Rampage Out of Space

[Montmorency]

Day Five

The march from the laboratories had the grim air of a death march. There was something of a stolid resignation about them all, as if they walked half in another world between lines of nameless guards to a certain and familiar doom, the memory of the warriors who went abroad replaced by nefandous, recriminatory fatalism.

The ragged band finally reached the nerve center of the facility, the command room. it was here that all manner of data from around the base, its exterior, and agents worldwide was integrated, synthesized, and interpreted. Most of the equipment lay in ruin from the initial storming, the dozens of corpses still strewn about the machines and the floor. Marines set to work clearing space for the camp.

It had all come back to this.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

(Activate! Metaphysical License: Monologue)

Five days ago, fewer than a tenth of the UMENSES initial strength were alive following the successful assault on the center of Bionic operations. Major Montmorency had taken over as Commanding Officer following General Hankerchief's death in an ambush. Now, of even they less than a company's worth remained. The Marines' record since descending into the complex was one of unmitigated failure fostering crippling paranoia and self-brutalization.

They were all probably going to die here. Even after they had effectively won the battle, they were about to lose the battle.

Even worse, their failure could unleash a threat upon the world more potent and fearsome than Bionics.

In so many words, an Apocalypse Now breakdown was imminent.



BorgPicard, whose dogtag RFID would have read "Captain LordArgon" had he had one, was tired of the niggling suspicion coming his way from time to time lately.

He had never before come in contact with unmodified humans before. The recent proximity generated a grudging appreciation in him, for the relative ingenuity of existence among Bionics.

He wanted to feel himself again, consummately, and soon.

Today the attention was especially insistent, as the UMEN detective, punier than even the rest of the humans, had ostensibly placed some of their number above suspicion.

Borg heard it again and again, the loathing in their sneering voices, as they rebuked his creepy mannerisms, his abnormal gait, his comically-stilted speech, and more.

No more mincing. No more spying and lurking.

It was time to get his. He had the power.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Borg removed his helmet and relieved his face upon the cool air. The helmet seemed to liquefy in his hands, seamlessly dripping back into his skin. A nearby Marine witnessed the unspeakable violation of natural law and fired wildly at Borg between screams.



Borg languidly approached the offending Marine and without any evident exertion detached his head, which he tossed at the feet of Major Montmorency. The body remained standing, but slack, the blood stopped all inside.

The Major called his troops to the ready: Look out boys, we got us a live one!

They broke through their trance of despair to the stimulus of danger. Squads spread out and semi-ringed it, it formerly known as BorgPicard.

BorgPicard's grin had too many teeth. While he laughed, brief glimpses of his open throat mesmerized like a whirlpool.

But he raised two good arms up in that familiar gesture of yielding.

My dear sapients - one long tooth glinted gleefully - to harm you is quite beneath me, such as you are. I only wish to impose upon your gracious assistance a small task. You see, it is those two I am pursuing.

It pointed at the Bionics amid the Marines, who did not flinch as all eyes turned to them. They alone had not taken combat positions, standing upright and in the open.

It is they who have caused us both such misery, and whose destruction would delight all. I will take them and assimilate what rightfully belongs to me. All I ask is that you stand out of my way. Thus your hysterical martial mission will be accomplished and your designs briefly satisfied.

It would be my pleasure to offer you a full day's head start in removing yourselves from this place before - unspecifiable - harms befall you.

It let silence settle over the dumbfounded humans for a time, as its humanoid shape sinuously deformed, or better to say unformed out of the pseudo-armor. What it resembled now was not a man but a hulking amorphous pulp of gasping maws.

Approximately 24% of Marines had shit themselves at this point.




Marvelous! Simply extraordinary! Subarashii!

Lieutenant Vroendal strode out into the gap between monster and Marines, clapping his hands.

I could never have imagined you would be capable of such sophistication, creature. How wonderful that you were leashed, once. But your cognition is nevertheless far beneath our level.

Turning back to the stunned Marines, he spread his arms wide and high.

Look upon our works, ye minnows, and despair!

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

I too have reached the limit of my patience, declaimed Supralatus Vroendal. His Marine disguise faded out, revealing the poised figure of one of the most formidable Bionics in existence.

He was disappointed that the elite Marines had stuck to passivity throughout the show; he would have liked to have extracted quiescence through coercion, not stupefaction.

So he fired his Sensory Disrupter at the Alien Werewolf, sending it into shrieking paroxysms. As it writhed he turned back toward the formation.

This is how we proceed. The monster we have before us - Bionic property - is currently, by day, in its weak state. It is no match for me currently. In fact, I myself could destroy it and every last one of you along with it. It is absolutely pathetic how overmatched you all are, and how much time you have wasted.

But out of, heh, "respect", for your Marine code of honor, I will afford you the grace of dying in noble combat rather than through unceremonious execution.

So: you all, proceed to wipe out this alien abomination for me, and once you are done you will receive quick and merciful deaths from me. If you run, you die.

Is that a deal?

Major Montmorency? Sir? Vroendal mugged at the last.

Fight well and prove your worth in the name of UMEN, devil dogs!

The Major too shit his pants, or more precisely, his girdle.

Whoever wins, we lose! he cried out haplessly.






The sound became increasingly warped, until no longer recognizable as laughter but as a scratchy warble in their bones.

A̸҉g̵͠a̡͘in,̷̢ ̡̧̀y͝o͘u̸ ̧ma͟y͝ ͞lo̴ok̴̶ ̴u̷p̷̷̀o͠͏n̛ l͡į̵́f̧̧e̴͢͝ ̛á̵s̨͟ ҉a̴n̴ ̡u̧͝n̛p͜҉͢r̶ơf́i̷̡͡t͜a͝b̕͟ļ̴̀é̵ e̛p͘i̶̴s̕o͏̕d̨͡e̢,̵̧͘ ̴d̛͟iş̷̀t̛u̴̴͜ŗ͡͠b͠i̧͡n͟g̢ ̀t̀he̴̴̢ ͞b͢l̷͏e̴͏sś̶͘e͘d̶̀ ̨c҉͜a͏͢ĺ̢m͏̵͏ ͏of̵̶̨ ̷̸͞ńo͏ń͟-̸̨̧e̵̢x͡͏i̧͟s̀t̡́e̸n҉̛c̵̢e̴̷.҉ ͎A͓n̩̞ḍ̖̹,̬̗̖̼ i͈̖̰͔̲n͎̰͔̘̩ ͎̹͕̮̮̰a̱̳n̻̫͇y̩̭͙̞̼̳͈ ̦̙c̠a̘͓̬̣͕͕͎s̲͓͎e͔͓͎,̟͖̥ ̭̭̺͍̭̲e̝̹̻̳̜͔vḛn̩̬̣̱̩̝ ͚͔̘͕t̳͉̖͉̮̻ho͈̰u̦͇̥̹̻̪̩g͚̗̯̳̼͇h̻ t̟͖̻̗̻h̪̻̤ͅi̞̻̤̺̟̼̫n͙̬͙g̦̼͙̟̞ͅs̘͚̥̭ ̳̜͔̖̞̣h͓͖a͈͖͍̤v̖̗e̲ ̝͕̝̹̭go͎̘̥̪n͕͚͇̞͙̩̺e̼ͅ ̙͇w̮̗i̭͇͉̰͓ͅͅt͉͓̳ͅh͇̫ ͔̗͕̰ͅyo̬u̥̜̭̺̫̭ ̞͉͈͓̥͚̦t̝̞̜ọ̞͙ͅl̺e̥̬̜r̫̙͓̝͈a͕b̥l̫͇̬̜̲̫̜y̳̞ ͕͙̞̳̩̼w͓̞e̪̖͙̠̜͈l͙̭͕͚͍̩͔l,̦ ͓̫̞̰t̪̲͉̙̦͎ḥ͕ͅe̳͉̲͙̻ ͙͕̰̻̲͔l͈onge̼̜͙͔r͍ ͍͉̥͍͚͕y͓͉̪o̰͎̻̯̭̲u̫̲̗̪ l̲̥͔̭̰̯̫i͈͔̝̜v̘̲̳e ̫̪̙͓͇̥̲t͓̙̭͍͇̳̲h͈͚͉͈̟͔e̻ ͎̝̻̜m̜͕̻o͖̖r̭͎̦̟̪̳e̝̠̱̻̜̫ ͔̟̺̙̖̭c̞͉l͚e͖͈͎a̙r͈̯̳͕̙̭l̦̣̟̫̼̣ͅy̜̳̺̜̳̗ ̠̙̗̼̫̝̟y̯̤̦o̞u̞͎̦̪̝͔͇ ͇̭̥̰w͙i̫l̻̺̳l ̖f̲̰̣͖̪̰e͔͕͕e͕͙l̩͈̯̼̼̥̙ t̩͈̜h̪͉̼̳̘a̲͙̰̣ͅt̞̟͍͎̘ͅ,̤͈̱̱͉͕̬ on͎͇̲̳̯ ̤̘̣̤ͅt̹h̳̯͎ͅe ̖̰͓͕w̰̺̭͉̻̟̠h̻̩̫̹̭̻o͇ḻ̞ͅe͍͉̫,̞̲̫̙̟ li͉̙f̦͚e̖ ̞ḭ͓̞̙̖͙̗s͚̙͚͎ ̣̞͚͔a̯̪̱ ̻̝̻d̫͖̠̺i͍͈̗̹͙̬sa̭̯̦̪͎ͅp̗̲͎̼̤p̗̜̯o͈in̰tm̯̖͎̜̣e͓n͓̳͎t̤̫̞̹̬̪̪,̮ ̱̜̙̪͍n̙̻̖a͖̭y̲͇̻,͕͔̯̮͔͍ ͓͚̺̪̩̮̺a͍̝̜ ̰̺̺̝̰͈̪c̼͈̠̗̳̬he̙̣͎a͎̣̣͔̯t.̰̖̱̤̣ If̴̷ ̢t̀͟w͘ơ͜ ͞͠͠m̧͞҉è͘n̕͝ w̴̶hơ͞ ̷͞w͢ęŕ́͢e̷ ̴҉f̷̸҉r̴i̶͜͜e̵ņ͜͞d̛͢͠s ̶i̕n̴ ͜the̸͜҉į̶r͠ ̧̡y҉o̧͜u̴͢͜t̢͘h̸̕͟ ̛m̵̕èe͞t͞ ̷̛a̛͢g̶͠a̡͜ì̢̛n ̷w͝͏͏h̶͡e̷̷n ́͝t̢͡h͝e̡͠y̷̡ ̴͟a̸̧̕r̢e ̧́͠o̶l҉͞͝d͏̸,́̕ ̷͘a̴̧fte̢r̨ b̶̸̀e͡in̕҉g҉ ̸͢s͞҉e͝͝p͘̕ar̸͘at̷̵e͏̛d̵̨̡ ̀f̛͜o̷r̴̛ a̧̡ ҉͢l̴̀͢i̶̴͟f͜e-̀͜t̵͡í҉̡m̡͟e̢͠,҉̸ ̢̛͡th͟é̢ ̵͟c̷h̀͢͡i̶̷̧é͏͜f̡̕ ̛͝f̧̀è̴͝e҉͟҉ļ́i̢n҉g͞ ̷͡t̷͝͡h̕e͏y̸ ̢w̴̢i͘ll͟ ̵̀͝h́av̶̀e͘ ̡a̴t̸ ̷͠t̶͞h͏̧̀e si̕ģ͢h̴t͟ ̨̀ó͢f ̵̸e̡͞a̕͘c͠͏h͘͜͞ ̶̨ot̶͠h͏̡e͢r̛͢͝ w͜i̸lļ͏ ̧b̕é̛͜ on̵̢͠e ͟o̧̕f͡ ̡c͠ơ̸m̸̵p͜͠let̵̨̕e̸ ̛d͘i̵̡s̀͞a̧p̷p͜ò̧҉i͢nt̨̛m̵̢̀e̛͏n͘͞t ̵̡a̸͢t ̢͝l͘i̴fȩ͡͡ ̸as̷ ̷̧a ́ẁ̧͜h́͝ol͢͠e͠͡;̕͘ ҉b͜͠è͟c̸̀a̷̛u̧s̀e̸ t̨h͠͡e̷ir̀ ̨th̨͘o̶u̕g̶̛h͞t̡ś̶ ́w̨i͝l̶̨l͟҉ be̴͢͟ ͜͟cą͡͝r̷͡r̴͢i͢ed͘ ̀b̷á̴͟c̛͘k͘ ̕͡t̢̛͟ǫ ̴̶t͜h̵̨̢at͡ ̧̕ear̶̴͘ĺ͡įe҉͘r̛͜ ţ͟͟i͞ḿ̡͢e̵͜ wh̴͜e͢͟n͝͠͏ ҉͜l̨͝i͜f҉̴ȩ͞ s̴e̸͢e͠m̧͜͝e̴̡ḑ s͏̶̛ơ͡ ͜͢҉f̴a͞i͏ŕ̴͢ ͡a͘ş ̶͜ít͟͞҉ ̵lày͘ sp̵̢͡r̕͟͢é͝a͏̨d̴̀ ҉o̸ut͟ ̀b̧e̕fo͏̵̨r̕̕e͏̷̨ ̷̷͞t̸͞ḩ͜͞e̴͝͞m͞ ̷̡i҉̵n̷̡̕ ̀͝th͠e̵̢͠ ͘̕͏r̶o̷͢s̨͢y̵̡͜ lig͏̶͠ht ̸҉of͜ ̕͡͞d̶̕a͝wn̨,̢ p̨͘ro̸̢ḿi̴s͝҉҉è̷͟d҉ ́͜s͠҉͝o̡̨ ̡̕m̴̕͡uc̕h̛—a̷nd̨̛͘ ͜͞t̢͟͡h͞e̷̕͜n̛ ҉̴pe̷̕҉r̷f̢͘͢ó͘r̴͟m̢̡e͜d̛҉ ̕ś̴o̧͞ ̕͜͝l͠i̡̨͜t͘͠t̵̢́l͏e̷͏̡.̛ T͢͝h̷̷̛i͏̴̡s̢҉ ͘͜f͢é͡e͜͝͠l̷҉ín͞g̶̛ w̸̴͡i͘ll ̧ş͏̶o͢ ̡c̶͞ò̴͞ḿ̧̛p͝l͢e̸͡t͏͢e͟͡l̸̢y̵ ̶͟ṕŗ̵e͠҉do̵̷͢m͘͝i͞nat́e̢ o͡v͟e̕͢r̵͘ ̶e̛͡v̡͘ȩr͘͠ý͢ ̵́ot̷̸͟he̴͘͘r͢ ̷̕t͜͢h̡͡at̵҉̛ th͡e͏̡̢y҉ w͞͞į͝l͟͢l̷̡҉ ̴̡̀n̨҉ò̧̀t ̸͠e̴҉ve̴͡n̢͘ ̨̀͠c̶̴ǫ̴͢ns̕͝íd̛҉e̶r ̸̷̸i͢͡t̸͠ ̷́͠ń̨͜ec̡͟ȩs̴sà͢r̢͏y̷̴ ͘to̕͠ ̷́͞giv̢͟e̛ ̶i̛t̴̵́ ̡͠͡w̕͟҉o̴ŕ̛ds̀;͞ ̨͏b͏̸̸ut͢͢͡ ́͜ò҉n̛͘ ȩit̢́h̸͢ęŕ͟ ̷s҉i͜͝d̕͏ę̸ ̵́̕i͠t ͡wi҉̡̢l̡͏l͠ ̡͘b͠e̵͝ ̷͝s̢i͜l̨̀҉e̷̛n̴̢t̴͞l͏y̷͞ ͟͡as̶̢s͜͏um͜͏͡e͟d͝,̨ ̀ąnd̀҉ ̷f̶̧or͘͏҉m̢̧͞ ͠t̢h͢e͘҉ g҉̡r̶͝o̷͏̕u͜n̴d҉̷̕-̛w̡͢ǫ̷r̡̀k̢͡ ͡o̶͘f̀ ̶a̵͞l͠l̕͟͠ ̨t͏̢͘h͢ę͞y̢̢ ͢ha͏̀v҉͞e͞ ̴̶̡t̛o̸͢ ͝t̡́͡à̕͝l̕k̸̨ ̴͜͢á͘͞b͠o̕u̧t̡́.̀
̰̭̞
̤̻B̫͚̝̥u͙t̝̙̗ ͕͉͉̥m͓̖͎̣̟͉i̗̤̜͖sfo̫̙̬ͅr̹͕̠͔t̞̮̙̩u͎ṉ̱͇͈͇e̥̩ ̪͎̺̫h̤ḁ͚s̜̘͔ͅ ̻̗i̥̳̹͕͈̖t̰͉̯̣s̖͉̯̘ͅ ̙̩̻̲u̘̰̗s͚͉͍͎ͅẹ̯̳͙s͙̬ͅ;̩͖͈͚̹͇ ̜f͉͈̱o̜r͓͓̗, ͇̥̤͈̗͖a͍͚ͅs̖̣̺̭̰ o͖u͔͎͔̤̯r̠ b̺̤̰͖̻o͖̦̺d̳̪̬͈͇̲i̤̘l̳̺͉y ̳̫͇f̗͚̪r͙̳̯̲̘͉a͙̦̩̬m̫̲e̟̝̟ w̘̬͎͚͍o̦̗̠u͉͍͉̹̝̠l̬̲͈̠̺d̻͎͓̯ ̩b̭ur̮̱̫͕̜̱s͓͚͕̱t̮͈ ̲̠̪a͕̘̹̤̺ͅs̘̬̮̞̖u͇̪͙n̻̹d̯̭̱̮̙̦͔e̖̠̗̭͙̬r̦͓͍̬ ͚͍͕if̘͖͖̮͙͖̭ t̰̫h͉͙̻̠̬͚̖e̘̜̜ ͇̟p̲̯̻r̦͉e̝͉̮̬̩͓s͎̠͉͉̞su̘͙̯̞r̟̣̪͇͔̪̣e̱̰͕̪ o̯͉̥̝f̮̭͕̯̝ ̳ț̮̼̻̲͙h̭̗̮e̺̩͇͈ ̬̘a̱͈͙͍̝t̘̘͎̱̮̱͍m͎̭̗͓̗o̫̲̤̱̤̼s̤͇̝̜̤p̜̣̣͚͎̲he͉̠r͉̥͖̞̭͙e̯̤̺͎ ̞̩w̜̣̳͚͎̤̻a̲̻̙ͅs̹ ̺͍r̪̘̣e͔̖͙̲̺̳m̠̲̼͕̺̞͕o̤̹v̠̻̯͓e̩̺̰̮̲d͖̫̬̝̜,͖̫ s̞̼̝̫͔͙o͍̪͕̥͖̖,͖̺̞̥͇̭̳ i̼̮͚͓̪̦̪f͔̬̺̞ the̩̦ ͖͔͎̭͉̲̲liv̬̞e̮͎̜̳̥s͎ ̝̦͓̘͕ͅo̖̦̪f͙͕͉̩ ̪͖̪me̻̮͚͍n̦̰̝̜̲͈ ͕̙͖̝͍̠̥w̠͉̲̮͇̖̞ḛ̱r̥͉͚̤͉̼̣e͙͓͙͈͕ ̹̤̯̹r͉͕̜͓̻̜e͕̤͓̘͍l̖͎̪̮̗͍̦i͍̫̲̙̯̳ẹ̞̯͕͈̟ͅv͇͇̘͚͔e̤̠̤̫̱d̹̜̱̺ ͔͉o̘̲̭̖̬f̩̜̼̬̘ͅ ̰a͙͈l̤l͙̺̩͇̜ ̰̹̝̣̣̜n̘͉̜͚͍̦e̟̯̥̰̠̱͕e͔d,̙̘̺̲̰̱ ̜͈͈̱h̝͔͇̝̥̹̦a̞̝̺̺̗̲r͍̹ds̼͎͈̳̳ͅh̥̱̯̱̦i̩̹͔p̫ ͙̲a̼̠̺n͈̯͉d̤̳͚̥͓̝̖ ̥̘ad̤v̯͖͈͕̙̦e͙̼̣͖̪̠r̼ͅs̺̣̥̭i̼̗̲̩̜̜t͕y̺̬̘̰̲;̘̝͕̩ i̤̣̠͍̖f ͓̩͙̤̲̱̘e͖̰̤v̖͍̘̹͎͕̥e̮̲̜̖̳̫̘r̳̦͚̟̩y̲͖͇͚̤̦t̬̖̳͙̭͙h̠̻͇͚̟i̮̗̮͈n̠̼̠̖g̲͍ ̬̲̖̳̲t͕͈̘̗̫h̙̜͈͉͖̺e̲̲̼ͅy̜̝̯̩ ̖̭͚̼t̹̩͓o̙͙̩̺̹o̤̙͔̭k̞̩͖͕ ͍͉̼͇i̞͈̲n̠͖̦̤̜ ͇̤̻̼͙͉h̭̱̫̥̥͚a͍̼n̤̺ḓ̘̝̱̞̹ ̻̹͚̠̻̝͉w̩̠͙̞͔̮̫e̮͔̻̱̹̞r̖e̫̠ ̣͙s̜̭̟̗̜̺ͅu͈̫̬ͅc͕̘̼ͅc̺̲̠e̖̙̪͍̦͕ssf̮̗̤̬̱u͚̼̖̜̻̫l̻,͎̘̗̪̱͕ ̟͍̝̠̬t̳̩h͕͓ey ͕w͚̠̺̞ͅo̦̘̩u̞̮̙̹̰̖̠l͈͎̞͇̥͖d ̼̫̞͈̫b̯̻͍e̩͔͈ ̘͔̞s͕͓o͓ ̯̱̜̯̱̞s̙͈̼͈̲w̝̣o̳̝͙͎l͚̼l͔e̱n͎͈̱̖ͅ ̠͓̦̞̼w̠̞͓͖͔i̼̬th̖͚͓̲̘̻̮ ̤͖̦̼̙ͅͅa̜͉̪̼rro̼g͍̺a̲̣n͕̼͙̫ͅc̝͎e̱̯͉̰͙̞ ͕͉̹͍̬̯t̩̥h̺̥͎̼ͅḁ̪̬̮̟̺ͅt,̩̜̗ͅ ͓̥̞̹͔t̜͍h̤o̜̥̻͎̻u̮̞̹͖̜̩̱g͕̟̺̲̫h̩̗̹͖ͅͅ ͔͉t̳͕hḙ̺͖̞̲̫y̯͕͎̘̝̼̘ ̭ͅm̻͓̪̹̲͉i̩g̙̝̲̺͙̮ͅh̹̭t̻͉ ̫̫͕̦̗n̥̤̜̞͍̙̳o͔͍t͕͕͖ b͙̫̬̫̻̖u̳̳̞̳̲̙̺r̠ṣ̮̦͎̪̳̬ț,͍ ͉̻͍̹̟̲t̩̺̼̝̭he͉̠̳̗y̝̼̗̯̻ ͕̲̻w̫͕͙͉͓͉͕o̗̣u̠͉̯̝̘ͅl̰̯d̘̮ ͕͎̪̫̫ͅp͈͖̘̳̭̣res̜̪̼̩͔͎͕e̖̖͙n̰͎t̘͈̩̤͔̜̥ th͈̲͚̱e̯̹͎ ̼̰͔̞͓̭̞s̰̦̙̰͈p̫̣̭̳e̥̗̼c̦ͅta̜͕c̻lḙ̥̠̙͈͓ ̩͕͓̪͔͍o͖͖f ̦͈u̮̖͚n̤̩̗̭br̳̳̱̰̞i̼̳̰͙͖d̺ḽ͕̮͔̱e̳͓d̩͚ ̝̩f̯o̟̮̪̜͓͈͕ll̻̺̘͚̼̱̱y̤͈̟̲—͙̦n̰̘̻a̫̭̣̝̯̩y̹̺̬̣̲̤̩,̻̰ t͉͚̥̹̻̙̪h̗̘͚̩e̝̯̗͇̻y̳͈͙͚̙ ̱̼͎w͙o̩̠̫̹̺̖̞u̟͖̯̫l̺͓͇̬͎d̬͙̠͙̼͓͇ ͍̞ͅg͈o͍̘ ̦͉̠͕̰m̟a̟͕̙̘̗͓d.͙ ̦̲̦̳A̮̤̺n͔̗͖̤̥̮d ̫̼̙̞̥͍̖I͚ ̬͖̭̼̫̹̟m̫̙͈̥a̖̖̯͕̰y̻̬̲̯ͅ ̮̗s̻̼͚ͅa͎̤y̖̻,̬̤ ̺͚͙̦̱͔͕f̤̭u͓̥̰̣͇͖̻r̪t͇͙̥̼͖ͅhe̞̞̫̟̱̖r̬͚, ̗̺͉̪̳̩̯t͚̞̙ẖ͓̲͉̪̠͚a̬t̖ ͚͇a͈ ̰̙̲̯͇͓͖cͅe͕͖̦̹r̮t̮a͔͎̖i̫̬̪̰̪̼ͅn̪̥̠͔̞̩̤ ̻̩a͖m̤͔̘͍̦̖o̹̖̩u̯͕n͔̪t͕͙ ̞o͉͎̻ͅf̺ ca̦͚͙r͎̬̗̻̳e̼͙̫̱ ̥̰̯̼͎̳o̦͎̯͈̭̪̗r ̠͎p̠̦̦̗͚̬a̳̲̦̭i̻̱ṇ̜̙ ̞̼̖̟o͙͓r̭͓ t͉̥͙̘̙̬r̠̬͈̭͔̘o̪͎̖̺̳u̻̦͖͎b̰̦͔̙ḻe̘̭͎̩͉ ̱̬̘̫̤i̯͎̰s̹̳̙ͅ n͓̳e̻̪ce̬̜̘̺̠͇̜s͎s̩̯̲͇͖͇̦a̞̬̫͓̻̞ry̬̦͚̱̟̻̪ ͇̪f̰̜̱or̭͈͕̰ e̘̤͉v̖̘͕͇e͔̠̗͓͙̤r̜̙̘y͎̭͕͖ ͇̯͔m͔̯͙͔̹͓ͅa̝n̻̱͚̹ a͓̜̙̖̞̘ͅt͉̝͕ ͈̳͍ͅa̦̲̲ͅl̞͎l̺̼̲̞̰̮ ͍̥̘̯̻t͍i̠̖me͎̫̖͈̩̩̬s.̻͔ ̼̪̥̝̻A̜̥̮̬ ͖̤s̠̭̥͖̝̳h̺̜̙͙̬͔i̺̲̜̩̻ͅp̮̰̫̰ ̘̗̥̹̹̠̠w̤̙ͅi̲͕t͔̘̯̫̳ͅho̩̳͓̝͍u̞͚t̫ ̺b̺a̩̹̜͓l͍̖̥̗l̩̲̻̱͇̮a̮st̥̘͕ ̩̙͙̯͍̠i̼̖͚̙̼s͎͕̠͕̤̜ u̪̼n̳̗s͔̻ta̼͓̠̙̦̗̫b͓̤̘̦̝̙le̖̻̺ ͓͍̥̰a͖n̞̹ḏ̹̻ w̮̹͉i̲̖ḻ̞̹l͚̣͕̠ ͅn̺̞̺̮͇ͅo̰̼̺̤͙͍͎t͎̻̦̙̜̝ ̯̗go ̦̹̻s̝̹̻͙̱̘̭t̗͓͎rai͇̥͓̪g̘̼̻͎̲h̜̺t.͖̰̳̱͈͕͍

I̵f̴ ̴y̸o̴u̴ ̸a̵c̵c̵u̸s̵t̶o̵m̸ ̴y̸o̵u̶r̵s̸e̸l̵f̷ ̶t̶o̸ ̸t̵h̶i̶s̴ ̵v̴i̵e̴w̸ ̸o̷f̶ ̸l̸i̵f̵e̷ ̵y̸o̶u̴ ̴w̶i̶l̸l̶ ̴r̸e̴g̶u̷l̵a̶t̴e̷ ̴y̸o̶u̶r̵ ̴e̴x̵p̴e̴c̵t̵a̸t̴i̵o̸n̸s̴ ̵a̷c̶c̶o̶r̷d̵i̸n̸g̸l̵y̴,̴ ̴a̴n̷d̴ ̴c̶e̴a̵s̶e̸ ̵t̶o̸ ̴l̵o̷o̷k̷ ̴u̸p̶o̴n̷ ̴a̵l̵l̵ ̶i̴t̶s̷ ̵d̵i̶s̶a̴g̵r̵e̶e̷a̵b̴l̴e̵ ̸i̵n̶c̵i̴d̵e̶n̸t̶s̷,̵ ̵g̸r̸e̶a̴t̷ ̸a̴n̸d̷ ̶s̵m̵a̵l̴l̷,̴ ̴i̵t̴s̵ ̶s̵u̴f̸f̶e̶r̶i̴n̶g̶s̸,̸ ̷i̴t̸s̸ ̶w̷o̸r̵r̶i̶e̸s̵,̸ ̵i̶t̴s̷ ̴m̴i̵s̷e̴r̴y̷,̸ ̵a̷s̵ ̸a̶n̶y̷t̶h̴i̴n̵g̵ ̶u̸n̶u̵s̷u̵a̵l̶ ̵o̸r̶ ̸i̷r̶r̵e̸g̵u̵l̸a̷r̷;̷ ̶n̶a̵y̴,̴ ̴y̶o̶u̴ ̴w̷i̸l̵l̸ ̶f̷i̶n̸d̶ ̶t̸h̴a̸t̸ ̸e̴v̶e̸r̴y̵t̴h̶i̴n̴g̵ ̸i̴s̷ ̷a̴s̴ ̸i̸t̷ ̷s̶h̸o̴u̵l̴d̶ ̷b̷e̷,̶ ̴i̶n̴ ̵a̶ ̸w̴o̴r̴l̵d̷ ̶w̸h̶e̶r̸e̴ ̷e̸a̵c̸h̷ ̴o̵f̵ ̷u̷s̴ ̶p̴a̶y̸s̸ ̸t̶h̶e̴ ̴p̸e̸n̶a̴l̸t̵y̵ ̷o̷f̵ ̴e̴x̶i̸s̴t̶e̷n̴c̶e̶ ̴i̶n̵ ̴h̶i̸s̴ ̸o̸w̴n̴ ̵p̸e̶c̴u̸l̷i̶a̶r̴ ̷w̸a̶y̵.̶

Vroendal stuggled, but he could not budge. Somehow he felt fixed in place. Activating all sensory spectra, he applied statistical reverse inference - there!

While he spoke BAKEMONO had infiltrated his flesh with a mass of microscopic tendrils, photocarbonic fibers. The graphical representation showed its coruscating essence pouring in and infecting Vroendal's being. A lambent trickling encroached through all his form until it lapped and exuded, melting away flesh and fusing metal ----

Only now, at the end, did Vroendal truly realize his hubris, the hubris of his kind. But this Supralatus of the Eximium wasn't done yet. He unleashed a peripheral wave that obliterated his vicinity, sending the monster reeling.

It was almost too late. The once-poised figure now resembled a flimsy and brittle plastic wrap.

The Infiltrator meanwhile emerged to defend her superior.

Blasting into the alien, she shouted, You slimly, gutsucking, intestinal parasite! Eat me! EAT MEEEE!



But it sensed her ploy and, to her shame, she could not perceive the basic-ass giant tentacle flung her way before it slammed her off into a distant wall, cratering it.

The Marines were firing by now, but more so at Vroendal than the monster. In his state he knew he was too close to death. Too much had gone wrong just now. Had the Marines prioritized the alien the Bionic cell would still prevail... Somehow, Vroendal could find it to chuckle silently at the wisdom the creature had spoken.

He swept positron beams across the Marine position, smugly killing a dozen at once (his systems weren't even at full functionality!) but BAKEMONO used the distraction to launch itself into the air; the Bionic failed to resist its pounce.

With seconds until complete assimilation, Vroendal deployed the most desperate measure a Bionic could: the core dump.

The monster inflated to double its already-swollen size as the equivalent of a thousand tons of CNEX erupted within its physical boundary.

It wobbled... then steadied.

The blast was contained.

So died Vroendal, Supralatus of the Eximium. His breath was more precious than the breath of hundreds, and his death was more precious than the death of hundreds.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Despite the carnage, the Alien Werewolf had absorbed almost as much power from the Bionic as it had lost in the ongoing fracas. The threat was incalculable.

It warbled and keened and shook terribly as the absorbed energy coursed through all its extremities.

All Marines were firing under the Major's direction now, to seemingly little effect other than momentary puddles along its surface. With lurches only tinged with faltering, the grotesque advanced on the living Marines.

The Infiltrator, having picked herself up, now retreated with cloaking. She would have to find some other way to damage BAKEMONO. Lacking much long-range weaponry, there was no way she could risk closing to melee range.

Good thing she had collected some fusion grenades back when the cadre visited the armory.

Lobbing them one after another at the writhing monstrosity, the brilliant flare of nuclear fire stopped the battle cold.

Snarling plasticy wolf-shaped goo began to spring out of the alien's flailing form. The cue directed the Marines to begin tossing their own, plasma, grenades.

There was a lot of unearthly screeching, both from the monster and from the humans. Basically everyone had shit themselves by now, even the Infiltrator, and the Infiltrator didn't even have her original colon anymore.



As concentrated fire poured into it from all directions, immobilizing it with damage, one of the creature's deformed projections lashed out at the nearest Marine squad, instantly rendering them into pink mist.

"All center peel!" the Major screamed. The entire group gratefully bugged out as what had once been LordArgon slouched after them in a variety of directions at once, flesh still flaring from the laser beams.

It shuddered dreadfully as several layers of itself appeared to slough off and regrow in seconds. The creature acquired the mien of a single squamous maw regurgitating a thick tongue by peristaltic palpitation. Like one of those Annoying Fruit memes from a century ago, but much worse. Unimaginably worse.

Could it be transmogrifying into its Ultimate Form?!

Everyone lobbed every plasma grenade they had into the thing's maw and ducked for cover, those who weren't already out of the command room at least. Some of the grenades overshot and sizzled an annex. The rest still did the trick, though.

Very clean burn, that. Despite being left unable to inspect the obliterated ruin of the room, the survivors could determine...

The ionized fog where it had occupied space began to coalesce and effervesce, glowing and swirling with greater intensity by the second. It glowed the way the walls had glowed, a sight no one survived to recall today but whose intimation had been planted in their minds as a vague familiarity on the fateful night NANOOK and CutePanda perished.

All activity ceased as the color vibrated in mid-air...

A Technicolor maelstrom shot like a pillar upward on the spot, boring into the ceiling and the Earth's crust. The commotion was just awful, sweeping everyone alive to the ground, and pinning them there until they saw stars. They quaked and roiled with horror.

The feeling persisted even as the energy dissipated. Few could bring themselves to pick themselves up again just yet.

They weren't even done despite it all.



Borg Picard was a

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Alien Werewolf aka BAKEMONO!

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Alien Werewolf
Codename:
BAKEMONO

No human alive now knows what you are or where you came from.
————————————————————————————————————————
They parasitized you.
————————————————————————————————————————
Take it back.

You are the Serial Killer. You may generally kill at night. You must submit an order to kill someone whenever you would be eligible to.

Victory Conditions
Total Defeat: Die without assimilating any Bionics (Mafia).
Major Defeat: Die while assimilating either one or two Bionics.
Minor Victory: Survive to be the last player standing without assimilating any Bionics.
Major Victory: Survive to be the last player standing while assimilating either one or two Bionics.
Total Victory: Assimilate all Bionics and survive Doomsday.

Abilities
Resilient (passive): 2X bulletproof versus nightkill (Note that retaining a BP to F3 with 1 mafia and 1 townie automatically counts as a parity victory for you)

Prior Restraint: Perform a N0 alignment scan. Submit orders before game start; if no orders are received by mid-D1 you will forfeit this seer peek.
Weak Essence (passive): You must regain what the humans took from you to achieve your true form. Before you do so you are strained by disassembling non-enhanced humans. If a kill ever lands on Town while any Mafia are alive, you must charge your next kill/s (skip one night). During a round when you have to skip the NK, you can instead...
Desperate Spoor: Perform an unframeable alignment scan on a target, probably better than anything the unmod humans can achieve.
Vengeful Ferocity (passive): If you are ousted with less than a majority vote, randomly kill a voter on your wagon. If you are ousted while in Prime form, always randomly kill a voter on your wagon. (In higher transformations, this ability will be removed for balance.)

Evolution (passive): If you kill a mafia, gain an extra kill. Each kill increments your base form (Prime, Double Prime, Triple Prime), up to your Ultimate Transformation. Weak Essence still applies until all Mafia are dead, one way or another.
(You cannot Evolve by assisting the unmodified humans in killing Bionics during the day!)

• If all Mafia are dead, and you killed none of them, you can thence kill every other night.
• If all Mafia are dead, and you killed one of them, you can thence kill once per night.
• If all Mafia are dead and you killed two of them, you can thence kill twice per night.

Triple Prime Transformation (passive): If you personally eliminated the entire Mafia faction, you achieve Triple Prime and the next day is DOOMSDAY. Survive Doomsday and you win.
If this occurs before N4, there is a day's delay as you consolidate your energies. Your hidden post cap for that day is 10. The night of that day you perform four kills and enter Doomsday on Day+1.
(For example, if you have a perfect mafia-killing record N1/2, you play D3 with a 10-post cap, kill 4 townies N3, and survive D4 to win.)
Note: If, on the same night that you would otherwise die, you kill your third mafia, you will survive by assuming Triple Prime form and Doomsday will initiate.

There is a hard 125-post cap Days 1-3. Vote-only posts do not count toward the cap during EOD only. Twilight is always uncapped.

Vroendal was a

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Bionic Supralatus!

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Bionic Supralatus

The fighting thus far had been contained to the cities and the battlefields, as UMEN understood that any frontal assault on your fortified territories would cripple their combat elements for naught. The Bionic Front did not anticipate a diagonal envelopment of one of its secret bases by official Bad Dudes. Now you know that UMEN teleportation platforms are operational. Though 99% of the strike force has been neutralized, almost all your comrades in the sector have been killed or subdued, including the Praefectus of the Libertanian continent itself. You three are the only Bionic survivors of a tempest that has left tens of thousands dead in just hours. Moreover, the unique biochemical experiments being carried out at this location have been destroyed or disrupted. There is one whom we prize above all: BAKEMONO.

An extraterrestrial of maximum hazard and value stages, even the record of how it was acquired is too precious to be known to you. While we have no means of recovering the specimen under present conditions, we must not permit UMEN to capture it for themselves (assuming they are even capable of such a feat) nor the alien itself to wander off into the world. Destroy it and salvage what can be. Luckily, we expect this particular specimen to be struggling under the quantological restraints we've maintained it under. As long as none of us fall into its clutches, we can't lose. To that purpose, we can neither overtly act against UMEN nor the alien, lest one overwhelm us while we destroy the other in detail...

————————————————————————————————————————

As one of the most well-modified Bonics around, one who is considered to have been carried beyond human ken, you are naturally the strongest-surviving Bionic. In a fair fight against all surviving UMENSES commandos, you could probably win. Your bleeding-edge enhancements allow you to blend into and fight through almost any circumstance. Why, it's rather difficult for you to die by any purpose.

You are a Godfather (Mafia). The Mafia choose someone to kill at night. Kills are factional, and therefore not assigned (will not interfere with individual abilities). You win when BAKEMONO is slain and parity is met with Town, meaning Town cannot prevent your victory by numbers.

Your character's personal ability is Cybernetic Perfusion (passive): Your alignment will never be detectable to enemy roles.

[REDACTED]

FINAL TALLY

Borg (5): Vroendal, Laur, Winston, Csargo, Dolby
Dolby (1): Hollow
Hollow (1): Borg


Movement

[Hollow] Laur >> Dolby >> Winston >> Dolby
[Laur] Dolby >> Borg >> Hollow >> Borg >> Vro >> Borg
[Borg] Winston >> Dolby >> Hollow



Living Players (5)

hollowkatt (hollow/HK)
Dolby (Dolbster/Dolb)
Winston Hughes (Winston/WH/McGinty)
Csargo (Csar)
Laurentus (Laur)


Dead Players (12)

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Raskolnikov (D1)
c4e5g3d5 (N1)
Timsup2nothin (N1)
El-ahrairah (D2)
Garden Gnome (D3)
Lewwyn (N3)
CutePanda (N3)
NANOOK (N3)
Ibn-Khaldun (D4)
pzelda (N4)
BorgPicard (D5)
Vroendal (D5)

Tomorrow is the endgame. D6 will be 24 hours. You have unrestricted private communications (CC host) through the rest of the game.