - Stomach realm mandala / Team taijitu / Alone with the psycho (?)

    Chapter 4 - The law of the wild

    Chapter 5 - Puppeteer philosophy / Characteristic german efficiency

    Chapter 6 - Breakfast of champions (part 1) / Hunting license

    Chapter 7 - Breakfast of champions (part 2)

    Chapter 8 - Chain of command / Down and out / Rapid response

    Chapter 9 - Hunting party / Three wise men / Morning sortie / Abnormality

    Chapter 10 - Narasimha

    Chapter 11 - Game over / Hiranyagarbha / Gold lion warfare / Withdrawal orders / Somehow alive

    Chapter 12 - Challenge and response / Spook country / One hour photo

    Chapter 13 - Reevaluation / When the lions roar (part 1) / North by northwest

    Chapter 14 - The run / When the lions roar (part 2)

    Chapter 15 - The original ahnenerbe / Basement dweller / Burnin' down da house / Not saying it was aliens but it was aliens / The star of bethlehem

    Chapter 16 - Riverside view / The old man and the PhD / Souvenirs / An offer you can't refuse

    Chapter 17 - Birth of a great demon / Japanese neo-traditionalism / The truth, somewhat / Bollocks, and you can quote me on that / Consultation and incursion

    Chapter 18 - Treadstone / It's that moment of dawning comprehension I live for / Sysadmin blues / Wheels within wheels / Bustin' out dead or alive

    Chapter 19 - Predator versus super-predator / That awkward moment when / Peter pan syndrome / Inferiority simplex / The outcast / Discovery

    Chapter 20 - To catch a predator / Boom, headshot / First contact / Rumination / Not so ninja after all

    Chapter 21 - Thug life / Daddy's girl / Confidence trickster mentor / Hold the sex and rock'n'roll / Interdiction / Delays / Target acquired

    Chapter 22 - Boom shakalaka in the new stylee

    Chapter 23 - Der erlkonig / That left turn at albuquerque / God's in his heaven / October spy / Friends

    Chapter 24 - Council of war / Responsible parenting / Vague communication / The lying king / Bribery and corruption

    Chapter 25 - Edokko standoff / Bitter orange / Lie to me / Backroom dealer / The courage to lie to your friends / Bakenekogatari

    Chapter 26 - Down the rabbit hole / Proust eats a cookie / Box of goblins / Seeing double / Drugs, the solution to everything / Father's day / Them's fighting' words

    Chapter 27 - Murder speculation reloaded / Setting the trap / From the top / Hesitancy / Black ops / Call waiting / No death for the wicked

    Chapter 28 - Girls will be girls / Scheming looks different / Real subtle / Original sin / Yakuza logic

    Chapter 29 - Crossing the line / Relocation / Discourse / Spy game / The savage / Psychiatry

    Chapter 30 - Snapshots from where you were born / Eye have you / Car to car / Oscar mike once more / And the dominoes / Theodicy

    Chapter 31 - The man who mistook himself for a lion / Volatile headspace of yours / Paths crossed / Coincidentially

    Chapter 32 - On exactitude in spying / Affably alice / Hounds to the hunters / State of denial

    Chapter 33 - Antiderivative / Approach / Dull surprise / Spyin' in the rain / Once a sahib / How to describe the fuck out of a gazebo / Let mistakes be mistakes / Beef bourguignon / Inter rogat / Own up / Krait expectations / Alert phase / Tactical suicide / Strategic overkill

    Chapter 34 - J'aiguise le couteau / Et mιprise la douleur / Pour l'ensemble de ma vie / Je reste un ιtranger

    Chapter 35 - Hiro protagonist / Don't even worry about it / The good, the bad and the telekinetic sociopath / I am thy chela / Adding eighth-grader syndrome to our laundry list of mental disorders, are we

    Chapter 36 - Mountain of faith / Our man in havana / Bitten by a radioactive lion / Think but this and all is mended

    Chapter 37 - Plans of the patriots / Project shrine maiden / They're taking the hobbits / Sneak attack, bitch / Uh-oh / Time to choose wisely

    Chapter 38 - Veni vidi vincent

    Chapter 39 - Approximately as planned / The captain's checkers game / International roaming / Flat snark wednesday

    Chapter 40 - The samurai / Serpentine suspicions / Historical materialism / Not contagious / Dreamin' razor / Hypercube

    Chapter 41 - Horobod / Break-in and entering / Suspicious suspecting / Surveillance society / The perfection of wisdom / Mostly 'armless

    Chapter 42
    - Peer review / It ain't me / I ain't no fortunate one / Don't break character / Call waiting

    Chapter 43 - Reluctant replier / Conference call / Manifested mastermind / If your left arm causes you pain

    Chapter 44 - The prospection of wisdom / But you yourself are nothing so divine / Daniel's saving face / Cross marks the spot

    Chapter 45 - Icelandic fire / The game that we have been playing / The wolf among them / Thunderbirds are go

    Chapter 46 - Demiurge blues / Aurora borealis / First tuesday demon club / Old dogs' dirty tricks / Deportation consultation

    Chapter 47 - And we're back / Interview with a bad guy / Dial tone / Death threats unveiled / I recommend the spring rolls / Expatriate exegesis / Bringing home the bacon / You wouldn't have heard of it, it's pretty underground

    Chapter 48 - The short version / Osukaa maiku / Ougon no kagakusha / Might as well be talking to a wall / Your own personal hangups

    Chapter 49 - Meet the director / Marimiteinai / Get ready for some text you chumps / Offensive use of telecommunications / Successive use of telecommunications / Scream and leap / Cyclone warning / Two realms conspiracy


    Omake - Origin: Mathematics / I Can Live With Only Three Walls

    Omake - Shanked lion high

    Omake - MIAL World Material: On the Origins of Mishaguji
    The video game, not Fate/Prototype.

    *cue everyone leaving the thread in disappointment*

    Wait, wait, come back! Hear me out at least!

    A couple of weeks ago, I posted a snippet in the Crossover Ideas thread about Lio Shirazumi being given the Blacklight virus by Alex Mercer. "Consumption" and all that. That was kind of well-recieved, so I thought about it for a while and I think I've finally developed the idea enough to make a fic of it, so here goes.

    Before I Start

    The main trouble with crossing over Kara no Kyoukai with Prototype is one of timing. The events of Prototype take place in 2008, while Kara no Kyoukai takes place between March of 1995 and March of 1999. In order to compensate for this, I'm moving the events of Kara no Kyoukai forward by a full decade. Under this revised timeline, Shiki's coma takes place between February of 2006 and June of 2008. The events of Remaining Sense of Pain (Part 3) take place in July of 2008. Overlooking View (Part 1) takes place in August/September 2008. Paradox Spiral (Part 5) takes place in November 2008. Using a high school entry date of 2005, Mikiya and Shiki were born in 1989, Azaka and Fujino in 1992, and Lio Shirazumi in 1988. To compare with the Prototype cast, Alex Mercer was born in 1979, Dana Mercer in 1988, Elizabeth Greene in 1951, Raymond McMullen in 1955, and Bradley Ragland in 1960.

    It's also important to note that the KnK universe differs from the main Tsukihime/Fate continuity in that there are no True Ancestor (and hence, Dead Apostle) vampires. However, oddities such as ORT and Primate Murder still exist. Aside from that, however, all other characters and organisations as depicted in Type-MOON works still exist (or existed, in the event that they're dead.)

    October, 2008

    This is something I remembered from a long time ago. For a while, I'd thought I'd forgotten it. My memory isn't...well, it doesn't work like it should any more. It's fuzzy. Chaotic. I...lose things from it, every so often. A day or two out of the week, here and there. But it's fine. For now. It hasn't completely failed me just yet. It will, eventually. But that doesn't matter right now. What matters is the memory. I'm going to write it down, so I don't forget it. I must have been – what? Six, seven years old? I don't know. I didn't bring any photos from back then with me when I left home, and I don't remember what I looked like at that age anyway. Truth be told, every day it gets harder to look at myself in the mirror and tell myself I didn't always look like that. Never mind. Doesn't matter. It's the memory that's important, the memory, the memory – it's broken, disjointed, a series of snapshots in my mind, taken from some unknown viewpoint ten feet above and behind my head – damn it, where did it start again? Alright. Stop. Think. Think of it as a series of photographs. Photographs are simple, photographs I can understand. From the beginning:

    FIRST: There's me, on a train. I'm looking at myself from behind, but I know it's me. In old photos, you always do. In old memories, doubly so. Next to me are two people. A man and a woman. Parents? More likely than not. I can't tell any more. It's been three years since I last saw them. They probably wouldn't even recognise me if they met me on the street.

    SECOND: The same three people. Me and two others. We're at...where are we, anyway? It's daytime. Sunny. There's a light crowd around. There are...cages? Enclosures? A zoo? ...Ah, yes, I remember. A zoo. I went there – no, my parents took me there. I can't remember the reason.

    That day, fourteen years parents and I went to the zoo.

    Which animals do you want to see first?”

    A man's voice. My father's, then.


    That's right. There were so many to choose from. I couldn't decide.

    Oh, how about those?”

    That was my mother. She was pointing at a nearby enclosure. Which? The photo doesn't show. It's off-camera.

    THIRD: No people in this one. It's a close-up shot. A sign. “Giraffes”. Always seemed to be such a stupid-sounding word. Why are giraffes called giraffes, anyway? Who decided that? Did someone look at them one day and say to themselves, “Giraffe. That's a Giraffe.”, and everyone agreed with him? Seriously, what the fuck is up with that? Never mind. Need to concentrate. The memory.


    That's me. I'm shaking my head.

    Ah. I think I know what he'd like to see.”

    My father again. We start walking.

    FOURTH: A weird one. It's abstract. An arrangement of shapes and lines, with-oh, I see. It's a map. A map of the zoo. There's an arrow marked on it, traced along one of the pathways in black ink. I think it's where we went.

    So, how's your new school going for you?”

    My mother. Making small talk, as she did. Did she? I can't remember. It just seemed to be a very mother-like thing to do, so I chose to believe that she did.

    It's fine.”

    I would have been...six. Or seven. Primary school age. That's right, it was a new school. We'd moved recently. My father got promoted. Funny, I don't really remember anything about-

    Have you made any friends?”


    That. That's right. That's how it always was, wasn't it? Almost an entire educational career, from primary school through to the end of middle school, without making a single friend. It's the sort of thing the word “pathetic” was coined to describe, the kind of schadenfreude-inducing social failure that you can't help but laugh at when it happens to someone else.

    It wasn't my fault.

    FIFTH: Me and my parents again. We're standing in front of an enclosure, but I can't see a sign nor any animals inside.

    I don't see them.”

    My father. When I try to picture his face, I can only think of his most distinctive features. Glasses. Square ones. He was short-sighted, I think. Not a very strong prescription, but I think he needed them to drive.

    Maybe they're asleep?”

    My mother. I have even more trouble picturing her face. It's hazy, a blur to me. She had brown eyes. That's all I can think of. The rest is lost to me.


    I pointed into the enclosure. It was essentially a large pit, sunk into the ground, with rocks and grass and acacia trees – an idealised microcosm, the Serengeti in a bottle. Just like...what phrase did he use? A miniature world that concludes in a day. Heh. I can't deny the similarity there. Araya's puppet show is just another kind of zoo, when you think about it. Sure, it's a single-species exhibit, and it doesn't get visitors very often, and the enclosures are half-empty most of the time, so it's by no means a successful zoo, but it's a zoo nonetheless.

    SIXTH: A lion.

    The resident super-predator of the African savannah, now living in a pale imitation of its original habitat, to be gawked at by visitors. I seem to remember being slightly repulsed by the whole concept, even at that age.

    Why should a creature like that have to live all its life in a cage of society's making?

    It didn't choose to be born into captivity.

    No-one asked it whether it would prefer to run wild and free, whether or not it was happier inside the cage. It was simply...decided. Society created a cage, and put the lion inside. They took the lion out of the savannah, and hoped that eventually that would take the savannah out of the lion. Maybe it did. Who can tell what lions think about?

    But that, I thought, was something very sad.

    The lion walked over to the edge of the wall, near where we were standing, and looked up at me.

    For a second it looked...confused. I don't know if facial expressions work the same with cats as they do with humans. It gave the appearance of looking confused. Puzzled. Like it simply didn't know what to make of me. And then, it left.

    That's your namesake, you know.”

    My mother. Again, just saying whatever she felt like to pass the time. I must have looked up at her quizzically, because she went on to say something else.

    Lio. One letter off from being a lion.”

    Come to think of it, that's almost exactly what he said.

    How unfortunate. You lack one last step in being a lion.”

    “Fuck.” I say out loud, to no-one in particular. I stop writing and put down my pencil. “What's the point?”

    On my desk, aside from the diary I was writing in, the only other object is a small, rectangular piece of paper torn out from a lined exercise book, and written on that piece of paper is this:

    6 months = 183 days = 4,392 hours = 263,523 minutes = 15,811,200 seconds

    That is the Ceiling, the time allotted to me by the architect of my condition, the Magus Souren Araya. The absolute upper limit on the time I have left before the Impulse completely destroys what remains of “me”. And then, that'll be it for Lio Shirazumi. That day at the zoo with my parents I barely remember – that and a thousand other moments just like it will drown in the chaotic collective memory of my previous incarnations. From that day forward, the name of my Impulse, “Consumption”, will be both my autobiography and my obituary.

    And I cannot accept that.

    I absolutely, totally, cannot accept that.

    It's not like this is an unsolvable problem. The solution exists. I know that. I've known it for years. I know exactly what it is, what I need to do, how it works. I understand it. But I can't reach it. Because yesterday Souren Araya made it quite clear to me that to go near Shiki Ryougi is to sign my own death warrant. Ryougi, you see, is the answer. I need Ryougi. I need her more than I need anything else in the world, more than I need air to breathe or water to drink. The films and photographs can only go so far. I know I don't have much time. That's why it's so important. But I can't get to her while Araya is alive. And Araya isn't going to die any time soon. If I step within a hundred metres of Ryougi, Araya's magecraft will crush the space inside my body, pulverising my internal organs starting from the brain downwards. The only thing more horrible to think about than that is the fact that he said I only had a 50-50 chance of actually dying from it.

    “Fuck it.” I stand up, and walk into the adjoining room. There's no use thinking about this now. There's nothing I can do. I look at a small digital clock hidden among the Bunsen burners, test tube racks and assorted chemical glassware that occupies most of the kitchen bench. It's just past seven o'clock in the evening. Tuesday. Guess that means I'm heading out for tonight. It's been a good batch, this week. I tried a new method. It adds about two hours to the time needed to boil down the solution, but the end result gives me a higher output with fewer impurities, so I'd say it's worth it. I couldn't tell you how many notebooks I've filled with reaction diagrams and experimental data. The familiar process of writing on paper is acting as a substitute for my degenerating memory. It's this – reason, logic, the scientific method, shit like that – that lets me delineate myself from them – the ten thousand hungry beasts who live in the empty space my conscience left when it ditched me three years ago. Even if it is just making drugs. So it's important that I write these things down. Otherwise I might forget them. Anyway, time to go. The customers are waiting. time is short, the night is long, and I have so very much to do...

    Gentek Laboratories, Gramercy, New York City

    Ring, ring.


    “We got him.”


    “The team led by Specialist Cross called it in just now from Battery Park. The DX-1118C sample was recovered intact. No breach of quarantine.”

    “What about Mercer?”


    “Was that necessary?”

    “Cross thought so. I trust his judgement.”

    “With all due respect, Alex Mercer was one of this company's most valuable assets. I'd like to believe that there was a good reason for putting him on a slab.”

    “Director, we're Blackwatch, not the goddamn Coast Guard. 'Non-lethal' isn't on the menu. If we're out in the field at all, we're out there to kill people. Taking out Mercer was an on-the-spot call, but SOP – our SOP – was followed to the letter. Am I clear?”

    “Of course. But you do realise how far this is going to set back development on BLACKLIGHT?”

    “I was given to understand Mercer had all but perfected it with the latest revision. Or am I wrong?”

    “To say 'perfected' is oversimplifying. It's true that DX-1118C lacked the volatility that characterised 1118A and B, but as of right now it's only a third of the way through in vivo trials. It's still in the prototype phase.”

    “Can Mercer's team complete the trials without him?”

    “Yes, but if we have to reject DX-1118C due to some as-yet undetected design flaw, creating a new revision without Mercer's expertise will be difficult.”

    “How difficult?”

    “At a guess? We're looking at a setback of five to six months.”

    “It's within parameters. Blackwatch is patient, Director. It's taken forty years to get to where we are today. Five to six months won't be a problem. Just as long as you get it done.”

    “Of course.”

    Chirp, chirp – EMAIL RECIEVED.

    “Now, about Mercer's sister. She's a potential loose end. We've had her apartment under surveillance for some time, but it's still unclear how much she knows.”

    “I would recommend-”

    To: [email protected]

    From: [email protected]
    Subject: Screw you.

    First things first. McMullen, if you're reading this, it means that I'm dead. But I'm fairly sure that you would have known that already. So let me take a moment to tell you what I know. I know that BLACKLIGHT sure as hell isn't about curing cancer, or AIDS, or whatever bullshit story you and the board fed to the rest of the company. I know that there's only one way a biotech company gets funding in the tens of billions of dollars without being publicly listed, and that's through being in bed with one or several very highly-placed people at the DoD. And, most importantly, I know about her.

    You know who I'm talking about, don't you, McMullen? That girl you keep in the P4 lab on the fifty-first floor. Elizabeth Greene. Codename MOTHER. It'd be nice to say that if you had just told the truth from the start, none of this would have happened, but I guess it's too late for that now. So, let me guess; once the Pentagon got their hands on whatever shiny new bioweapon you had me perfect BLACKLIGHT into, I would have been quietly taken out the back and shot? Makes sense, really. Don't want any loose ends on a project like this. Well, too bad. I have no intention of going quietly into that good night, “national security” be damned. Killing me is going to cost you dearly, McMullen. Let me tell you how:

    Somewhere, in a certain country (I'll make it easier for you – it's one of the industrialised ones. The news media should start reporting the first cases in about a week, so if you haven't worked it out by then, check the front page of the International Herald Tribune), there is a vial of laboratory-pure DX-1118C. I hacked the P4 inventory database so that nobody noticed it was missing. Immediately adjacent to that vial is a small quantity of plastic explosive. That's connected to an electronic igniter which is in turn connected to a smart phone. I won't go into the precise details, suffice to say I've arranged it such that if I don't send an email to a certain address every 36 hours, those explosives go off, and the latest revision of BLACKLIGHT goes public on a massive scale. Obviously I can't send emails when I'm dead, so you have at most 36 hours to search the entire industrialised world for a single test tube. Impossible? Yeah, pretty much. If you want to narrow it down, you should probably assume that I've chosen the country such that, if this is ever traced back to the DoD, it'll cause as much of an international incident as humanly possible.

    So, to sum up:

    • BLACKLIGHT is going public, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it. I'm confident of at least a pentuple-digit death count before it gets brought under control.
    • Once the international scientific establishment gets a look at DX-1118C, a simple cross-referencing of certain proprietary genome sequences will trace it back to Gentek.
    • Have fun being hung out to dry by the DoD when they decide to pin this whole thing on Gentek! God knows the International Criminal Court has seen enough third-world dictators, it's time they had a scientist or two in there. If you handle this well, I think you and the board might get off with only four or five consecutive life sentences each.
    • Rot in hell, McMullen.

    Yours Sincerely,

    Dr. Alexander J. Mercer
    Chief Scientist, Project BLACKLIGHT

    P.S.: This also constitutes my letter of resignation.

    “-Director McMullen?”

    “...son of a BITCH!

    “Is there a problem?”

    “In a word? Yes. I'm forwarding you an email I received just now.”

    “From who?”




    “He's bluffing.”

    “Mercer doesn't bluff.”

    “He'd have needed an overseas accomplice. He couldn't have set all this up himself.”

    “I wouldn't put it past him.”

    “Jesus, McMullen, you sure know how to fucking pick 'em.”

    “Assuming this is legitimate, what's our next move?”

    “Get yourself and everyone left on the BLACKLIGHT team up to Fort Detrick ASAP. We'll have ELINT go over all of Mercer's overseas contacts with a fine-toothed comb. In the meantime, I'll have Cross bring in Mercer's kid sister. She might know something. If she does, we'll get it out of her. We don't know the exact time window we're dealing with here, but we might just have a shot at preventing this.”

    “And if we can't?”

    “Then Mercer's prediction comes true. Officially, we don't exist, and the DoD will make sure that the buck stops with you. Make no mistake, McMullen; in a situation like that, even you are expendable.”

    “What about MOTHER?”

    “That's up to you. If it were me, I'd have her liquidated immediately. She's a liability.”

    “She's too valuable for that.”

    “Do what you want, then. It's not my ass that'll be on the line here.”


    “Alex fucking Mercer...son of a bitch.”


    After a while, the glazed-over, empty-eyed expressions common to the junkies of Tokyo all start to blend into one another, which I guess would kind of screw over my ability to remember names, if this were the kind of business where establishing a rapport with your customers actually mattered. Truth be told, I don't sell drugs out of any sort of romantic notion of what drugs are and what they do to you. It's just “the subsuming of higher thought in a rush of primal impulse” - in other words, what's happening to me, but on a smaller scale. No, I sell drugs because of society. Society marginalises illegal drugs and those who use them. Pushes them under the carpet, into the cracks in the pavement. If I want to find someone like me – someone who can fill the void that Araya's existence prevents Ryougi from taking her rightful place in – I need to look on the edges of society. It's only logical. Those who truly want to escape the prison cell gravitate toward the walls, so that I might tunnel through from the other side to let them out. The illegal drug trade is a convenient way to do that. Plus, the money's not bad, either. I don't have to give any of my take to any kind of group or syndicate, so I guess I'm better off financially than most of the dealers around here. Not that I have much of what you'd call disposable income. Most of what I make gets spent on equipment – chemical supplies, stuff I need to maintain the hydroponics at the warehouse, and camera equipment – and food. Food is very important. My Impulse lends a special kind of lingering appeal to the taste of human flesh. In particular, it drives me towards...methods...of feeding which involve a great deal of post-mortem dismemberment. That leaves traces, and traces get found by the cops. Those traces happen to be the same traces that were left by my victims of two years ago, the ones that led Ryougi Shiki to become the person she is today, even though Araya did pronounce me a failure after the fact. If the same way today, Ryougi is sure to hear about it and make the connection, and what her reaction could be, I don't know, but it might potentially interfere with Araya's precious little experiment. So he's forbidden me from it. Under pain of a 50-50 chance of death. So I subsist on raw meats, both red and white, and try to shut out the roars and growls of ten thousand hungry beasts who insist that it's not really food until you've chased it down and torn it apart with your teeth, quenching your thirst with the blood and ripping the tendons and biting and chewing and crushing and-

    Sorry. I've rather forgotten where I was going with this.

    It's one AM, and I'm travelling rooftop-to-rooftop in Ikebukuro. I got cleaned out tonight. Not a single gram of product left. Maybe I should try Kobe beef, now that I can afford it. I caught sight of a pair of Araya's familiars a while ago. Crows. Possibly ravens. Some kind of bird, at any rate. Couldn't tell, at that distance. In this light. He usually has a couple of them follow me around. Paranoid old bastard really takes his experiments seriously. Honestly. If the linchpin of his entire plan (I'll admit he did explain it to me once, back when I was living in that apartment complex in Kayamihama. I wasn't really paying attention. Sue me.) was anyone but Ryougi, I wouldn't have to put up with this shit. Instead, I-

    I stop.

    I'm standing on the rooftop of...some, random, nondescript building in Ikebukuro, surrounded by air conditioners and TV antennas, the usual rooftop paraphernalia, you know...and I have no idea what I've been doing for the past two hours. The memory is just...gone. Just now. Just like that. And in the space it left-

    Look. Find. Hunt. Chase. Kill. Tear. Snap. EAT.

    Shut up.

    Hunt. Trail. Follow. Scent. Blood. Sweat. Fear. Paw. Claw. Tooth. Teeth. Flesh. EAT.

    Shut up.

    Ice. Snow. Sand. Desert. Tundra. Jungle. Forest. Lake. Ocean. Live. Die. Live. EAT.

    “Just SHUT UP!”


    I look down, and see that I've just punched one of the air-conditioning units. Pretty hard too. My fist is embedded about nine inches into the fan assembly. Damn. The people on the street below...someone must have heard that, right? Must have. Damn it damn it damn it. Got to get it out, got to get away, they'll find me they'll find me they'll find me STOP.

    Don't panic.

    Just...calm down. Panic is bad. Fight-or-flight response. Animal instinct. Animals panic. Humans remain calm. That's the difference. The difference is necessary. Because I – Kill. Hunt. Fear. Teeth. Flesh. EAT. EAT. EAT. - shut up shut up I'm not listening to you I am a human and not an animal no matter what you say no matter what Araya says no matter what society says so just fuck off and let me think about this.

    Why is this such a big deal?

    It isn't. It's just an A/C unit. I should not be freaking out about this. Why am I freaking out about this? I've killed people. Why the fuck should an A/C unit matter to me?

    Breathe deep.

    That. That smell. I know that smell. Not from the chaotic pool of animal instinct. From before I knew them. From before I was like this. High school. Chemistry class.

    Pentaerythritol. C 5 H 12 O 4. Method of preparation. Reagents. Formaldehyde. Acetaldehyde. Condensation reaction in the presence of a base. Tollens' Reaction.

    No. There's something else. Sharp. Acidic.

    Nitric acid. H N O 3. Concentrated.

    Individually? Not uncommon. Relatively innocuous chemicals, found in laboratories all over the world.

    Together, however...

    White precipitate formed. Pentaerythritol tetranitrate. C 5 H 8 N 4 O 12.

    High explosive. Primary component of Semtex.

    I remember the strangest things, sometimes. Then again, I've always been good at chemistry. Maybe that kind of memory can't be eroded by the Impulse, because it's simply so removed from any kind of experience a predatory animal might have had. Damn. I should have asked Araya about that, when I had the chance.

    Well, if I ever get tired of drug dealing, I could always find a job as one of those police know the ones, they train them to sniff out explosives and drugs and stuff.

    So what's this meant to be, anyway? I'm fairly certain this kind of feature wasn't included by the manufacturer. Air conditioners don't run on high explosives. That's ridiculous. So, what, there's some kind of bomb inside the fan assembly? Who the hell puts a bomb there? What kind of idiotic, terminally brain-damaged terrorist puts his bomb on a fucking rooftop? You probably wouldn't even kill anyone. It's not even summer, so losing an A/C unit couldn't even be called an inconvenience, really.

    Is this real? Is this an actual thing that is happening to me? I'm seriously beginning to wonder if I'm hallucinating this. Ordinarily, because of my metabolism, my own product doesn't really have an effect on me, but maybe-

    Beep, beep.

    please tell me that that is not what i think it is


    Criticism, as ever, would be much appreciated. I'd like to think my interpretation of Lio's character is still in keeping with what we know about him from canon, but god knows I've probably taken one too many liberties somewhere. He will, after all, end up being the hero of this story. (In much the same way Alex Mercer was the hero of Prototype - by killing loads and loads of people.)

    Don't ask me why Mercer's email is split between two quote tags. The post editor just did that for some reason.
    Last edited by Dullahan; April 20th, 2014 at 06:12 PM.

  2. #2
    Venus Swordman Ergast's Avatar
    Join Date
    Mar 2011
    Very interesting. At first (the first paragraphs) it didn't get me, but after I reached the lion, it began to interest me. And then it came the whole Mercer clusterfuck.

    Quote Originally Posted by shiningphoenix View Post
    Rin: "I wanted Saber..."
    Archer: "What? But Archers are all insanely OP, it's like a rule or something, why would you think Sabers were better?"
    Rin: "Sabers are more molestable..."
    Quote Originally Posted by Vigilantia View Post
    AC!Rin. Fixing problems one moan at a time.
    Quote Originally Posted by Sage of Eyes View Post
    Denizens of another dimension, meet Rin Tohsaka, Tsundere of Mass Destruction
    Quote Originally Posted by Christemo View Post
    I dont even know what Lunatique is. I assume it's terrible for the sake of argument.

  3. #3
    Holy shit.

    I'll be following this.

  4. #4
    死徒二十七祖 The Twenty Seven Dead Apostle Ancestors crystalwatcher's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2011
    Distracting people with my avatar.
    Quote Originally Posted by Fafnir View Post
    Holy shit.

    I'll be following this.
    I agree.
    End of an Empire

    "I think you just failed... quite spectacularly if I say so my self. Idiot." -I forget who said it originally.

    Badass Side-Step

  5. #5
    Gimme ur loot ZidanReign's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jan 2012
    Blog Entries
    All of my being and logic has been oversimplified to one single word.


    (I'm so totally following this piece of madness)
    There's nothing fucking here bruh, look elsewhere.

  6. #6
    The Raging Fantastic Magnum Fancy Face the First's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jan 2012
    Blog Entries
    I've waited my entire life for this.
    Quote Originally Posted by food View Post
    Karna would totally sympathize with Shinji.

    "Bro, your family does not want you either? We will show them, by killing everyone."
    "Nukes, nukes everywhere."
    [*ruby=text on top]text on bottom[/*ruby]

  7. #7
    Gimme ur loot ZidanReign's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jan 2012
    Blog Entries
    Quote Originally Posted by Fancy Face the First View Post
    I've waited my entire life for this.
    Wait, shouldn't you be dead then?
    There's nothing fucking here bruh, look elsewhere.

  8. #8
    The Raging Fantastic Magnum Fancy Face the First's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jan 2012
    Blog Entries
    Quote Originally Posted by Hazama View Post
    Wait, shouldn't you be dead then?
    Erm...My entire life up to this point.
    Quote Originally Posted by food View Post
    Karna would totally sympathize with Shinji.

    "Bro, your family does not want you either? We will show them, by killing everyone."
    "Nukes, nukes everywhere."
    [*ruby=text on top]text on bottom[/*ruby]

  9. #9
    Gimme ur loot ZidanReign's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jan 2012
    Blog Entries
    Quote Originally Posted by Fancy Face the First View Post
    Erm...My entire life up to this point.
    Good boy.
    There's nothing fucking here bruh, look elsewhere.

  10. #10
    Can't catch a break Zer0light's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2011
    Blog Entries
    awesome fic is awesome

    "Red like roses fills my dreams and brings me to the place you rest."

  11. #11
    Its good, but a little hard to follow at first, I think that's just me though.
    Quote Originally Posted by Fancy Face the First View Post
    Waver is like the cross eyed teacher, for he cannot control his pupils.

  12. #12
    nicht mitmachen Dullahan's Avatar
    Join Date
    Mar 2011
    Blog Entries
    First of all, thank you everyone for your encouragement. For someone with an extremely low opinion of his own ability to write like myself, comments like that are the textual equivalent of eating delicious vanilla icecream. The finest of the flavours.

    Anyway, let's not beat around the bush. New chapter time.



    -Oh my God!”
    -and I mean right now, he looks like he’s hurt really bad-“

    It hurts.

    -imagine, if he’d hit the concrete instea-“
    -damn, that’s a lot of blood-“

    There are a thousand iron nails being hammered into my chest, and it hurts.

    -just...fell out of the sky after that exp-“
    -need everyone to stand back! We’re going to-“

    Molten steel is being poured into my wounds, and it hurts.

    -can you hear me? You’re in a hospi-“
    -got a pulse! Nurse, I need-“

    My left arm is being fed into a blast furnace, and it hurts.

    -arm was severed by the blast-“
    -keep pressure on that wound! What’s his-“

    Total sensory overload. The world fades into white. All that remains is an infinite expanse of fire and steel and pain without border or reason or boundary and IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS

    -something’s wrong. His blood isn’t-“
    -haemolytic reaction-“

    Fuck. I almost lost consciousness, there. The Impulse is drowning me; smothering my consciousness in the adrenaline-soaked fight-or-flight response manifested from a hundred thousand years of pent-up survival instinct. But it’s useless.

    -ever seen anything like this-“
    -some kind of genetic abnormality-“

    All the instinct in the world can’t save me from this. I don’t think even I can heal from a bomb going off in my face.

    -pressure is dropping. He can’t-“
    -isn’t working. We need to try -“

    I want to tell them not to bother. I would, if I could speak. There’s no point. It doesn’t even make me happy that they’re trying as hard as they are. I can’t be saved.

    There was nothing more we could have done for him.”

    Story of my life.

    "He's gone."

    I’m going to die. I’m going to die a pointless, stupid, meaningless death just because I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

    I’m going to die without Shiki Ryougi even knowing that I existed, except as a long-forgotten memory from her high school days.

    I’m going to die as Souren Araya’s failure, as a monster he created and then cast aside, like a piece of garbage.

    I’m going to die without getting to say anything to my mother, to my father, or to Mikiya Kokutou, the only real friend I ever had.

    How fucking pathetic is that?

    It’s cruel. This is just too cruel. This is just so pointlessly, pointlessly cruel it makes me want to cry and howl and scream and gnash my teeth at the sheer fucking accursedness of it all.

    Was I really so bad a person that I deserved this?

    I’ve killed people. I know that. I’ve slashed them and cut them and torn them limb from limb, and then eaten the remains like a wild animal. But even so;

    Do I deserve this?

    I watched them, you know. Araya’s other pawns. Asagami. Fujyou. More out of boredom than anything else.

    They killed people, too.

    Asagami was a fucking psychopath; a monster that killed people and enjoyed their suffering on her own volition. She didn’t have a chaotic Impulse filled with ten thousand memories of murder screaming in the back of her mind. All she had was a freakish telekinetic ability and a vicious streak a mile wide, and that, it turned out, was enough.

    Fujyou was even worse. Asagami killed rapists. Junkies. Criminals. You can understand that. Fujyou killed teenage girls. Schoolgirls. People who’d never done anything seriously wrong in their entire lives. No-one can say that they deserved to die. She drove them to suicide, and didn’t even care. It was almost funny, watching Ryougi cut her down on the roof of the Fujyou Building.

    And what did they get in return?

    All their sins forgiven.

    Asagami lost her sight, but essentially returned to a normal life afterwards.

    Fujyou was left alone. She committed suicide, sure. But no-one made her do it. That was her choice.

    Don’t tell me those girls didn’t have a choice.

    Don’t tell me their sins amounted to any less than mine.

    Don’t tell me they deserved to die any less than I do.

    So, why?

    Why is it that I have to die while they were allowed to live?

    Nothing I did was my fault.

    it should not be like this

    I never had a choice.

    it should not be like this

    So why do I have to die?

    it should not be like this

    It’s not fair.

    the world will not be permitted

    I do not deserve this death.

    to put to death

    I will not accept this death.

    that which has not yet been allowed

    I will not allow this death.

    to be born


    Fort Detrick, Maryland


    There are six of them at the table. An even mixture of suits, lab coats and military uniforms.
    On the wall, a clock ticks over to 2:30 p.m. No-one says anything.

    I believe most of you have met before,” continues one of the men in military uniform. Three stars. Lieutenant General. Greying hair. You can see why the call him ‘The Old Man’. “So I’ll skip the introductions and get straight to the point. We don’t have much time.” He stands up and turns on an ageing slide projector in the centre of the table. In any other governmental department, it’d be an antique. For Blackwatch, it’s a necessity. Old-school projectors don’t produce the tell-tale Van Eck radiation that other agencies have to spend millions installing TEMPEST EMF shielding to suppress. After this briefing is done, the slides will be incinerated. In terms of security, you can’t go far past it.

    SLIDE 1: A man in his late twenties, wearing a lab coat. Dark brown hair.

    Alexander J. Mercer. Chief scientist for BLACKLIGHT development up in New York. As of yesterday, sixteen-hundred hours, marked for liquidation due to immediate security concerns pertaining to BLACKLIGHT. As of zero-six-thirteen hours this morning, deceased. However-“

    SLIDE 2: A printout of an email sent to Raymond McMullen earlier that same day.

    -it seems he had an insurance policy.” The one-armed general can barely hide the disgust in his voice. “What Mercer’s threatened here is a viral outbreak on foreign soil that will make the Hope strain look like the common cold - if, that is, we let it get out of control.”

    SLIDE 3: A map of the Kantou Plain. A small, hexagonal area near the centre of Tokyo is highlighted in blue.

    Mercer’s control emails went through a number of proxies and anonymizers, but ELINT from NRO managed to establish a location less than an hour ago. The final destination is an email account registered with ASAHI Net – that’s a Japanese ISP – thirty-two days ago. At that time, the account was paid for with a credit card registered to ‘Meruka Kuramitsu’. Japanese police have that name on file as a possible alias for a known bomb-maker who operates in underworld circles throughout the Kantou region.” He points at the highlighted hexagonal area on the map. “Over the past twenty-four days, that account has been accessed sixteen times – once every thirty-six hours – from an internet-enabled mobile device somewhere in this cell.”

    SLIDE 4: A zoomed-in map showing the highlighted area.

    That mobile cell serves an area in the Ikebukuro District immediately adjacent to Ikebukuro Station. This, we believe, is where Mercer’s bio-bomb is. So,” he says, looking around the room at the grim expressions on the faces of the scientists, soldiers and government officials gathered in the Cold War-era bunker Blackwatch calls headquarters. “Now that you’re all up to speed, I’d like to hear your opinions. I have a team flying out from Okinawa with orders to secure the bomb as we speak. In the event that they fail, and that is something that needs to be seriously considered, we need options. Were this domestic, I’d have boots on the ground on-site within the hour. In Japan, however, we can’t project the same amount of force that we can Stateside. Give me options, people.”

    One of the men in suits stands up. Jeremy Winthrop. In his forties, maybe early fifties. Salt-and-pepper hair. Glasses. Professional spook, thinks McMullen.

    General, would you mind bringing the previous slide back up?”

    The map of Japan’s Kantou region returns. Winthrop walks over to the whiteboard that’s serving as a screen for the time being. He picks up a black marker, and draws a line encircling Tokyo Bay from north to south. He puts down the marker, and turns to face the rest of the men at the table.

    This line encompasses five prefectures: Kanagawa, Tokyo, Saitama, Ibaraki and Chiba. Total population is somewhere in the region of thirty million people. If that bomb goes off, the area inside this line needs to be quarantined by any means necessary.”

    Mr. Winthrop, explain your reasoning.” says the other man in military uniform – a Major, judging by the insignia.

    Ikebukuro Station has the second-highest passenger throughput of any train station in the world. Over two and a half million people use it every day. It’s one of the key public transport hubs that connect central Tokyo with the outlying suburbs. An aerosolized payload deployed anywhere near that station will hit the suburbs within half a day. You want to cut the heart out of the infection, you need to go hard and go early. Get the Japanese Government to cut all transport to and between these prefectures as soon as possible. I’m assuming,” he looks inquisitively at the Old Man, “that countermeasures such as FIREBREAK and WILDFIRE are unavailable, given the political situation?”

    FIREBREAK would need Presidential approval. We’d also need to give notice twenty-four hours beforehand, so that the UN Security Council could be briefed. WILDFIRE is out of the question, unless the infection escalates to the point where no other option is available.”

    What about FIREWALK?”

    FIREWALK is situational. It’s-“The Old Man pauses, and looks around the room. “-hmm. We’ll discuss this later. Not everyone here is cleared for FIREWALK.”

    I think you’ll find, Peter, that we are.” says a white-haired, bearded man in a lab coat. Koenig. Gentek’s chief of Virology. “But it doesn’t matter, because Winthrop’s strategy won’t work, I can tell you that.”

    And why is that?” asks Winthrop.

    Winthrop, would it not be overly presumptuous of me to assume that you are aware of the several key differences between REDLIGHT and BLACKLIGHT? No? Let me reiterate them for you. Firstly, BLACKLIGHT is nowhere near as efficient as REDLIGHT at airborne transmission. The virus simply isn’t stable in air. If Mercer wanted to infect anyone with what I assume based on the description in his email to be an explosive-driven aerosol-dispersal bioweapon, he’d need to park it directly inside a building’s air conditioning system or somewhere similar to achieve sufficient levels of particulate density to guarantee a reasonable number of Patient Zeroes. Direct fluid or physical contact is BLACKLIGHT’s primary infection vector. During CARNIVAL II, REDLIGHT’s nature as a primarily airborne contagion allowed it to infect seventy percent of the town before transmission through Walkers overtook that as the primary avenue for infection. With BLACKLIGHT, transmission through Walkers will overtake all other infection vectors before even ten percent of the population has been infected. In the presence of a Runner, that figure decreases to five percent.”

    So say your computer simulations. BLACKLIGHT has never been tested on humans. We don’t know how it’ll react.”

    Look, if I have to put this in layman’s terms, think of it like this: REDLIGHT was optimised for infection. It was inefficient at creating Walkers in any significant amount, because the mortality rate was too high. It killed its victims too quickly. BLACKLIGHT, on the other hand, is optimised for making Walkers earlier, and in larger numbers. So optimised, in fact, that Walkers are the primary means of transmitting the virus. That’s what the brief called for, and all the tests we’ve done on 1118-C say that that’s exactly what Mercer delivered. Quarantining five prefectures will be a waste of resources, because the infection simply won’t operate that way.”

    Out of interest, what would you do if command of the situation were left up to you, Koenig?” asks Winthrop, a hint of irritation in his voice. The answer comes without hesitation.

    Start by quarantining Ikebukuro District. If you want to play it especially safe, establish a security perimeter around all of Toshima Ward. Unless the bomb happens to be directly inside the train station or something – in which case the Japanese Government will almost certainly shut down the station anyway – the infection will be such that it won’t leave Ikebukuro for the time being. If we can prevent the formation of an initial Walker population, BLACKLIGHT will have nowhere to go. Problem solved.” Koenig leans back in his chair. “Of course, none of this will be necessary if the team out of Okinawa secures the bomb before it explodes. If that happens, we can all forget about this and get back to work.”

    There’s another problem, though,” says the Major who spoke earlier. “How is Blackwatch’s presence on the ground going to be justified? The Japanese Government will need to be told something. If we intervene from the word go, they’ll take one look at us and deduce that we’re here for damage control. They’re not idiots. They will make the connection between BLACKLIGHT and the US. The political consequences of handling this poorly could be...very bad.”

    However bad they are, BLACKLIGHT will be worse,” says McMullen. “But you do have a point. We may have no choice but to let the Japanese handle this, while Blackwatch operates covertly. We let the JSDF deal with the Walkers, while Blackwatch takes care of the hives and Runners. If there are any. We may only receive an ‘official’ licence to project force in the event that the infection escalates beyond the ability of the Japanese to control.”

    Ring, ring.

    A mobile phone. Everyone looks around. The Old Man raises his hand.

    Ah – that’s mine. Excuse me, gentlemen.”

    Quickly, he strides across the floor and out of the room, closing the door behind him. The remaining men continue the conversation. McMullen wonders how he’s able to get a signal sixty metres underground.

    By the time that happens, FIREBREAK will be on the only option left on the table.” retorts Winthrop. “JSDF doesn’t have the experience or the mentality to fight BLACKLIGHT on equal terms. We let them handle this, and the result will be hundreds – maybe thousands – of entirely avoidable deaths. We, Blackwatch, need to go in hard and go in early, otherwise we may as well not go in at all.”

    Is it possible we could keep this high-level?” says McMullen. “Suppose we ‘leak’ the salient information on counter-BLACKLIGHT tactics to certain highly-placed – and, most importantly, discreet – individuals within the JSDF or Japanese government? Tell them, I don’t know, that it’s a Soviet or Chinese Cold War project which fell into the hands of terrorists several years ago.”

    You’re forgetting, Raymond,” interrupted Koenig, “that BLACKLIGHT has our – Gentek’s – fingerprints all over it. We own patents on...oh, about a third of its DNA, I should think.”

    Tell them that Gentek was contracted to study it by the DoD. We were ordered to file patents as a subtle way of informing the Chinese, or Russians, or whatever, that the game was up.”

    You’re a bad liar, McMullen, and that story reeks of bullshit from a mile off. No way in hell is the JSDF going to buy it.”

    Fine. So why don’t we just tell them the truth?”

    Everyone at the table stares at McMullen. Ah, right. Not supposed to use the ‘T’ word in front of Intelligence people.

    Not the whole truth, obviously,” he adds quickly, “but enough. Tell them that Gentek was doing research into a new variant of Creutzfeldt-Jakob or something to that effect, and that a disgruntled employee decided to pull an Aum Shinrikyo with it. Tell them that it’s as-yet incurable, and it induces erratic behaviour in infectees geared towards infecting others. Hell, just call it a zombie virus – that’s what it pretty much is, by any stretch of the imagina-“

    McMullen is interrupted by the door opening, and a very irritated General Peter Randall walking through; he’s glaring at his mobile phone like it’s just personally offended him.

    Gentlemen.” The Old Man starts talking before he’s even fully opened the door. He looks much unhappier than he did when he left. “Tokyo PD reported an explosion in Ikebukuro consistent with about 500 grams of Semtex just over an hour ago. The device was hidden inside a rooftop air conditioner. That call was from Okinawa. My team on the ground just confirmed the presence of BLACKLIGHT.”

    No-one says anything.

    They’ve also got a guy in the morgue,” he continues, “who was apparently at Ground Zero when the bomb went off. Japanese police have sealed the building as a crime scene, and my team is on the way to the morgue now, to secure the corpse as a potential BLACKLIGHT carrier.”

    Randall takes a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, shakes one out and takes it in his mouth. He replaces the packet and withdraws a silver lighter from another pocket.

    The genie’s not out of the bottle just yet. We may still be able to bring this under control.”

    He lights the cigarette.

    Nerima General Hospital, Asahigaoka

    The morgue at Nerima General is a cold and silent place at the best of times. In the early hours of the morning, when the hospital is empty save for sleeping patients and only the most dedicated staff members, it somehow contrives to appear even more so. Among the rows of drawers – more like pull-out tables, really – that hold bodies yet to be sent off for cremation, or whatever the family wants to do with them, there is only one that has been extended all the way, such that the zip-up polymer bag its occupant resides in is fully visible. Standing next to it are two men in surgical scrubs. One of them looks up at a digital clock set into the wall.

    I sincerely hope this was worth waking me up at three in the morning.”

    We wouldn’t have called you in, Doctor Hayashibara, if we didn’t think it was absolutely necessary.”

    Tch. I suppose so.”

    The older man, Hayashibara, looks down at the sealed body-bag. A professional coroner by trade, he occasionally gets asked to perform autopsies by his former workplace, Nerima General Hospital. Corpses are nothing new to him.

    So, what do we have here?” He looks up at the younger man.

    Unidentified male. Late teens to early twenties. The story we got from the guy who phoned the ambulance was that he was thrown off the roof of a building by an explosion, fell ten stories and landed on a car. His left arm was violently severed fifteen centimetres above the elbow, presumably by the explosion. Upon admission to the ER, the patient exhibited severe burns and scorching of the upper body, as well as ten broken ribs, a broken right forearm, multiple compound fractures of the left femur, and-“

    Get to the point, Ashitake, or Sayako will have left me for a younger man by the time I get home.”

    The younger man, Ashitake, adjusts his glasses.

    Certainly. In order to treat the massive blood loss incurred by the loss of the left arm, as well as numerous other open lacerations caused by either shrapnel from the explosion or the impact with the car, the chief surgeon operating – Doctor Sakurai – ordered fifteen hundred ccs of type O Rh D negative. Packed red cells, not plasma. When this was done-”

    Let me guess: the patient’s body rejected the transfusion and immediately underwent an acute haemolytic reaction, at which point Touma Sakurai said several things unrepeatable in polite conversation.”

    Essentially, yes.”’s not unheard of for blood from a universal donor to be rejected. Extremely unusual, I’ll warrant, but not unheard of. Individuals with the Bombay Phenotype – the hh blood antigen system, if I remember correctly – are known to reject transfusions of O Rh D negative. It’s quite rare, however. Less than four cases per every million people.”

    That was our first thought, too. The patient flatlined before we could confirm it in vivo, but Doctor Sakurai insisted on testing some of his blood with Bombay Phenotype samples.”


    The same reaction. Acute haemolysis – one of the fastest cases the surgical team had ever seen.”

    Well, that is very strange, I must say. Even so, I still don’t see why you felt the need to bring me in.”

    There’s more to it than that. Thirty-five minutes ago, Doctor Sakurai – who is still upstairs, I believe – got the results back from a series of blood tests run on unhaemolysed blood recovered from the patient early into the operation. This patient had extremely non-standard blood components.”

    How non-standard are we talking about here?”

    Non-human.” Ashitake looked down uneasily at the opaque white body bag. “The components had more in common with the blood of large felinoids – lions, tigers, leopards; that sort of thing.” that is interesting. If nothing else it explains why the transfusion was rejected. Have you ruled out the possibility of this being some kind of freak genetic abnormality?”

    Doctor Sakurai is running tests to examine that possibility as we speak. However, the story doesn’t end there. Take a look at this.”

    Ashitake takes a small, sterilised plastic container – the kind found in every hospital for holding small fluid samples. Cherry-red liquid fills it to a depth of two centimetres.

    His blood’s the normal colour, as far as I can see.” Hayashibara says, with a bemused expression. Ashitake frowns. “Well, what do you expect me to conclude from this? It’s blood. It looks exactly like blood looks normally.”

    Thirty minutes ago, this blood was fully haemolysed.”

    Hayashibara looks very seriously at Ashitake for a second. Then back at the blood. Then back at Ashitake.

    Ashitake.” He says slowly, precisely, taking great care with the pronunciation of each and every syllable.

    Yes, Doctor Hayashibara?”

    Have you ever heard of a large, felinoid animal with the ability to assume human form and rehaemolyse its blood if necessary?”

    I have not.”

    And neither have I. Are these sterilised?” Hayashibara points to a tray lying on a nearby trolley, containing a number of metal surgical instruments – scalpels, retractors; all of the usual suspects.

    Yes. But you should probably wait for Doctor Sakurai to-“

    To hell with Sakurai. You’ve piqued my interest, so now we’re going to find out what makes – excuse me, made – this guy tick.”

    The fact that you’ll probably get a journal article or two out of this is, of course, entirely incidental, thinks Ashitake. Hayashibara begins working the combination lock preventing the body bag from being opened.

    Hmm. Has Morita stopped using his girlfriend’s birthday as the combination?”

    New girlfriend.”

    Ah.” He hands the lock to Ashitake. “I leave this in your capable hands, Doctor Ashitake.”

    Sixth of March. ’81. The lock clicks open, allowing the two zips running vertically down the bag to be separated from one another. Impatiently, but still carefully, Hayashibara pulls it open.

    Ashitake gasps.

    Hayashibara’s reaction is more subdued, but even he can’t suppress a whistle in surprise.

    The man inside the body bag is uninjured.

    No, it’s more like the wounds were never there in the first place.

    The gaping lacerations on his shoulders.

    The third-degree burns on his chest.

    Even the loss of an entire arm has been rejected.

    The illusion is that perfect; you’d think he was just sleeping, unless you knew what to look for.

    Ashitake forces himself to consider this scientifically.

    This man is not alive, he says to himself. Look at his chest. There’s no movement. He’s clearly not breathing.

    Even so, some instinct, some deep-layer compulsion hammered into him by years of medical school and internship at Nerima General, something compels him to check for a pulse.

    Maybe...just maybe...

    It’s ridiculous. He knows how stupid he must look. This is a corpse. No matter how complete and healthy he looks, nothing can change the fact that this is a dead man.

    And yet...

    For a moment, just for the slightest moment, he thinks...

    ...didn’t his eyes just open?


    God, that was a lot of talking. Too much. By far. Fortunately, the next chapter will have some action in it, and by action, I mean horrifying, brutal murders.

    If you're wondering what the all lower case bold text voice in Shirazumi's internal monologue is, then (at the risk of spoilers) let's just say that there's more to BLACKLIGHT than meets the eye.

    Oh, and one last thing: I'm sort of using "Walkers" as a blanket term for all BLACKLIGHT-infectees that aren't Hunters, Runners like Greene, or whatever the hell PARIAH is supposed to be. That's inclusive of both infected civilians (which do, essentially, behave like zombies, hence McMullen's comment) and the enemies which the game distinguishes as "Walkers". Had to go back and check out some of the WOI nodes to work that out.
    Last edited by Dullahan; April 2nd, 2012 at 05:21 AM.

  13. #13
    死徒二十七祖 The Twenty Seven Dead Apostle Ancestors Flere821's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2011
    Blog Entries

    Okay, SHIT HAS HIT THE FAN. The ensuing carnage will be GLORIOUS.

    ... And I'm disgusted at myself for eagerly anticipating the horrible deaths of many thousands >.< I'm being infected by Kotomine Kirei and/or BL here...
    Quote Originally Posted by Elf View Post
    Elf, dealing fanfic crack for Beast Lair since 2007.
    Quote Originally Posted by Radiantbeam View Post
    Elf: Crack Dealer. Story at eleven.
    'Fae is Foul' - My SAO/ZnT Crossover fanfic (SB Thread) (FFN Link)

  14. #14
    Κυρία Ἐλέησον Seika's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2011
    Perilous Hall
    Blog Entries
    It's still good. It's still very good. MORE!
    Beast's Lair: Useful Notes
    (Lightweight | PDF)
    Updated 01/01/15

    If posts are off-topic, trolling, terrible or offensive, please allow me to do my job. Reporting keeps your forum healthy.
    Seika moderates: modly clarifications, explanations, Q&A, and the British conspiracy to de-codify BL's constitution.

    Democracy on Beast's Lair

  15. #15
    死徒二十七祖 The Twenty Seven Dead Apostle Ancestors FlameStrike's Avatar
    Join Date
    Mar 2011
    Damn this is good, really good! The scene is set for some really insane carnage, and I can just feel the tension mounting. I really liked the way you portrayed the officials meeting and scrambling for ideas haha. It really set the mood for the craziness to come. I wonder, are any other KnK or TMverse characters going to make an appearance? Judging by the setting, it won't be necessary, but it would be a huge bonus to see how Ryougi and co will do in the aftermath. Overall I'm extremely excited to see the rest of this fic. Keep up the good work!
    Go check out some awesome fan fiction!
    Because the remaining ten percent is worth dieing for.

    Fortissimo EXA//Akkord:Bsusvier, Magi locked in a deadly battle royal. Sounds familiar right? Familiar and AWESOME.

    Pokemon FC: 3067 5409 2765

  16. #16
    nicht mitmachen Dullahan's Avatar
    Join Date
    Mar 2011
    Blog Entries
    Yep, the KnK cast still has a role to play. I've got big plans for the Garan no Dou team. And yes, a few other Nasuverse characters are going to make appearances. Not ones that have appeared in the VNs, however.

  17. #17
    The Raging Fantastic Magnum Fancy Face the First's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jan 2012
    Blog Entries
    Fuck yeah.
    Quote Originally Posted by food View Post
    Karna would totally sympathize with Shinji.

    "Bro, your family does not want you either? We will show them, by killing everyone."
    "Nukes, nukes everywhere."
    [*ruby=text on top]text on bottom[/*ruby]

  18. #18
    リビングデッド Living Dead Mignonette's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2012
    Frosty Moe Region
    Meat Moss. Meat Moss everywhere.
    Amber, rapture of wilderness, chaos of maelstroms, bone-breaking laughter,
    rider of the Vortex's edge, open to the heart of thy lowly servant.
    To the righteous will of the seeker of thine guidance, heed.
    Meet blood with blood, taboo breaker. Bind! Crushing flesh, twisting mind, constrict!
    Feed your thirst, bury him underhill, kill!

  19. #19
    Zap! Alulim's Avatar
    Join Date
    Apr 2011
    JP Friend Code
    PM me.
    Blog Entries
    ...This. Is. Awesome.
    Everything I say is a lie.

    Quote Originally Posted by Komrade Kwestions View Post
    "It's not gay, it's magecraft!"

  20. #20
    nicht mitmachen Dullahan's Avatar
    Join Date
    Mar 2011
    Blog Entries
    Update o'clock, boys and girls. Look sharp, the lot of you!


    And then, I remember.

    reach out your hand and then in it with your grasp with your paws with your claws with your talons and fingers and teeth take the heart in your hand and crush the heart in your hand take the spine in your hand and crack the spine in your hand take the head and bite the head in your jaws and from the head withdraw the key and from the key from the cage unlock the cage turn the key and the key in the lock will open and open and open and open the door and the inside becomes outside becomes the inside within and outside again until you are all that is the outside and all that is the inside is you and not you on the inside but you on the outside within where the inside is the other that is not you for where are you if not on the outside?


    establish the line within and without with one on the in and one on the out where the one is you and the one is the world but the one that is is and the one that is not is not that is it is it not establishing the shell off the egg of the chicken of the egg of the shell of the world so take the shell in your hand and crush the shell in your hand and break the shell on your beak and your teeth and your claws until the shell is no more and the inside is outside is inside and is not for there is no inside with a place to be in for there is nothing within the in of the inside for all that was in is now out and all that was out is now in but is out for the in is now out in the out with the world on the in and the you on the out for where are you if not on the outside?

    I died, didn't I? I got killed. Badly. A bomb. I was on a rooftop. Ikebukuro. My memory blanked again. I panicked. Almost lost control. And then a bomb blew up in my face. The fuck. Seriously. I flew. I think. No, I fell. That was definitely falling. I fell for a bit. Then I hit something. Hard.

    allow the line to be drawn in the sand in the grass in the land in the air and the line will be sides will be two and the two will be one and the other and other will be with the lion within and the lion without without the lion without within the lion within where the line is the world and the world is the side with no lion and the lion is not one with the world with the line for the line is the line is the close is the lock is the need for the key with the bar with the cage so to open the cage with the bar with the key with the lock with the turn with the push with the lion inside and the lion outside is inside is outside as well so break the wall break the door break the cage in your hand with the lock and the key and you will understand when the door and the cage and the line are then one and the other is two and the lion the line it is drawn it is found on the outside of the cage for the lion is you for where are you if not on the outside?


    is the side of the line of the lion of the world and the lion is the lion is true is false is the lion and more for there is more to the lion than the lion that lies on the line as the lion is not one but two and four and eight and sixteen and thirty-two and all further extensions of series established by mandate mine and yours and theirs and ours of the realm of the land of the place of the memory of the dream of the soul unyielding where the balance is life and the balance is death and the balance is balanced as that is the way and the path and the order and the nature of the world that exists on the other side of the divided and dividing line for those who are the within and without of the line of the shell of the spine of the world that you and us and I and he will break and break and break until the land of the realm of the life and the death is the outside and inside is one for where are you if not on the outside?

    It hurt a lot. I remember that. Someone called an ambulance. Someone...who? Ah, it doesn't matter. I got taken a hospital. It had white ceilings. It smelled like blood, sweat and disinfectant. They operated. Helped me, or tried to. They couldn't fix me, though. Something was lost, and something went away, and I ended up here.

    where are you, if not on the outside?

    WHERE am I?

    What a question to ask. It's obvious where I am. I died. Araya was lying. There is an afterlife. And this is it. I am dead, and hence I am here. It is logical; it makes sense to think about. If there is an afterlife, dead people should be in it. Logically speaking, it's impossible for me to not be dead.

    Just like them.

    I don't know who they are.
    They look like they've been here for a while. The lions are eating them both.
    The lions are tearing chunks from their flesh; huge, bloody mouthfuls of flesh and organ and bone. The blood and saliva runs down their faces, soaking their manes into a dull red colour. The lions are taking their spines in their jaws and crushing them, releasing a curious cracking noise into the air. They clearly began from the top, as all that is left of either of them now is a rapidly-shrinking torso and pair of legs. It has taken me a while to notice that I am in a large, dark room, but now that I do, I see that the floor and the walls and the windows and the ceiling are covered in blood and bile and phlegm and tiny chunks of heart and lung and liver and gut too small to be worth eating. The lions can leave them until later. They have all the time in the world. The lions are chewing and swallowing and digesting as fast as they can strip the flesh off the bone, like they haven't eaten for years.

    Well, they haven't, have they?

    Something wet is on my right hand. I raise my hand up to my face and I see, stuck to it, a tiny chunk of skull, bloody and with scalp and hair still attached. I look at it, and look at it, and look at it, and I realise that I feel no revulsion or disgust, none at all. Just...familiarity. And as I look around at the lions tearing the flesh and bone from the two mens' legs, the feeling doesn't change.

    They're going to eat me next.

    As the realisation enters my mind, I don't feel any fear, or apprehension. In fact, it seems like the most natural thing in the world. It makes sense, in a way. When I was alive, I ate people like a wild animal. Now that I am dead, I myself am going to be eaten.

    By a wild animal.


    It's funny.


    It's the funniest thing I've ever heard.


    I'm laughing so much; I think I'm going to cry.

    And when I look down and I look at my chest and I see not skin but flesh raw flesh and I follow the flesh and I follow the fold with my hand and with my eye and I see how the flesh of my chest folds up and around and inside and outside and into the face and the jaws and the teeth and the gullet and the stomach of a lion and I remember the promise I made to myself and I realise the truth and that the truth is that I'm not dead I'm alive just like I wanted to be just like was promised to me just like I begged and needed and deserved and I know that I will not be eaten by the lion for I am the lion and the lion is me and nothing has changed and all that has changed is that the lion is now on the outside-

    I sit up, and laugh some more.

    Ohgawa Apartment Complex, Kayamihama, Tokyo

    In the early mornings, when the building is as quiet as this, when the puppets sleep unaware that the sixty-four manners of death will be iterated once more in the day to come, when the noises of the city outside recede into oblivion behind the barriers – technological, magical, psychological and spiritual – that divide the world into 'within' and 'without'; at such-and-such a time and circumstance, if you listen closely, you can hear, ever so faintly, with the most infinitesimal movement of air imparting force to your eardrum that would be outmatched by even the level of a single snowflake meeting the ground, you can hear-

    -a human heartbeat.

    Or is it?

    Nothing that exists in the world is flawless. The heart, an organ developed and refined over billions of years of evolution, is no exception. In a human heart, there are...variations, palpitations; in other words, irregularities, in the complex system of chemical, physical and electrical impulses underpinning its operation. Yet this heart is different. It is as regular as the ticking of a clock, the interval between each beat calibrated to be precisely the same as the last to the very limits of detection; a biological stopwatch without flaw or point of failure, counting upwards, second-by-second, from some indeterminate point in the distant past.

    Twelve billion, nine hundred and ninety-eight million, three hundred and sixty-four thousand, two hundred and thirty-four...
    Twelve billion, nine hundred and ninety-eight million, three hundred and sixty-four thousand, two hundred and thirty-five...
    Twelve billion, nine hundred and ninety-eight million, three hundred and sixty-four thousand, two hundred and thirty-six...


    The truth is, the walls, the floors, the ceilings, the corridors and hallways and rooms that together make up the Ohgawa Apartments, all of these are, in a highly specialised sense and from a highly specialised point of view, alive. It would, needless to say, be inaccurate to say that they are alive in the same way that a plant or an animal is alive. An apartment complex is a construct of concrete, glass, steel and plastic, none of which is particularly known for being anything other than severely biologically challenged.

    And yet, somehow-


    From deep within the vast, hidden mechanism that exists in the unused, sealed-off underground car park of the Ohgawa Apartments, a voice speaks, and is heard.

    With no prompting but this, the elevator begins to move from the tenth floor down to the lobby.

    And once it reaches the lobby-

    -a man who was not there before walks out.

    A tall, imposing figure. A man dressed in black. A monk's robe and Buddhist prayer beads.

    Souren Araya. Magus.

    Clap. Clap. Clap.

    It is worth mentioning that Souren Araya is not the only person in the lobby. There's also a sour-faced blonde man in a red coat and red hat, who's leaning against the wall in the corridor which leads to the entrance.

    “Taking your time, as usual, I see. I have to congratulate you on your entrance, at least – appearing ominously from inside the elevator? Very good, very Phantom of the Opera – but I think it's missing something. A certain je ne sais quoi, I think. Perhaps a line, or two. Can't have an introduction without saying something. Something like why-the-hell-I-was-woken-up-at-three-o'clock-in-the-morning, perhaps?”

    His tone is acidic. Statistically speaking, studies undertaken at Clock Tower Academy of London have shown that Magi, in general, are not morning people, and Cornelius Alba is no exception. The forty-something Director-Elect of Sponheim Abbey is tapping his foot impatiently. He's clearly very irritated.

    “You were advised to be prepared for a change in the scenario at any time.” says Araya, walking towards Alba.

    “Yes, yes, yes, but not for another two months or something to that effect. This, right now, is far too early – in all possible meanings of the phrase.”

    “That is irrelevant. The scenario has changed regardless.”

    “Even if it has, and I think I must emphasise this, I fail to see how this is my problem. Given that the Counter Force has yet to level the building out of pure spite, I can only conclude that the plan hasn't been moving forward in the slightest since the Fujyou business. Which I, I remind you, had no involvement in.”

    “Lio Shirazumi.” says Araya, simply. It's difficult to tell, but he's beginning to lose patience with the younger Magus. Upon hearing this, Alba's face goes blank for a second, then slowly returns to its previous irritated-insomniac expression.

    “What about him? You had countermeasures in place, didn't you?”

    “There has been an unexpected development.”

    “Why must you be so maddeningly vague all the time? What's the bloody problem

    “Shirazumi has dispelled my countermeasures. The method is unclear, as is whether or not it was his intention to do so. In addition, it seems that his condition has developed along a previously-unforeseen avenue. In his current state, he poses a significant threat to the scenario's completion.”

    “Hah! Oh, this is rich. You're telling me that a mentally-unbalanced teenager with no training, experience or knowledge of Magecraft outside of what you've told him managed to dispel your countermeasures by accident? That's bloody hysterical! I've half a mind to bring it up at the next board meeting once I get back to Sponheim. You'll never hear the end of it, believe me. What has become, they'll say, of the great Souren Araya? Kahahahahahaha! Oh, you slay me. Wirklich.”

    Araya doesn't say anything.

    “Anyway. As unspeakably fascinating as I'm sure this development in the boy's condition must be, am I to take it that there was a good reason you couldn't have taken care of this yourself?”

    “Shirazumi has outlived his usefulness. He-”

    “I seem to recall saying something similar to you about three years ago. If you had killed him then, you wouldn't be having this problem.”

    “-is to be eliminated immediately.” Araya gives Alba a pointed look. The red-coated Magus winces. The receiving end of a pointed look from Souren Araya is not a pleasant place to be, as many of his acquaintances can attest. “It is true that Shirazumi was too imprecise of an instrument, and ultimately turned out to be a failure as far as the scenario was concerned. Nevertheless, that did not obviate his right to exist. I would not begrudge him that.”

    “And yet, here you are, signing his death warrant.” Alba clicks his tongue. “What, did his obsession with the Ryougi girl finally get the better of him? Just let her kill him, and save us the trouble.”

    “Impossible. Those two cannot be allowed to meet, under any circumstances. Shirazumi knows too much.” Whose fault is that, I wonder, thinks Alba. “In any case, we cannot allow a deviation from the scenario of this nature. God's Word will arrive towards the end of November. That will be when we make our next move, and no sooner.”

    “Bah. Very well. Am I to take it you want me to kill him for you, then?”

    “Outside of Hounouden Rokujyuyonshou, you are the superior Magus. More to the point, you possess fire-affinity. It is of vital importance that no trace of his body remains. Burn him to ashes. It is the only way to be sure.”

    “Hah! Yes, I see. You can't very well do that with that Rokudou Kyoukai setup you walk around with, can you.” Alba's irritated disposition has bean steadily evaporating over the past couple of minutes. He is, after all, every inch the professional Magus, extreme distaste for waking up any earlier than ten o'clock in the morning notwithstanding. Boredom is like a poison for Magi, so in most cases the easiest way to get their mind off something is simply to give them something to do. “No witnesses?” he asks, almost conversationally.

    “No witnesses.”

    “Excellent. Where is the boy now?”

    “Asahigaoka. One of my familiars is waiting outside. It will show you the way.”

    “Good, good.” Alba takes a gold-plated fob watch from one of his coat's many, many pockets. He opens it, and checks the time. “Well, assuming nothing goes too horribly wrong, I'll be back before breakfast. Tschόss

    Without another word, Cornelius Alba turns and begins walking out of the building.

    It is truly a terrible and regrettable waste, thinks Souren Araya as he walks back into the elevator, but it is a necessary one.

    I will see to it that his death is among those first recorded once the Taijitu is mine.

    Vandenberg Air Force Base, California

    “You know, Doctor...Henriksen?”

    “Doctor Harrisson. With two 's's.”

    “Doctor Harrisson. Harrison. Ha-ris-son. You know, I think I like the sound of that.”

    “Thank you.”

    “Are you?”

    “Am I what?”

    “Harrisson. Harry, genitive suffix, son. Son of Harry.”

    “I'm afraid not. My father's name was Joseph.”

    “Hmm. That's simply no good, no good at all, wouldn't you agree?”

    “Why do you say that?”

    “Names should be accurate. They should describe the object they refer to. Otherwise there's no use in having them.”

    “What about your name? Do you think that your name is accurate?”

    “Of course. It fits me perfectly, and quite aside from that, I enjoy its sound. As I enjoy all sounds, of course, but that one in particular.”

    “I see. Now, I believe you were going to say something, earlier?”

    “Was I?”

    “When you said, 'You know, Doctor Henriksen?' a minute ago.”

    “Ah, so I was. Thank you for reminding me. Yes, I was about to say something.”

    “What was it?”

    “I believe I've come to a realisation, Doctor Harrisson.”

    “And what is that?”

    “I thought about it for a long time – and, as I'm sure you're aware, I have a lot of time in which to think about things – and I have come to the conclusion that this is all quite pointless.”

    “What do you mean by 'all of this'?”

    “The box, Doctor Harrisson. I'm talking about the box.”

    “The box?”

    “The box you – and I don't mean 'you' specifically, you understand, but the indefinite, plural 'you' which in this case refers to...well, I'm not able to put names to them or even a definite number of how many there are, but I'm fairly certain that there's more than one – anyway, I'm talking about the box that you've had me put in.”

    “Is this about your confinement?”

    “Quite so, quite so, Doctor Harrisson. You see, I was thinking about it just yesterday, and I was thinking back over the past forty years or so, and the answer I arrived at was this – you people really aren't going to let me out of here, are you?”

    “We've discussed this before.”

    “Have we?”

    “Indeed we have. Your release will be considered when you are no longer deemed a danger to yourself or others.”

    “Ah, indeed, that was the topic, wasn't it. But, allow me to continue. Even though you have no intention of ever letting me out of this box, keeping me locked up here really is truly pointless.”

    “Why do you think that?”

    “You see, Doctor Harrisson – I am immortal.”

    “Immortal, you say.”

    “Yes. Immortal. Prefix of negation plus mortal. It means that I shall never die.”

    “I know what it means.”

    “Then you know why it's useless to keep me locked up in here.”


    “I will simply wait until all of the people who make up the indefinite 'you' I referred to earlier – I will wait until all of those people are dead. And then I will be released.”

    “And what if those people have given instructions to their successors not to release you?”

    “Then I shall wait for them to die, as well.”

    “And what if their successors-”

    “They too, will one day eventually die. And on another day, the steel in these walls will have rusted to the point where the touch of a feather will cause it to dissolve into dust. But I will do neither, and I am very, very patient, Doctor Harrisson. Do you want to know how patient I am?”

    “How patient are you?”

    “What if I told you that this box is nothing of the sort to me?”

    “What do you mean?”

    “I mean what I say, and I say what I mean. The box you keep me in is not a box at all. To you, perhaps, it is. Six metres of steel on each side, and twice that again in reinforced concrete. But to me, you see – for me, it is as insubstantial as tissue paper.”

    “Is that so?”

    “It is so. You see, I could have broken out of this box the moment you had me put in here.”

    “So why didn't you?”

    “Because I believe in you, Doctor Harrisson. Again, that's the indefinite 'you' I'm referring to, although you, yourself, are to a certain extent included. I believe, above anything else, that your reason for keeping me in this box is a good one. And I have believed that for forty years. That is how patient I am.”

    “What would you do if it turned out not to be a good reason?”

    “I would leave.”

    “And go where?”


    “Your home no longer exists.”

    “That's a shame.”



    “ can't really escape from here any time you want, can you?”

    “No, I can't.”

    “That was a lie.”

    “It was.”

    “And what you said about believing in us, that was a lie as well?”

    “Perhaps. This week it may be the truth, and next week it may be a lie. It is a variable, not a constant, Doctor Harrisson. In truth, this week, it is a lie. I have decided that I like lies. They interest me. Perhaps I shall tell you some more, the next time you visit.”

    “Yes, perhaps you shall.”

    “Are you leaving, Doctor Harrisson?”

    “I am. But I will be visiting you again in a week's time.”

    “I look forward to it. Oh, but if you would be so kind, could you discuss perhaps getting some new books in here with Colonel Bradshaw? I have finished all of these.”

    “I'll see what I can do.”

    “Oh, and one last thing before you go, Doctor Harrisson.”


    “The Old Man is a fool if he believes he can keep that thing under control. He remains ignorant of both its true nature and capabilities. Tell him this, would you please?”

    “I' sure to relay that to him...”

    “Thank you. Goodbye, Doctor Harrisson.”



    Crazy people are much easier to write internal monologues for, although that might just be me.

    So yeah, straying into OC territory with my characterisation of PARIAH here. Given that we know precisely bugger-all about him from the game, I figured I could do what I wanted. He'll become a lot more important later on.
    Cornelius Alba can speak in italics. This, I thought, was the best way to communicate textually how he behaves in Paradox Paradigm.

    I realised immediately after finishing it that Araya's thoughts at the end are ambiguous in who 'he' refers to. Shirazumi or Alba? Choose whichever you prefer.

    I'm not too sure how well I handled the description of Lio waking up. To be honest, I find it very difficult to write "gory" or "horrific" scenes, so that may not have turned out as well as I might have liked.

    Also, whenever you see ALL CAPS ITALICS in Shirazumi's internal monologue, that's the Impulse talking. Personally, I'm not too sure how much sense it makes for a chaotic inclination towards eating things to have a voice, but there you go.

    Also also, vocabulary note. If you had no idea what Araya and Alba were talking about, here's what you need to know:

    Hounouden Rokujyuyonshou - The bounded field around the Ohgawa Apartment block which lets Araya do all the crazy shit he does in the movie - teleporting, healing from MEoDP damage, that sort of thing. Translating it into English gives you something like "Sixty-Four Layered Hall of Sacrifice" which to be honest sounds really awkward to use in conversation, so I left it as it was.

    Rokudou Kyoukai - That boundary field Araya uses which looks like three golden circles surrounding him. Left in Japanese because otherwise it sounds like a System Card from Hisoutensoku.

Tags for this Thread

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts