The Twisted Earth (Post-apocalyptic Role play) (Started - Closed)

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The inferno of agony and bane that burned ever so brightly in his prize's bulging eyes extinguished gradually in the mere moments following the rather untimely and gruesome 'accident'. The Doctors blood-flecked gaze remained steadfast and unwavering as the stranger before him descended into the great unknown. Blood and bile began to drench the madman's knees as whatever fluids the man still held dear emptied onto the cold sterile floor, the foul stench of death and decay wafting through the chamber like a great plague.

In the midst of his slaughter came the picture perfect image of a fable learnt long ago, rushing through the biological archive of his mind like a raging torrent. The visage of flowing raven black, draped atop stark white frames of calcium; the ominous looming crescent of glistening steel and intricate grains of sand permanently in the stasis of slender-waisted, forged glass. The tale of 'Death', not the state; but the anthropomorphic creature. As a youngling, the guise was but a farce; the sum total of man's fear of the unknown amalgamated into one. But the more Mortis came to face death, me more he became acquainted. The ideal of combating such a beautiful monstrosity on terms of physical prowess and mental genius became an experience he had come to enjoy, to embrace! The delusion of mocking the very end of man had become his driving force.

Mortis trance was brought to an abrupt end by the accented and flustered beckoning that resonated in his wake
"The feck is wrong wit' ye?..."
Mortis delved into the faded red cross emblazoned bag, ignoring Irish's frantic calls and withdrew a small steel cylinder, the length of his finger with the width of a pencil. On it's side was a clear glass window that highlighted the crimson that flowed freely into it's tiny chamber as the doctor jammed it into the aorta of the disembowelled corpse at his feet. When the vial was sated the thin sliver of steel that pierced his prize slid autonomously into cylinder, sealing itself and the precious sample within.

"My finger slipped."

Mortis cocked his head and locked optics with his new companion. An innocent smile gracing his features, angelic even; his tone akin to child's rehearsed apology. The signs of disgust were richly ingrained into the addressing man's mien who appeared close to reliving his own stomach's contents.

"You can use most of the sterilising agents I have left to tidy up this little mess but would you kindly leave me just enough to clean my equipment?" Mortis lifted himself out of the dead-man's ichor and placed one of his bony claws on their drivers shoulder.

"Get us to somewhere quiet in Crux, off of the merchant district. Darker the better" Mortis waved his other patchwork paw towards Ashe who was still attempting to regain normal breathing.

"Could you tie little oul' Blake up; we cant have him pulling another tantrum now can we ... pretty please?" His voice was childish but not mocking, unsettling for his scarecrow image.

Mortis was now raised at full mast, his eye's locked on the fool still positioned on the base of the Foundation vehicle, smile brimming once more. His finger thumbing the vial of the strangers blood hidden in his pocket as he spoke. "When we get to Crux, we need to have a little chat ... Angel."

Ford placed one hand over his mouth as he began to drive towards Crux, the vehicle bumping as he swapped to the cracked asphalt from the uneven desert ground. The Sun was high in the sky now, it was a clear afternoon with no clouds in sight. "Y'all know where you wanna go? 'Cause I know where this 'ere Fargo's place is?" Ford called over his shoulder.

In the distance, the outline of Crux was growing larger. A few destroyed buildings where beginning to litter the roadside and breaking the skyline, the Ziggurat could be seen in the distance, several miles into Crux.

Ashe nodded and picked up some bungee chords that have been left by the foundation. She tied them into an elastic rope that should be capable of not being broken, at least not easily. Ashe took the hunter's legs and wrapped the first rope at his ankles, then she made another and tied it at Blake's wrists. She tied them as tight as they could go and moved Blake aside.

As she was making sure that Blake's restraints were sufficient she noticed Marcus. He was and still is kind of the leader of the group despite his condition at the moment.

"Hanging in there Marcus?"

Shaun had recovered from the hit from Blake and witnessed the horrific event unfold in-front of his eyes, his face froze at the sudden death of the man that they saved and almost died while doing it.

The only thing he could of think of is if he could of stopped Blake or Mortis from unleashing the events that lead the stranger to his death, this made Shaun pissed off at the two mad men. Fuck, why would they do this! Shaun thought and then looked at Mortis, put back his fake smile on and replied, "That would be great, we do it over a drink, I think I need one after this...hehe" Shaun lightly chuckled as he started to look out of the window.

Irish scoffed at the gangly man's excuse. Oh, his finger slipped. Well tha's just feckin' dandy, ain't it? I'm smellin' the lower intestines of a man I never even met, the humvee's a feckin' mess, and we gotta clean it up. But wait, it's all okay, 'cause it were a just a wee mistake 'e says. This day just keeps gettin' better. Frustration was building up, and Irish struggled to keep levelheaded. He grabbed his pack, tossed it up front and sat in the front passenger seat and just stared out of the window, leaving himself to his own thoughts.

Ford drove the humvee along one of the estates web of side streets, Looking for a building to accommodate. Slowly, the vehicle came to a stop and Ford switched the engine off. He looked outside of the car and pointed to a small run down shop. "We can use tha' for now, 'till you guys are ready to move." Ford said.

Marcus groaned and opened the rear door. With a sickening squelch, the corpse fell from the vehicle and slammed against the floor, leaving a splatter of blood. Marcus stepped out and over it, gripping his side. He looked to the sky, the Sun was high it must have been midday. "We can't leave this body out in the open, smell will attract mutants and others...We needa get rid of it, maybe some of the cleaning stuff can help with the smell?" Marcus said.

He walked towards the shop and pushed against the door, it opened creakily. Inside, cans and other items littered the floor. The shop must have been a general store. Shelves ran across the floor and tills were set against the far wall. What little light there was came from the cracks in the windows and patched roofing.

Mortis launched himself from the back of the dirt and bloodstained vehicle, landing gracefully as he could atop his spindly, jigsaw legs. The coarse dust and grime of the twisted wastes was a welcome transition from the sleek pools of bile and blood that had been the base for their majority of the ride to Crux. By his side was the haphazardly placed mutilated body of the stranger they had adopted on their daring escape from the dome of gruesome arachnids and militaristic maniacs, cast aside from the vehicle with callous disregard for forensic precaution. Mortis considered making a rather firm point about how to treat his 'toys' but time was of the essence, as deserted the district appeared it was common knowledge, oul' Balthy has eye's and ear's everywhere and a lump of meat that reeks of death was sure to draw attention.

"Here. I'll be busy with my playthings, use this to clean up the blood." Mortis drew a hard turquoise plastic bottle from recesses of his doctors bag and placed in the grasp of the stray merchant that had opted to join their band of arms-men in the unified cause of duress.

"Just make sure to leave enough to sterile my tools" Mortis added glibly as he grabbed the corpse with the open chest at his feet and began dragging it inside the run-down building.

The humvee came to a stop and Irish took it upon himself to make a swift exit. His slipped his pack on and slung his rifle over his shoulder and took a deep breath, appreciating the (mostly) clean air of the city. "Well, glad to be outta tha' feckin' stink tank. It's good to be back to civili-" before he could finish his sentence, the lone survivor of the practices of 'Dr. Gangle' opened the rear hatch and stepped out, though it was not the man's exit that cut Irish short. What had, was the exit of the less-fortunate patient; the sounds of wet organs sliding against the steel, then plopping onto the ground. The sound brought forth the very thing he was trying to push out of his mind. Irish finished his sentence in a considerably less cheery tone, "-zation..."

Irish refused to look towards the source of the sounds, but turned hesitantly as he noticed the man who clambered out walking towards a hopefully abandoned shop. He shifted his pack into a more comfortable position and prepared to hustle after the man and investigate the building. However, before Irish could take one step, 'Dr. Gangle' followed suit and made a swift exit of the vehicle and soon handed Irish a plastic bottle with some sort of fluid and told him what it was for.

"Just make sure to leave enough to sterile my tools." The doc finished before going off to drag the body into the shop.

"Now 'old on just a tick," Irish called after him, "ye can't really believe I'm gonna be the one cleanin' up yer mis'ap, can ye?" The doc was approaching the building and likely paid him no mind. Irish just sighed and waved him off before turning to the humvee. "Feckin' 'Ell..."

Ashe hopped out of the Humvee as soon as Irish had finished with his talk with Mortis. She looked around making sure that none saw the gore that had gotten on the most of their clothes. Ashe shared the same discomfort that Irish had with Mortis dragging the dead body in the building that was hopefully abandoned.

"Here Irish..." Ashe said as she lent a hand in cleaning most of the blood from the Humvee. "After this where should we go?"

Marcus limped around the inside of the shop, Steyr Aug in one hand the other clutched at his side. The floor was caked in dust and as he looked behind him, he could see his foot prints in the rays of light that broke through the boarded windows and broken walls. He made his way into the storage room at the back and found nothing. The place was empty, looted many years ago. Walking back out, he went to the till closest to the main door. Walking around it, something caught his eye. Looking down a small piece of paper was still attached to the desk. He picked it up and found that it was a picture. On it, a small child was riding atop his Fathers shoulders. Marcus looked at the date in the bottom right corner. 22/08/2004.

the front door opening brought Marcus back to earth, he looked up to see Mortis bringing the corpse back inside. Casting the photo aside and letting it drop to the counter, he walked towards Mortis. "There's a storage room out back, stick 'im in there." Marcus put a hand on the door, about to walk through, but paused for a second. Turning back to Mortis. "Thanks, for patching me up. I doubt I'da made it otherwise." Without a second Glance Marcus walked through the doors.

The sunlight glared in his Eyes, he raised a hand to block it for a second. Watching the trader and Ashe cleaning the truck. He walked over and peered in. "Wha' we gunna do 'bout Blake? He's gunna be pissed when he wakes up?" Marcus asked.

"Thank ye, miss." Irish said, looking at the girl who had offered to help. He had already clambered back into the humvee, setting his pack and rifle aside. He found a scrap of cloth and doused it with the sterilizing fluid, then handed the bottle to the girl. "I don't believe we've been properly acquainted, though it seems ye've caught me name and I've yet to catch yers. And to answer yer question, I just wanna get somewhere where I can get a drink, then somethin' to eat." Irish's stomach made a low growl, almost in defiance, and he clutched his stomach as it tightened and churned. "Per'aps food first...I could eat the lamb o' Jaysus through the rungs of a chair." He chuckled to himself a bit. "In ot'er words, I'm very 'ungry."

Irish was in the middle of scrubbing some dried bile when the fortunate patient returned to the humvee and addressed the issue with Blake. "Well...I could probably try an' calm 'im down some iffen 'e's angry, then per'aps we could find out just what it were that pissed 'im off. And 'opefully with less nose-breaking..."

Abandoned shelves lined with bits and bobs of junk lay rested flimsily against the age worn walls of the tiny storage room. Cracks crept across the weathered tile floor; a spindly mosaic of a time long passed. At the heart of the dimly lit room was a counter just large enough to host the 'less than alive' guest they had adopted along their journey. Mortis' toy was illuminated almost angelically by the stream of light that seeped in from the great ball of fire resting aloft the wastes shining through broken and jagged barrier of glass on the foremost wall.

"He that toucheth the dead body of any man shall be unclean seven days..."
Mortis' words echo'd through the emptiness as he swiped his hand along the corner of the makeshift operating table, sending forth a small cloud of dust and grime that mixed with the stale stench of blood and a prosperous time long past.

"But I can't help myself..."
A smile crept across his demented features as he gently lowered his signature black bag on the edge of the now blood drenched slab. He unfastened the clips at the maw of his crimson cross emblazoned bag and withdrew an array of bloodstained, silver instruments that ranged from simple scalpels to jagged hooks and nightmarish pincers. Mortis loomed in closer, positioning a ghastly drill shaped tool just above the stranger's left eye.

"I'm just so damn curious..."

"I think we should put him in the building. Somewhere that has a lock. That should slow him down, I hope."

Ashe grabbed the bottle and soaked some piece of cloth with the weird smelling fluid. She dabbed the cloth in it then proceded to wipe down the metal floors of the Humvee where just a few moments ago, entrails painted it red.

"As for my name..." Ashe hesitated, not sure if Irish had heard of her before. Everyone that she's come across has heard her father's but what of the his daughter? "It's something that I'm not willing to share at the moment."

"Well, per'aps summat to call ye fer now?" Irish asked, a bit curious as to why she chose to remain so illusive. He held the rag out of the window as he wrung some of the blood and bile from the rag. "'Less ye don't mind just 'Miss' fer the time bein'."

Shaun sluggishly dragged his belongings along with himself out of the Humvee and muttered to himself, "Well that took forever" he muttered as he grabbed the rocket launcher and walked to a near by chair and relaxed himself and his weapons while being objected to the current events. The doc is crazy... He thought as he heard the current talk from Ashe and the others, "A vault would be more helpful!" Shaun chuckled in the background as he started to clean his guns.

Marcus laughed at Shaun's remark. "Be 'bout the only thing that'd stop him. I say we leave him tied up, but sit 'im in the shade eh? Might take it better than being locked up?".

He looked at Crux in the distance, it was maybe an hours walk to the merchants district. "We needa pick up supplies, maybe more ammo to eh? What we gunna do with Shaun's data stick then? Blake mentioned someone who might be able to help, but I doubt he's gunna do it for free?" He raised his Steyr Aug, looking at the magazine locked into place and the empty ones sat in his webbing. "I'm down to my last thirty rounds. Not sure about you guys, but that ain't gunna get very far..."

"Fine, I guess somewhere isolated. That should give us a head start." Ashe said mopping up. She pulled back from the Humvee readjusting her vest. She checked what was left of her ammunition left as well. Aside from a few magnum rounds and shotgun shells, she was almost out as well and ammunition mattered more than money these days.

"We should go to the Market first. One of us should stay though, to make sure that Mortis doesn't operate on Blake anytime soon or vice-versa." Ashe looked to Irish. "Since you seem to know your way around I say that you go with the Market party."

Looking to the stout man, Irish recalled the box of munitions and looked down at his bandolier. "Aye, I've a few rounds. S'pose I could do with more though..." he didn't feel entirely comfortable revealing just exactly how many rounds he had. Not that he thought them unstrustworthy, it was just a level of uncertainty and caution he carried around with him; especially around people he's known for just a day. He nodded in agreement when the girl had spoken up, "S'pose there's no 'arm in tha', think I can find me way 'round this city wit'out too much difficulty. Per'aps I can also run some munitions back 'ere, though tha's only iffen ye're willin' to part wit' yer coin; I've very little meself."

Shaun started to talk as he was getting something heavy "Ugh, it...would be nice...to sell...ugh....THIS!" Shaun said as he put down the launcher, "...Do not worry, I have the rocket in my bag mates" Shaun said with his Australian accent. Shaun looked at the out of action Blake and felt a tingle down his spine, "Will he try to kill us when he wakes up, when that happens I wanna be in the market." Shaun said as he started to put his weapons back into his sling bag and check the status of the launcher.

"If no one else wants then I'll look over the vehicle. I want to be the one to look over Blake and Mortis." Ashe said. She was surprised at herself. Right there she sounded a but like her father in both his voice and his command. She could have not seen herself talking like this in the past but now things were changing and the circumstances were more demanding. Ashe detested her father but what she began to see, shocked her.

"I'll need a few things before you go though." Ashe said to Irish.

Irish finished scraping the last bit of dried blood from the humvee, then tossed the bloodied cloth aside and wiped his hands on his jeans. Looking curiously at the young man struggling with the launcher, he acknowledged his predicament. "Oh, I reckon tha'll fetch a fine price, no doubt about tha'," he said to Shaun, "but first, if ye're gonna be lookin' to me fer doin' the 'agglin', I want no less than thirty percent of what I get ye fer it." Then he turned to the girl, looking at her with a gentle, questioning look. "Aye? And what is it ye be needin', miss?"

Shaun listened to the Irish man's words and laughed quietly under his breath, (Never know what will happen in this dread place...) Shaun thought quickly.

"Okay, you got a deal there mate" Shaun said to Irish while he kept cleaning the launcher making sure it will fetch a good price on of the market, but he was worried what things, people and enemies that lie in the city, awaiting for unprepared new people to come in, and to try to steal from them, or kill them, either way Shaun knew he needed help to look around and the Irish Merchant was the perfect man to be with.

"Alright, good." Irish said, acknowldging Shaun's agreement with a smile. He turned again to the young miss before she could speak up about her request. "'Old on a moment, I'm gonna go check up on the 'doctor'." Clambering out of the rear hatch, being careful to apply minimal pressure onto his heel. The condemned shop was radiating and ominous feeling, partly due to the deteriorating state it was in, but mostly due to the unspeakable things that were most likely taking place within its walls.

"I'm really gonna feckin' 'ate this, I just know it." Irish quietly muttered to himself as he approached the entrance. "Well, 'ere we go..." He pushed the door open and stepped into the dim room and it took a moment for his eyesight to adjust to the low-lighting, though the merchant soon wished it hadn't at all. A crimson trail led to the shop counters, no doubt made from the corpse that was now lying on top. Looming over the corpse was the 'doctor', dissecting him for whatever reason Irish didn't care to know. The smell hadn't bothered the him as much as it would've had he not been riding nearly the whole way to town with it, but it was, nevertheless, unsettling.

Irish cleared his throat in an attempt to grasp the gangly doctor's attention. "'Scuse me? Err...Mortis, is it? I was 'bout to be 'eadin' to the markets and I figured I'd ask ye if ye be needin' anythin'...and if tha' be the case, I'd be needin' yer money, if tha's no too much to ask."

Empty! Nothing! Boring!

With an uncharacteristic lack of enthusiasm, Mortis was lowering the slender surgical blade into the aorta of the cardiac muscle before the fellow who's voice carried an odd tone came barging into Mortis' domain. The 'doctor' glanced over his shoulder, his blood-flecked eye's scanning each detail that defined the man hailed as 'Irish'. There was a sense of discomfort in his stance and speech, The extension of words and frequent pauses as the stranger's eyes caught something unsettling mixed with the discolouration his his skin were all clear indicators.

"'Scuse me? Err...Mortis, is it? I was 'bout to be 'eadin' to the markets and I figured I'd ask ye if ye be needin' anythin'...and if tha' be the case, I'd be needin' yer money, if tha's no too much to ask."

Mortis released the grip of his skeletal fingers and let the silver instrument fall into the open chest cavity of his "Prize". With a resounding sigh the doctor removed his blood soaked hands from the 'patient' and slammed them into the crimson counter.

"Nothing... I can't find anything abnormal." His voice was soft, and his persistent smile missing from his features. The doctors hand swiftly moved to the upper section of the body and gripped the remaining tussles of hair rooted deep into the dead man's skull.

"No Growths. No mutations... I was sure..." Mortis lifted his arm, and with it; rose the disembodied head of the poor fellow who perished in the ride here. The face was mutilated: the eyes removed, the centre was carved out; transformed into a macabre cross section and staples ran along the cranium; piecing the skull back together. With yet another sigh Mortis dropped the hunk of meat on the counter and started rummaging through his doctors bag.

"I'll need you to fetch me about four .30-06 rounds, If this isn't enough you can sell these, High grade medical bandages and Surgical wire, I have plenty left over."

Mortis dropped the supplies and currency in a small plastic container at the feet of the frozen man with the funny accent. As he rose the signature smile made it's return, gracing the corners of his pale lips.

"And biscuits... See if you can get me some biscuits."

Marcus slumped next to the doors of the old shop, taking a moment to make himself comfy and take a swig from his hip flask, he stared towards the sky. The sun was high and a blazing heat was being cast. The dry, cracked asphalt beneath him was warm to the touch.

Ford hobbled about, a constant look of fear on his face. He wasn't sure of their plan, yet had no other choice but to follow them along. He set himself to inspecting the engine of the Vehicle, mainly to keep his nerves straight. Raising the hood, he looked underneath and found the modified engine. It stank of ethanol. Fuel, diesel or petrol, was scarce in the wasteland and many of the traveler's used this fuel source as a cheap and plentiful alternative. Many even brewing their own, from their sugarcane farms.

Turning to the others, Ford started to speak. "So, we gunna head to them merchant fella's? Or to the old mutie hunters frien'?"

The sight of the horribly mutilated corpse made Irish's eyes widen and stomach churn more than ever. The sights almost seemed to intensify the wretched stench, making it increasingly difficult to stand around any longer. "Err...will tha' be all then?" He asked the gangly doctor as he leaned to pick up the plastic container. "Anythin' to go wit' yer biscuits? Butter? Jam?" At this point, the merchant was nervously drumming his fingers on the container, eager to leave the room as soon as possible.

An unsynchronised rattling echoed through the foul smelling air, the man known only as 'Irish' to the demented doctor, was playing the chorus of fear as he tapped his callused fingers along the hard plastic gift Mortis had bestowed upon him.

"Err...will tha' be all then?"

The rattling had grown from the fingers and was now afflicting the foreign toned stranger, with the fear almost radiating from the man's very being, Morits inched a step closer; his fiendish gaze rapidly scanning the bits and pieces of the strangers attire, stance and movements.

"Anythin' to go wit' yer biscuits? Butter? Jam?"

Mortis' features contorted into something of contemplation, his blood soaked claws tousling through his snow white mane, the crimson liquid staining the tangled strands. After a minute the doctor rested his arm on his new companions shoulder the blood marking the man's clothing.

"Biscuits and Jam!" Mortis squicked with childish glee.

The sound of the box's contents rattling with each drum of Irish's fingers came to an abrupt end as he looked curiously at the doctor, looked over at the arm on his shoulder, then back at the doctor. "I really don't mean to be rude 'ere...but ye do realize just 'ow feckin' creepy ye are, don't ye?" He took one of his hands off the box and as casually as he could, plucked the doctor's arm from his shoulder and let it drop to the man's side. The sound of the man's glee at the prospect of recieving biscuits and jam was terribly out of place and gave the doctor an even more creepy demeanor than before, which was already at an alarming level. Turning his attention from the doctor, he gazed at the former resting place of the man's arm and almost immediately the merchant's features scrunched up in a look of disgust and disdain at the mark it left on his jacket as he tried to rub it off. "Feckin' 'ell...if this stains me coat, ye're payin' fer a new one, I'll 'ave ye know. As fer yer biscuits and jam, ye'll get 'em when ye get 'em..." he said as he turned to leave ths shop, quietly adding with a low mumble, "ye feckin' mentaller."

After stepping out of the dim shop and into the light of the sun, Irish had to squint a bit as he let his eyes adjust to the brightness. He stood there a moment, breathing deep and basking in the relative freshness of the air. Taking note of Marcus and Ford standing aside the doorway, he spoke up clearly for them to hear. "I hope, fer yer sakes, ye're not waitin' in line fer an examination," he said as he cocked his thumb, gesturing to the inside of the shop, "tha' fella's off 'is feckin' nut. Oh, and afore I forget, ye two be needin' anythin' from the markets? Ye've any requests," Irish shook the box, rattling the contents for emphasis, "ye'd better make sure ye've got somethin' to cover it."

Ashe walked up to Irish and gave him her rusted out MP7A1. No doubt it would sell for some price at the markets were she knew Irish would be adept in.

"Have this. I won't need it anymore, I just need more shells. Buckshot is my preference." Ashe said to Irish. She eyed the weapon though for a brief second. It had served her well in the wasteland but it the weapon was stolen from her father's armory during her escape. The echoes of gunfire and screams of the dead or dying still rang in Ashe's ears sometimes. When they had attacked, they used a weapon that was unlike Ashe had ever heard. First there was a loud thunderous sound, then screaming as it plummeted down onto the walls. It would explode with an unparalleled force, tearing flesh and concrete asunder.

"Also, I'd like some toothpaste." She added.

Shaun walked outside with regret, "I would love a fucking shower..." Shaun spat with disgust while wiping he brow clean and making sure not to drop the launcher and then he saw Irish and the others talking, he walked over and presented the large explosive weapon "Okay, I got this thing cleaned, when do you think we can go, Im in some desperate need of some supplies...and to get rid of this DAMN thing" Shaun said as he fidgeted with the launcher.

Shaun then felt the presence that he was interrupting the conversation, "Fine, I can wait, just don't expect it to get any cooler out here..." Shaun pouted

No answer? I guess we'll just have to-

-have it your way. The child dies by your-

-hand me a match, Rico. They deserve nothing better than to-

-burn it all, Rico! No one gets out-

-alive and well I see, Rico-

-Rico-
-Rico-
-Rico-

"RICO!" Blake woke drenched in cold sweat, the sour smell of blood and dirt burning his nostrils. The nightmarish images of Rico melted away as Blake regained awareness, foggy though it was. He dry-retched between gasps of stale air, the cramps in his stomach made him painfully aware of the fact that he was still alive. Slowly, Blake opened his aching eyes.

The room is dark but, a few shafts of light from between cracks in the walls and ceiling revealed some sort of abandoned shop. Blake wondered where he was. The sickly feeling throughout his body told him that he had been gripped by the rage. Anything could have happened, any amount of time could have elapsed.

As he tried to push himself to his feet, Blake realised that his wrists and ankles were bound. A few moments struggling and he could already tell that the cords were expertly tied. Resting his face against the cold floor, Blake took a deep breath before unleashing a blood curdling cry. As he held the scream for as long as possible, the pain that racked his body from the effort caused it to dwindle into a whimper. Forcing his eyes shut to block the suddenly swirling colours, Blake focused his mind on drawing ragged breaths.

The Good Man will deliver me from this... He thought cloudily.

"Well, I'm fairly certain this'll fetch a good price." Irish said as he inspected the weapon, "Aye, this is a fine weapon indeed. I'll be sure to get some toothpaste for ye, per'aps get meself some as well." After stashing the weapon in his coat pocket, he turned to Shaun to address is urgent request for a swift departure with a smile. "Keep yer Alans on, boyo. We'll be leavin' soon, just makin' sure everybody gets what they need."

Irish turned back towards Marcus and Ford and opened his mouth to speak, but something stopped him before he could say a word. A loud scream emanated from within the shop, causing the merchant to swiftly turn any attention away from all else. Tha'd be Blake, I'm sure... he thought, eit'er 'e's very angry or tha' doctor just made him a new patient.

Without removing his gaze from the inside of the dim, Irish verbalized what surely must have been on the others' minds. "Well, tha' can't be too good, now can it?" He approached the doorway, cautiously as he could. "I suppose I'd better go check on 'im. 'Ere, make yerself useful." He handed the plastic container of surgical equipment to Shaun. With his hand readied to draw his .38, should things take a turn for the worse, he slowly stepped foot into the dim shop. Once again, his eyes had to readjust to the low lighting as he set focus on where the doctor should be, checking to make sure he hadn't actually set off to perform some new experiments.

Marcus looked at Irish. "I'll be coming with, never mind the wound - I have a few favours I can call in and by the looksa things, we're gunna need them." Marcus said. He stood and with a slight twinge limped forwards. A loud yell came from the building and Irish correctly assumed it was the mutant hunter. Watching as the strange man walked in to attempt to talk with Blake, Marcus grabbed his rifle and clutched his side, making his way across to the Humvee.

Shaun struggled to grab the plastic container which contained medical equipment that he didn't know about and sighed, "You know, that man is really scary...it's starting to worry me" Shaun said with a serious tone in reply to Irish, and started to follow them both to Doctor Mortis's "Lab", where hopefully he won't see anything that he may regret coming with them, then he noticed the scream and Marcus heading towards the humvee with a rifle.

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