288

Well Seeker, an actual story one wishes for?

Very well.

Damnable 288
Empty dust ridden streets, walls and buildings in shambles, a massive crater laden with plumes of sulphur -- the ruins of a once prosperous town totally decimated not even yesterday.

"Sweet Goddess!” The seasoned Jorge exclaimed with his mouth falling agape, permitting his cigar to free itself to the ashen ground from his mouth. He raised his goggles to take in the sight more clearly

“There really ain't nothin' left of this place...” He stood in awe at the brim of the easily hundred metre wide crater, gazing across the horizon with nothing left intact. With nothing of value to be had here, Jorge slung his packer rifle back over his shoulder and turned to head back to his Prowler.

The path back was nothing extraordinary. Crumbling roads and charred buildings with their worldly possessions burnt to a crisp by a great conflagration. Even metal object were defeated by the heat and deformed beyond recognition or usefulness. Normally the kind of place where a scavenger would like to be, but there was simply nothing of value to be found.

He arrived at the beast of machinery and leant against the scratched and dented grey hull. He reached into his weathered satchel and withdrew from it a gritty tin of Brig's Company Cigars. It popped a rush of air when he opened it, pulled one out and placed it between his dry lips. He used his trusty torch cutter holstered on his belt to strike it aflame; taking care to not set his beard ablaze.

“Nothin' on this planet should do so much damage...” He muttered to himself after the initial puff of smoke. He shook his head of thoughts of the nigh incomprehensible destruction. Jorge closed the tin with a pop and mounted his vehicle. It creaked and groaned like the jury rigged beast it was and donned his scavenger goggles, then started up the beast.

The marvel of machinery that it was roared to life. A marvel in that something like that could even run without exploding or shaking itself to pieces. Scavenger Prowlers are notorious for using unstable and rather dangerous technology to run, even outlawed tech is common in them. As a result, they are banned from general use in most settled areas, but in the open dunes, there are no substitutes. Nothing else can move you over a medium distance faster and more effectively than one of these machines, even the Ezrikams are envious of such an effective method of travel in the sands. A shame really, that they have a history of unfavourable accidents.

Its jet engine centrepiece hummed to life and glowed a hue of blue, generating power, sparking the null gravity jets to life with a low bearing hum and bringing the machine to a steady hover above the sands. He tightly griped the chopper handlebars, checked the sails, and revved to engine. The machine roared louder, and took off at a respectable speed given the way it looked, leaving a cloud of sooty sand and ash in his wake.

He prowled over the sandy streets unhindered, whizzing by any crumbling structures whilst looking out for anything worth stopping for in the ruined city. Another Prowler caught his gaze from about half a kilometre down the old Main Street, he slowed his chopper to reduce his noise profile, and zoomed in with his goggles' optics. It was a brighter shade of grey, looking spiffy and new compared to his own. A bright red circle with a mountainous motif present in the centre was plastered over the rear sail and hull, showing the owner's allegiance; much like his own.

“Hrm, ts' got an Ariene insignia, my guess is Cessip.” Jorge thought to himself. Cessip was another scavenger on Jorge's team sent to prospect the city -- among the others; him and Cessip set out to search the western portion if the city while the others chose to comb the eastern area. Although it is unlikely anything would be found there either.

He deactivated the zoom and revved the engine once again, then set course for the other Prowler. He rolled up next to the other vehicle; notably smaller than his own, looking much cleaner and more refined, but obviously less powerful. He coasted to a stop and deactivated the monster. The hunk of machinery plunked down onto the sooty ground with a crash. Jorge paid it no mind, instead opting to find out what the situation is.

“Cessip! You in there?” Jorge called out into the dark charred alley the Prowlers were parked in front of.

“Jorge? I'm here! C'mere a moment, I found someone alive!” Cessip answered from the ruin.

“We'll I'll be damned if he did.” Jorge set off into the crumbling alleyway, taking caution of his surroundings. A sudden wall of dread hit him part way in, urging him to ready his packer rifle. The buildings there looked much more structurally sound, apparently due in part to the distance from the epicentre, but other buildings further away were in worse condition. It didn't take long to find Cessip, having only been about a fifty feet into the crumbling alley and around a corner.

It was shocking to see his normally unassuming and kind stature as well as his attire covered with consistent blotches of blood, he looked like he'd been through hell and back. His bandana-bound blond hair was slicked back in a constricted, uncharacteristic manner, with it normally flying free as a bird in the wind.

“There ya' are Jorge, glad ya' came 'round.” Cessip greeted his comrade with an upward nod, “I found a survivor here.” He jutted his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the limp form of a young girl in tattered grey rags, with unruly brunette strands barely covering a set of bloodstained bandages over her eyes.

“What's her deal? And what happened to you?” Jorge inquired, kneeling down and inspecting the bandages.

“Found 'er here with 'er eyes straight up cut out, figured I use what I had to help stop the bleedin'. And she bled a lot. Should probably get 'er back to the others, get 'er some more help, the blood doesn't seem to stop.”

"I don't know... I'm gettin' weird vibes from her. How did she survive? Everythin' here is a pile of ash." Jorge said and backed away from the girl.

"Can't just leave 'er here can we? All this happened over night, so she couldn't have wandered in. Maybe she knows what happened." Cessip argued to a sceptical Jorge.

"Fine, but you're taking her on your prowler.” Jorge remarked then withdrew his spent cigar.

--

In hindsight: the location of the infirmary really could have been given more thought, given that it sat near to the Steamer Port. Steamers are massive steam powered vehicles that roll across the sands in order to import and export goods, people, and services. Steamers produce a largely unpleasant din with their treads rumbling over the land, even on sand, and their deafening air horns don't help matters. A number of complaints have been made, but the old trade centre was the only building big enough to support the large amount of patients Airene receives regularly, as well the equipment needed to treat them, and facilitating the clerics who stand by 29/13. But alas, the colony has established itself far too much to warrant a change of location for the hospital, even if the colonists had the materials to build a new building, space would be an issue. The colony of Ariene sat shielded, huddled in a mountain alcove on the dried sea bed, surrounded by rock on three sides, and a high traffic Steamway on the other one side bordering the wall of another huge mountain. Mitigating sandstorms from the surrounding dunes.

The archaic halls of the hospital held with it an air of old death; the feeling of the countless who have died in care, mostly a cause of the nigh inhospitable nature of this land, rather than maltreatment by the staff. The Followers of Myss give their all in their attempts to save everyone they can, but restorative magics and tech can only help so much when the patient is missing half his torso. As was the situation last week. Many people of different ailments find their way into the Myss Institution of Health, due in part of it being the only real hospital in the Sarint Desert. The man who was nearly bitten in half was prey to a large sand worm from all the way up near Dalrine, quite the long haul to ship someone in such critical condition. Luckily a Myss cleric was moving through the area and was called to his aid, he was able to keep the man alive long enough to board a Steamer to Ariene. Remarkably, that man is still alive and stable today, but his preservation spelled much controversy among the public; as he will likely never be able to live independent of extensive care, and he will never be able to work by his lonesome ever again. Myss followers will try to save everyone they can, even if it means preserving someone to the point where they are of no value to society any longer, it becomes a problem in a land where 'you don't work, you don't eat' is the motivation behind everyday life. The Myss Followers make it extensively clear that no life in their care will be forsaken, despite claims that their actions can sometimes bring more grief to the patients than peace.

Because of this philosophy, a recent development has had the Followers of Myss up in arms. A particular patient found near the wreckage of two Sand Prowlers not far from town, a young girl no older than 14 with her eyes having been crudely cut out. She was brought back by a passing ranger patrol, and they seemed eager to be rid of the girl when they had brought her in. They had shaken looks strewn over their faces, and one of the men called her a Wight before hurrying out. Many realized why soon after.

Why did this unconscious blind girl have everyone so apprehensive? Even the most seasoned clerics dreaded passing by room 288. Dreaded smog clouded the airways surrounding it, and when inside the room you get a small voice in the back of your mind, the voice of reason, the voice that tells you to run when it feels danger. But she is still just a girl, just a blind and unconscious girl. There should be no reason for these omens, and even the clerics are speaking in hushed tones regarding her. The girl of room 288.

---

“C-Come on now guys I'm terrible at this job! W-why send me in?! We were supposed to do it together!” The lanky weasel of a man, Denny pleaded to the others.

“Hell of I'm going in there! I feel chills just standing here!” The tall blond Zaid stated, reinforced with a cross of his well toned arms.

“You drew the short straw, now get in there!” Dim affirmed with a sharp shove to the back, pushing Denny against the door of room 288.

Denny looked at the menacing bronze number plate of the door and gulped a nervous gulp. Gazing back over his shoulder to the group staring at him expectantly. He took a deep breath and griped the handle, slowly pushing the old door open with a creak. He gingerly poked his head into the room containing just a bed, derelict life regulator, a chair and a window. And of course, Patient 288.

The sunlight leaking through the window streaked over the left side of her face, granting clarity of the sodden wrappings over it. Denny griped his satchel tight as he approached her still form. Despite their best efforts, the Myss Followers could not stop the bleeding from her eyes, no amounts of restoration or alteration could completely stem the tide, but securely wrapping the wounds in bandages proved to at least help slow it. Yet another reason the clerics receive bad vibes from her, that and how she never seems to run out of blood; she eventually soaks through bandages with copious amounts of it, and yet her skin pigment never changes to a pale tone. An unexplainable phenomenon.

Denny arrived at her bedside and placed the satchel on the seat of the chair and unbuckled it, revealing a myriad of gauzes, bandages, and various bladed instruments. Across the room the door haphazardly flew open, and came rolling in was a service cart with a bowl of water and a wash cloth on it, and faster than it opened, it closed again. The cart moseyed on over to Denny at the bedside, coming to rest by bumping into him lightly.

“Why does it have to be me...?” Denny mumbled as he ran his shaky hand over the collection of bladed instruments, pondering which ones to use. After finally coming to a conclusion, he donned his scissors with fingers entwined in the holes and turned to face Patient 288. He shook as more mental alarms sounded off in his head, but he tried his hardest to dispel them, it's just a blind girl, nothing to be afraid of. He meticulously leaned in and slipped the bandages into the mouth of the scissors and carefully began to cut them. Halfway along the cut, the tension of the bandages along the cheekbone area began to fade, and steady droplets of crimson liquid began to stream down her cheeks and onto her already bloodstained gown.

The cutting continued after a brief pause due to the never ending blood. He proceeded to finish the cut, causing the wrap to unwind from her head, drooping away from her face, revealing the fleshy holes that once served as eye sockets. Now a set of crudely carved recesses in her head, with marks of old wounds plenty visible around them, ranging from nicks to inches long cut marks. Denny shied away slightly upon meeting the sight, no one can really hold their composure in the presence of that. He timidly peeled the remainder of the loose set of bandages and placed them on the cart behind him, then grabbing the wash cloth and dipping it in the water. He brought the cloth over to her scarred face and gingerly began to wipe away the blood running down her cheeks and surrounding the sockets.

Only after he finished that he realized he was holding his breath the entire time. But letting out the breath also let loose his composure. “Ah!” Denny yelped and jumped back slightly, making contact with the cart, causing the bowl of blood laced water to come crashing down, shattering and splashing all over the floor. This in turn, earned another yelp from Denny, this time causing him to stumble over the chair on which bladed instruments sat. He made contact with the floor with a loud thud, and a sharp pain present in his lower back.

“Denny? What happened?” A muffled voice came from behind the door.

“Aghh...” Denny groaned in response and moved a hand to a tingly portion of his lower back, brushing against a metal handle.

The door slowly creaked open with a triad of faces gazing in each atop one another. When Denny's condition was clear - made more obvious with help from the bloody water all over, the group rushed in to his aid.

“Denny! What happened?” A concerned cleric rushed over to his side, while the others inspected the room.

“Aughh... I swear she looked right at me... made me trip. I think a scalpel is in me...” He slowly explained, complete with another groan as he turned on his right side to better show the wound.

“What? She couldn't have possibly...” The buzz cut man trailed off as he gazed into fleshy sockets dripping with blood, staring right at him, into his soul. “Ahh! The hell!?” He yelled out, breaking free of the cryptic gaze and stumbling onto his behind, his right hand landing directly on a piece of shattered glass from the water dish. “Ach!” He gripped his wounded hand and held it close, noting the fresh beads of blood forming, then looked up to see Dim and Zaid staring intently at the still form of the girl, who hasn't moved one bit.

Dim let out a scream like the others, then made straight for the door, but he lost his footing in the bloody water, causing him to slip and violently slam against the door with a sickening crunch. All his motion ceased and his head remained stuck against the section of the door in which the handle lies. Soon, steady droplets of blood hit the wooden floor beneath him, and a single tooth bounced off the floor with a click.

Zaid slowly began backing away from the bed, still staring directly at the girl. His pace sped up and his feet tussled with each other, causing him to trip backwards and violently slam his head against the green wall; losing consciousness upon impact.

---

The Administrator rubbed his temple and tapped his pen over and over again against the stack of injury reports. Over the last few days, everyone who interacted with Patient 288 has received an injury of varying severity, all enough to draw blood; usually a variation of laceration or severe blunt trauma. Every one of them had claimed she looked directly at them, with the bloody sockets eating away at their integrity, but that simply couldn't be the case. Some have witnessed the causes of injury, and the girl never moved an inch, yet they claim her head was twisted at unnatural angles at times in order to stare at them. It has gotten to the point where nobody would dare enter her room in order to remove her from the Institution; someone even went as to nail boards over the door, which were taken down shortly after of course.

The Administrator glanced over to a few scattered reports lying on his ornate wooden desk a moment. “Arden Mensk, deep laceration of the right palm, cause: interaction with 288”

Interaction with 288, a subjective term coined by the clerics. So broad in its meaning, if you simply told someone about a cut you received, and that it was from interacting with Patient 288, they wouldn't inquire anymore, as that would serve them with all the info they could possibly need.

“Denny Frisk, impalement via scalpel on right flank, cause: interaction with 288. Randal Corvo, severe laceration originating from forehead to abdomen, cause: interaction with 288.” The Administrator ran his hand down his face, coming to rest on his chin before calling to his cybernetic assistant.

"Plume, prepare a letter."

"Yes Dr. White." The female shaped bot acknowledged and promptly produced a piece of parchment from an ornate drawer of the wooden desk. "To whom would it be addressed?" She inquired, pen at the ready.

“Addressed to Solar City, Myss Fane of Tribute. High Priest Chen Lonlight.

Highest Lonlight,

As you may already know, the anomaly we have admitted to our intensive care twelve days ago has reached a tipping point. Patient 288's condition certainly hasn't improved, quite the opposite in fact. The more we tried to stem the bleeding from her eye sockets, the more accidents in the workplace have taken place. Twenty seven individuals who had previously interacted with Patient 288 sustained some form of blood drawing injury some time after the fact. Be it instantly, for after hours. Never days. All attempts to peer into her soul have been met with catastrophic failure, with the physics either seeing horrors, or refusing to even work with the girl. No staff members will obey any order to interact with Patient 288. The second floor in which she resides has been entirely evacuated, and... ” He waved his hand dismissively towards Plume, who stopped writing, and ran his other down his scruffy face, coming to rest on his chin.

"Plume, stop writing for now, and go power down for the night or until I come back."

"Yes of course, Dr. White." The clockwork lady acknowledged with a curtsey and journeyed over to its designated corner, powering down.

“This sounds like complete bullshit, nobody in their right mind would believe it. They'd think it's nothing but superstition...” He solemnly mumbled to no one in particular, “I'll prove it.” He stated as he rose from his desk, donning his Myss pendant around his neck, grabbing a small brass device, and set out of his office.

The reception area was void of any life, the secretary having gone home hours ago. The Administrator had been working late, sorting through and filing various injury reports and complaints, nearly all of which concerned Patient 288; never before had a complaint regarding a lack of handrails been so refreshing. He inserted his key into his office door and locked it, then proceeded to switch off the main light controls plunging his office and reception area into darkness. He stepped out into the hallway of the first floor of the Institution and made his way down the hall of worn white tile and green wallpaper. The staff members on night watch eyed him curiously as he moved by, but none inquired about it. The recent events have made him more... Toxic.

An unpleasant howling sound echoed throughout the premises, followed by a rumble of gradually increasing volume. "Damn Steamers, why do they have to run this late?" The Administrator thought and proceeded to the end of the halls to a lesser known stairway to the second floor segued by a doorless doorframe. He climbed the dusty and quite neglected stairway, hardly illuminated by flickering old bulbs on the walls. Nearing the top he began toying with the device he had brought with him, he pressed a multitude of buttons on the backside and the gadget sprawled open like a flower with a lens in the centre. It was still small enough to tuck in his overcoat chest pocket, looking like a bronze mechanical flower a gentleman would wear to the ball.

He topped the derelict stairway and pushed open an equally worn out old door to an offshoot utility hall of the second floor. The second floor of the Institution had been all but abandoned; the main lights having been turned off, with only dim secondary bulbs illuminating the halls. The remaining sole denizen of the second floor was Patient 288, residing in the room of the same name. The Administrator peered down the eerie hall, hesitating before shaking his head and activated the recording device as he slowly walked down it.

“Alright... I've decided to record Patient 288 on film, with the intent to dispel this nonsense,” he leaned his head to the right and whispered into the device perched in his front pocket. "Or prove it..."

Upon reaching the end of the smaller hallway he was graced with the main hall, which served to add to the creepiness of the whole situation. Down the main corridor some of the secondary lights flickered on and off, doors to various rooms lie both open and closed, and the occasional piece of medical equipment lying haphazardly in the hall. Everyone was in a hurry to evacuate the floor.

"I don't see how merely being around the girl brings misfortune, but the overwhelming amount of complaints and injury reports test me to no end." He nervously narrated as he creeped down the hall.

Further down the hall to his left, a bed propped against a door could be seen in the flickering light, and judging by the chronological numbering of the rooms down that way, it must be room 288. He journeyed into the main corridor and as he neared the room ever so more, the dreaded air was getting more predominant, giving the feeling someone's right behind you all the time. The Administrator gripped the brass medallion of Myss and muttered a small prayer into it before continuing onwards.

Outside of the room marked 270, the air took on the embodiment of the feeling of dread, almost something one has never felt before; the truest fear. The hands of primordial fear constantly trying to rip and tear at your resolve. Before he knew it, he was hesitating again. He gripped his medallion tightly and mouthed another prayer, but felt nothing of it. His faith and devotions failing him in this dark hour, he turned around to hastily leave before an obnoxiously loud horn of the parked Steamer froze him in place. Taking this as a sign, he strong armed through the fear and he turned right back around with pendant still gripped tightly, racing for room 288.

Upon finally reaching the door, to his delight (or lack thereof), the bed in fact had not been directly barricading the door, only partially so; warranting him to slip by it and grip the handle of the door. Before he went to turn it he gazed at the ominous number plate, 288, and took note of the faint tracings of blood on the numbers. After enough deliberation, he twisted the handle and pushed open the old door, bearing moonlit sight of stains on the floor, debris, bladed instruments and bloody bandages strewn about the room. And most importantly, Patient 288's still form in the bed.

"This is the room 288, as you can see..."

His eyes widened with pure terror, and he became totally paralyzed after setting eyes on the grey robed Figure casually sitting in a suffering chair beside Patient 288. It sat in a bored manner, leaning to one side with the arm resting on the warped armrest supporting its head; lanky fingers tapped an unknown beat on the other. The figure's cloaked head swiveled to look at the Administrator. Though it wasn't possible to tell, it gave of the impression of grinning at him.

“Well there we go, someone actually came up here. Too bad we were just leaving though...” The figure cooed in a soft monotone voice as it rose from the chair, which creaked in much protest. It stood on unnaturally long legs and possessed unnervingly long arms to compliment them. It reached over with its right arm, wrapping around the girl's back and hoisted her with no effort over its shoulder.

It sauntered over to where the Administrator stood, undulating rhythmically as it did so, then stopped in front the paralyzed man. He could only look up into the darkness of the figure's face beneath the hood. Without any hesitation, remorse or consideration, it brought up a sickening boney hand of thinly stretched skin, placing it over his face and gripped tightly. With a swift twisting motion, a revolting snap echoed through the room and hall before his lifeless body unceremoniously fell to the floor. The Figure showed no respect as it stepped on his body in order to weave itself through the doorframe and into the hall, with 288 in its possession.