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Eigth of Seven
Reader! Razzil fic for Missiongenocide's Cursed project.
Eight scientists had entered this mansion, plus four guards with rifles, for all it did them. You'll give that big black one with the purple fire credit, he was a tough customer. You frankly don't know how your runaway teammate Glenn could really manage to beat that guy, but he wouldn't listen to you when you tried to tell him how strong this guy really was. You shake your head, you don't envy that ice girl that came with him one bit, but at least he brought backup.
Sitting on a chair with one leg missing, you examine the rest of the group that had somehow managed to stay in the same place as each other so far. A young woman covered in wooden branches with a sword, a fellow with energy trails coming out of his body that went to who knows where, a pair of sickly brothers who had grown into each other and a tall, emaciated fellow wrapped in barbed wire with a temperament best described as 'poetic'.
What have you gotten yourself int
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Frostfire
Frostfire
What is it?: A Reader! Silvia and Glenn fanfic for Missiongenocide's Cursed project.
Glancing at the darkness, you can see the warm orange glow of the flaming patches of Glenn, and the faint light off his appropriately ash-grey skin tone. Its hard not to wonder, in those quiet moments when he's not chasing off some attacker or searching the ever-changing corridors, if the two of you would even like each other back when you where normal human beings.
You where such a shallow girl back then. Preening your light blonde hair, making sure to wear that blue eye shadow that somehow managed to survive your transformation into a freezing wreck, getting together just that right winter coat, boots and ice skates. You where foolish too, skating on that frozen river so close to that big house that everyone said was haunted by horrible things.
You even saw that massive tree everyone described as the source of all this horror, towering over the ruined mansion in the distance, attracting gre
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:iconwintereye111:Wintereye111 1 7
Tekek Edgar :iconwintereye111:Wintereye111 1 0 Elane, The Vision of Shun :iconwintereye111:Wintereye111 1 6 I read Missiongenocide's book :iconwintereye111:Wintereye111 1 1
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Meg and Myself :iconwintereye111:Wintereye111 2 4

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The Torn :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 15
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Atticus, The Broken :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 2 8
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Silvia, Freed and Freezing :P :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 2 13
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Glenn. Burning Revenge :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 13
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The Betrayed :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 0 7
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Irene, The Wartorn :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 6 13
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Climh in colour :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 20
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Marius, Still Dying :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 17
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Forever Beyond The Grace of God :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 10
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The Restrained :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 14
Telekinetic :iconguillembe:guillembe 2,066 261 Logan, The Morose Murderer :iconartofant:ARTofANT 17 3

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A Reader! Brant fanfic for Missiongenocide's Cursed project.

You always knew that something was wrong with you, ever since you where quite small you would gain some extra tissue here and there. The doctor said it was neurofirbramatosis, a harmless genetic disorder that caused the body to grow lumps of tissue where it was not supposed to, and that it was not anything that would interfere with your quality of life unless it became serious. So you went on with it, not thinking about the slowly increasing amount of lumps on your body. You had a good life for years after the diagnosis, and Patrica Reinhart, a shy but kind girl in your class, even offered to take you to the prom.

Then, that night, you felt very, very sick, with you throwing up and covered in cold sweat like you suddenly had caught a severe flu. Then, there was a sharp pain in your shoulder, one that felt like a long, thin knife had been stuck all the way down to the bone. That pain faded to a lower level after a while, and you looked at your shoulder while you lay awake in bed with only a single dim lamp on. You needed to look twice because what you saw seemed completely surreal. An eye. Your shoulder had an eye on it, far bigger than the pair in your head, with a vividly green iris, looking back at you with an almost puzzled expression. How could you even try to explain this?

So you hid it. Thankfully most of your shirts had relatively long sleeves. Your bouts of nausea grew in intensity, you where feeling feverish all the time and after a few weeks, the eye had company in the form of an arm coming from your side at an odd angle. Where you becoming some kind of monster? What had happened to make your condition suddenly become worse? How could something as happy as being asked to the prom set off such a horrible transformation?

With time, you found out the answer to some of your questions. Your body grew larger and less human with each month that passed, you where forced to flee society because of how people stared at you in horror. You where not a monster, an even worse fate had befallen you. With how you where slowly becoming lost in the growing mass of random parts, the only logical explanation is that somehow, you caught this 'curse' people had been talking about in whispers. You had heard the rumors, how they said some people with this illness changed in horrifying ways. Not as extreme as what had happened to you, but it did sound like your condition, especially when you could feel your heart and lungs start to feel like they where going to burst from the strain of keeping your mutating, growing, throbbing body alive. You should have died, but you did not, and the curse is the only reason you know that you could have still been alive under those circumstances. Under these circumstances. So you came here to at least be among your own kind, only to find you where a danger to them, and forced to hide from even the only other people who might understand.

Thinking about your past affects you still, to be reminded you had some existence where you where not trapped in this basement and part of a seething maddening mess. You have become something far more horrific than a mere monster. Even in this dim light you can see the massive sea of twisted parts, arms, legs, claws, wings, eyes and mouths. The part of you that still resembles your former self is dwarfed by the rest, hanging from a stalk and only needed because this huge...thing that your body has turned into needs a brain to work. Its not really your body, not anymore. Your part of a large colonial organism. You remember studying the Man-O-War in biology class before you changed. A creature made of many smaller creatures,each capable of a degree of independent action. The thought that you are now that way is rather chilling. But it does not have intelligent minds stuck inside. Like yours, like others. Your torment has grown beyond you, swallowed others. Which leads to you worrying about the future.

Your future is full of unanswerable questions. Would you consume the whole town, the whole country? Once, a strange man in a labcoat with blades coming out of his body came into your place of exile and despite your protests of "Please, we're dangerous, go!", examined you carefully from across the room, out of the reach of your body, which even now drums its horrible hunger through all of you, and would surely have swallowed him if he had been too close. It was this man who had said you would never stop growing as long as you could absorb more people into your bulk. How many others would end up inside this mass? What if you absorbed Patricia or your parents without knowing its them? Your only relief would be that they would be unlikely to recognize you in all of this twisted, ever-changing pile of parts. You can't stand to look at it, you close your eyes on your head but can still see out of thousands of others, it is no use...you're beyond hideous and have become a thing of nightmares. All of you.

You move into your own warped body in a smooth motion, the part of you that was your original body is still under your control and the rest of you knows, somehow, its just you passing through. There was something you needed to look at with the pair of eyes you where born with. You plunge through your body mass, which was filled with muscles, nerves and blood vessels sprawling randomly, some nerves large as one of your original arms are and some vessels the width of your original torso. You pull out the other side, pulling aside several insect-like legs and twisted, useless arms to see where all that blood and nerves where coming from. Wet from your trip through yourself, you see what is worst of all, the powerful reminder you are not just you, not alone in this. It should give comfort, but you are hurting people like this. The man mentioned you are not the only one who is dangerous to get close to, but somehow its only a small comfort.

There, littering the back of the basement near the door up to the outside of the house where several withered limbs, useless and numb but able to come back to life, you know this from experience. A short distance beyond those where massive sacks of skin with a mass of blood vessels and nerves all along the inner surface, visible through the thin elastic membrane. Inside, vague shapes could be seen moving. These where people who had tried to go past you, or had been caught by small things that man in the labcoat had called 'crawlers'. They where basically miniature versions of you own messed-up self, which left the confines of the cave-like basement regularly, usually disappearing but sometimes coming back with a person pinned under their collective weight. A common sight for you, as are the faces of people looking up at you in terror. You don't know any of them, thank goodness, but the fear on their face on seeing you is never an easy thing to see. And the sight of them writhing around inside the sack of skin in a mass is even more heartbreaking. Those are your vessels and nerves attached to them through the long, limb and mouth covered extensions on top of each sack. They are feeling your constant changes, your strained heartbeat and breathing, the massive ocean of throbbing pain that is your shared being. You cannot share their thoughts, as your only connected to their nervous system, not their brains, but you can see them writhe in pain and their futile attempts to break free. The eyes that are your original two start to flow over, you can feel the wetness on your face, but your crying is almost unnoticeable against the backdrop of despair and mutation.

You and them are now together in this forever, and while you know its not entirely your fault, you cannot help but feel like it partly is. You could have gone farther away, to someplace where there was not a lot of people. Your body would have withered to a useless husk, but it would have been better than this. Instead, you have dragged hundreds of others into yourself. The greater you is a seething mass, you sometime wail for all of this crowd, expressing your shared pain because nobody else here can use their voice. You manage to get the main stalk of the body to push you forward to meet the closest and oldest of the sacks. You gently touch the surface, and the human mass inside twitches a bit. These people have long given up struggling or even moving much, like you. You yell so they can hear through the membrane, "I am sorry...I am really sorry!" You flee back through the flesh and blood vessels before you can hear if they forgive you. If they didn't, it would be terrible, and if they did it would be almost as bad.  

You still have no idea what caused you to become infected. You are clearly a cursed now, and probably the worst off of them all, yet you still don't know who did it, why and why you. You have no trauma to kick it off like the others, you have made no enemies that would wish the curse upon you. You really are a decent person, the feeling of blame and horror at what you've become and done prove it. So why you? Why would this horrible thing happen to you, and why would you have to become the one who inflicts it on others?

You still don't have the answers to a lot of your questions, and probably never will.

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Note: For maximum effect, read this with a black background, in a darkened room, with no distractions.

A Reader! Recluse fic for Missiongenocide's Cursed project.

Your father had spent late, dark nights with you, talking about anything. Your mother was a busy council member, but loving and fond of sending you the loveliest cards on the holidays. Vivid images of people you knew, friends, acquaintances, that blind woman and her dog. Are they memories, or just visions made by your mind to fill in the lack of sensation? They are so real its hard to tell, but they always fade. Every sensation is come and gone, all but the vague floating sensation and the odd instinct that even though you can't actually feel its texture or temperature, you have run into a wall. Sometimes you sense you might actually by brushing by a person, but its impossible to tell if that's real or your imagination, too.

You walk forward, or you think its forward, you hope its forward. In this emptiness, its impossible to tell where you are going, if there is anywhere to go, besides that you can walk and search for something that probably isn't there. Why have you not given up? What is this vague feeling that makes you roam around this black? Yet, you still do it, searching for...anything, anyone, in this terrible blank universe.

Visions follow and haunt your movements, voices of people who talked to you, who you have seen. Things you have felt, have smelled, heard, tasted. Perhaps that world full of people, things and places you think you once knew is just a dream? Perhaps you always have been roaming around in this darkness forever, and will forever, yet you have so many experiences flickering through the void, passing through a brain that somehow refuses to be as empty as its surroundings. Your mind imagines a pair of rooms behind an office, with two beds, one larger and one smaller. Your parents had the larger one, the smaller one was yours. Warmth under the covers, the chill of winter, your father's warm soft voice, your mother's cool commanding one. You only wish you could make sense of all the visions, or have them stay more than a moment.

Something is in your way a moment, then moves, leaving a vague, uneasy emotion. Your first urge is to talk, but what is the point? There is nobody and nothing here, nobody and nothing. So you gently pass, it and turn left, away from where the sensation was. You feel wetness on your face, a sensation. Why do you feel like you missed something? You strain to try and find any other experience in reality besides the tears on your face, the feel of your soft sweater that helped keep away the chill of his empty environment, the sensation of standing on nothing yet being solid and upright. The faint weight of your lamp post. No.

Its the same as it was before, the same is it likely always will be. Darker than dark, quieter than silent, chill as autumn night, numb, vast, empty. Nothingness of nothingness still, which your straining could not penetrate. So you move again, trying to get away from something which may or may not exist. At least if you keep moving, you might eventually find something that is not nothing. Even a wall brings some small comfort, if those solid things that block your progress are walls...and not your mind playing tricks on you.

More visions. You have seen a lot of people in your life. You where never brilliant nor strong, but everyone seemed to naturally like you. You where a great social navigator, a diplomat and a friend others could count on when everyone else was busy. You made sure to make time for all your close friends, if you could. If they where ever real. You finally stop, as the visions fade in a flurry and brings a more vivid image to the surface. All these sensations, whether they where memories or hallucinations, where so real you could almost swear you where experiencing them, but any attempt to interact or focus on one was always met with if fading away into the utter darkness, quiet and numbness.

But this vision is longer, more coherent and even more real, overwhelming your deprived mind. It was a image of how you came out of your room one day, after sleeping late. You walked out into the hallway, it was empty, through the offices, which where empty, into the council room which was empty, and out into the town square, which was empty. There was no one anywhere, and you felt an unfamiliar set of sensations. Ones other people talked about but who you assumed never would happen to you. Fear, panic. You ran around wildly, calling, "Is anyone there? Mom, Dad, anybody? Please answer, someone?" You ran and called like his for what seemed like hours before becoming too tired to and feeling another emotion that was new. Loneliness. This horrible emptiness inside you that just grew and grew. Tears had run down your face, you had not cried since you where quite a small child, yet you did then. You tried to walk out of the square into the town streets to find someone, but the only thing you found was empty buildings and blowing wind. It was like the end of the world had struck and spared only you. And as you walked forward, the end of your world struck. You saw a grey, creepy kid approach you, and when you tried to tell him, "Stay away!" He did not listen, instead he grabbed your arm with a grip that felt like being stung by dozens of bees and then vanished. You could not believe your eyes, and what happened next was even more harrowing. You suddenly found yourself standing at the edge of a huge, utterly black hole, one that produced cold wind and seemed to go on forever. You tried to turn back but the black emptiness rose behind you, you could see it cast its shadow. Turning around, you saw a great wall of roiling dark nothing coming towards you, you screamed at your body to run, but it did not respond, instead he dark void descended on you and dragged you into its depths.

If there is any of these visions that might have actually happened, its this one. And that awful tale passing your mind, and leaving so that you can once again experience the truth. Nothing, no one, nothing, no one. You are blind, deaf, chill cold, lost, hopeless. There is no existence and you have no experiences but what your fevered, slowly going insane mind and scrambled memories can show. Is it any wonder at all you fall to your knees and cry like a small child with a sore knee? Your are helpless, with no one to comfort you, to tell you if this will ever be over, to tell you if any of the good things you once knew ever happened.

You can't help but repeat the last full sentence you've ever said, "Is anyone there? Is anyone there? Please help me." You can sense your own vocal chords vibrate, so you know you said it. But there is no one to hear, and you can tell on some level your voice barely reaches above a whisper.  Yet, even as you stand you keep rambling like the wretched blind, deaf, numb lunatic you are, "Please anyone, please answer me?"

You don't care about anything else, you just want to stop being in the dark, the silence, the chill cold, so completely alone. Alone. There is Nothing, there is Nobody, your all Alone.
You make one last desperate plea before moving on to your endless, pointless search for some form of existence, someone to be with or something to hold and comfort yourself with. Dark, silent, chill, numb nothing. It will always be this way, and has likely always been this way, you tell yourself, but that's not what you feel somewhere deep down.

That is why you are walking, and calling out, "Anyone there? I don't want to be alone anymore?" To no point, to no answer.

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A Reader! Endgineer fic for Missiongenocide's Cursed project.

What was your name again? You would think you would remember something that important, but the noise and business of your new lives made it hard to remember anything from before that's not information or experimenting. Think of anything that is not information or experimenting. You, all of you, don't have time to remember the past or think about the future. Too busy, far too busy. None of you have had a moment's break from your task of doing scientific studies for the master, thankfully you all have more than enough endurance, even if you want to think about something else sometimes.

Right now, your current project is on the operating table, but you have been stopped by your master sending you a psychic transmission of singular sadistic glee, "Oh, this Titled has been a defiant little nuisance. Do whatever you please with her, and more so, and try to worsen her situation a little, have her learn her lesson!" Sigh, he never asks for anything but worsening. It gets very repetitive.

This is genuinely surprising. You could have sworn by your remaining eye that you only programmed those robots to pick up untitled and bring them into your lab, the only way one of the Titled could have got into your lab is if they got caught on purpose, or there was a mistake. You would have to look at the husks again and see what went wrong

You interrupt, "Excuse me, but this is a good opportunity! We rarely get to work on Titled unless we are ordered to, we can learn so much about this one ticks...though she doesn't look like a Titled, does she?" Surprisingly, you are not ignored by the others like usual.

This is greeted with enthusiasm, "Ah, yes, that is right. I still remember our work on that girl we where supposed to attach vacuum pumps to, this subject is no different." You peer at her and ask the rest, "Who is this, can anyone remember?"

You pipe up, "Miss Brooke. I remember spotting her with another Titled at one point. Her torment is of a psychological nature, my specialty, so may I lead?"

This does not go over so well, and soon all of you is in an argument over who was best qualified for this situation. You all remember a time you got along with each other much better, laughing, joking, talking about how you where going to save everyone, teaching that Razzil kid all you knew. What happened to the young man anyway? The last you saw of him was him running from that man who could shoot purple fire from his hands. You all hope he's alive, maybe he can get some help, to finish the project you all came her to start. Now all you seem to do is bicker like schoolchildren.

At the time you where more astonished by the way this young man was breaking physics with his fire-shooting to notice he was aiming at you. Its hard not to find this embarrassing, so you rarely speak your piece unless a knowledge of physics was required. Your the quiet one of this group, just like you always have been. You try to ignore how your companions are acting increasingly aggressive, childish and impulsive, but you share their memories, have them constantly next to you, and have an ear to hear them yell with. Your sigh seems to interrupt the fight briefly.

What really gets your attention is how the subject just snickered at you. You look at the woman with the dirty-blonde hair dye and loose, dark clothing, see her smirking even in the dimly-lit lab. Seeing mirth from a fellow sufferer would normally lighten your mood a bit, if not that of the others. But your personal heart burns with anger because the mirth is directed at the lot of you, "If you do not stop that, I shall add removing your vocal chords to our set of experiments." You warn sternly.

You look at the cabinet near the operating table and take advantage of the situation to grab some tools and start working metal into an implant, like you have done twice already. While the cursed body always heals very quickly, this can be an advantage. No tissue rejection, and if you cripple them, well they will recover in time. It really IS nothing personal, and working like this allows you to tune out the others.

Oh, like usual he jumps the gun. Being the only girl on the team has always been hard, especially knowing that during the time period you joined genetics was a science in its infancy. Its hard to get others to listen to you.The cursed body can't take as much mutation as it could cybernetics, you learned that the hard way last time. The man walked out of here looking almost like one dear old Raz called The Overlution. You've heard him also referred to by the simpler title of The Lost, but clarity is more important than sounding snappy! You try to get the attention of your friend the robotics expert, but he is lost in work. You yell at the boys, but they just tell you, "Shut it, we're trying to decide what to do!" Why have all of you turned on each other?

All of you focus your eyes to overlap on the place where the now silent but defiant subject was incarcerated. Well, you had to do something, and a device was taking shape your hands. One of you slips a tentacle into the welding arm and you get to work on what he's doing, otherwise surely you will find your argument worsening. Your master's influence came flooding into your brain core, like a tidal wave made of nightmare imagery and inky black evil. The things you all wanted to do right now, oh, where to start?

This is not you, this is not you stop...you yell, "Why are we doing this?" But it goes unanswered. If you had to guess, the boss has created some sort of compulsive behavior in you all, perhaps through the thick cylinder of neurons that allows you to have a shared memory and experience no matter how hard you argue. It also means that perhaps your individual selves are slowly disappearing. Is it any small wonder that, with this fear, you all try to assert yourselves as much as you can? What happens if you all just become The Endgineer, and lose yourselves in the urge to satisfy your sick curiosity?

You look at what is taking shape, making sure the central eye that belongs to the nerve core gets a good look at it. You want all of you to remember this. It is two antennae, an electronic device designed to stimulate the amygdala, and two wires that link the thing to the nervous system. A life-force battery, similar to the one you all had once attached to The Restrained, powered the whole thing using this cursed's body. That battery was not your proudest achievement, but in exacerbating these people's suffering it was by far the most useful. You tell the others, "Get ready to operate, lets put this in. Will this work?"

You hear the psychologist reply, "It aught to, if this is done right." You have little work to do in this operation, though you can always to the surgical grunt work along with whoever else is not occupied this time. Ugh, it makes you feel nauseated with yourself, which is saying quite a something seeing as none of you have a stomach between you. You see the other arm raise up in a friendly gesture that you shared with the physicist. You where pretty close, once, but since he's on the far side of the body you don't share much with him anymore. Its a shame, since he always could comfort you when you where feeling bad about yourself. Like now.

Its good to actually have something to do. With the hands manned by somebody else, you could focus on making incisions with the scalpel tool and finding the right vices, clamps and hooks to keep the body open while you worked. Like many of the robotics expert's designs, its quite an extensive thing, going down the whole spine and through the neck, but no matter. The subject whimpered but held her resolve until you cut into the neck. She squirmed violently, the girl must have taken that threat you made seriously. Thinking fast, you inject some toxin in her that would make her dazed in a few minutes, though some part of you objects, this should make it easier for you all and that is that.

You say, "All clear, the body's opened up and she's not struggling." You give her an apologetic look, but its not entirely meant. You want to still see what happens, you sick little rat. If Raz is still alive, you hope he forgives you for all the things you have done. You have NO CHOICE.

Ah, seeing your work go in is good, even though the method your teammates have chosen is a bit too far, perhaps. You remember how the medical establishment gave you funny looks for your hip replacement design, if they could see what you are doing now. But down to business, you pull the skin and muscle and organs aside, having the others use anything they could manage to get to keep all the things out of the way so that you could get to the spinal column. Snap! A sharp, sickening crack as you open the backbone vertically, and a whirr as the buzz saw finished the job neatly, showing the gleaming white spinal cord. Attach the wires and there you go. Where is the geneticist's mind at, you need the left hand over here now!

You are coming to that, honest. You just got distracted in reminiscing, that is all. Your job was simple, but it made you sink to the bottom of your shared robotic suit. You still do it for the sake of the job, of course. You still split open the neck, split the windpipe and tilt the head back as far as it can go, the physicist hinging down the bottom of the operating table so that her head could hang limply there, giving you a horrified look from its inverted position. You quickly say, "Can't stop, sorry." But you need to keep at it, the team needs the arm.

When all of you are at work like this, you can ignore your differences, your arguing and the lack of privacy and just focus. Its not much of a release, considering what you are doing, but it is one. Just like how Vassal Vallen gets a release from harming himself, and Vassal Vicky gets one from daydreaming. None of you are any different.

The collective memory shows you that you need to put the wire right here, or it would not work. The base of the skull was now quite free and open for you to push the wires through, and the robotics expert was carefully directing you on the specifics. There was a lot of blood on your bonesaw and scalpel tools, but you can wash them later. "Ok, tilt the head back forward and get the saw over here, who is working the darn thing? We need to get the skull open!"

There is no need to yell. You move the saw over, you have lots of spare tendrils to work the saw as well as the right arm. Brain surgery was not easy, even with how you could access the knowledge of how from the memory core as you wished, hand-eye coordination is not something you share. The racing sadistic thoughts make your concentration difficult, you are quite glad someone else is doing the rest of this. As it was, you quickly take the saw to the scalp and cut in as fast and neatly as you can into a subject that is still doing some weak struggling. The skull parts and the neck is already starting to heal, the cursed body is amazing. If you could talk to the geneticist about it more often, but she's so quiet lately.

The brain is exposed, and you work the wires in while the psychology and neurology expert works on slowly opening up the soft grey-pink brain matter. You don't want to damage her brain too much, that tends to get in the way of suffering if one does not have a clear mind. And you really want this subject to be with it, so you know that this design works right away. You tap the main memory, you see where you need to put it in order to have the desired affect. If you do this right, the slightest possible dangerous stimulus will activate a partial fear response, making her unnerved and anxious in plain English.

You respond to what your partner is doing, "That is right, but you can't do what your doing with the other end, push it up, or you'll lessen the fear response...there, perfect, and we didn't even remove any eyeballs this time."

There he goes with the accusations. The final member of this group was you, the anatomist and surgeon. Your knowledge is the invisible hand that guides the others with their work, you always come up with the most practical answers but are often contradicted. There was a time others listened to you, even as you watched the girl's brain be put back together and the head start healing, you wonder at what point you will turn on each other. Good or ill, all of you need to stick together. You suggest, "All right, lets just focus on the body, leave her head alone." This is greeted with a snicker from the robotics expert, "But I wanted to see what I could do with her eyes." You sneer at him, "Last time you did that, you nearly undid our assigned job." You where the oldest originally, they should respect your authority more. Though your immortal status might make that a moot point.

This starts another argument. Of course. But this time it went on longer, and all of you got involved, shooting accusations at each other and not noticing that your subject was coming to, and starting to slowly pull at the bonds, screaming, "Heeeellllp!" This snaps all of you out of your reverie so the geneticist could dose her with more toxin so she would not make any more noise. You can't have her revealing your location like this. If Claire or any of those other rebellious ones came barging in now, it would surely make the master furious with you. All of you!

And who knows what he would do? From your experience, no natural law applied to that horrible..thing that you now all work for. It could have been so different, but he made sure you where all just another of his puppets. Even you, who remained so calm and quiet all these years are starting to feel the pressure. You are all now starting to hate each other. That is as true as gravity.

You reply, "She almost got away, be careful. I want to see if I can wire this fear machine into her stomach so she'll feel it there too." As much as you like seeing your work come to fruition, its not like you don't know what your doing. There are now at least three people who spend their countless tortured hours hating what you have done to them, collectively and singly.

You tap the collective memory, Miss Brooke is also called The Paranoia Incarnate. She now has a device in her body that extends that paranoia beyond the reach of even her senses. You would not be surprised if you have reduced her to cowering in corners like that girl with the dark wings on her back. What are you doing? What are you all doing?

You wait for the guys to finish and come up with the next experiment. This Brooke girl will spend several days under your harsh administrations, suffering not even for the greater good. And that argument you just had, you jumped in too this time. That's not like you, you've always been rather humble about your opinions. You only wish you had the time to tell this girl what its like to be stuck with each other all the time like this...having to deal with this all the time like this. The psychologist liked this play about a group of people who where all together in a room, a room with no windows or doors. You can access your shared memory core and recall it well. You gently tell the girl on the operating table, secretly so the others can't overhear, "Look up. The sign says No Exit here."

You could hear the genetics expert whispering, but now what. You could see the subject's dark eyes take on an understanding look, and her making a very pained-looking nod before the drugs made her too groggy to react. You, for one, where thinking of Razzil again. He was really young, younger than even the physicist, who was almost a child next to you, but he had so much humanity and strength. The humanity and strength you all have lost. Wherever he is, you know he is trying to help you all. He was your diagnostician so you worked together a lot, despite the age difference he seemed to like you. Wherever you are, Razzil...hurry and help us. Before we get worse.
RP: Devils and Space

Imagine this: A sprawling science fiction universe is laid out before you, with six civilizations. The kilasarians, massive burrowing mammals, mine and grow in wealth and influence. The izrand, sapient robots, pursue complex artistry. The pwu katit, six-limbed arboreal lizards wish to unite the galaxy in a peaceful coalition, but with them charge. The tallas, centauriod crustaceans, wish only to remain the most influential civilization, but do not shy away from shifty means to do so. The muu, uplifted telepathic gazelles with robotic arms, try to convert the others to their collectivist philosophy without making it too obvious. The flikkar, with traits of hummingbirds, dragonflies and bats, are a people of war but ruled by selfish oligarchs.

Then one day, they discover a rotting, twisted, bleeding world, a burning world, a dead and broken world. It was called Earth once, but now, the only inhabitants call themselves the undying and call it New Hell. No one is sure what to make of the fact that supernatural beings exist at first, but soon, these humble beings are caught up in the mess of outer-space wars and politics, ready to try to grow out of their previous role as victims and try to become a civilization on par with the others.
You are one of those undying yourself.

I am looking for volunteers to play!

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A Reader! Marius fic for Missiongenocide's Cursed project.

Believing in anything hasn't been something you're normally prone to doing. It has been a very long time since the mysterious house at the edge of town started to extend its dark reach into not just your life, but the lives of so many others. You where an easy target, a young and naive sort with a successful book club and dreams of becoming a journalist, but your family had other ideas. They gave you suspicious looks whenever you achieved something, talked to unfamiliar people or dated. You had to live with constant accusations of cheating and making deals even though you never would actually do things like this. Not to mention your health seemed to have it in for you, you had been catching colds every year and not to mention your hemophilia. You still remember the doctor diagnosing you with it, every cut sent you bleeding for hours, and he had made it clear it was genetic and that it had nothing to do with your actions. But again, your family refused to believe, assumed you had the curse. If people had not been overcome with fear of it, they would have found some other excuse to kick you out. But they likely would have done nothing like this.

Your family had gone insane, raising that fence up...nine feet tall, hundreds of feet of sharp wires on top of and through it, there was no way you could get through. You yelled and shouted and tried to explain, but your attempts to get though where treated like the attack of a werewolf and you ended up getting tangled. Your memory of what happened next was fuzzy, as your condition made you lose so much blood it was hard to stay conscious...that was the first time you felt it, a strange urge to fight on, almost like someone else was controlling your body. You vaguely remember a small, odd-looking boy grab your ankle, and you walking that mysterious house and going inside. Why did you do that?

By the time your head cleared, you had discovered yourself in a situation that you could not have imagined and almost could not be described. Looking around you now, you now see things that you never had before. Claire herself, with her lithe body and dirty blonde hair, had an elegantly warlike demeanor and seemed to simply fill the room with her presence. Where it not for the abundance of thorny wooden branches of that monster boy who had also taken you, she would be a lovely sight, as it is she seems trapped and touchy, like she has burdens that mere ordinary people like you could not understand or hope to help her cope with.

Others are also here, trying to help this remarkable woman with her task of finally ending this, the knife-hided Razzil, an old friend of yours, along with others who you had not met up to this point. Briefly, the flaming Glenn and the icy Sylvia had been with you, but had left to deal with something that Glenn had described as 'Personal, Deal With It'. Some people are very stubborn. Nonetheless, the others have come alongside you, Cassius and Callum the remarkable twins who had become twisted together like a strange quilt, and Darien, the determined lover whose curse had rendered him weak. Claire simply carried him, apparently the green-gold rivers of energy flowing from the rips in his body lead to somewhere important, and we only have to follow them, and we would find out what. Razzil told you and the others this, and you trust him implicitly, unlike the rest.

But for some reason, spending time with the rugged Claire seemed more appealing. Back when you where a mortal, people would have dismissed her and called her an Amazon and other less flattering things, but you could always see more to her than that strange sword she always carries. Deep down, this woman has her own vulnerabilities. She has often asked you if you really think she can end this, make everyone able to come home and be free of this horrible situation. Its a question you have no answer to, you really are not the kind of person who would know that.

The only thing you know is that Claire and Razzil are the only two people you have ever met to extend the hand of kindness to you when things where worst. You've met many people, they all either fled when things went wrong, as they tend to do if you are involved, or they where jealous of your successes and tried to make themselves seem bigger by putting you down. You have a thick skin for insults and doubters, but you can't say how helpful you will be, even with how Claire had made you have more control over yourself. That was quite a something, it took her several minutes of poking you, puzzling, scratching her head and trying various things that glowed faintly white. She had seen your past one of those times, like she had been there, she had claimed. That still give you a slight case of the creeps. But after a while, something remarkable happened.  

When you had escaped your abandoned house and walked over to the mansion, you had brought about half of the barbed wire with you, you had no choice but to trail it along, and in your state of blood loss, you didn't feel it well. But all that dark time afterwards, you could not free yourself of the tangle, and it started to grow longer somehow, slowly working its way into your body and displacing any nonvital part of your body it could, like an invasive parasite. Claire's ball of soft yellow-white light had made this growth stop, and now the wires moves freely with your will. You think of wanting to move one of the the dozens of long metal extensions, and they do, just like your arms and legs. The ability of your body to become used to such alterations is remarkable.But now, as then, this does not fix the scars from your repeated attempts to take your own life nor the pain that this Shun person that Claire keeps mentioning has inflicted on you.

Each movement, each breath, sitting, standing, you can feel your razor prison on the move. The slow, constant rake of the wires inside you is like someone removed what was supposed to be there and replaced it with thousands and thousands of slowly spinning buzz saws. Your head pounds, your lungs have no strength. Before Claire showed up, you often tried to scream but couldn't manage more than soft moaning, your body was too frail and weak, is too frail and weak.
Your only weapons are the instruments of your torture, long and black with a barb as long as half a finger every few inches. Yet, for her sake...for her sake you practice each time the group stops walking, carefully standing aside to make sure no one was accidentally struck or cut. You are developing a special style based off of the swashbuckler novels you liked to read during your former, mortal life, as it rather suited your light feet and lack of raw power, strike here and here, fast and precise with a rapier made of wires you have tied together tightly.

Right now though, all of you are moving, and so you instead slowly inch towards Claire again. You have already seen her fight once or twice, the results are amazing, hopefully you can learn to fight a quarter as good as this so you can have her look at you as more than just another person to save. Good, you are close now. You slowly snake a wire from your back over to the large vice branches on hers and weave it around one of them in an affectionate gesture, this makes her turn her head to face you a moment with a look that seemed to say 'What are you doing?' Her different-coloured eyes peer at you, the right a dazzling blue-grey, the left an odd but still pretty bright green with a strange dark marking around it. She said, "Yes, what is it?"

Your throat turns into lead. How could you be doing this? This is STUPID, INSANE! Not only is Claire as far above you as men are above mice, her only goal in life was ending this terrible curse. The same as the rest of the people in this group but YOU. Withering like a dried up flower under her question, you gasp out, "I was just wondering when we would stop so we could train against each other."

Her warm, powerful voice replies, "You seem to be very fond of doing that lately." Her tone was not of someone suspicious of your motives, thank goodness, "But we'll get a chance to do it after the next shift, which should not be too long."
She turns an asking glance to Razzil, who was hanging around the rear of the group, who replied, "It should be about five to seven minutes, I do not know exactly." His voice was cool and firm and strong...kind of like how you wish you sounded.
You turn to Claire and manage a very faint upward turn of your mouth, this is responded to with a faint look of amusement. She tells you, "Very well, it seems you will get your wish soon." By standing right here talking to her, you are getting your wish. But is a very silly wish, you really need to focus on ending this thing. Look at what it has done to you, look at what it has done to all these people. They are sobbing and begging for this situation to end, even the ones who try to look strong have Hell in their eyes. Why can't you focus? Why can't you keep your emotions in check? Are you weak? Are you being influenced by Shun?

You will die if this ends. But isn't that what real heroes do, be willing to die for things? Why does that sound wrong to you?

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Wintereye111
Jessica Brooke
Canada
A multi-subject artist, trying to avoid suspicion and spread creativity. I prefer fanart, but might do something original once in a while, to.
Interests
Look at this, you get a free poem while I explain my new Don't Stave fanart project. My first 'story through pictures' style fanart. So..here goes.

When infinite realms are in the shadows grasp.
Careful avoidance of anyone who would be missed is an important task.
But sometimes, it does not go as planned alas.
And the darkest chapter of the ink-black story does begin.

Wilson and Maxwell, former enemies, huddle in a strange cold breeze.
It should be summer, autumn soon coming.
But the chill is very great.
A premature winter weather movement?
But the throne is now United. Queen and King should be one.
There should be no power greater!
But it seems...there was one.

In recent days, the selection was altered.
Charlie, both King and Queen, had this once faltered.
Someone passed who should have not passed.
Someone with a god's long gaze.
Despite his body a frail and mortal shell.
This one, He who Unstands.
Conquered the wilderness land.
Without turning back, he saw the Seats all before his eyes.
Maxwell the Creator, Wilson the Heir, Willow the Destroyer, Woodie the Savage, Wendy the Medium, and all the rest. Each really thought that they where best.
Once again, in temporal cycle round.
This strange visitor found himself bound.
He easily overcame the crumbling tests.
Put up by old Maxy to challenge the rest.
Though small and frail, he now beheld.
The flower-strewn Throne, Charlie's power seeping through.
Oh, how that once innocent woman had done more harm than all of them together!
He would defeat her, and destroy that throne forever!
Three days battle finally felled the Queen and King as one.
But our story, it seems, has only begun.
The Cycle of kings once again begins its horrid spell.
As certain as the certainty of a clock striking twelve.
The throne's flowers fell, and even though the intruder could,
in an instant, go from here to there, the flower gates had slammed shut.
He could run absolutely nowhere. Charlie laughed, and Maxwell raised his head, looking grim.
He said, "I'm sure of it, the shadows have taken him."
Wilson was about to ask who his sorry former nemesis alluded,
when he heard a gasp, and turned to see the grim events concluded.
Black tendrils grew razor thorns, and bit into white bone.
And thus, the only one who could have saved them all was bound upon the Throne.
And so the growing icy chill bit deeper, deeper to the core.
A low deep icy voice declared what all would have in store,
"I am not like the other rulers. I will not be going home. If I must, I will wipe,
this land clean and close the holes. No one else will enter this place, no one else will leave. No one else will be around, and I will stay forever bound."
Wilson tried to raise a cry, but the voice spoke back, "I'd like to see you try. Kill the world and everything in it, I will just drag you to Hell. I've seen enough to wish to make anyone cry. It's all happened to me before, no one else is getting hurt. So be quiet...or you'll die."

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SinistrosePhosphate Featured By Owner Jun 22, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Greetings, 

Thank you very much for adding my work to your list of favourites. I appreciate your support very much (especially when it comes to a fellow Canadian). Much obliged!

With gratitude,
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SonicMasterHero Featured By Owner Feb 21, 2014
W-Wow...u dont have any friends.....
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