//------------------------------// // Call of the Wild IX // Story: Midnight Rail // by daOtterGuy //------------------------------// “Aunt Holiday, when are mom and dad comin’ home?” “They’re very busy ponies, Scoots. Just be patient.” “‘Kay… So by busy—” “They can’t come back until their survey work is complete. I couldn’t tell ya when that would be.” “‘Kay… So that would mean—” “Scootaloo.” “Sorry.” “It’s fine dear, you just— cough cough cough” “...” “Gotcha water.” “Thanks— cough cough cough — sweetie.” “...” “...Shouldn’t you see a doctor about that?” “I’ll be fine. It’s not like I have what… Scootaloo, can you come here for a second, sweetie?” “Yeah, Aunt Holiday?” “I actually sent a letter to your parents the other day asking them if they can come back earlier.” “Wait, really?!” “Yes, I think it’s been too long and you’re due to see them.” “Awesome! When do you think they’ll send a reply?!” “Not for a while. They’re in a very remote location. Though, I’m sure they’ll get the letter within the next— cough cough cough.” “I’ll get you more water!” “...” “You’re such a dear, Scootaloo.” “...Do you have what Auntie Lofty has?” “...” “Aunt Holiday…?” “Listen to me, Scootaloo. If… if something happens I want you to know—” “What do you mean? Are you and Lofty—” “No! No… But if something does happen, make sure to kick up as much of a fuss as possible to get to your parents. They’ll help you.” “‘Kay, but… I’ll have you and Auntie Lofty still though… right?” “...” “Eww! You know I don’t like hugs!” “Well, too bad missy, you deserve one. Now, listen closely. You are wonderful, Scootaloo. You deserve a good life, and your bast— lovely parents will definitely be there for you. I’m sure of it. I just need you to know that no matter what happens— “None of it will be your fault.” Scootaloo kept her arms close to her sides, lest she make the mistake of using the walls for balance. She absolutely did not want to touch any surface of this place unless she had to. On the upside, the corridors were much wider than that of the prior section. On the downside, the corridors were made of sticky, breathing, metallic flesh. It was like traveling through a beating heart, but without the thumping sound. The slime itself was a translucent purple and felt like machine lubricant mixed with sweat (an accident, and one not to be repeated). It covered crude metal plating that couldn’t quite hide all the fleshy bits underneath it. Even worse, the corridor was rank. A scent that got worse every time someone touched the slime. She, Shelley, Sainger, Perault, and Wilde were launching a combined whining assault on our intrepid leader to hurry the group along, but Golding, very unreasonably, wouldn’t do so, because it was unsafe to rush through unknown territory. Him and his stupid sound logic. Even worse yet, because gross slime walls weren't enough, Scootaloo was caught up in her own thoughts and reminiscing. Of course, it couldn’t be happy memories. No, it was all the traumatic stuff replaying in her head over and over again without any ability to skip past it. Long forgotten echoes of her coworker’s screams. The crunch of their bodies as they were ground up by the production lines. The feeling of knowing that her friends’ lives had amounted to no more than a bunch of useless junk. It was an overwhelming sense of dread that consumed her with every step forward she took into this place. A creeping chill that— “...Are you okay?” Scootaloo shook herself out of her revelry and regarded the person that had approached her. “You’ve been quiet,” Hinton said. “And falling behind the group.” Not the first person Scootaloo would expect to check in on her. “...Yeah, I’m fine. Just hate all of… this.” Scootaloo gestured toward the fleshy metallic walls of the corridor. “Yeah, it's… yeah,” Hinton agreed. “If this is the norm, then I’m not looking forward to when my turn comes around.” Right, the others. It wasn’t enough that Scootaloo would have to live through her own personal torment, but she would be front row for another eleven of these, tailor-made to each of them. Different locales, different monsters, different pains. In that way, they were all equally screwed. “At least, you might get to be at the end of the list,” Scootaloo replied. “...I’m not sure if that’s a good thing,” Hinton said. “Why not? Ya can put it off for longer.” “Exactly. I can put it off. Keep it out of my mind until I have to deal with it at which point… the dread will have only built itself up into its own form of trauma,” Hinton intoned in a dull monotone. “...I didn’t really think ‘bout the waiting,” Scootaloo said. “We all have to go through our pain. It just hurts how real it has to be compared to most.” Scootaloo nodded her head in agreement. She definitely would have preferred sitting on a couch and talking through her inner demons instead of literally killing them. “Yeah, well, at least—” Scootaloo stopped. The wall behind Hinton bulged. “At least…?” Hinton asked. Scootaloo charged past Hinton while drawing her knives. She slashed at the entity that burst from the surface. Something dropped to the ground with a wet plop. It wiggled. Then it got shot, leaving behind a smear on the floor. “...Good catch,” Hinton said. “Thanks.” “You’re welcome. Now, where in Tartarus did—” Utter bedlam consumed the corridor as strange fleshy limbs burst from the walls. Hands grasped at the passengers, separating them from each other as new flesh grew to block off hallways. When everything calmed down, Scootaloo cursed her luck, as she ended up with her two least-liked teammates. “Come back’ere and get smashed, ya punks!” Poe yelled, swinging his bat in a belligerent rage. “I don’t think your taunts are going to be very effective against that Deviant,” Grahame remarked. She regarded Scootaloo with concern. “Are you okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine,” Scootaloo said. “What—” A hand of metal and flesh sprung from the wall and grabbed at her head. Grahame intercepted the limb with her shield and bashed it away. Several more limbs formed and began to attack them. “London, Poe! Stay behind me!” Grahame shouted. “Screw that!” Poe shouted as he swung his bat and blew up one of the offending limbs. Scootaloo took the advice and huddled behind Grahame, slicing at anything that got too close with her knives. More and more limbs poured out from the wall. Inevitably, despite Grahame’s efforts, one managed to slip past them both and pull Scootaloo away. “London!” Grahame exclaimed. She struggled against the tight grip of the hand. This damsel in distress schtick was— Smash. The room spun. Another hand had grabbed the back of her head and slammed her into the floor. Then again. And again. And again. There was a ringing in her ears as blood flowed down her face, obscuring her vision. “Piss off!” A voice said. The tone was furious. There was a bang, and then she was on the ground. She looked up. Through her blurred vision, she saw Poe smash the limbs with his bat, his face twisted in rage, veins popping out of his face and neck. He looked terrifying. “Ya don’t touch the kid!” Poe shouted, his voice guttural. Seemingly taking his advice, Scootaloo watched as a long limb wrapped itself around Poe’s head. It squeezed. Pop. She was splattered with— she didn’t want to know. She couldn’t— it was too much. It reminded her of— she didn’t want to remember. “Let me out! Let me out! Please! It hurts, it hurts, IT—” “-don, London!” Grahame shouted. Grahame was shaking her, but Scootaloo couldn’t get her body to cooperate. Limbs continued to grasp at them as Grahame tried to fend them off. Poe lay— she couldn’t look at him. Her mind whirled, screaming at her body to move, to do anything, but it refused. “...Okay, London. I’m going to make an opening for you.” Grahame stood up. There was a pulse of blue from her brooch. “Please, run when you get the chance.” The blue grew in intensity. Her usual clothes turned into a blue suit with a collar of dark feathers, her hair done up into a bundle of braids. Oil dripped from her eyes in time to the pulses of the brooch on her chest. Her shield had transformed into a round buckler with an image of a Tears of the Damned imprinted upon it. She held up the buckler overtop Scootaloo and screamed. A horrid sound filled with grief and loss. “I am so happy for you to be here in my final moments, Scootaloo. Thank you for being a wonderful friend. All I ask is that, ugh, please stay?” Hot oil poured from the ceiling, raining down on them. Burning flesh filled Scootaloo’s nose. The Deviant screamed. Grahame continued to scream, reaching a higher pitch as the oil hit her. She was burning. Grahame was burning and— “Make it stop! Make it stop! MAKE IT—” Muffled silence, like being underwater. Only the sound of her heart pounding in her ears was clear. Her vision swam in a murky blur, everything just different coloured smudges through her eyes. The abomination was still alive. She wasn’t safe. Her protectors were dead. She knew they were dead. They couldn’t possibly be alive. They were gone just like— “I can’t breathe! Help! Please! I’m burning, I’m—!” Something sent her careening across the floor, knocking the wind out of her. She gasped for breath as she staggered onto her elbows and knees, shaking. That thing had killed Poe and Grahame. It was still alive. If it killed her… they couldn’t finish the Trauma. Grahame and Poe would be— She hated it. It was an uncontrollable gun that fired off at random with no way to aim, but she didn’t have any other options. She was seriously hurt and if the Deviant managed to get in the final blow… it was all over. The voice screaming inside her, warning her of danger and demanding release. She listened to it, she grasped it. Scootaloo unleashed it. Her heart pounded harder in her ears. Power coursed through her limbs then broke them. Snapping and mending them into something stronger. Something to protect her. They called her a mongrel. They called her feral. They called her nothing. They were right. Feral Instinct’s (Scootaloo’s) skin broke out into a mass of black fur. Smog spewed from their (her) maw. Orange light radiated from inside them (her), the heat searing their (her) body from the inside out. Feral (She) sensed an enemy. Enemies are to be hunted. Enemies must die. They (She) found it. It was a fleshy mass of limbs. Hot oil had burned through the body of the creature to reveal its inner heart. They (She) must tear it. They (She) must devour it. It cannot be left alive. It must die. Claws in flesh. Ripping. Spurts of burning blood. Black. Its hurt mattered not. There was an enemy. It must die. Teeth. It tasted of heat and burning. It was foul. An enemy not to be consumed, merely conquered. They (She) returned to their (her) claws. They (She) ripped it apart, piece by piece. The thing in the walls was dead. They (She) killed it. They (She) could no longer hear the beating of its foul-tasting heart. The burning blood dripped from their (her) mouth. Scootaloo demanded control. Feral didn’t allow it. They (She) grasped their head. A struggle. Feral demanded control. There were more enemies. They (She) was in danger. They must be eliminated. The Sad Blue One must be first. He could bind them. The Big Coat Lady with the axe could slice them up. The Hammer Man could smash them. Gunshots were loud and went bang in their (her) chest. Too much danger. Too many ways to die. Scootaloo needed Feral. Feral must be in control. They were dangerous, but Scootaloo… She… An echo of words reverberated through her psyche. A white hospital room. Tears. A gentle caress on her face. “I hope that even after this, you can still find it within yourself to let people into your life.” Words written in desperation. An invitation promising what she needed, not what she wanted. Scootaloo wrested control. She fought dirty in her own mind, biting and scratching. They (She) howled. The fur receded. Their (Her) strength faded. She (JUST she) collapsed to the ground, saliva dripping from her mouth as she grasped onto her own body with her normal hands, desperately getting air back into her system. Feral flailed inside of her, demanding release. There was danger, it must be eliminated. Through force of will, she shut it out. Her manifest needed to just… not be here right now. It protected her… but so did the team. She decided to place her trust in them. She desperately hoped it wasn’t misplaced.