etrayalogs | MISSION 005 (part 1)

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MISSION 005 (part 1)

WHO: Everyone!
WHEN: September 13th-September 27th
WHERE: Throughout Etraya
WHAT: Mission Log!
NOTES\WARNINGS: Horror elements, including fear-inducing landscapes, distorted environments, unseen predators, mental/emotional distress, potential body horror, corruption, possession, brainwashing, and compulsion.

⏵ reality bends ⏴
A strange anomaly has overtaken Etraya. The skies, once familiar, now shift unpredictably, cycling through hues of unnatural colors as an eerie hum fills the air. Tension crackles beneath the surface, leaving an unsettling heaviness across the land. Aurora’s mission announcement offers little clarity—more cryptic than comforting—and she remains unavailable for further explanation.

Reality begins to warp, twisting Etraya into a surreal, haunting reflection of its former self.

The hospital deteriorates into a decaying structure, its halls haunted by phantom patients, endless corridors leading to nowhere. Rooms morph into massive white padded cells where characters may find themselves imprisoned, alone with spectral figures who whisper of treatments yet to come. Some of these apparitions seek the attention of those roaming the hospital, warning them of a dire fate: failure in this mission means not just the death of their worlds, but their souls becoming trapped in this fractured reality, far from home, forever.

The forest transforms into a dark and twisted labyrinth. The trees close in, their branches twisting unnaturally as unseen predators howl from the shadows. Narrow pathways wind through the maze, and while some may navigate unscathed, others will be violently pulled into the depths by horrors lurking just out of sight. Within this twisted forest, a small cottage appears, its walls echoing eerie whispers: "little scorpion," "selfish bitch," and "by the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes."

The rivers, usually calm, have become a dangerous, volatile force. Their waters churn violently, and inky black tendrils rise from the depths, lashing out at anyone who strays too close. These dark appendages drag their victims beneath the surface, where those who resist must battle their way to freedom. But those who surrender will be drawn into an otherworldly dome beneath the water, surrounded by strange fish, far from where they should be. Inside, they will find an eerie stillness, but their earpieces still allow contact with the world above. A large mirror dominates the dome, offering an uncertain way back.

⏵ shadowy haunts ⏴
Those inside the zones come face to face with an echo of fear - a personalized manifestation of what scares them most. It could be an oppressive figure from their past, or something more abstract, such as the feeling of failure, or isolation. These echoes are relentless, feeding off their weaknesses and digging into what makes them most vulnerable.

The Im'mari hungers, and preying on characters' weaknesses appears to be its chosen way of feeding itself. While characters may become stuck in their nightmares by themselves, some of these nightmares are shared between companions. Characters may become trapped within their friends' fears, or strangers'. However, the emotional distress felt by the individual the nightmare belongs to will affect everyone within the nightmare. An emotional prison built to torment those whom it belongs to, these echoes of fears may test the bond between companions, forcing them to face truths they may have rather avoided touching on. Earpieces will still be functional and may prove to be crucial in assisting characters when it comes to escaping their nightmares.

⏵ contamination ⏴
Im'mari may be weaker than before, but it is slowly regaining power, and the creature’s influence is spreading. It infects the wolves, the plants, and even the very essence of Vanessa Ives (and in addition, Aelwyn Abernant), feeding off the deep-seated fears of those around it.

Im'mari thrives in the shadows of fear and darkness, growing stronger with every moment of doubt, pain, and despair. Its presence lingers beyond the edges of awareness, whispering to its victims, urging them to succumb. Through Vanessa and those she has infected, Im'mari extends its reach, turning once-familiar faces into agents of fear, pushing their companions to the brink.

For those who fall under its sway, the transformation is slow, at first nearly undetectable. Perhaps a friend acts off, says something out of character, or expresses sudden, unprovoked anger. But as Im'mari’s power grows, so does the darkness in its agents, until they are no longer themselves—twisted into something monstrous, compelled to spread fear and destruction.

Welcome to your nightmares. We hope you have a pleasant stay.

⏵ NOTES ⏴

For all questions relating to this mission, please refer to the plotting post. We will be utilizing this post throughout the mission - including when we process the next round of applications, so please keep an eye out for new comments! All other questions can be directed to the FAQ.

⏵FULL NAVIGATION⏴

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

(cw: existential body horror, the nightmares win)

i. reality bends
The eerie atmosphere doesn't do much to sway Ava's impression of the Etraya. She's not scared of green or purple skies or weird humming. Her alias is Ghost, and she's used to being the creepy lurking thing in the shadows.

The actual horror to this place is the same as it's been since she arrived, the itching under her skin that she can't escape, that something is trying to control her. She's made no progress in understanding what, or how to fight back against it.

But it's becoming obvious that the constant state of anxiety is wearing her down, and she can't properly put up a fight at all if she's on the verge of falling apart. The theme of this mission is supposedly facing her fears, and it's mostly bad timing that she decides that means finally paying a trip to the hospital for help despite all the many reasons she doesn't trust a single substance they might provide her for the pain.

The hospital appears to be fittingly on theme, like a haunted house out of some made for television Halloween horror special. Ava doesn't allow that to deter her from entering, but once inside she's uncertain it's a good idea after all. She wanders the halls, peeking into rooms, determined to at least discover where the painkillers are stashed away if there's nobody around to actually provide assistance. She's not even too picky as to what at this point, if it can take the edge off.

She gets turned around, disoriented, even though she can pass easily through the walls she's no longer certain which way she came. "I don't care! I don't want to go back!" she shouts angrily at one of the spectral figures, taunting her about failing to save her doomed world.

ii. shadowy haunts
The unfortunate thing about Ava's existential fears is that the inevitability is constantly looming over her, so when the nightmare begins she can't quite tell the difference. She glitches. That's normal, and again. The resulting pain is too, and her tolerance for it is so screwed up anymore that she can't tell if she's gaslighting herself as it amps up. She drops a cup straight through trembling hands that have gone translucent, flustered when she can't seem to clean it up. The shards resemble the scattered pieces of mirror, and she imagines she can hear Yelena laughing at her through them. Hadn't she managed to get out? No thanks to her.

But despite efforts to regain tangibility, one by one her fingers dissolve out of existence. Twisting and straining to grasp onto anything at all in futile attempt to pull herself back to a reality that's harshly trying to scrub her out of it like a stubborn stain. Every movement overlays upon itself in erratic distortions, taking just a bit more of her with as they fade out too. The light around her deteriorating form blurs out in red and cyan aberrations, her own vision fracturing between far too many deviations of here and now. She can't focus on a singular position to return to, the disorientation furthering her blinding panic.

Ava tries to scream, but either she's now incapable of producing sound, or hearing it.

It's all happening far too quickly when there's no amount of struggling to reverse it... and far too slowly, the molecular decay takes a few days to fully eat away at her physical being. Bit by bit, cell by molecule by atom by particle until she finally is no more. But the pain, the awareness, the fear clings on, whatever fragment of her left refuses to let go entirely. Disembodied yet still trembling because she's more terrified of what happens if she lets go.

Her thoughts slip in and out of coherence. How long has it been? She can't tell, without reference time feels at a complete standstill and yet an eternity. How long has it been? ... Since what? No, she used to be something once. (Really? Were you?) She used to feel something more than just pain. (Like what?) But in all the uncertainty, there's one thing that remains clear. That she deserves this, even if she can't remember why. And that nobody out there (where?) is looking for her (who?) Because she's nothing.

She's nothing.

It takes ten days for the nightmare to finally spit her back out. And even then, she lays there. Unresponsive.

iii.
If Ava was doing poorly at adjusting before, she's doing far worse now. The tremors result in her keeping her arms tightly wrapped around her midsection. Her expression haunted and miserable, she outright avoids looking anyone in the eye, shakes her head when anyone tries to talk to her.

(But she doesn't want to be alone, she just can't quite express it.)

Sometimes she stops, in the middle of a pathway, staring blankly at nothing. Completely disassociated. She's nothing.

(And anyone that tries to shake her out of it will be violently attacked.)

iv. wildcard
(yeah so there's nothing particularly fun going on here but feel free to hit me up if you have any interest or ideas!)

Everything has gone to shit in Etraya. Again. Yelena was already in a bad headspace and the creeping eerie mess sprawling across the city isn’t helping. She keeps her arms folded across her chest as she moves through the city, not entirely sure what she should be doing.

In her meandering, she keeps feeling watched or followed, and it’s got her hackles raised. Only a spy of her particular caliber could make the sharp glances she makes seem so damn casual.

Wrr-wo-wrr.

The strange warbling noise makes her head snap around to find the source, but there’s nothing.

No one

Except… there is something, a flicker or a flash, barely visible but definitely there. Enough to register to Yelena’s eyes that it isn’t completely empty air she’s squinting at.

“This isn’t funny, you know.” She’s sure this isn’t some prank being played on her, but she doesn’t know what else to say. Something. Anything. Just to try to get a reaction of some kind from her present company.

But she doesn’t even have to wait for that, because the next flicker is, briefly, a little bit stronger, though somehow even less controlled than the last. “Ava?” She gasps out the name she’s hardly used even since being handed it in that cafe.

Edited 2024-09-15 11:08 (UTC)

Without ears to translate the vibrations into comprehensible sound, what's left of her awareness can't quite hear. But there's a shift of energy, that tries to pull closer to the presence of something that feels almost familiar.

The air warps into flickering formless hands that grasp blindly at Yelena, at her face, at her arm. And just as quickly retreats, as if burned.

Something sounds like distant whirring screaming, and yet there's nothing in the audible range at all.

She feels the strange ghost of not-quite-sensation against her cheek, her arm, her wrist. It’s strange and not really anything at all. But she swears she felt it. Felt something.

“Ava!” She doesn’t doubt it now, because no one else she knows of can do anything even close to that. She squints at empty air, trying to find that trace of something that didn’t quite fit with the rest of the surrounding scene.

“Follow my voice,” she says, clicking her communicator back onto a call with Ava. She doesn’t know if it’s even worked, she’s spent days trying to reach her to no avail. But this is the first hint of something there’s been in over a week. “You have to fight it, okay? Come slap me for calling you a bitch,” she says it on a huff of a laugh, no humor found in the sound or in her voice.

When she sees that strange flicker of light, or motion, or whatever it is or isn’t in the air again, it comes with sound attached. A distant, shrieking whirl of white noise. “Focus. Find me again. I’m here,” she is determined to reach for the strange feeling against her skin this time. Try to ground her, force her back here.

Reality Bends

As he stands outside the apartment complex, the sky shifts into unexpected colours. There’s something strange in the air, like it’s alive somehow. There’s a general sense of strangeness, of otherness all over the city now and Loki…

Well, Loki can’t quite bring himself to care. There’s part of him that recognizes that’s odd. That he should care, at least enough to try and get out of here and back to saving the multiverse and blah blah blah. It’s all just so tiresome. He really doesn’t know why he bothers anymore.

Shadowy Haunts

More and more, Loki has felt like being on his own. Not that he’s met that many people here, but even the few he’s previously enjoyed spending time with seem tedious at best. The truth of it is, he’s starting to feel more like his old self.

Those old fears have been coming back to him. The ones that tell him he’ll never be enough, he’ll never live up to Thor, he’ll never be able to prove himself to his father, or anyone else. How he’d ever become the one who was saving the multiverse is totally beyond him. Mobius had been wrong, he couldn’t be anything and simply the fact that he’s here, trying to prove himself again should be evidence enough of that.

As this feeling in him grows, Loki finds himself unable to sleep and wandering the area. One night he comes across the diner and enters, vaguely surprised that anything is open in the wee hours of the morning. He can be found here any given night during the mission.

Contamination

Ever since he ran into Vanessa while cleaning up after the space station crashed down, Loki has been feeling off. Though, if you ask him, he’s been feeling more like himself. It’s like the weight of the world (or more accurately the multiverse) has been lifted from his shoulders. He can no longer remember why it is so important to get back. Why was he even trying to help in the first place? That was really more Thor’s thing.

Though in his mind, he feels relaxed and honestly a little relieved, anyone who comes across Loki might think he looks tired and worn down and possibly not in the best of moods. But who needs sleep when you’ve just freed yourself from the ultimate responsibility? As time goes by, he’ll be more snappy, rude and will start to look more sickly.

Approach with caution.

Reality Bends

The wind rustles the leaves in the forest, the sun shining through the canopy as Rin walks toward her house. She goes there at least once a day now, doing her best to put things in order. It may just be a cheap replica conjured by Echo, or Aurora, or the companion bots, but it looks and smells and the floorboards creak like hers.

Today, though, she never makes it there. Instead, her surroundings warp and twist, and Rin has to broaden her stance so she's stable throughout the transformation; reflexively, she throws her arms up. When it seems like her surroundings have settled, she lowers them again and opens her eyes.

Oh. A labyrinth. Again.

It's not like she's entirely unprepared for is; she's been reading the network. Something has been coming. In light of that, going to the outskirts of Etraya on her own was perhaps unwise, but she couldn't quite stop herself. It was also the only thing that really helped her distract herself from the sense of oncoming doom recent happenings have installed in her.

Well. At least whatever it is, now it's definitely here. Time to face the music.

Rin pulls out the long strips of leather that hold her throwing knives and fastens them to her upper arms and calves. Then she touches the sword at her hip, just to reassure herself that it's there.

She starts walking.

Shadowy Haunts (cw: gore, body horror)

It's hard to tell time in the dark. And so, Rin doesn't know how long she's been making her way through the labyrinth when things shift. A cold, wet breeze; a faint odor of rot, of death. Nothing artificial about it, just normal decay, just earth doing what it does. She's smelled this before. Where was it... ?

Then, in the dark, she sees a glow: the lights of a companion bot. Rin perks up, lets out a small gasp and walks faster toward it, but the bot already turns around away from her. Heart beating fast, Rin follows it, and is led to a place where the walls part to show a room. It's lit by torches, and -- chained to the wall, there are bodies.

Bodies of Doa, of Hyakurin, of Isaku, of some of the people she's met in Etraya. Their eyes are glassy, staring into nowhere, and their bodies distorted; some are missing parts, others have extra parts sticking out where they really, really shouldn't. And in the center of it all, on a solid wood table, lies Manji, clearly unconscious, his body cut up in various ways.

"M-Manji-san!" She goes to him first, but as she steps forward, suddenly the floor under her feet feels... soft.

Fleshy.

She looks down and sees that she's standing on a bed of corpses, and a few people how have not yet died but are clearly not far from it.

A scream rips from her throat.

Wildcard

[ If you wanna plot anything, feel free to hit me up! I'm

honeyfoot on plurk, and same on discord. ]

The world doesn't seem quite right lately, and that leaves Hob worrying for the few friends he's made in this place so far. Luckily, several live in the same apartment building as he does. Rather than use the device, Hob thinks it would be better to pay a visit, so he goes looking for Loki at his flat.

Knocking on the door, he waits for the god to answer, or maybe Loki isn't in and Hob will encounter him out on the street or as the Asgardian is coming home. Either way, he'll continue to keep an eye out for his handsome friend.

Once he does lay eyes on Loki, Hob smiles and greets him. "Hey. Just wanted to see how you're doing."

Mild irritation is the first feeling she can pull together, out of the long stretch of terror that's taken over her mind. Irritation that itches at her as it tries to focus on the source, manages to make her aware that there is something else, somebody else, outside of her. Which means there is a her left somewhere in the gaps between scattered particles.

Ava.

That irritation twists into some sort of shame, because maybe she doesn't want to be that after all. There's not a whole lot of good associations her fragmented memory can make, with being Ava.

But as negative as they are, the spike in emotions provides her just enough energy to lash out at Yelena, a rough shove right through her. There's the faintest shape of a woman, before vanishing again.

reality bends (medical horror, loss of prosthetic limbs)

It's unfortunate that Ed is in the hospital when the world shifts around him - he hadn't much wanted to be here, but eventually his arm and leg are going to need maintenance. Without his mechanic, he's going to have to do his best to fix it himself (or find someone else with the skills for it), which means he has to scout out what tools might be compatible. He's in the midst of squinting at something wrench-like and trying to figure out if it's close enough to something Winry uses to adjust his arm to be used as-is or transformed without much difficulty, when -

(Was there a prick at his neck?)

It's like when he woke up in the hospital here the first time, but a thousand times worse. The bed he wakes up in is filthy, the sheets scratchy against his skin. The lights in his room flicker and cast weird shadows on the walls, and as much as he disliked her, there's no Aurora to tell him what's going on. And he -

He -

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU BASTARDS DO?! WHERE ARE THEY?? I SWEAR I'M GOING TO - TO - "

There's no one around to hear his raging. On the chart hung on the frame of his bed, there's a note stating that patient E. Elric's automail was removed for testing and maintenance. Patient was uncooperative and had to be sedated prior to the procedure for his own safety.

When he's finally yelled himself hoarse, he finds the wheelchair tucked away in a corner of the room that's semi-obscured by equipment. He manages to drag himself across the floor and into it and finds that at least it has some kind of mechanical assist built into it. It doesn't work too well, but he can steer himself around okay with only his left arm and right leg, and he uses it to start exploring outside the room he woke up in to find out what the hell is happening and where the fuck they took his automail.

[contact here or on Plurk at goodnonsense for plotting purposes! More possible starts to be added below.]

“ебать!” She shouts as that sensation passes through her, but this time it’s a whole body experience and leaves her feeling oddly in the wake of her attempt at grabbing Yelena.

Okay. If anger gets a reaction, that’s an angle she can work with.

“Come on, Ava. You can do better than that!”

Edited 2024-09-17 02:12 (UTC)

Given the mission parameters, it also happens to be bad luck for Accelerator that he's made his way into the hospital. He isn't alone - rather, he wasn't alone when he entered, but looking around it appears that stupid creature has seen fit to separate him from the rest of the group. Probably because it's aware of his history with hospitals and hospital-like research facilities, he muses. While it wasn't all bad, the majority of it was. And the majority is something he isn't keen on reliving, if he can help it.

God, why did Aurora's home base have to be a hospital? He would've taken some other horror cliche, like an old theme park or a subway station or some ruined house in the woods over this.

At least he's doing a good job of keeping a handle on his emotions as he walks down what he figures is supposed to be some existential nightmare in the form of an endless white hallway with flickering lighting. He's even been keeping a lid on his powers due to his time limit, but this is aggravating him enough that he's tempted to start punching holes in walls.

Fortunately, he blinks and finds himself coming to a dead end with a corner, and with it is a familiar voice. He rounds the corner, the feet of his crutch tapping on the floor as he rolls his eyes. "You're being noisy."

Overcoming all her crushing self-doubts and loathing to properly fight back against the existential terror has been an absolute losing battle, trapped in a nightmare far too real to identify as not. There's nothing she can do to convince herself that she's worth more than the nothing she's caught within. That there is anything in her life to go back to other than the unending pain. It becomes increasingly impossible to remember what it's like to feel anything else, be anything else. There's no glimmer of hope to hang onto.

But Yelena's encouragement in the form of aggressive fighting words gives her something else to fight back against, because if nothing else Ava has always thrived and survived out of pure spite to prove everything else wrong. Gives her the energy to act against something, defiant.

The flickering becomes more erratic. More solid as Ava claws at Yelena because she's the only tangible thing to anchor herself to and she desperately needs to hold onto and push away, claws her way back into reality even as it tries to reclaim her.

She howls against the pain of particles struggling to form molecules trying to build cells to make up functioning organs and skin and all the essential parts that define the body of Ava. But with each tug and swipe and grasp and shove, a bit more of her manages to stitch back into place.

With newly formed lungs, sound finally pierces through the air. And Ava tumbles, whole and alive, out of the nightmare.

She hits the floor, hard. And doesn't move.

It’s staticky, every time Ava reaches, grabs, and claws at Yelena, and the Widow can feel the desperation in every missed attempt. Like somehow she’s pushing some of that annoyance into the air itself.

“Come on,” she growls, fingers grasping nothing as Ava flickers in and out of sight. “Fight me, dammit!”

This time, there’s something much less like smoke slipping through her fingers, more like a wrist to yank on, and Yelena lets out a guttural growl as she tries to pull her from whatever hellscape she had been stuck in.

Ava is screaming, and there is so much pain and torment built into the sound that it hurts Yelena in turn to hear— a sharp, deep feeling in the center of her chest. The momentum catches up with both of them once Ava is solid again and Yelena tucks into herself before rolling to a stop.

“Ava?” she scrambles onto her knees and crawls across the ground toward her, “Hey!” she shouts, shaking the other woman by the shoulders. “No, you don’t get to do this, not now!” The desperate sound to her words is unmistakable. “Wake up!” She screams at the still unmoving body of her friend.

“Please, please, please…” she crumbles against her frame, “Don’t do this to me…” she mumbles into her friend’s shoulder.

She whimpers, weak and pained, in protest against the flood of reality rushing back in. It's all too much. Feeling. Hearing. The awareness of having legs and arms and a heart that's pounding far too fast. She feels dizzy, doesn't want to open her eyes and face the world, eyes screwing shut tighter until tears streak down her cheeks.

Everything hurts. But she's alive. And. And. "Ye-" it's barely a puff through cracked lips, her throat is dry, she whimpers again and tries to will herself to move, tries to remember where her fingers and toes are even located. It's all still scrambled in her brain, and her brain is overwhelmed with trying to figure out what's going on.

The only context is Yelena, who sounds so sad and broken. She manages to move her hand just enough to find hers in attempt to comfort, fingers trembling with the rush of relief of being able to make contact with something real and tangible again. "Yelena," she finally manages to get out, swallowing roughly against the scratchiness of her throat. "You're... so loud."

Despite all her medical trauma, none of it actually took place within an actual hospital. Just lab facilities. And this place seems to be devoid of any actual doctors, no men in white coats trying to hook her up to machines. Yet. And yet she's on edge, entirely caught off guard by the arrival of another because usually nobody manages to sneak up on her.

Ava pivots quick and smooth on her heel, the pointed end of a knife aimed right between his eyes. Even when she recognizes him, she holds it steady, eyes narrowing. "Oh. It's just you."

It's hard to sleep. The mission, Aurora leaving that half-mangled message, everything before that--it's been a lot, and it's been gnawing at Gorgug, making his dreams unpleasant. He hasn't been bothering his friends about it (what can they do?), so he tries to burn off energy--stays out at his lab, or tries to exhaust himself to a point where he can't be woken by the anger that's always sitting in his belly. Wandering around while Etraya's in the state it's in is...maybe not the best, but what the hell else is he supposed to do? Isn't surviving this part of the test, or whatever?

Fucking stupid set up. Fucking stupid mission. And those companion bots, just staring at him, making him argue with his friends, making him a joke.

All that is to say, there is someone inside the diner when Loki enters in: there's a green figure standing with his back to the door, by the serving counter but facing the floor between it and a table. His head snaps back to see Loki, and he scrambles to try and hide something in his hands that's too deliberate to be sneaky.

It probly has something to do with the companion bot on the floor, knocked down, a shattered plate of muffins scattered about. And the object he's failing to hide? Is one of the bots arms, its hand and part of its metal crushed where the half-orc holds it.

"It's closed," he says--half a snarl to begin with, deep, but twisting into something younger and startled, scared by the end of the flimsy tactic he's trying to deploy here. It's the latter that matches his expressiont too, a panic on his face as he breathes heavily, trying to calm a rage.

(And there's something in there, in him, familiar to what Loki has--an encounter with Vanessa that left in them a gift.)

Everything sure got fuckery, quick.

Some of us truly are just trying to walk here when it happens, the world becoming enclosed by trees that reach too high, the skies unsure of what darkened, uncomfortable hue to take. Gorgug's reached for one of his own weapons, just for the discomfort that it wraps around his shoulders, a familiarity to this setting that blinks in and out of his vision, but lingers even when he doesn't think he sees it.

(Silver trees, bogs filled with blood. There's no safety, nothing comforting.)

It might be the best call, for him to have a weapon in hand, a large axe only meant for slicing through opponents, too big to be necessary for anything else. But the reason it might not be a great call, too, is the reaction of the one wielding it when a figure emerges from the trees--unheard until their appearance, and not even Rin heard true footsteps coming upon her (except, that is, the footsteps the forest wanted her to hear; the sense of danger creeping up her spine).

"A-ah!"

Gorgug's reaction, though she isn't anywhere near to him, is to pull back the axe like he might be readying to attack her--except he looks far more spooked and startled and stuck in headlights to do any of that.

P-please don't knife him. (Or do.)

reality bends;

[ Another labyrinth shouldn't be a huge surprise. He barely managed to survive the first one, so maybe his luck will continue, although that sort of thing doesn't ever seem to be in the cards for him.

He moves cautiously through the twisted forest, every muscle tense as gnarled trees try to close in around him, trap him in darkness, branches curling reaching like skeletal fingers. He can hear the howls, the things in the dark, things he should be used to but in this situation, something pricks at his senses, has him on edge, tightlipped, grip right on the gun in his hand.

Steel toe boots crunch against brittle undergrowth, the cottage appearing, a thing he stops to stare at, because he's seen something similar before; a little girl dressed in white, red ribbon in her hair, killing violently like the fairy tales she's hearing until her father finally lets her go.

Dean backs away, stomach twisting in his abdomen. This is wrong. Far more so than last time - sirens, dragons, even puzzles - that he can handle. This is new. Worse.

He leaves the cottage, firmly ignoring the voices in his head, purposefully striding in the opposite direction, searching, tearing through bramble and undergrowth that scratches at his skin, tears at his clothes. A way out, there has to be. There was last time, this can't be an exception. Killing them all defeats the purpose, doesn't it?

The river he stumbles on is volatile, a violent, churning force of nature and he moves back, thinking to simple press on, get away from this, get out. Back to the safety of the bunker and lock the doors. He's too close, though - he'd gotten too close and a thick tendril wraps around his ankle and yanks, sending him to the ground with a shout, dragging him into the water and down, down, down into the dome.

Shit. ]

shadowy haunts;

(( cw; implied child abuse, descriptions of being buried alive and torture - giving/receiving, lightly implied demonic noncon ))

[ Fear is a funny thing, you know? A person can be afraid of the most mundane things; slipping into a gutter, dropping keys into a storm drain, dropping their phone into a river. There's more severe ones, of course - spiders, crowds. The fear of death, of being buried alive. Of a parent. Of hell.

Pure fear is a primal, gut-wrenching thing, a feeling that seizes the body and mind with an overwhelming intensity, that latches on and squeezes with a vice-like grip. Dean's breathing becomes shallow, heart slamming in his chest, a beat steadily increasing, loud in his ears.

He can see him clear as day, his old man approaching, the rage in his eyes. I told you to watch out for Sammy! He can still feel the marks, the hidden bruises, the ache in his ribs. He's coming, John Winchester approaches and Dean backs up as far as he can, the memory - nightmare surrounding him, clear as day. Sammy is in what serves as the motel living room, John and Dean outside, the rage in his voice real, alcohol on his breath tangible.

A litany of cutting remarks spill out, how useless Dean can be, how can he let Sammy get hurt, how could he be so negligent, it isn't like it's difficult, keep him in the room, stay there, and watch over him, how dare you leave? But Dean doesn't scream, he doesn't cry, he stays there and takes it like a man because that's what Winchesters do, isn't it? They take their poundings like men and the move on, they learn from it.

A shift, then it's just darkness all around, suffocating, the air still and stale and running low. It's a pine box lit with the tiniest flicker of Dean's lighter, a rasped cry for help. Time distorts and fear takes hold even more than it did with his father because he isn't terrified of being buried alive, slowly suffocating to death? Logic and reason evaporate, replaced by a raw instinct for survival and he screams and screams, voice already hoarse, until there's nothing left but a whisper, a wrecked sob when he cannot get out. Was he raised from hell only to suffocate and die again, or is this some cruel trick of Alastair?

The world blurs once more, sounds dulling before coming back into sharp focus and this time it's the screams of the damned echoing in your ears.

It's vicious; a twisted loop of every imaginable torture, Hell is nothing what most people imagine it to be. Fire and brimstone, certainly - but watching tragedy after tragedy, stuck in a continuous loop, experiencing it again and again and again -- it’s incomparable. There aren’t words, and Dean has never been able to properly articulate how the time there affected him.

It’s fiery and painful, suffering inflicted upon guilty souls, endless torture, flesh and muscle stripped from bone, every layer - mental and physical - peeled back or perusal, for pleasure. It’s sick, and Dean is a priceless morsel for the demon Alastair. He remembers this pain, remembers it vividly, still dreams about it every night but never speaks of it. The dream - the memory is strong, so strong - it’s as if you’re right there with him, on the rack. Broken and bloodsoaked, screams echoing through the room, bouncing off walls, reverberating through bone, twisting and screaming and begging for mercy all while a white-eyed demon laughs in your face, the knife glinting in his fingers.

A shift and then it's Dean holding the knife, a righteous man broken after thirty years of saying no, no, no!, unable to take it anymore, unable to withstand it. And so he takes over and learns from Hell's best torturer, from Alastair who is pleased with Dean's work, rewards given that Dean does not want.

He is both present and not, remembering, seeing, experiencing, the scent of blood and viscera too thick in the air to breath anything more than shallow breaths through his mouth.

Dean is in the nightmare for twelve days before he's finally spit out, unconscious on the ground. ]

(( feel free to hit either prompt/pick any memory! if you want to do something specific feel free to pm me or hmu at

virtuously. more starters will probably appear below as the mission progresses - Dean will be succumbing to Im'mari eventually, and once he's spit free from the mission he will be a lot like when he had the Mark of Cain, sullen, angry, volatile, prone to lashing out, etc. eventually his eyes will blacken and he'll hit stage three, and he will be keeping color changing (green to black) eyes! ))

( this isn't a fear that rowena has, not of hell, having spent time there, knowing that her soul is destined for hell when she does finally die, but here in this nightmare now she feels the fear, the suffering, the conflict of the man who owns this particular memory. dean with a knife, torturing another soul.

but it's not the only thing she sees, rooted on the spot as she is, more recovered in the days since she'd caught up with him. she sees him there, a more solid appearance than the memory they're trapped in-- )

Dean?

( her voice is quieter, a little hesitant, trying to piece together what she knows with what she sees. except dean has never been an open book to her, rowena not knowing much about his time spent in hell )

i: outside.

[ There are no insects in Etraya.

It's something Lisa was able to conclude after her first rainstorm here. It was the first thing she ever learned about this place. The exception that proved the rule was the labyrinth, but those bugs were huge, meant to be monsters rather than anything else in the ecosystem.

But Etraya has changed. There's tension in the sky and in the earth. The whole city is a monster, and maybe that means Lisa can see some of the creatures she's so sorely missed.

She spends most of her time this month in the decaying hospital, ignoring the apparitions of patients begging for a cure, or the ghostly doctors promise them. She runs her fingers across splintering wood, peers under rickety carts, picks at rotting food in a decrepit cafeteria. Occasionally, she'll slump against the cushioned wall of a cell, closing her eyes for a minute before resuming her search. She doesn't sleep a lot.

Lisa smiles at anyone who crosses her path in the hospital, a smile with too many teeth that nonetheless doesn't reach her eyes. ]

I'd warn against being in here unless you have a reason. Some of those rooms are pretty fucked up.

ii: inside.

[ Maybe you didn't heed Lisa's warning. Maybe you aren't in the hospital at all, but you're instead stepping into another room, in another place. Whatever the origin, your destination is the same: as soon as the door closes behind you, the scene shifts.

You're in a windowless room, deep underground. The door behind you is now heavy steel, and it is locked. In the room is a desk, a switched-off desktop computer, a cot, and a telephone. The room is stuffy, with cobwebs in the corner, and the flickering overhead fluorescent light does a mediocre job of brightening the place up.

There's a young woman sitting on the cot, staring at the blank wall in front of her. She wears a tight purple bodysuit with a long black stripe running down the side. Across her waist is a belt with an eye as a buckle; attached to the belt is a holstered pistol. Her long blonde hair falls over her shoulders, and her face is partially obscured by a black domino mask.

The phone is ringing. Even if you both stand or sit there for several minutes, it won't stop. Compared to the rest of this silent cell, it's awfully loud.

Eventually, Tattletale grins. She still doesn't look at you. ]

Well? Aren't you going to answer it?

[ It's just an ordinary landline telephone. But something about it smacks of dread. Maybe it's that it's not plugged into anything, or that someone who's trying this hard to reach you in a place like this can't possibly be happy with you. ]

ooc notes.

[ The second prompt has warnings for the imprisonment and forced exploitation of children and teenagers. It is also possible to encounter Francis Krouse in the second prompt. Please let me know if you'd like me to go easy on the content warning-related aspects of the above, or if you'd like a thread with both Lisa and Krouse, or just Lisa! ]

[ Castiel feels something is amiss with Dean long before he finds him, a hollowed heap of blinding fear awash in his agony and covered lightly in a sheen of sweat. Were he a mere human he could swear the undertones of sulfur were still present on him, dispersing in the air around them when he's found, and Castiel falls to a knee to heave Dean up and into his lap so that he can brace him by an arm and keep him close when he flies them both home, a blink in time, barely registered between the two of them.

Castiel knows better than to linger, his fears coincide with things no one but he should have to experience. Castiel doesn't leave Dean's side once he deposits him into his bed. He lies a compress over his forehead and lights some of the old still functional incense he'd found in the bunker inside of the room to soothe his crown chakra and help him to lick his wounds with its aroma.

To pass the time while waiting for Dean to rouse naturally, Cas sits at the foot of the bed with his legs crossed tight and reads a book that he'd found on Dean's shelf. Tolstoy. The Death of Ivan Illych. A record is on in the main room, it's playing Led Zeppelin's Cashmere and as he waits he finds the quiet in the room between them all more concerning. Worry knits his brows as his eyes scan the words on the pages in front of him.]

Accelerator very wisely freezes in response to the knife, not moving, not even reaching up for his choker. He isn't looking to pick a fight, and he doubts he'd be fast enough to hit the switch without putting some distance between them first.

So he does the next best thing, which is to remain calm and wait for her to lower the knife, hoping that some dumb thing in the hospital doesn't startle her. He really doesn't want to get stabbed (and potentially die a second time). "Uh huh," he replies steadily, scowling at her. "Why the hell are you here?"

Rin about feels like her heart might jump out of her chest when she sees the axe-wielding figure emerge from the shadows. Accordingly, she shrieks.

She takes a few stumbling steps back, then stops and bends her knees a little, hand going for her sword hilt -- but then she actually registers the person across from her. The way he stands there, the uncertain way he grips his axe... that is not the demeanor of a warrior. More like that of a frightened person trying to defend themself any way necessary.

Also, doesn't that face look familiar? Rin could swear she has talked to him recently.

Carefully, she raises both hands flat in front of her. "D-don't worry! I'm not gonna fight if you don't!"

Accelerator isn't really sure how he ended up in this labyrinth. He doesn't usually stray too far from the central island, usually only leaving to loiter in Nova City or to take some observational measurements within the bubble. Not terribly exciting stuff.

Maybe he wandered a little too far from the coffee shop, whatever. Does it matter? He's here now and he needs to deal with it. Ignoring his surroundings when things are so obviously off would be dangerous. He can smell that familiar stench in the air. He doesn't like it.

Making his way carefully through the dark, it all feels aimless until he hears that scream. Unsure of whether it's supposed to be a trap or not he heads in that direction regardless, because it's something and that's better than wandering around in darkness with no plan. It takes him a minute or two, but he arrives at the room, and the girl from that whole mirror fiasco.

And the bodies. That's a whole lot of bodies. He's thankfully numb to seeing that kind of gore, so he just surveys the whole thing with little change to the expression on his face. "... Shit."

i. shadowy haunts/nightmares entwined: cell
[ cw: past child exploitation, imprisonment, grief, persistent noise, ambient body horror ]

[ Somewhere in the hospital, you step through a door, and end up somewhere you didn't intend to be.

You're in a cell. Either a cell of your own, strangely familiar to you, full of echoes of some moment in your past where you were trapped, or you find yourself sharing a cell with an individual you may not know at first glance, or at all.

The cell that he belongs to is a concrete-walled one with a plexiglass front, otherwise windowless, sunken deep in the earth. The walls are cold to the touch, slightly touched by condensation from the air, and roughly textured. They would hurt to rub skin against too hard, if you didn't have a choice to avoid them.

It's a sparsely furnished space. A low steel-framed bed, a table with two chairs and an unopened deck of cards in the centre, the overhead fluorescent lights buzzing behind tamper-proofed sheets of more plexiglass. The air is close, with the faint smell of staled disinfectant overlying something vaguely like the feverish reek of a sick animal. Somewhere, something is beeping repetitively, a dully piercing low battery alarm going off every few seconds, just loud enough to be not quite ignorable, just quiet enough to not interfere with even murmured conversation.

A young man is sitting on the bed, his head bowed. He's wearing a red and black suit, like something a stage magician or ringleader would wear in a performance, a red vest under a dramatic black coat, but it's apparent that the outfit is more structured and durable than a mere costume. Or, for those familiar with the concept, it's a certain type of costume - one concealing panels of armour, with protective, practical black boots for running, the belt around his waist studded with pouches to hold any number of hidden tricks to pull out in a pinch. There's a red-banded top hat sitting next to him on the dull grey bedspread, and he's wearing a full red face mask with vague features, holes for his lowered eyes, and a hole set in the suggestion of a mouth over his real one just large enough to insert something as thin as a cigarette filter.

His gloved hands are clasped loosely between his knees as he rests his forearms on his thighs, seeming to ignore the new arrival in his cell or the one across the hall. But after a few moments, he lifts his head, and meets their eyes with his own dark, intense, hollowed out ones. ]

What are you in for?

[ He asks, quietly, like it's a joke. Behind him, on the wall above the bed, painted in stark orange warning letters, reads: TRICKSTER: SIMURGH EXPOSURE PROTOCOLS IN EFFECT. ]

ii. shadowy haunts/nightmares entwined: coil
[ cw: past child exploitation, child abuse, extortion, threats of violence, manipulation, imprisonment ]

[ Or you find yourself, instead, stepping into a windowless office, also buried underground. The office is darkly elegant, simple in design but luxurious in execution, dominated by a large, faintly shining black desk. Someone is sitting behind it, although whoever it is, only their folded hands sheathed in form-fitted black fabric are visible - somehow, the shadows at the back of the office conspire to conceal the man at the desk.

The young man from the cell is standing in the center of the room, not seated at the sole chair across from the desk, like he hasn't earned the right to it. He's in full costume, his top hat planted on his short black hair, and his hands are raised as he speaks - or was speaking, until the new arrival interrupted. ]

- we'll improve, and I take full responsibility for the aspects of the situation that my team was -

[ The young man cuts himself short, his raised hands closing into fists that are defensive in the sense that he seems to want to catch the words he had been speaking out of the air as he glances over his shoulder. The pair of hands folded above the desk flex slightly, fingers working against each other, as the concealed individual takes note. ]

Hello. [ Says the man behind the desk, his voice rich, smooth, authoritative without being brusque. ] I wasn't expecting an interruption, but I'll permit it. Perhaps you can provide some insight into the...aspects of the situation I seem to be unaware of.

[ The young man's face isn't visible, but his flinch shows in the slight tensing of his shoulders under his jacket. ]

They weren't involved. [ He says, quickly, turning back to face the desk and squaring his shoulders. ] As I was saying -

Two interruptions, [ the man in the shadows says, as though he finds that interesting ] Let's avoid a third. I'll ask for your opinion when it's relevant. Now, let's hear from our new arrival.

[ The young man drops his fists to his sides, then makes a conscious effort to relax them. The sound of his inhale fills the silence. It is, apparently, the new arrival's turn to speak - perhaps to make a comment, or ask a clarifying question, or anything else that comes to mind. ]

iii. wildcard/contact
[ You can reach me by PM,

terriblepurpose, or same username on Discord. Feel free to hit me up for a wildcard or plotting at the plotting post as well! Please indicate if you would like Lisa Wilbourn to also be present (as a voice from the adjacent, unseen cell next to his) in the first prompt. ]

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Page 1 of 26

MISSION 005 (part 1)

ava starr * ota

ii;

no subject

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Loki | MCU | OTA

Asano Rin | Blade of the Immortal

Contamination

no subject

Edward Elric | FMA: Brotherhood (open)

fuck;

i.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Shadowy Haunts

Reality Bends

dean winchester | supernatural - ota

no subject

lisa "tattletale" wilbourn | worm | ota

shadowy haunts

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Shadowy Haunts

Francis Krouse | Worm | OTA