Clusterfrag

John

Mick steps up to the bar and drums their palms on it, slapping out a quick drum roll. Craning their neck up to look at the troll, the ork insists, Eight fingers of tequila, pint size. Without waiting for a response, the adept turns and suggests, Got my bones beefed up before our last shitshow, but t...

John

Mick cracks a grin. As one of Seattle's foremost purveyors of stranger danger, I have no problem with this. The ork slides off one of the Vantichrist's bench seats, their boots scraping onto the blacktop. Looking over their shoulder as they head for the door, the rest of the team can hardly hear the...

John

"Back to the clubhouse? Or we wanna just pop on down to the club for a look around? Either way. It's getting late. I could use a drink."

John

Mick nods and stubs their cigarette butt out on the backrest of a moldering old pew. "Sounds like it's time to get to fraggin' work."

John

Mick snickers, "Must'a forgot who I hang around with these days."

John

Mick sniffs sharply, snatching at everybody's attention. Any chance you had the forethought to fish any plans for the building off the net, holy man? Would be nice to know right away how many exits we're dealin' with. Windows. Utility spaces. Hidden sex-slash--torture rooms behind false walls. The u...

John

Mick half-smirks and shrugs. "I was thinking maybe, yeah? That's how I deal with most of my problems, anyway."

John

Mick snickers. "Well I'm convinced that it's gonna be that simple. We ready, gang?"

John

Mick grins wide, the cigarette pinched in their lips and drawing up and bobbing gaily as the corners of the ork's mouth race toward their ears. Non-rhetorical question, holy man: What made you hire a handful of lowlifes off the streets for this drek? We're a long way from a smash and grab or simple ...

John

Mick extracts an Alpaca from a cartoonishly mangled pack and lights it, shaking their head. "Look, I know you enjoy your dramatic stingers, but how about we skip the rhetorical questions and get right to the part where you inevitably tell us no more than half of what we need to know?"

John

Mick takes an unconscious step away from the canister at the reveal of the contagion inside, gnashing their teeth and thinking for just about millionth fraggin' time what a mistake it was to get involved with this drekbag. Everything inside the ork calls out to just bail– to take the money they'd ma...

John

Mick takes a harsh drag off their cigarette, seats it squeezed between the pad of their thumb and the nail on their index finger, and gives it an aggressive flick into the side of the VantiChrist, where it explodes in a shower of sparks with a soft but assertive thoomp! Don't worry about that, drekb...

John

Mick draws on their cigarette, laid back on a slab of concrete and lost in thought as the bay rollup door grinds open like the sound of shitty gears. They'd seen enough sickness living on the streets to know normal-sickness and plague-sickness, and this drek going around was primed to be the kind of...

John

There's no time to waste. Gotta get fraggin' moving– someone grab the kid! Mick is pushing forward, eager as ever not to drown in a chum bucket of zombie entrails. Seawater sloshes around their boots as they shuffle toward the T-junction of the hallway. Making the junction, the ork leads their way a...

John

In all of Mick's explosive outbursts of violence and all the ensuing rainstorms of gore by which they've been deluged, never has there been anything like this. It's like the mouth of hell has opened up before them, its jaw swinging impossibly wide at its hinge, and vomited a wall of blood and putref...

John

The roar of gunfire is deafening, drowning Mick out as they shout HIT PUREE! into the cacophony and chaos. The ork squeezes the trigger on their AK-98, their own volley of lead ripping down the hallway into the sea of reanimated flesh. Following suit with Drewsuf and Molly with FA / suppressing fire.

John

Mick nods at Achack. Gotta punch through the fuckers, and fast. The longer we're down here, the harder it's gonna be to get out. The ork gestures to the water levels rising around the team. Besides, I already had to wade through a chest-high slurry of shit– I'd rather not add to it a chest-high slur...

John

Mick cocks the underbarrel grenade launcher's pump mechanism forward, chambering a high explosive round with a satisfy THLUNK . The ork isnt sure if it's they're smiling or grimacing. Full-bodied, with a smooth finish. The grenade whistles as it sails out and f the weapon and down the hall, not unli...

John

Mick's thoughts race madly as they break toward the unmarked door. The pump room is a known quantity, but sounds like a dead end in their limited estimation. That leaves the unmarked room, who knows what the frag it is, but it might offer a way out.

John

Mick rushes forward and slams their shoulder into the wall of the cabinet beside Achak. If it's the wrong move, we'll deal with that shit later! The ork heaves forward, accelerating the object's slide across the floor and raising its squeal to a piercing shriek. As the piece of furniture lands in pl...

John

Mick looks about the chamber, their countenance drained of all humor. "Cool. Time to go home now, yeah?"

John

Mick huffs in amusement as they light up a cigarette. "Always, omae. Always."

John

Maximize the talk of butt stuff, is what you're saying. Mick grins, glancing at Javad. Sorry for chasing after you before, didn't mean to scare ya. We're here to help kid. My name's Mick. They gesture to the group's face. You've already met Yung. Hey, let's head over and get you cleaned up, yeah? N...

John

Mick scoffs. I didn't realize 'we may be alone down here' was an option. The ork nods in response to Axel's prompt. Mouse, Yung, Achak, why don't you head back to the infirmary with the kid and take a look around for the power drain? Reiya and I will stay here with Axel so nothing that goes bump in ...

John

Doubt I can tell you anything that Short Round doesn't already know about this place. Their eyes dart between Mouse and the kid, whose thousand mile stare makes a blank wall of his visage. The hook a thumb over their shoulder toward the gaping industrial maw from which they'd just emerged. Whole lo...

John

Mick returns to the power room, a grimace pasted atop their already-oft sour puss. "Would you be surprised to learn that even more horror awaits us further in?" Their eyes fall to Javad. "Any luck with the kid?"

John

Mick squints their eyes at the rapid bloom of light in the power room, their vision adjusting from the very bottom of their lowlight abilities up to midday-in-the-desert levels of brightness so fast that tears stream down their cheeks. For a moment, all the ork can consider is the horror at what the...

John

Mick scoffs. 'Controlled by assholes' could be the logline of our lives since we got roped into all this drek. They gesture to their surroundings, but their meaning clearly extends beyond the walls of the ship. The ork's grin is both wry and rueful as they look aroudn the chamber, lighting upon the ...

John

"Da, comrade," Mick grumbles in a contemptibly bad Russian accent. "Let there be many makings of light."

John

With Mouse's prompt, Mick floats blearily out of their fugue, endeavoring the sisyphean task of trying to figure out how to get the power back up and running while possessing damned near no technical knowledge of any value.

John

Mick allows themself to recede into the rear of the assembling party. Had they their faculties about them, they might consider that the child would be most spooked by their presence of anybody in the crew, but that's not the reality of it. For Mick, it's not so much like looking at an emaciated refu...

John

Mick glances over their shoulder at Yung and issues him a quick elbow to the ribs, whispering an exhortation, "You don't want me to do this with violence, you better make with the bulldrek."

John

Their hands a pair of nimble claws out before them, Mick slips toward the door, stalking like a ghost amongst its own. They dip low, below the theoretical immediate line of sight of any welcome party member just beyond the entryway.

John

The response is unreasoned. Unthinking.

Irrational.

At the sight of movement at the end of the corridor, Mick takes off running, the boots clomping a beat of heavy echoes off the metal walls.

(( Mick will pause at the T junction of the hallway, not just go running wildly in perpetuity. ))

John

Mick cocks an eyebrow dashed with scars at the team, their fingers curled around the door handle leading to– among other places– the main power room, and gives it a turn.

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