Deer Country Network

cw: terrorism

(can one even make out what's happening? there's just a lot of frantic movement. there's a point it does stop and one will spot some familiar establishments. it seems this is taking place in WILLFUL MACHINE and whoever is the recorder is up high like on a rooftop of some kind. finally the recorder speaks, it's a (ooc: mugman/cuphead goofy accent) voice no one will recognize except fang or vi since he doesn't usually speak unless needed:)

Oh man, oh man! I only looked away for a few seconds. Where did she go now?

(well to answer this omen's question, there's some shots being fired somewhere in the distance. the omen monkey screeches and back to the frantic running. occasionally in his pants, one can hear him say,"We might have an emergency! Someone might be hurt!" there's a maniac crackling, too. it's echoing in the skies and becomes louder the more this omen is getting closer to the scene. and finally now on ground level, there are trenchies running from the opposite direction from where this omen is sitting -- luckily, they are darting out the way so he won't get trampled over.

and there is jinx with her gun aiming down at the citizen lying there on his back. is there blood? yes, there is. the trenchie is definitely wounded on his shoulder in which he grips over.)

Please, I'm sorry!! I-I didn't mean to pull on your hair. It was an accident, I swear!!

(all...this...fuss over a hair tug? it's like jinx has forgotten how ridiculously long her braids are. however though, she doesn't seem to be taking the apology but instead grinning wickedly before crouching down to the stranger. the barrel is press hard underneath his chin; maybe it'll leave an imprint there. she certainly hopes so. chewing on her bottom lip, she finally decides to speak...sorta.)

♪ Ice in my veins
I run in the night
Ready to fight
It's Do or Die ♪
(ooc: lyrics here if you want follow along.)

( we're gonna drop it like a bomb )

--ecord!

[the omni obeys, but it's the unacknowledged omen that's the real mvp: the little rat has begun recording even before the words are out, and she's chosen video, her sleeper's username, and because she's very fast (and also immortal) she can book it with little difficulty. her eyes flick upward: mike runs just ahead of her, as if she's ushering him toward one thing and away from the other. she's zig zagging now, under his feet and coming out barely ahead.

it's nothing but a rising, humming roar, any words shouted over it incomprehensible as the view through the omen's eyes bends around a corner - and another. another.

another.

the roaring is both steady and staticky through the broadcast the suggestion of itself filling in the gaps in the noise - a dreadful ouroboros of a run that somehow ends with the appearance of an elevator, doors open wide to consume as mike dives inside, head down and eyes fixed on the button panel. a forceful push of one button that can't be seen until the camera tilts and the rat's in and up and up again - sitting on his shoulder.

DOOR CLOSE is where the finger's jabbed and holding, chest heaving but no sound that can rise above the roar of the thing that gives chase. the omen's eyes do rise just as the door closes, and she does what her sleeper will not: she looks at it.




j̵̢̡̨̡̘̻̤̱̹̟̗̝̻͖̠̞͚͔̰̼͇͚͎̭̺͔̰̱̘͈̺͇̹̲͍̘̖̭͔̼̄̈́̐̇̉͛̄̏́̅͂̆̍͋̀̆͌̈́̈̔͆͒̓̈̀̃͒̓̿͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅͅ ̴͓̲͓̝͕́́͒̋͊͑͝ự̸̲̣͙̺̪̼́̃̏͆̆͒͋̈͋̿͋͒͐̑́͆̋̽̆̔̚̕͘ ̶̧̨̧̛̛̥͚̯͈͓̭̹̙̝̺͚̹̺̺̬̹̻͔͚̱̮̭͙͍̼͕̙̭͇̬͈̙͎͉͌̂̊̇̑͊̀̎̅̄͆̊̈́̎͛̆͗̀̍̚͘̕͘̚͘͜͠͝͝͠s̷̨̨̩̼͓̲̥̠͖̼͓̳͍͙͖͓̝͉̜̭̗̠̳̻̟̫̞̘̖͚̯̹͕̘̗͓͍͚̙͖̣͍̦̟͐̂̍̇̽́̾́̂̍͂͐̏̓͛̔̑̋͒͛̃̾̇̚͝ ̵̢̧̢̲̥̦͈͖͙̯̩͚͉̜̞̤̠̙͕̠̫̊̃͌̎̇͝ṯ̴̡̨̛̘̞͔̙̹̘̪̥͇̹̳͕͎͙̹̮̝̗̤͙̥̥̠̬̞̗̔͂́͒́͗͂͐̉̌̇̾̔̋̏̑̈́̈́́̀̄̈́̀̆̀̂͂̽̀̔̂̕͘͘͜͜͝͝͠͝ ̶̛̛͙̂́͌̅̀͊͛͊́͐̉̿̅̾̔̎́̇̋͆̊̈́͑̂̓͘͘̕͘͝͝͠͝ ̵̨̨̧̱̪͎̫̯̰̫̱̜̙̪̪̻̬͔̠̤͕̟̠̟̖̘̳̟͈͖͎̜̠̯̹̥̖̄̇͋͛͆̓͆͛̓́̍̇̄͌̀̈́̔͑͌͂̾͒̋̇̈́̿͆͒̂̓͐̓̕͘͜͜͠͠ͅ ̷̢̡̧̢̢̛͖̮̠͓̞͔̥͈̺̟͇͚̮̫̹͙̺̲̬̬͑͋́̀̑̊́̓̂͛̈́̔͊́̎͒̂͆̾͋͂̓̄̉̆́̈̋̽̂͗͋̚̕͜͝͝ ̵̧̧̨̢̭͇͖̺̰̲̗͚̞̪͇͔̼͕̞̤̞͚̱̺̙̖͓͉̝̼̖̙̖͚͕̦͓̞̦̭̯̪̞̞̹̺̅̈͐̇͑̐̌̅͋̆̐̔̂̽̊̅͛̍̿̇̈́̚̕͘͜͝͝͝͠ͅͅd̷̨̢̛̛̛̦̗̝̘̙̩̰̫̙̥̰̥͔̳̳̘̠̊̈́̏̿̍̃̿̓͗͂͋͒̊̈̈͂̈́̌́̚̕̚͘̕̕͠͠ ̴̛̛͈̣̣͉͐̉̌͒͐̂̓̊̃̌̀̍̀̽́̓͗͆̌͛̃̕͘͠͝͝͝͠r̵͕̣̆͋͗͒̄̓̎̏͗͆͌̏̋̚̕ ̷̨̡̧̡̨̨̡̡̧̨̛̮̱͖̞̳͎̜̝̤̲͍̥̟̭̥̜͓̠̥͙̼̲̹̟̹̙̲̤̘̱͔̝͍͌́̀̄͑͂̈́̓̾́̋̋̀͗̈́̑̎̿̋͋͒͋̐̓͛̎̿̏̐̂̅̌͑͊̄͊̌́̈̽͘̚̚͜͝ͅͅͅͅȩ̵̢̨̡̧̢͚̗̘͚̩̣͇͎̺̲̮̰̤̜̠̪͓̳̮̠̗͈͖̟̙̣̿̽̅̈̑̽̀̎͆̀̈̈́́̂͌̋̋͜͠ ̶̧̡̡̨̡̡̦̼̫̣̥̙̣͉̰̗̲̬͔̰̝̭͖̼̥̼͉̞͉̂̀̍̀͐̽̓̈́̏̎̃̔̃̒͂̎̋̌͂̒̈̑̽̕̕͜͝a̷̧̮̺̗̜̲̭̗̤͔̎̅̈̏͒̉͗͊̔̏̀̾̚ͅ ̸̨̡̮̤̩͖͔̝͇͉̩̜͙̫͙̯̭͍̭̰͍̘͇̼͕͍̱͇̠̮̼̥͍̩̦̹̼͍̘̪̄͐̄̓̃̒̍͌̈̒̽̋͂͌̆̅́̊̓̐͗̎̌́͐̈́́̚͜͜͝͠͠ͅͅḑ̶̢̢̡̟͚̙̳͎̪̤̭̩̙̟̳͉͓͖̥̥͇̜̤̼̲̖̜͚̗̏̀̔͑͆̚ ̷̢̧̧̡̳̼͍̪̮̮̟̝̯̯͙̹̬͙͕̦͓̤̣̘͚̜̺̙̰̬̹̙͔͓̼̰͍̙͖̱̱̮̌̓͛͂̽̍͝͝͠ͅ ̵̛͈͖̞̳̞̠̗̗̼͈̱͗̈́̈́͆͒̔̐̑̈́̒̓̓͊͂̓̔̀̔̏̾͆̐̄̽̔͌̑̉̃͛͒̑̒̀̕͘͘͝͝͝a̴̧̡̰͎̫̬̙̥̖͎̯͇̖̩̲̻̰̟͖̜̖͉̓̒̊̄̉̈̇͌͋̽̐̑͑͌̂͌̎͗͊̊̈̾̓͑́̊̇̊̒̉̀̂̃̈́͗͛̍͑̊͘̚͝͠͠n̴̨͋́͗̎̏̌͑̓̾́̾́̊̐́̍͌̿̔͑̈́̏̂̈͘̕͝͝͝͝͠d̸̞͈̩̭͎̞̺̤̱̩̭̥̪̭͐̋̓͛͗́͐͜ ̶̨̨̨̧̛̛̛͇̹̥̲̗͉͕͕̩̤͕̭̭̩̥̬͇̻͍̼̞̪̲̩̩̱͔̮̺̞͓̼̠͖̓͑̀̄̇̆̉͋̾̒̔̅̀̀̓̎̎̂͌͛͗́͆͌̒͐̿͋̂̈̓͐͂̑͂̋̇̔̕͘͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅ ̸̨̢̨̛̭̰̱̲̼̮̘̻̱̺̫͙͉̘̦̞̹̖̤̯̫͓̯̰̱̦̜̱̞̗͍̻͈̙̟̗̫̼̇̊̿̀͐͗̿̏̃̉̏̎̍̊̈́̐̎̐̾̊͒͛̓̆̐̃̊̎͘̕͜͠͝͝͠ͅf̸̛̛̝̰̥͇̠̟̱̼̤̤̣̪͙̯̣̹͖̱͕̰̗̝̟̤̓̌́́̀̃̈́̏̒̄́͋͒̊̔̊̌̓͐͑̃̊͛͐̕̕͜͝͝͝ ̴̢̡̨̧̘̫͓̪͍͈̲̭̩͖̝̳͔̭͓̹̦͕͍̺̪̻̣͖̞̹̙͙̲̬̯̗͎̖̬̱͎̞̫͉̯̠̙̉̋͛̆̆͛̓̊̒̏̀̓̄̈́̀͐̈́͛͊͛͜ͅe̵̢̛͎̤͔͔̱͕̦̺͖͔͖̬͙͔͖̻̰̺̟̖̝͛͂̈́͑̌́̔̆̀̏̊́͆͊͛̈́͋̎̃̑̃̈́̒̽̏͑͝͝ ̵̛͉̭̬̽̆͆͐͐̀̈́́͌̇͐͑̋͑̔̅͑̀͆͐̒͑̈́͌̓́̃͒̅̐̈́̋̔̍͑̓͗̚̚͘͘͝͝a̸̛̰̭̲̦̥̲͉̠͈̒̏̆̑̉̃͂̽͑̀̽́͛̀͑̀͒̽̌͛̈̈́͒͂̌̀͋͆͌̆͑͌̈̊̓͑̆͊̐̽͗͒̈́̏͘͝͝͝ ̴̢̢̡̨̢̧̛̪͚͙̙͉̫̜̹̹͎͙͇̜̤̺̥͚̟̻̃̌͂͆͊͒̀̄̀̅͌̿̃̊͂͑̓̂̍̔̂̃̾̀̒͑͛̋̌͑̈́̅̕̕̕͜͝͠ͅͅŗ̴̢̨̛͉͇͎̱̜̩̮͙͈̥͓̣͍̥̘͉̠̥̠̦̼̭͔̳̩̫̟̳͓̤̺̲͖͙̾̎͆̾̋̿̊̾̑͑͊̔̈́͊̓̿̇́̽̃̍̒̏͌͒͂̏́̋̍̂͊͗̀̔̓̋̈́̓͘̕͘͘͜͜͝͠ͅ ̶̧̨̨̡̡̢̡̻̖̩̦̦̗̯͓̜̭͇͔͚̘̝̼̭̺̲͇̠̞͓̻̺̝͇̲͚̫̝̮̒̉͗͐͒̍͋̉̓͌͆̀̅̄͆̒͗͋̃̆͌̿̏͑̊̄̾͒̑̚̕͘͜͜͝͝͝ ̷̡̨̢̧̡̡͉̤̲̘̥̰̯̤̰̺̺͓̥̟̣͙̱͔̤͕̙̙͌͛̀̀͊̊́̈́̌̑̓͆̏̎͘͘͠ḩ̷̨̨̡̞̗̩̙͔̰̤̲̗̱͓̱͖͔̙̙̣̠̟̫̰̺̈͂̓̄̾͐͋̑̓́͂̋̓̒́͌̆̑̏́͛̔̓̅̽̂̈́̈́͘̚̕̕͜ ̵̧̨̟͙̰͔̳̮̬̪̱̝̠̟̬͕̯͔̤͈͉̥̦̙̺͇̻̳̾̅́͌̈́͋̿͜͠͠ͅȩ̸̛̦̰̖̻̲͚̩̗̯̖̜͍̼̠͎͈̦͕̖͇̦̩̞͈̤͎̺͎̭̪͖͋̂̾̎͋̏̇̈́̓̄̑͊̾͋͂̈̈͂̈́͂̊͋̽͘̚̚̚͘͜͜͝ ̸̡̢̨̛̛͔͉̦͎͓̤̥͔̖̪͈̲̯̪̞̬͖̤͙͓̦̠̙͖̏̒͌̽̽̃̀́̂́͗̒̊͠͝͝ͅr̸̙̙͔͕͍̤̼̜̺̩͍̭͚̬̤̘͍͓̤̹̿̔̊̉̃̍̋͐͋͆̄͌̌͆̏̔̌̓͒̈́̈̊̏̐̽͂̐̈́̿͂̃͌̌̒̈́̚̚̚͠ͅͅͅ ̶̡̘̝̻́̋̈́̔̔̾̂̓̀̀̂̆́̽̎̅̇͗́̌̔͂́̈́͆̓͋͠͠e̷̡̧̛͇̭̠̼̥̹̾͒̕




static and blackness and a series of sharp bangs - three - enough to shake the elevator and the makeshift omen camera - and a cutting in and out of view.


.̵̢̛̜̻̝͈̭̪͔̗̳́̒̋̓̒͊͘.̵͕̠̦̮͂́̏́͒͝.̴͍̱͍̎͋̇̒̽̓̈́̈́͆͋͐̊͌̇̚͝͝ ̴̧̛̯͔͙̰̭̺͎̄̓̏̔͋̾̀͌̆̅̒̋̐̓̀̈͘͝ͅ




.̵̡̧̢̨̬͉͉̪̫̱͎̮̎̈́̀̽́̎͋̀̏̀̏̎̋̀̐̇̽͠͝.̴̧̫͙̬̳͕̻̫̺͋͗͋̈́̋̿̾̂̈́̆͘͘͠ͅ.̴̢̧̛͉̙̗͔͕͉̬̞̭̫͙̦̻̤̦͕͚̋͋̿̌̆͆̇̈́̍̒̃̓̌͒͗̔̕̕͠͠ͅ.̸̡̢̬͎͈̟̥̠̹̖͔̼̼͔͙͔̘͔̻̺͚̒̈̿̎̓͜͝ͅ.̶̣̗̮̺̰̻͍̥̬͚͕̯́̓̈́͛͒͠.̸͉̹͕̲̦͓̱͍̲͕̤͇̣͚̣̝̟͙͍͔̅̒̆̃̐̓̌̈́̈͌̓͊̑̒̌̃̓͝.̷̢̛̛̛͙͙̰͇̳͕̩̈͑̾͊̔̂̔̎̆́̽̆̂̿̔̇͋̊̆̒.̴̙͔͙̹͇̫̠̟͔̏̚.̷̡͔̫͕̓̈́̊͐̒̓̑̿͛̽͊͐̽̇̉̌͝͝ͅ.̷̡̢̳̰͖͓̲̮̮̠̱̖̙̬̙̙̓͑̀̏̃́̅̐̈́̒͊͐͒̑̒̽̀̽͝͠͝͝.̴̢̺̝̟͔̦͉̞̮̳̘̻̳́͛͛͂͂͌.̸̢̙̲̻͍̠͍̺͎͕̰͉͔̯̞͇̬̒̀̈́̽̑̔̓̐̀̎̍̀̀̇͌͛͋̕͜͠.̷̧̯͔̭̻̦̹̪̹̰̥̌͗̈͐͗͛̿͂̀͠͝.̶̢̦̱͓̮͈͕͕̬̜͈̭̦͈̾͊͑͐̓͌̔̉̽͒̄̄̑̾͆͑͊͗͝͠.̷̛̩̗̫̀̀͑̑͊͊̇̍͛̀̈̓̾̆̕̚





.̵̨͖̝̯̩̀̉̋̊̕.̵̜͉̎̍̈́̀̚͝.̶̤̰͖̣̩̎̇̔͠


a quick blip of a hall before it gives into static before smoothing out into darkness and small bits of roving light from the omen's eyes.

a slightly out of breath whisper, and it's shadows and shapes; and if you've been in these vents (or any vents) it might be familiar. it's cramped. it's taken a while for him to stop hyperventilating - now he's just ...winded.]

Didn't get the first bit, but that's ---ah, that's probably why I'm up here and able to get this. Whatever that was, it's not up here.

[he's moving through, letting out a long exhale and trying not to think about the last time he was in a vent. so far, so good, no rushing sounds, no clickety clacking, nothing following him but the rat. the rat's not rattled. not really.]

Not a clue how I got there, but there wasn't where I am now. The short version is 'I was leaving a bookstore, and then I wasn't. Ended up in enemy territory, and if not for the sudden appearance of an elevator, ...outlook not so good.

So. Live from the air ducts of what looks to be an empty hospital with bunch of locked doors and no staff, we have a man with no plan other than to try and get the fuck out of here. Hall was was useless. Seemed like a bit of a stretch [HA] to try this shit again, but why not---

Do you hear that?

[there are indeed voices up ahead - and the closer he moves, the closer the omen moves - the easier they are to hear. (though none of it's easy to listen to.)]

░ąçɾìƒìçҽʂ ░░░░ ҍҽ ʍąժҽ be ░

էհҽ ░░░░░░░░ ìʂ ժҽçąվìղց

ҍҽƒօɾҽ ìէ ցҽէʂ ░░░ ░░ ░░░░


[the slow, careful shuffle of movement and then a steady fast advance of the camera, and a quick pan down through the grate for a rats' eye view of a woman with a badly mutilated throat and two ...monstrous companions. to anyone that has seen them before, they are recognizable as zealots. none of them look correct, and the woman looks sharply up - lips and teeth in her throat moving to form words that are hard to decipher - even through the omen:

░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ I̵̡͊t̶̻̔ ̷̞̈́s̶̝̏ĕ̴̘ę̵̎m̷̬̒s̴͑ͅ ̷̩̄ẗ̷̖h̴̡͑e̷̱̍ ̶̺̅p̴̳͗r̶̭̔o̶̹͆b̸̲͂l̵̻̉e̶̬̕m̸͕̎ ̷̜͊ḩ̴͑a̵̱͘s̶̜͊ ̷͚̂░░░░░░░░░░░░.̵̫͘ ̴͕̈́W̸̹͌ḙ̵̐ ̴̧̛w̷͇͌i̷̼̊ļ̸͘l̸̠͠ ̸͇̔n̶̪͂e̵̜͝e̶͎͝d̵̝̒ ̶̱͋ẗ̸̹́o̶̦̽ ̴͚͑
░░░░░░░░░░░ ̷̀͜s̶̘̚e̶̖̕ċ̷̠u̶͈̍r̸̕ͅi̷̱̓t̸̰̅y̵̼̓░░░░ ░░░░░░░░ ░░░░

[she reaches up and out and grasps what seems to be the air itself - a shimmer and a flash of light, a rush of dark smoke and the sounds of grinding, screaming metal, or a screaming man as the video cuts.

moments later:]


This.

This is familiar.

I know this one, but it's not where I started, or where I was headed.


[video again, a quick pan of the area around the gate from a very low view. the rat will stand on her hind legs to get a better angle before cutting the recording and scurrying into the shadows, and finally back into her sleeper.]