New Orders
Jan. 26th, 2022 09:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
t_00 posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
spiderparlourProceed to target. Identify and secure Plagas variants suitable for collection. Use any means necessary.
Bones broke. Heads crumpled. Humans tried to hack at it with knives. They smelled strange. None of them seemed relevant. The vague orders frustrated it.
It kept going. Humans fired at it, not bullets--sticks. One of them stuck into its thigh, a sharp-edged irritant that its body rejected.
It grabbed one of them by the head and smashed them into a wall. Their body did not fall. They convulsed--mutated? No. The strange smell bloomed from them. They were not like it was. They were a Plaga. It now understood the photographs it had been shown when it received its orders. This was one of the forms the Company already knew. Not an objective.
Plaga blades stabbed holes in its coat before it could grab the parasite and break it. Unsuitable for collection. From that point onward, it prioritized crushing the torsos of the hosts before the Plaga could emerge.
Each crushed ribcage and crunch of Plaga carapace had no satisfaction to it. This was not their objective. These Plagas were obstacles. It quickly began to associate their scent with annoyance, even moreso than the strange security measures that periodically tried to destroy them.
It almost missed the first sign. A different scent. Faint. It stopped, searching the space. Identified the source--blood on the stone floor. Fresh. It smelled like Plaga, but it had a strange undertone. Different. Pleasant. This was the first sign of a variant it could collect.
It followed the blood, beginning a search pattern once the bleeding stopped. It moved with more purpose now. It had a target. It was closing in. It searched.
It was just about to become frustrated again, when it heard gunshots. None of the hosts so far had been armed with guns. This was new. This was a direction.
It converged on the sound, its heavy footfalls echoing through the halls.
Bones broke. Heads crumpled. Humans tried to hack at it with knives. They smelled strange. None of them seemed relevant. The vague orders frustrated it.
It kept going. Humans fired at it, not bullets--sticks. One of them stuck into its thigh, a sharp-edged irritant that its body rejected.
It grabbed one of them by the head and smashed them into a wall. Their body did not fall. They convulsed--mutated? No. The strange smell bloomed from them. They were not like it was. They were a Plaga. It now understood the photographs it had been shown when it received its orders. This was one of the forms the Company already knew. Not an objective.
Plaga blades stabbed holes in its coat before it could grab the parasite and break it. Unsuitable for collection. From that point onward, it prioritized crushing the torsos of the hosts before the Plaga could emerge.
Each crushed ribcage and crunch of Plaga carapace had no satisfaction to it. This was not their objective. These Plagas were obstacles. It quickly began to associate their scent with annoyance, even moreso than the strange security measures that periodically tried to destroy them.
It almost missed the first sign. A different scent. Faint. It stopped, searching the space. Identified the source--blood on the stone floor. Fresh. It smelled like Plaga, but it had a strange undertone. Different. Pleasant. This was the first sign of a variant it could collect.
It followed the blood, beginning a search pattern once the bleeding stopped. It moved with more purpose now. It had a target. It was closing in. It searched.
It was just about to become frustrated again, when it heard gunshots. None of the hosts so far had been armed with guns. This was new. This was a direction.
It converged on the sound, its heavy footfalls echoing through the halls.
