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

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Hamilton walked out of the trading post, having just sold off a decent stock of technology. The real sweetener in the deal had been a Gameboy which always sold for a lot. Entertainment in the wastes was rare, especially when alone, and things like Tetris were so simple even the dumbest tribal could figure out how to play. And they always had to come back for batteries. Yes, they loved selling Gameboys. He walked past a merchant guard, doing his best to appear casual, completely uninteresting. He really didn't feel like having people throw stones at him again, especially since he was in such a good mood.
What a good day. Get out of the city, hopefully make it back home by the day after tomorrow and then relax with Charlie for awhi-
Hamilton turned around. The guard he'd walked past was strolling over to him.
"We've had lots of theft in the past few days. You mind letting me see what you're carrying in that coat?"
"Er...ah..." Hamilton stuttered. Bad. Very bad. Only some of the Merchants were willing to deal with mutants and their security took it as a rule that mutant=problem.
"Yeah, that's what I thought." The guard said, grinning. He grabbed Hamilton's arm and forced him around, binding his hands behind his back with a very well worn pair of handcuffs. "I'll take you in, you'll get searched and if you're clean you can go. If not, well..."
"Don't you need proof or...or something?" Hamilton asked as the guard started to push him back towards the gate.
"I'm a merchant too! I, I sell things! Technology!"
"Yeah, you're a fence, good for you."
"No, I- urgh" The guard had punched Hamilton in the stomach to shut him up.
"Come on, get moving." The guard grunted.
Oh well, been awhile since I had to run.
What the fuck are you giggling at?" The guard asked. Hamilton rounded on him.
"You're going to need...ANOTHER PAIR OF CUFFS!"
Hamilton leapt forward, his lower arms pulling the overcoat open and pummeling the guard as best they could. The punches didn't seem to be hurting him much, but the surprise resulted in him falling over backwards. Hamilton turned and sprinted away, cackling like a madman, amazed at his own luck. He saw a wall in the distance and ran at it. He jumped as best he could and tried to pull himself up and over. His arms were screaming in protest, they never were able to carry his full weight. He finally managed to get over the top, his stomach rolling over the squared top of the wall. He hit the ground hard and stood up.
...This may not have been the best idea.
He seemed to have landed in the guard barracks. A half dozen men, wearing the same pseudo-uniform as the original, were sitting or standing around, now looking very annoyed at the sudden interruption. After a few seconds worth of a very pregnant pause a door to Hamilton's right slammed open and the guard that had handcuffed him ran through, blood running from his nose where Hamilton's punches had landed.
"A freak just went over the wall! Where- ...ah..." He stopped, having spotted Hamilton, despite the mutant's best efforts to spontaneously develop invisibility. The other guards were standing up and encircling Hamilton.
"I, uh, I...surrender?" He ventured.
"Oh, no. You aren't getting off that lightly." The guard with the bloody nose muttered. He stepped forward and began cracking his knuckles in anticipation.
45 minutes later Hamilton limped back out of the gate. His nose was bleeding, several of his fingers were either broken or merely felt like it and he had a small gash on his forehead that seemed to be bleeding far more than it should have been for its size. Everything else was sore. The guards had taken turns kicking him until the commotion drew one of the merchants. He fortunately recognized Hamilton as one of their scavenger salesmen and called off the guards. Hamilton had been lucky to have gotten his things back, though he noticed a fair chunk of the cash he'd made was now missing. And they hadn't returned his hat. That was...very irritating.
Body really, Really hurts. And that old bullet wound is acting up. Not going to make good time like this. I need to find somewhere to rest, maybe go back into Crux and pay a doctor tomorrow.
As he limped out of the city proper and into the scattered buildings of the waste he saw an old store, not even boarded up or in ruins. He failed to notice the vehicles parked nearby.
That'll work He thought to himself and limped towards it.

Irish saw the doctor still at his work station, most likely lost in his examinations of the corpse - if you could even call it that at this point - on the counter. Well, tha's a feckin' relief... thought the merchant as he moved past the surgeon's station and towards the back rooms, and now to check on Ol' Blake. Upon entering the room Blake was being held in, it became apparant the man on the ground was quite secured. It was silent in the hallway, save for the faint, sickly sounds of meat and organs being shifted around, coming from the shop's main room. Irish stepped into the room and looked down at Blake to ensure he still had some level of consciousness about him. Crouching beside the binded man, the merchant cleared his throat and spoke just loudly enough for him to be heard. "Oi, Blake? 'Ow ye doin' boyo? Ye feelin' alrigh'?"

Through the fuzziness of his clouded mind, Blake heard Irish's voice. "Wh-" He mumbled, raising his head slowly. He blinked at the trader, the man's nose bruised and swollen. "You?" Anger and confusion welled up inside Blake's muscles. He clenched his fists, nails biting into his sweaty palms. "Why have you tied me up you fucking bastard!? Where am I!?"

With sudden alacrity, Blake pushed up onto his knees and threw himself at the trader. He hit the ground hard but continued to struggle against his bonds. "I'll fucking kill you, you fucking cunt!!!!" He roared, each word sending a stabbing pain through his aching body. "The Good Man will not be able to claim you after I'm through with you!!!"

Shaun followed Irish and ended up in the homemade Medical Bay that Mortis made his home, he felt sick after stepping inside due to thinking of the horrible things the Doctor has already done in here. Shaun sighed and walked forward, smelling death but with a tint of a clean hospital smell with it, he walked up near Mortis and dumped the box full of Medical Equipment on a counter beside Mortis. "Hey Doc, how much do you think this will sell for?" Shaun said while hiding a brief smirk across his face.

Shaun was checking through the box to make sure nothing had fallen out or gone missing, but his real intent was to check out what horrifying tools that Mortis had a lifelong friendship with until he heard the screaming from one of the back rooms, "wait here, I'll be back", he decided to check it out and see if Irish is okay. As Shaun walked into the room as Blake screamed about the good man again, Fuckin savages... Shaun grimly thought as he walked up to Irish. "Well it seems he's in a good mood..." Shaun huffed as he watched the struggling Blake

"And you, you fucking mutant scum!!" Blake screamed at Shaun, still wriggling violently. "Why have you brought me here and why am I tied up!?"

Shaun pouted at the mean remark, "Weeeeell, lets see, you raged in the humvee and almost killed everyone until Ford KO-ed you, then we decided to hunker up in this shop until Irish, me and a few other people go to the Crux to see what's happening, and we have tied you up so we won't I would calm down unless you want us to let the Doc take a look at you" Shaun made the threat with a fake smile on his face, but of course he was lying, he didn't want anything bad to happen to these semi-okay people.

He peered at Irish and pointed to his watch, Can't we just go? Shaun rudely thought due to all the heavy weight of the M72 on him, he wanted to get rid of it as fast as possible.

Mortis was finished with the sack of meat laid out before him. He had dissected the stranger, he had flayed him, he had even put him back together, but; ultimately it was all for naught. The corpse revealed no oddities that would pique the doctor's demented curiosity, nothing that set him apart from the lone wanderers he'd find half alive in the hellish wasteland of the 'Twisted Earth'. Nothing about the man seemed to be of any worth.

Trash... Garbage... Waste...

Mortis was about remove the corpse from his'Operating Table', likely drag it out the back of this abandoned hub and bury it in that sun scorched earth but was interrupted by a flurry of people moving in and out of his bloodstained abode. Irish, who had interrupted him early, waltzed past with his weapon drawn, while the simpleton who's eye's were alight like globes felt the need to deter him directly.

"Hey Doc, how much do you think this will sell for?"

"Enough..." Mortis was unfamiliar with the economics of the wastes, it had often presented itself as an exercise worth investing in but he hardly ever had the time. That, and it usually required a level of charisma his appearance and persona were less than able at providing. By the time Mortis looked up to greet the fool, he was already gone; wandered into the side wing where his prize had been stored, tied up with a nice little bow.

"How rude. Isn't that right Corpsey" Mortis grabbed a tousle of hair that still remained fastened firmly to the dead bodies cranium and lifted it up and down like a puppet
"That's right, very rude!" The sloppy attempt at ventriloquism still managing to bring a frightening grin to the spindly madman's features.

"And you, you fucking mutant scum!!" A familiar voice echoed through the sickly chamber drawing Mortis out of the recesses of his warped imagination.
"Why have you brought me here and why am I tied up!?" The fury fuelled calls of his pious prey catching Mortis by surprise, causing him to drop his tools and desist in his macabre games. The scar adorned grin growing once more into the horrible, toothy smile that had become his signature.

Oh Boy! He's awake.

Irish stood and took a step back as the bound man made a lunge, not quite surprised he had been so angry. He would've spoken up had Shaun not made his way into the misunderstanding, sparking another outburst from Blake. Upon hearing Shaun's attempt at explaining their current predicament, Irish slowly lowered his face into his palm, almost wincing in anticipation of the outbust that was sure to follow. Once Shaun threateningly mentioned the possible practices of a certain doctor, the merchant smacked the young fellow's shoulder and gave him a look that practically screamed 'Really?'

Irish turned to bound man and spoke softly, "Alrigh' Blake boyo, lemme tell ye summat. The lad's pretty much righ', but per'aps 'e coulda been a wee bit more clear on the situation. Ye did kinda go crazy in the 'umvee, breakin' me nose an' 'urtin' a few o' the ot'ers in the process..." the merchant paused, experiencing a momentary flashback of seeing Blake's heavy boot flying at him. Shaking the thought from his mind, Irish continued, "but wha's important: ye're safe, we're safe, we're in Crux, and a few o' the group will be 'eadin' to the markets - so luckily ye woke up in time to arrange a shopping list o' sorts. Now, if I'm gonna be untyin' ye, ye 'ave to calm down just a wee bit. Tha's not askin' too much, is it?"

At Irish's words, Blake stopped struggling, sagging to the floor with laboured breaths. After a moment, he craned his neck and looked up into the trader's eyes, holding them defiantly until the strain became too much for him. His head fell back to the sweat-slicked floor, eyes closed.

After a few ragged breaths, Blake opened his eyes and looked between Shaun and Irish. "I'm sorry for what happened," he sighed, "it's something I've had to deal with for most of my life." A thin smile quivered the corners of his mouth. "If we're in Crux, we're hardly safe trader. Even after I'd smashed yer face in, you should have enough sense left to know that." A coughing fit shook the mutant hunter's body, ending in a pained groan.

"Could you untie me, please?" He asked softly, face resting against the dirty floor. "I need proper rest after the intensity of the rage. I'll be no use if the Dogs come searchin'."

Ashe had been in the front of the shop, by the Humvee. She looked into the ruined landscape seeing what was left of the buildings against the sunlight. These calm moments were all too common in her life, wandering the wastes, and now she was here. With these people.

She didn't regret what had happened so far. It had been a good adventure and something she hadn't encountered while going about the Twisted Earth. Then she heard the scream of a bewildered Mutant Hunter. Ashe loaded a few rounds into her magnum and went towards where they put Blake. Ashe saw Irish and Shaun huddled around the entry to the door.

"Is everything alright?" Ashe asked the two. Wondering if the hunter had made his move.

Shaun looked towards Ashe by the door, Blake's words hit a nerve, Maybe he ain't so bad after all? Shaun questioned his thoughts. "We were thinking about untying Blake, personally I think it would be a good idea if we untied him to let him rest for a while...." Shaun spoke with a concerned and worried expression on his face, he was worried about Blake's physical state, but also concerned that he might go crazy and attack everyone again.

Shaun sighed as he thought about the outcomes of this decision, "I think it would be a good idea to get everyone together and ask if we should untie him before we leave...sorry mate but we have to think about the well being of everyone else" Shaun suggested to the other two as he looked at Blake with deep thought.

"I'm not your "mate", heathen." Blake spat. His words were not as hard as they could have been, a testament to his exhaustion. "I feel fine," he growled, "I'm no longer a risk." He chuckled hoarsely. "I will become a risk if you don't untie me right now."

Irish shook his head, sympathizing with Blake but uncertain as to what would the best course of action would be. He screatched his scruffy cheek for moment as he thought, then spoke without turning his gaze from Blake. "Shaun, why don't ye 'ead outside, I don't think ye're doin' much good 'ere. Alrigh'..." he turned to Ashe before continuing with his plan, "I'm gonna untie him, and I need ye to stand watch in the 'allway. Make sure the doctor doesn't decide to come pokin' around and make sure Blake 'ere doesn't go mad again." He looked back at the struggling, tied heap on the floor. "I can't just leave 'im tied up, it just ain't righ'."

Shaun pouted at the point, but it made sense, Shaun likes to make people feel better, but he cares about safety the most, "Fine, Ill be by the humvee" Shaun said with a frown. As Shaun left he grabbed the medical box in the med bay but before he left for the outside he said to Mortis, "I wouldn't go in there if I were you, Blake is extremely annoyed...and rude!" He said before carrying on his duty and took the box outside and sat on the back of the humvee, waiting for them to leave.

Ashe nodded and went to the alleyway, magnum ready. Before she left, Ashe whispered back.

"Good luck..." Ashe said before going off to the alleyway. She swore she heard the doctor's maniacal laughter coming through the doors. Ashe was reminded of one of the stories that her father used to tell. It was a pre-war story about a maniac scientist, cobbling together pieces of dead people in order to make a human being. Frankenstein was it?

Either way she stood at guard making sure that the dear scientist doesn't send Blake into a raging fit and probably killing all of them. She wished that Delrath was here, at least he would have proved interesting to talk to.

Mortis watched with feigned interest as the fool stormed from the blood and bile drenched room into the sun scorched earth of the wastes, each one of his frustrated strides kicking small clouds of dust and dirt into the winds. Mortis, finding no pleasure in the observation of the lesser, returned his curious gaze to the slaughtered stranger lying atop the counter before him. The body was in tatters, the torso pulled apart with the organs placed neatly on the shelves that littered the small store room, limbs either flayed to reveal the crimson muscle that lay beneath the skin or de-boned leaving nothing but a sleeve of flesh and sinew. Even the figures face wasn't spared the macabre escapade, the skin was stapled back from the bridge of the nose with a shaved skull that had been poorly reassembled after a cranium inspection.

"Bored..." Echoed the gleeful voice of the depraved doctor. The body had rendered nothing of value aside from the brief escapism that comes with the interlude between reality and imagination, a conduit. He was so sure there had been some sort of connection between this corpse and his prey's little outburst that he went to the lengths of completely desecrating the body to solve the puzzle only to realise the pieces didn't

"You, should go inspect Blake he might be broken?" Echoed the contorted tones of Mortis' voice as he chimed mockingly through the disembodied head of their tag along. The doctor grasped the chunk of meat and bone and brought those two shallow, bloody sockets to his eye level, staring intently into the pockets of where the eye's of his patient had been.

"Break my toys...?" Mortis whispered to the lifeless stranger, his voice was soft and laced with a foreign mixture of curiosity and confusion. This sullen expression lasted mere seconds before being completely overwhelmed by bellows of laughter. Mortis turned on his heel, threw the skull over his shoulder into the open chest cavity of the patient and skipped out of the operating room and into the alleyway separating him and his prey, with Delrath's lost lapdog being the sole thing standing in his way.

"Hello, Ashe..."

Irish kneeled and inspected the expert knots for a moment, attempting to recreate the technique in his mind, then pushed the thought aside to work on untying Blake's bindings. Leading the end of the rope through various loops and slips, the merchant spoke to nearly unbound man, attempting to lighten the mood a bit. "Y'know, 'tis a good thing ye woke when ye did, ot'erwise ye'd 'ave the lot of malcontents to deal wit' rather than yer ol' pal, Irish. Although, I can only imagine the surprise ye 'ad when I walked through tha' door. It did seem apparent tha' ye weren't expecting me - tha' I can be sure of." By that point, the rope slackened and Irish removed the bindings entirely. He allowed Blake a moment to regain some energy and at the same time began looping the rope neatly for later use. Slinging the looped rope over his shoulder, he offered Blake a helping hand. "I'm sure tha' floor is mighty comfortable, though let's find ye a better place to rest, eh?"

Blake allowed Irish to help him off the floor but pushed the merchant aside once he was steady on his feet. "I'm fine, trader. Any water to be had?" Blake growled, then, after a brief pause he sighed. "Thanks, by the way. I know it can't have been easy restrainin' me. Sometimes it's really intense..." He stared at Irish's battered and swollen face. "And I'm sorry about your nose. Where in Crux are we?"

"Err..." the merchant cleared his throat a bit, a bit nervous knowing Blake was still agitated about the incident. "O' course," he reached for a canteen he stored in his jacket and handed it to the man, "'ere you go. An' don't worry about me nose, this mug'll be back to it's 'andsome state afore long," he added with a smile. "As fer our location, we are on the fringes on the city and 'oled up in an abandoned shop. Though I think the driver coulda done a better job of 'idin' the 'umvee..."

"Mortis, I think you out of all people should know that it's a bad time to see Blake right now." Ashe said. The sickly figure of Mortis made her uneasy and not to mention all those mysterious bloodstains. "At least right now you shouldn't see him."


Although Ashe comforted the fact that the magnum could possibly tear apart one of his limbs giving something to experiment on until Blake gets better. But what didn't was the fact that she hadn't seen Mortis at his fullest potential and whatever trick up his sleeve he could possibly pull any second now. His unpredictability drove her insane.

After taking a long swig on the canteen, Blake handed it back to Irish, nodding at the man's words. "Ok, sounds fine to me... I don't want us getting caught in the middle of Crux's problems..." He smiled dryly at Irish. "Well, anymore than we already are. Anything interesting happen while I was out?" Blake coughed quietly into his hand, steadying himself against the wall as his head began to ache again. Clenching his eyes shut, Blake asked the trader, "you got anymore cigarettes?"

Watching as Shaun made his way out of the old building, Marcus laughed to himself. "Kid, set that thing down and help me get rid of this shit." He said, pointing towards the large, single star that was painted onto the side of the Humvee. "If we go intuh Crux with that plastered on our side, we ain't exactly gunna be the pinnacle of stealth..." Laughed Marcus.

He pulled a small knife from his boot and began to scrape away at it, to little effect. He stopped, wiped his brow and frowned. "Stubborn little fuck eh?" He muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Turning to Shaun he asked: "You got anythin' we could take this off with?"

Shaun put Mortis's large box of portable death down on the back of humvee and moved beside Marcus to look at the Infamous marking, a wielded a small grin after hearing Marcus curse a little after he tried to scrape the symbol away but no dice. Marcus then asked Shaun, "You got anythin' we could take this off with?".

Shaun pondered a little and rubbed his chin with thumb and index finger, "Well I doubt that my knife or sword would do shit to it...well we could maybe try to hide it with something but I guess they will figure it out." Shaun said as he though of a couple of things to put over it. He then noticed the store, "Would there be anything in the store that would help?" Shaun shrugged with a slight flown. Acid? Paint? Blood? he thought.

Irish began rifling through his pockets, searching for a cigarette. He found one tucked in an inside pocket of his jacket and sighed with relief, knowing that agitating Blake further wouldn't be in his best interests. Handing off the last pre-wrapped cigarette to the man, Irish started looking for matches. He froze for a moment, remembering he left them in his pack that was sitting in the humvee. Oh, shite... the merchant thought to himself, well, gotta excuse meself some'ow.

Mortis had both his hands concealed behind his back, purposely hidden from Ashe's line of sight. They were empty, but he had found when people are presented with uncertainty it can invoke fear, fear leads to irrationality and then to manipulation, sadly, Ashe was the worst kind of toy. With Blake it was malice and rage; the hunter Wanted to kill Mortis, he wanted to savour it, a sense of hubris was involved, something Mortis could use. However; while Ashe was afraid of him, she wasn't stupid. She would sooner pull the trigger than enjoy the precipice or falter in uncertainty.

"A doctor must regularly check his patients." Mortis took a step closer, slowly. The androgynous sentinel that stood between him and his prey tightened her grip around her pistol and pulled It from the holster. Mortis stopped dead in his tracks to consider his next course of action.

With a tilt of the head, his smile adopted a more innocent hue and Mortis made the effort to take one more step, closing the gap between the Mortis and Ashe even further. The gun was now pointed directly at Mortis with steady hands and hardened eyes that betrayed merely the semblance of what she was feeling.

"Very well, If I can't see him at least make sure he gets these" Mortis, choosing to ignore the metallic barrel aimed at his torso he fearlessly reached into his pockets and retrieved a small, plastic bottle covered in labels with printed cursor. He outreached his hand as to pass the item onto his 'companion' but she refused to take it. Submissively he placed the bottle on the cracked floor of the store and retreated from the room. Before he walked through the exit he turned to face his barrier, gracing her with a smile the inspired only dread.

"They're aspirins, I don't want my toys broken if I can't put them back together." And with that Mortis slithered around the corner.

Noticing that Irish didn't offer him a match, Blake slowly pulled the cigarette from his mouth, For a long time, he stared at the trader, face giving away nothing. After a while, he smiled, bobbing his head in amusement. "No matches, eh?" He placed the cigarette back in his mouth and grimaced as he stretched his back. "No worries. The man I need to see'll give me some. You said you're going to get supplies?"

"Aye. Bullets, buckshot, and brekkers," said Irish, visibly relieved. "I've been goin' 'round, seein' wha' people be needin'. So, now's the best time to be tellin' me whet'er ye've got somet'in in mind. Speakin' o' which..." The merchant removed his leather-bound field journal and a ballpoint pen from his breast pocket, then flipped to an empty page. Holding the journal in his right hand and pen in his left, Irish swiftly scrawled, from memory, everyone else's personal lists and what they have to cover them.

Needs: (4) .30-06 rds; bisc w/jam
Cover: 80 Cor + Med Sup

Li'l Miss
Needs: 12g sh (bs); toothpaste
Cover: H&K MP7A1 (cond: dec)


He awaited patiently, the end of his pen rapping lightly against the top of his journal.

Shaun was sitting on the back of the humvee, awaiting Irish's return, he was playing with his dice since he was already bored shitless of waiting for him. "Shit, how long does a man take to list a couple things down...unless something happened with Blake" Shaun sighed with a angry tune, as Shaun put the dice back the only thing he heard was some kind of shuffling from the front of the humvee.

Shaun pulled out his katana in a Edo period style and gently tip-toed to the other side of the humvee, he peered around the corner and saw a man, he wore a cut on his head, it was heavily bleeding, so was his nose, and he made sure to take the note that his fingers were broken. All these things made Shaun's blood start to pump, he ran towards the man and withdrew his katana and caught the man since it didn't look he cant walk any further.

"Guys we need the Doc, we have a man down!" Shaun screamed at the top of his lungs.

Ashe picked up the bottle slowly wondering if it was one of Mortis' evil contraptions that he has lying about. It looked relatively normal but the scream of Shaun made Ashe pocket the little thing and went forward.

When Ashe arrived she saw Shaun and a wounded man. Ashe rushed to him but with weapon still drawn, it was mostly out of instinct but partial distrust for anyone who looked injured.

"Shaun, what happened?" She said going to him.

Shaun tried to sort out his adrenaline fueled mine, he breathed heavily once and turned to Ashe, "I found this man, it seems he has a gash on his forehead, multiple broken fingers....and maybe a broken nose" He said still darting his eyes from the victim and Ashe.

"We need to get him to the Doctor's office, I don't know how he got these injuries or where he came from but we should help him, might have more info on the city" Shaun said as he began to carry the injured man in his arms and ran carefully to Mortis's 'clinic'.

Mortis peered from the corner of a shelf with those blood flecked eyes. The call of the fool resonated from outside the confines of their humble abode, beaconing his attention. However, Mortis was waiting, while he had found no direct use for the glowing eyed man; he did often come as a welcome distraction for what was at hand. Mere moments after the call, the lapdog of the felled beast came rushing from her watch and raced towards Shaun. The smile on his face extended just enough to reveal a toothy smile.

looks like it's visiting hours...

Mortis's slender hand withdrew into the recesses of his extended sleeves, rummaging through sewn in pockets for just the right tool. As Ashe turned the corner, Mortis opted to make his move, his hand creeping from the depths of his straight jacket sleeves with a silver scalpel fastened firmly in his grasp by the bone-like coils of his fingers. With the girl out of sight, he slowly crept towards the door where his prey's sentinel had been keeping guard, each step closer drawing him deeper into his macabre zen-like state. The world began to darken, the only semblance of light being the tunnelled vision towards the slate grey door that stood between him and Blake. The thrumming of his heartbeat was deafening, with each passing second it would pulsate, sending litres of 'blood' throughout his body, every vein, every artery, every capillary... and Mortis could feel every drop of it.

Mortis was so close now, the walk to his target just a mere stroll down the corridor, and yet; something stopped him. Something itching at the back of his brain compelled him to cease his hunt for the briefest of a moment and examine his surroundings. The darkness faded, the sound of his heartbeat slowed and the fluctuation beneath the flesh died. Another call came from behind him, the need for a doctor slipping past the fools lips and in his arms; the broken body of a stranger. A chuckle rose deep from the disturbed doctors chest, just loud enough for him to hear.

"New toys..."

As Shaun reached Mortis's 'Clinic' he was huffing and puffing from the exhaustion from running with the stranger's body, Shaun didn't care about his physical limits right now. Shaun grabbed the body awkward with one hand as he made a swoop with his other hand at one of the table-top surfaces, clearing all surgical equipment on top of it and then placed the stranger's body on top of the surface.

As Shaun finished placing the body on the counter he heard the quiet chuckle of Mortis coming from near by, the thing that angered him the most was the way he called the man's body, "New toys" Shaun heard linger from the mad doctor's mouth.

Shaun had enough of this thing's thinking, he walked over to Mortis quickly and grabbed the scruff of his jacket, "Look here you sadistic asshole, you will make this man better...but if you try anything, and I mean anything. I will decapitate you with this katana and give it Blake as a get the fuck to work!" Shaun said angrily as his eyes lite up more showing his anger, he then dropped the Doctor and walked to the other side of the surface where the body laid.

A cry from outside stopped Blake before he could tell Irish what he needed. Groaning as he stretched his aching muscles, Blake gestured towards the door. "Better go see what all the fuss is about." Drawing his hunting knife, the grizzled man stepped into the room to see Shaun threatening Mortis.

"Good. If you both kill each other now, It'll save me some much-needed time." Blake laughed at the scene until his body was racked with a coughing fit. Bent double, the mutant-hunter coughed into his hand hard enough to buckle his knees. Once the fit had subsided, he glanced up, anger flashing across his face. "I'm fine." He stood up and pointed his knife at the battered body placed upon the table. "Who's this?" Suddenly, Blake realised the fetid smell of ruptured flesh and warm blood. "...And why does it smell like a slaughterhouse in 'ere? What have you been doin', Ragdoll?"

Holding his knife out threateningly, Blake pushed past Shaun and advanced on the ragged doctor.

Irish peered out from the doorway in time to catch Blake speaking of Shaun and Mortis killing each other as well as the man pushing through the young fellow and advancing on the doctor, threateningly with knife in hand. The merchant sighed in mild frusteration and massaged his temples. "Jaysus, 'tis a feckin' mad'ouse 'ere..." he muttered to himself, then returned the journal and pen to his breast pocket. Being careful and stepping around the quarrel, Irish stepped up to the table upon which a stranger now lied. The stranger appeared to be barely grasping onto however much consciousness was left in him and looked like he'd just been mugged. Tapping on his shoulder in an attempt to get the stranger's attention, the merchant spoke up loudly enough to be heard. "Oi, who are ye an' wha' 'appened to ye?"

The glistening of the silver blade pierced the veil of blood-soaked strands of hair that masked his visage, His prey was active, but hardly in prime condition; much like Mortis' assumptions, the episode would leave some potent side effects. The scalpel, now hidden beneath the extended sleeves of his jacket twirled between the gaps of those skeletal appendages, finding the perfect position to slash should this toy attempt to strike.

"The smell can be attributed to a minor... accident, that occurred mere moment after your episode. You ruined my stitch work when you turned rabid and assaulted our passenger... I was unable to put him back together. With my toy broken; I figured I'd open him up and have a look. You accused him of something, I wanted to find out want."

Mortis grinned innocently towards his recently awoken companion, a feeble gesture considering he was covered in a dead man's blood, but it always seemed to amuse the doctor; balancing the fine line between unnerving and antagonizing. Appeased by the wave of disgust that flushed across Blake's features Mortis opted to address the figure adjacent to him, the fool. Those eye's sharpened, their luminous hue shining with an unmeasured fury. However, his body revealed a different tale; the shoulders slightly slumped, his stance 'technically' perfect but accented by faints shivers. A day of fleeing from armed troopers, hard riding and carrying what appeared to be an adult male well over 30 metres had left the marking of fatigue upon his acquaintance.

"Threatening the man in charge of putting you all back together?" A childish giggle echoed behind a hand lifted to hide that signature scar-stitched smile.

"You are a fool." Mortis turned his back to the hunter and the glowing eyed swordsman, and sauntered casually to the counter adjacent the mutilated corpse of their former tag-along. Standing opposite him was the accented salesman looking down with eye's of sincerity at Mortis' new prize. As the doctor approached the merchant lifted his head and hardened his gaze.

"So, my broken toy. How do I fix you?" The figure laid out across the makeshift operating table in the doctors pseudo-clinic was male, roughly twenty solar cycles old and covered in bruises and minor lacerations. His body was cloaked in an overcoat roughly two sizes too large that made it impossible to decipher whether there was internal bleeding or not. Mortis' eyes traced every contour of the barely conscious man's body, looking for problem more challenging to tinker with, the closest being the broken and dislocated fingers arcing off in different directions. The doctor gripped one of the dislocated fingers tenderly.

"What do I call you?" Mortis queried before swiftly twisting the finger back into the socket, sending jolts of pain through the stranger's body and awakening him from his stupor.

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