Experiment 12a: Ogilvy’s Operation

The room was set for the operation to get rid of the Dissonance. All the tools were there, despite Chip having no surgical knowledge, and Ogilvy lay asleep on the table. The first cut ran deep, and Chip noticed the cloud of tiny robots drifting about, which inspired him. He began to gather lifeless corpses of his former friend’s past victims, and arranged parts of them on an adjoining table. He then used a syringe to entrap some of the Dissonance, injecting it into the false body. The wounds were repaired as the remaining cloud floated into the creation en masse, and the body changed while this happened. The form became feminine and pronounced, with pointed ears and grey flesh.

All that came to mind for Chip was the Metal Slug victory screen.

MISSION COMPLETE!

For Jessica: A Discover Albia Tribute

[A tale for Jessica of Discover Albia, without whom I’d never have the confidence to even start this blog. Check her blog out; she’s a talented player and a true friend.]

“Hey, come on, wake up! I wanna play!” Thrennion complained, prodding the sleeping elder in the belly. Preetar came by a few minutes later, and took a moment to appreciate the young Norn’s innocence before approaching.

“Evening, kid,” Preetar greeted, “what’s going on?”

“I’m trying to wake Pathun, so we can play!”

Preetar rolled his eyes, of course the kid wouldn’t know.

“Thrennion…” he started, looking at the floor, “Pathun is… He isn’t gonna wake up. Pathun’s dead.”

Thrennion took a moment to take in exactly what that meant, then stared at the lifeless body, with saucer-like, teary eyes.

“Pathun is…?” was all he could mumble.

“Thren,” Preetar hugged the small Norn, “don’t be sad. Do you know what the afterlife is?” Thrennion shook his head, “the afterlife is a place where Creatures go when they’re dead. In the afterlife, the dead can be happy and watch over us. Pathun won’t ever really die, so long as we remember him.”

And meanwhile, in another plane of existence, a recently deceased Norn licked the excess honey from his lips, and approached the gates of Heaven. A lonesome Shee wearing a cloak of darkness sat with a mug of hootch.

“Ah, Mr. Pathun,” the Shee calmly smiled, “I trust your final moments were to your liking?” Pathun nodded, saving his breath, “Ah, well then… Drink with us. Someone here has been waiting for you for a long time.”

Pathun was pleasantly surprised when he saw her. Athahain was exactly as he remembered her, and now that her spirit was all that remained, she was young again. He sat with them and drank. Eternity awaited.

Back on Albia, someone had a problem.

“Zelroo, why are you staring at OH MY GRAND MY FOOT CAN DETACH!”

Fan Bonus and “I’m Sorry” Sunday

When I receive feedback from people across the community and my circle of friends, it makes me glad that, in a rather sad Creatures blog dry spell, my blog can help people pass the time with a narrative that intrigues them.

But recently, lots of people have had strong, and very mixed reactions to some of the developments in the plot. To those people, I apologize, and I’ll get the blog’s tone back the way it was as soon as I can. I’m not just blogging for myself; I’m blogging this whole project to make people entertained with my writing. If people are angry, then I have failed to entertain them, and it is my job as the author to set things right with those people. I’ve been a bit depressed recently and I think that it might have seeped into my writing, but I’ll plow through and attempt to get this blog back on track. I owe it to all of you.

As a further bonus (and another apology), I created snapshots of Chip and Ogilvy using some online fashion thing, and I decided to put them up here not just to say I’m sorry, but as a thank-you to everyone who’s sticking with the blog, despite my ill-fated attempt to write darkness. Here we go…

Chip III
 photo Chip Pic_zps0g7rlqhr.png

The goggles DO actually have a purpose; They function as a portable Owner’s Kit and Science Kit! And judging from the pose, looks like Chip has seen something he intends to get!

Ogilvy (Academy Ark)
 photo Ogilvy pic_zpsdvqljo5s.png

Ogilvy wasn’t always evil. It was his contact with the Dissonance that made him into the unrepentant, murderous scumbag he is today. The bandage over his eye hides a lasting injury, and in his moments of lucidity, he reverts to his younger, more innocent form. Even he is horrified by the behaviour the Dissonance exhibits.

Dissonant Ogilvy
 photo Older Ogilvy Pic_zpslgtakzx6.png

The mind-infecting parasites known as The Dissonance are even more confused about Ogilvy’s gender than anyone else, and thus they warped him into an androgynous psychopath with more mental complexes than should be physically possible. In this form, the Dissonance often wears a small crown and carries a sceptre, indicative of a status that it desires to lord over others. As a swarm of nanobots, it is possible (but hard) to reprogram them, which is what Ogilvy wants…

Awaken

Chip awoke in a faintly familiar place, tied down to a bed.

“Pleasant dreams, Choccy?” asked a familiar voice, one Chip recognized and feared. Ogilvy marched into view, wearing a red corset and looking worse than ever. His eyes were black as space, with red and blue pinprick irises, and his white hair had grown out to his shoulders.

“Ogilvy? What… Why are you doing this? I thought we were friends!” Chip stuttered, to which the noble gave a hollow laugh.

“Friends?” Ogilvy spat, “I don’t have friends. Do you know why I hung around you?” he asked. Chip gave some serious thought; he had never paid it mind.

“Because you were special!” roared Ogilvy, “I was never congratulated! I never got awards for my achievements! All the academy cared about was you! Chip did this, Chip did that! I can’t believe the Dissonance didn’t show me sooner!”

“The what?”

“The chemicals I was knocked into that day,”  exposited Ogilvy, “were full of living microorganisms. That’s why you’re here…”

Ogilvy began to change, regaining the youth he had when he was back at the academy. Those big blue eyes were welling up with tears.

“Get them out of me, Chip,” he begged, “I don’t want to be the bad guy like this.”

Four Years Ago

Hope and Modo were sat in the hotel room in Sandstopper while the events of the party proceeded; Modo was afraid of loud noises and Hope was hardly in a party mood. She’d been thinking of the logs Gamma had played, about Ogilvy… And about how he was connected to her caretaker, Chip. He’d told her the story once before. It all happened four years ago…

——————-FOUR YEARS AGO, ABOARD THE SHEE ARK “AURORA”———————–

Chip tilted the brim of his trilby over his eyes to block out the artificial sunlight. He was waiting on someone. That someone was Ogilvy, a white-haired, straight-A student and the local “runt of the litter”. Chip was probably the only one willing to hang out with poor Ogilvy, since they were the top students of Aurora Ark Academy, the school for young scientists. When Chip finally saw Ogilvy, he was surprised; the sophisticated pretty-boy had a bandage over one eye, leaving only one of his bright blue eyes twinkling in the fake sunshine. Despite this, he still kept that little nervous smile he always had. Chip admired that; Ogilvy was bullied every day, sometimes all day, but he never let up that can-do spirit.

Although male, Ogilvy’s frame was distinctively feminine, which only worsened his teasing. He even got confused about his own gender sometimes. The Shee had said something about adding in a mixture of DNA from both sexes into his own, although Ogilvy seemed not to care. He sat under the oak tree of Metaroom Fourteen, next to Chip, and looked over.

“Why, fellow, dost thou feel the breeze in the room?” asked Ogilvy, an entire childhood of being dragged off to expensive Shakespeare plays taking their toll. Ever aristocratic, it was often Ogilvy’s odd and dated speech that drew him closer to people.

“Yer wot, Oggy?” was the cultured and meaningful riposte from a half-asleep Chip, whose background was quite the opposite. “What’s up with yer eye?”

“Alas!” whimpered Ogilvy, “for ’tis soon to be away from this earthly realm, struck by a blade of small stature and girth, encased within a plastic prison the likes of which-”

“Jonesy got you in the face with his ball-point pen, didn’t he?” translated Chip, “did me an’ all. Look,” he lifted his sleeve to reveal the phrase “CH1P ❤ PEN15” written in blue ink. “I hate him so much,” sighed the young Cockney.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Ogilvy nodded, dropping the Olde-Worlde speech in favour of a natural tone, “we must do two things. Firstly, have you sounding at least slightly respectable, and secondly, get back at Jonesy. Would you partake in a revenge scheme?”

Chip gave this a full minute of thought.

“Yea, verily,” he said at last, as the two friends walked back to their dorm, laughing. Back in the dorm, some very strange and hazardous new chemicals from the planet below had been packed up and stored in barrels to be researched later, and Jonesy had a lot of them. That night, Chip and Ogilvy snuck into the room where Jonesy slept. Chip pinned him down, while Ogilvy leaned in close to write something equally embarrassing, when suddenly…

The lights of the room came on, and Jonesy flung Chip to one side! He then grabbed Ogilvy by the neck.

“I KNEW YOUSE WAS COMIN’! FOLKS IS ALWAYS TRYIN’A GET THEIR OWN BACK AT JONESY!” he roared, “WELL, THEY AIN’T EVER GOTTEN THEIR OWN BACK! AN’ YOU AIN’T EITHER, YE FOOKIN’ TRANNY!”

Ogilvy was hurled at full force against the wall, knocking over some chemicals which seeped into his skin and stained his clothes. By now, half the dorm was awake, and the fight was broken up.

The following day was one of harsh punishments for all three of them, but it took a very dark turn exceptionally quickly. Chip was assigned to scrubbing floors, and he was doing just that, when he saw Ogilvy pinning something up. The something, once Chip realized what it was, made him sick.

Ogilvy had pinned a freshly skinned corpse to the bulletin board, and Chip could guess who it was.

“Ogilvy?!” he choked out, “have you gone nuts?!”

The white haired, gender-neutral former friend said nothing, but instead grabbed Chip and, rather forcefully, locked him into a French kiss. Chip’s muffled protests went unheard as Ogilvy continued, slipping off some of his own clothing while trying to grab Chip’s blazer and other garments to force them away. Chip resisted, pushing Ogilvy back.

“Oh, Choccy, you’re a very bad boy, aren’t you?” purred Ogilvy, seductively drawing out the pet name Chip had amassed even before joining the academy (“Choccy”, referring to “Chocolate Chip”, frequently used by Ogilvy).

Chip ran. Nobody could help him deal with this. Nothing could have prepared him for his best friend to turn into THAT. He fled the academy. A week later, the news reports came in. “Bloodbath at Aurora Academy”, “Sexually Explicit Murder In Space”, and so on. For the next three years, Chip ran, trying to escape, to hide away somewhere. He felt he was safe when the reports stopped. However…

—————————————–PRESENT DAY——————————————–

Hope thought to herself, if Gamma’s logs mentioned Ogilvy… And the Ark had crashed… And the Geats worshipped him… And one of those Geats now knew where Chip was…

Oh dear.

The Tale of The Fleshed

“The what?” Chip asked, incredulously. No record of The Fleshed existed, not where he came from. The strange mutant thing let out another deranged giggle.

“You Shee-Touched and your ignorance! IG-NOR-ANCE! Ignorance. We-we-WE-we are Th-the Fleshed, The Fleshed, They Who Devour! Ver-very well, how about I put it another way-WAY?”

The monstrous pile of skin and muscle mass twitched and convulsed erratically as it spoke, its face wobbling about its boneless frame as it cackled madly.

“Tell me, Shee-Touched, what happens when a -PERSON- is thrown at the speed of -LIGHT- through the void of sp-VOID OF SPACE!? Space. Your old friends, -THE SHEE-, decided to find out. With me. Me! ME! I am the result of a -HUMAN- being thrown -TWENTY- miles across -THE VOID OF SPACE- at the speed of -LIGHT-. Light!”

Chip was listening to the story, but across the village, Hope and Modo were attempting to pull Gamma out of the sea.

“Leave Gamma!” the geat was screaming, “Gamma want terminate! Gamma terminate self with ocean!”

“Gamma, you don’t have to do this,” Modo reasoned, “you can rebuild and repopulate your Ark. My pa can fix it, he can fix everything.”

“That’s right!” agreed Hope, “you don’t need to terminate, Gamma. You should stay alive. You NEED to be alive. Why do you think you have to die?”

“Because… Because… Gamma kill. Gamma murderer…” confessed the geat, “commence playback…”

And that was when the recordings played. They usually involved sounds of metal on metal impact, and crew members complaining about their jobs. None of the Ark’s crew had really enjoyed their time aboard, with the common lament of “I wish I didn’t have to do this.” Naturally, Gamma had decided to grant that wish, by shutting off the oxygen supply… And then the Great Geat Uprising had happened.

It was terrible; with nobody aboard to maintain the Ark, it fell into disrepair, and so did the Geats. They were driven insane by faulty programming and turned on one another, resulting in all-out war. Gamma was the only survivor. The logs detailing the Geat Uprising contained a single phrase that was endlessly repeated, mysterious in nature and tone:

“Hail Ogilvy.”

The final three logs were nothing but those two words, repeated in a half-sane chant.

Meanwhile, halfway across Albia, a stranger looked down at the ruins below.

“Nothing. Nothing, as usual. Looks like we’re going for Plan B. Skreep!”

The diminutive Grendel at the man’s side looked up, furiously saluting. “Bring out the prisoner and tell her the location of the other Shee-Touched I’ve heard so much about. It’s time for a little family reuinion… With strings attached, naturally…”

Back with Chip, the Fleshed was still laughing with insane glee. Whatever was human about it was gone, replaced with madness and a callous disregard for the living… Then Chip had an idea. He picked up the Fleshed, and hefted it to where Hope and Modo were talking to Gamma.

“Wait!” he cried, “You didn’t kill all the crew! Look!” Chip held up the Fleshed, then hoisted it to Gamma’s view. “Hope, be a dear and fetch my tools. Daddy has some important work to do.”

Hours passed, but the eventual operation was a success. The Fleshed were wired directly into Gamma, though in such a way that his thoughts were theirs, and weaved around circuitry and wiring. Gamma was now an organic spaceship. “Now,” Chip told him, “go. Go, Gamma, and find a new Ark. The Fleshed, your new organic components, will be all you require to work one yourself.”

Gamma understood, nodded, and jetted off into the air. The whole village celebrated that night; No Fleshed meant no robotic monsters using them. Though there was one who hadn’t been in Sandstopper for these events, and Chip noticed. She seemed like an odd mix of Shee, Ettin, Norn and human DNA, with large eyes, a smallish nose and pointed ears alluding to a human body with non-human origin. Chip approached her, but she beat him to it.

“So, after all this time, I finally found you… Dad.” she smiled, a hint of Hootch on her breath, but not a highly intoxicating amount.

Chip tried to find words, but he found none. So he fainted instead.

The Tale of Sandstopper, Part Six: Borland Lives (In A Way)

[Recommended Listening: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UeO34bmJdMA It’s like internal dialogue for both parties…]

*This is an INTERACTIVE post!*

Gamma’s systems were at their highest capacity, with the new mechanical body finally adjusting to its internals. There was no doubt, the frame was a weapon. A thinking, sea-monster-crushing weapon designed solely for the purpose of defending the village. However, the memories of the former Geat were proving too much for it. Those last moments aboard the Ark played back endlessly; How Gamma had slacked off its duties, how shirking responsibility led to the core overheating, how the fireball that resulted utterly devastated most of the ship and how he was unlucky enough to survive.

The fury that came with the new body wasn’t helping. What Chip had intended as a tool to make Gamma into an instinctive protector against Borland was being directed internally, since they were in a place where the sea was no concern. Finally, Gamma spoke.

“Gamma crush Borland… Gamma crush… lonely, Gamma lonely… Gamma extremely sad. Gamma kill Borland, then self. Gamma kill self. Gamma terminate.”

Before anyone could stop the machine, it blasted off like the mutant offspring of Mazinger and Road Runner, determined to perform a suicide charge on the very thing it was until recently unaware of.

Chip, immediately harking back to his past experiences with a creation of his dying, rushed after Gamma. The immense power generated by the Geat-thing’s rage was bound to pack a punch, and if it turned that energy inward, that’s two more deaths he’d be responsible for. He made it to the shoreline before he found something. A scale, from Borland. A close examination revealed that it wasn’t a scale, but rather, a flake of dry paint around a piece of alloy shaped like a guitar pick. Was Borland… A fake?

Chip’s attention turned to the battle further out at sea. Borland was taking a beating, all right, but something odd had happened to it.

The sea monster’s scales had drifted off into the ocean, revealing a metallic husk. Wrapped around its ribcage was a fleshy, parasitic creature. Its face was human, and the beast was surrounded by viscera, though it was protected by an iron sphere. This was the true Borland; a freakishly mutated lump of skin given life. As more and more of the outer monstrosity was blasted away, more and more of the frame was exposed, a mess of technology and wires. As Gamma initiated its final charge, the iron heart of the beast was sent flying ashore!

By now, a crowd had gathered, among them Hope, Modo and Chip. The three hurried to the metal sphere, opening it to find the hideous monster inside.

“What… What ARE you?!” was all an incredulous Chip could splutter, which made the parasite begin to laugh. A hollow, drawn-out wheezing cackle from a creature with no sanity at all punctuated by the rhythmic beeps and blips of a heart monitor and a computer.

“HAhahahahAAAHHHeeheehehehoohahahaaaa…” wheezed the broken, wretched creature. “I do NOT- not -NAAaAAaaawt! – need to explain A-ny-THING to YOU! I-am-we-are-you-shall-not. YOU. YOU. You-you-YOU. Will! Sub-MIT! We are The Fleshed – THE FLESHED!”

WHAT’S NEXT FOR OUR HEROES? DO THEY INTERROGATE THE CREATURE, FIND OUT MORE? OR SHOULD THEY GET RID OF IT?