video; @Qubit

[superposition]

[ Though Qubit generally prefers text, he's found that for whatever reason, people seem to think he's more sincere when he uses video. So he goes with that - you only get one first impression. ]

Good morning, Anchor. You may have noticed a grocery store, of all things, has appeared just outside the main airlock... Ah. I'm Qubit, by the way, should have led with that. Anyways, I've taken the liberty of scouting the place out, and I have good news and bad news.

Good news - near as I can tell, the food's still fresh. Bad news - that's more than I can say for the customers. If you do go, don't go alone, and be ready to defend yourself. It turns out the place has a bit of an undead problem.

[ He shrugs, as if to say "because of course it does." ]

On the plus side, the radiation levels are rather lower than I expected. I'd still recommend suiting up if you can, but you should be all right provided you don't - aah!!

[ As he was talking, something whirred in the background, and now a laser bolt hits the wall not a foot from his head. Startled, he drops the comm, but his voice can be heard receding in the background. ]

Son of a bi- [ the feed ends. ]

Comments

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle glances down the main aisle, trying to picture funneling them through it.]

A novel idea, actually. Granted I can draw them all before we start luring them toward the aisle... and on that note, how are we going to go about baiting them this way?

[He knows the obvious answer, but would vastly prefer not to risk their hides -- or Qubit's hide, rather. He's well aware of how little interest the undead take in him... or how little they used to when he was alive. He can't imagine they'll be any more interested now that he's not.]

[superposition]

[ The obvious answer has also occurred to Qubit, don't worry. ]

They seem to respond to sound, so a loud enough noise ought to get their attention. [ Normally he could just gut a cash register or two and slap together whatever they need, but if he's not careful he could put himself out of commission at the worst possible moment. So he shrugs. ] If we can't find anything suitable, I could always run up and yell at them.

[abheirrant]

I would prefer my escort in this awful world not risk his life, lest I have to walk myself back to the Anchor. [And they both know how well that would likely go.

His eyes flick to Qubit, a moment of guilt flashing across him.] I... should admit now that they are likely to take no interest in me.

[superposition]

[ Pfft. Well, at least he's honest about his motives.

That admission prompts a raised eyebrow. Why wouldn't they take interest? One noisemaker's as good as another, right? Unless...

He has a pretty strong hunch about the answer, but he asks anyway. ] No? Why's that?

[abheirrant]

[Annnd he averts his eyes, fumbling with the chalk between his fingers, getting dust on his gloves.]

I cannot say for certain —[well, he could now]— but I have my guesses. I... I have an affliction that is said to taint the aura of the affected, among other things. I believe this makes me imperceptible to them in some way, as when I have neared them before, they paid me no heed. That, or perhaps they thought me not worth the effort.

[But given how mindless they are, he doubts that. At least all of what he says is technically true, even if he leaves out a vital part toward the end. The twice-cursed are said to have an aural taint, and he has been largely ignored by shamblers when faced with them in his work. He finds himself as reluctant to talk about his current status as one of them as he was of his curse when he was alive; however, given their current undertaking and the fact Qubit might be putting himself in danger because of it... well, even he realizes that full disclosure might be best.

Or partial disclosure, in this case. Selective disclosure.]

[superposition]

[ Qubit folds his arms. That explanation conspicuously fails to disprove his hunch - that Carlisle's "affliction" is a bad case of the undeath - and in fact rather supports it. He's dealt with the reanimated dead on a few occasions, and one of those odd truth-in-television details is that, pretty consistently, they recognize or at least ignore members of their own "species."

But he won't press the issue right now. Even if it does turn out Carlisle's a walking corpse or something, what's relevant at the moment is what it means for the plan. ]

All right. So if this goes pear-shaped, you may not be able to draw them off me. [ He takes a more thorough look around, weighing his options. The lone zombie down one of the aisles, apparently noticing him, starts shambling their way; Qubit shoulders his laser gun and aims down the sights at it. ] May not be necessary, though, I think I can stay ahead of this lot. One second.

[ He fires! It does make a sound, but not a loud one, just a reasonable pew pew. It takes two shots to the head to drop the thing - not ideal - but it does drop, and the others don't seem to notice anything amiss. ]

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle, having been looking elsewhere to examine their options in tandem with Qubit, doesn't see him draw his weapon; the blast may just be a reasonable pew pew, but it's still a surprise for the skittish clergyman. He jumps backwards with all the energy of a spooked cat, but none of the grace, stumbling into the display he'd tried to push earlier. Walnuts from the stand go clattering to the floor, their uneven shapes giving them unpredictable trajectories as they bounce and roll in every direction.

He looks from the walnuts on the floor to the undeads in sight, and only one from the "Organic Produce" section seems to have noticed. No wait, two. Three as another comes out from around one of the aisles. Oh dear.]

Right. I'll draw, you distract.

[With that, he darts to the center aisle and crouches, scribbling with his chalk. In good news, he's well-practiced at writing this particular glyph, and despite the unsteadiness of his hand, it should work. The main problem is he needs to draw several of these, and he's not sure how long it'll be until more undeads notice their presence.]

[superposition]

[ The sudden clattering doesn't startle Qubit as badly as he startled Carlisle, but to be fair, that's a pretty low bar to clear. He whirls to look, but then drops his shoulders, shooting the man an exasperated look. Really? ]

Well, that narrows our options a bit.

[ Nothing for it now, though. He walks briskly toward the three zombies, planning as he goes. Really, all he has to do is keep them out of the way for a minute or two, yeah? That should be fairly easy - as predicted, they're already paying no attention to Carlisle, fixating on Qubit exclusively. He could probably just shoot them, but with only a couple dozen shots and no way to reload, that's best saved for a real emergency.

Before they get too close, he makes up his mind and climbs one of the shelving units. It's a bit tricky in radiation gear, and it's not the most stable perch, but it holds him. Just in time, too; by the time he's situated, the trio of zombies are already congregated around the endcap, snarling ineffectually and swiping upwards at him. ]

That's right, eyes on me. - Or "eye," in your case. [ Since one of them is missing one. ]

[abheirrant]

[One sigil. Evocation. He moves to the next: Reparation. Then to the third and the fourth, all with measured movements: he has done this before, knows this particular glyph by heart. His circles may be wobbly and uneven, but when it comes to their contents, he cannot help but relax as he works more from muscle memory than conscious thought. This world and his undead form are unfamiliar, but this? This is what he's used to. For the brief moment he is working, he feels like himself again.

Of the three zombies gnashing their teeth at Qubit, one suddenly stops, the feral wrath dissipating from his expression. Whatever hunger motivated him seems gone, his arms dropping to his sides. Several seconds later, a second one follows suit, no longer interested in Qubit in favor of... just standing there. Eyeball continues to gnash his teeth, and flail uselessly at his prey, but the other two loiter nearby, having seemingly forgotten what drew them over there in the first place.

Carlisle finishes his glyphs, four identical sets of circles and symbols lining the main aisle. Straightening up, he tucks his chalk away, giving his handiwork one more lookover before he turns his attention to his companion, polite worry weaving into his brow.]

Are you all right up there?

[Eyeball continues to hiss and spit at Qubit, but the other two turn toward Carlisle's voice, their heads lolling left and right as they try to detect the source of the sound. Though he's standing well within their visual range, they seem unable to determine where he is, as predicted.]

[superposition]

[ At first, the zombies losing interest is worrying - but when all they do is go idle, he tentatively relaxes. He debates provoking them again, but there's really no need. He's safe enough up here for the moment, and they aren't going after Carlisle. Odd that it's only two of them, though. Why's Eyeball behaving differently?

Well, he'll keep an eye on them. It's not as if undead behavior is his area of expertise. He keeps half an eye on Carlisle's work, too, though. It's interesting in its own way, despite his generalized distaste for magic. By all the laws of nature, those sigils ought to have no more power than a child's sidewalk doodles - but he's seen similar rituals bring about real, measurable effects far too many times to dismiss them.

Offhand, he finds himself wondering how Carlisle's glyphs might compare to Reynir's runes? Not that he'd expect them to follow anything like the same logic, since magic is wildly inconsistent by definition, but still...

... Oh, he's done. That was quick. ]

Never better. [ His knees aren't crazy about how he's kneeling up here, but whatever. ] You're done? Just in time, I think these two are getting bored.

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle tucks his chalk away, dusting off his hands as he meanders over. 'Bored' is an apt description of the pair loitering near the shelves, whatever interest they had in Qubit seemingly gone as they idle beside their one-eyed companion.]

I don't believe they're capable of being bored, but they certainly do look the part.

[He flexes his fingers, raising his hands as he figures out where best to place them. What was once quick work for him -- dispatching the undead through use of his healing arts -- now makes him nervous, as he's not sure what the outcome will be given his current state. He suspects unpleasant for all parties involved.

He steels himself with a breath. Better to figure this out now rather than in a real emergency. He sets a hand upon the neck of one of the bored shamblers, bringing his palm to rest along the nape, and channels.

The reaction is immediate, and far more intense than he'd anticipated: his eyes ignite with light, bright like white-hot fire, his entire frame stiffening as that same light appears in the eyes of the zombie, transferred from one body to the other. It's there and gone in an instant, the walking corpse shriveling, crumbling, and collapsing into not much more than dust in the span of a second.

Carlisle steps back, retracting his arm with a pained grunt -- he had anticipated it wouldn't feel good, but the shock from it catches him off-guard. He grips his seizing limb from the wrist, his fingers digging into his radiation suit as he tries to regain his composure. Reacting to something unseen, the two remaining zombies suddenly come alive with furious energy, growling as they slam into the shelving, making the whole unit rock.]

[superposition]

[ Now that was effective! Initially Qubit wasn't sure what he was doing, or how that was going to draw them into the sigils, but wow. His enthusiasm lasts only a split second, though, as Carlisle recoils in obvious pain - and the remaining zombies choose this exact moment to go back on the offensive.

The shelves shake from the impact, and he has to grab hold of the edge to avoid falling. But that's just delaying the inevitable. One way or another, he's not going to be up here much longer. ]

Carlisle! Agh- What was that? Are you hurt?

[ Can they continue, or will something on the scale of the sigil hurt him even worse? That's Qubit's main concern. ]

[abheirrant]

Fine! I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine I just- desth, I was not expecting that to hurt so much!

[He swears again under his breath, grabbing hold of the other, once-idle zombie with his good hand, not bothering to wait for his seized arm to relax. No time for such things, unfortunately. Maybe this will hurt less with a larger pack on the glyphs, he considers, as channeling energy into a glyph is a less direct method of dispatching them; however, for individual undeads, this is likely not the best way to go about taking care of them. If nothing else, it is effective, the zombie crumbling to dust beneath his hand like the one before.

Grinding his teeth, Carlisle shakes his limbs, his eyes squeezing shut as he tries to block out the searing sting of volatile, opposing energies coursing through him. The restorative ones used to obliterate the undead butt against those keeping him animated, and he considers briefly that he's very, very lucky the manipulation of such magic doesn't cause a similar reaction in him, given what he is. He could be lying in a pile of ashen dust on the ground rather than some nameless shamblers, destroyed from the inside-out through improper control of his own energy. Maybe it is his level of expertise with healing arts that allows him to—

He shakes his head, interrupting his train of thought to consider that later, perhaps when they're not on a mission. For now, Eyeball remains furious, slamming into the shelf again, this time with his body, as one arm -- his right one, the first one Carlisle used -- hangs limply by his sides, deadened. He's too mindless to care, but Carlisle takes notice of it, his eyes narrowing. Was he like that before? Surely.

But there's that nagging feeling at the back of Carlisle's mind that he's not imagining things, and he doesn't like it one bit.]

[superposition]

[ Oh! Okay! It hurt a lot, so obviously you should immediately do it again! That makes sense! (Never mind that that's exactly how Qubit reacted the first time his powers backfired, too. Do as I say, not as I do...)

He knows then that he can't let Carlisle keep doing this. It's echoing his own experience pretty hard - unexpected pain, a formerly reliable power turning against its wielder. Yesterday, though, he pushed his luck too far, incapacitated himself, and had to be bailed out by the very person he was trying to save. If this continues, he really might have to wheel Carlisle's corpse back to Anchor in a shopping cart. ]

Stop! It's not worth it!

[ He can take care of the last one himself. He stands and aims his gun into Eyeball's eyeball, but as he's trying to line up the shot - well, you know why you're not supposed to climb these shelves? Because they're not designed to support a human's weight. With a clang, the top shelf collapses under him.

He slides down as much as falls, and his legs get tangled with the zombie's, dragging them both to the floor. Eyeball ends up on top, pinning him, and goes straight to clawing at his radiation suit - though when it's only bringing one arm to bear, Qubit can kind of fend it off by interposing the gun - enough that he has time to wonder, why only one arm? And it's the same arm Carlisle injured...

Wait a second. Are they-? Okay "while pinned under an enraged zombie" is perhaps not the best time to analyze this, but it seems like, just maybe... ]

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle would argue whether or not slaying an undead and potentially saving his companion from being mauled by said undead is worth a minute or two of searing pain and seizing joints, but he doesn't get the chance as the shelving collapses, sending both Qubit and Eyeball to the floor. Hissing through his teeth, he shakes the tension out of his other arm, needing both to hoist the the zombie off Qubit. In good news, Eyeball only has one working arm, hindering his chances of escape from Carlisle's grasp; however, he is still flailing around, and Carlisle is not the sturdiest fellow. He might have considered other options in any other circumstance, but desperate times call for desperate measures... or ill-conceived improvisation.]

Oh no you donaugh!

[They both nearly go tumbling backwards as Eyeball lurches, trying to get away from a threat he's incapable of perceiving; Carlisle releases him just in time to catch himself, not wanting to end up pinned himself. Eyeball hits the floor, where Carlisle unceremoniously dispatches him by stomping directly on his skull. It's not the most elegant way of dealing with a shambler, and he immediately regrets his decision as Eyeball's skull caves in beneath his boot, crumpling with a sickening, wet crunch.

Carlisle stiffens, lifting his foot out of the mess and giving it a horrified look. His voice matches.]

All right. Never do that again. It looked a lot more impressive in my head, but in practice, I'm left with a shoe that will never be fully cleaned. Probably stained forever. Noted. But at least they're dead. Again.

[superposition]

[ Fortunately, Qubit has a strong stomach, and has witnessed much more sickening things. He had to dispatch a few of them with a crowbar the other day, which went about as cleanly as you'd imagine. He pulls himself upright, a little sore but no worse for wear, and checks his suit for holes, but it seems to be intact, luckily. ]

I wouldn't feel too bad. These suits have seen plenty of suspicious stains.

[ Don't take that line out of context. Qubit picks up a roll of paper towels from where he knocked it off the shelf and offers it to Carlisle. ]

So. That could've gone better, but it could've gone much worse. [ AND SPEAKING OF: ] How's your arm?

[abheirrant]

[True as Qubit's assessment of the suits may be, Carlisle still doesn't look pleased to have blood coating one foot, doomed to leave a trail of prints as they investigate the rest of the store. He gives it a shake, but the decaying brain matter remains; he shudders, definitely the more disgusted of the two men.]

It's fine. I suffer only the onset of nausea from having the inside of a shambler's head all over my foot. [And no, he does not want— okay maybe just one paper towel. He takes the roll begrudgingly.] I will admit I was not expecting it to hurt that much. That is abnormal.

[As is he, these days.]

[superposition]

[ Yeah, um, ABOUT THAT. Qubit folds his arms, his expression stern. ]

But you were expecting it to hurt, and it's no great mystery why. Frankly, I'm amazed you didn't vaporize yourself.

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle gives Qubit a look that could cut through glass.]

I'm not sure what you're insinuating. Did you not believe me capable of handling them?

[superposition]

[ Qubit meets his glare head-on. Glass he ain't. He didn't mean to sound quite so dickish about it, but - I mean, this does need to be addressed. ]

No, I did. But I don't need to be an expert in magic to realize how risky that was. That spell you used destroys undead creatures, correct? So somehow, I doubt it was designed to be cast by them.

[ Does he have to spell it out, Carlisle? ]

[abheirrant]

[His glare remains, locked somewhere between apprehensivr and appalled as his shoulders stiffen.]

I am a cleric, Mister Qubit.

[superposition]

[ Qubit says nothing, and doesn't budge. ]

[abheirrant]

[Qubit says nothing, but Carlisle as enough words for both of them, his temper bubbling beneath his skin.]

I have sworn an oath to serve my goddess in any way I can, and it is my duty to rid the mortal plane of such vile abominations. The pain might have caught me off-guard, but I know what I am doing. That is- that is not indicative of anything- of whatever you are suggesting. And such a suggestion is not appreciated, by the way.

[From well over his shoulder, a corpse rises silently. Had that one been alive before? Perhaps he'd just been lying on the floor.]

And furthermore, I will not stand here and allow you to mock me, certainly not after I came out here to help you. Did you even need my help? Or did I traipse through the open wastes for nothing? You're armed enough, aren't you?

[Another undead rounds the corner behind him, her eyes glowing with a faint, sickly light. If zombies can feel ire, she certainly looks the part. A third emerges behind her, then a fourth, all of them drawn toward that spot -- toward the subject of a certain someone's wrath. Carlisle is too wrapped up in his denial to notice their growing numbers, not hearing the shuffling of their approach.]

And now, I've got blood on me! I'm here for all of a day, struggling to adjust to constructs and portals and technology, and when I finally find something familiar, no matter how horrible, look what happens! Say something, damn you!

[superposition]

[ As the rant goes on, Qubit stands his ground. Admittedly, while he knew the undead were some sort of anathema in Carlisle's religion, he didn't realize how extreme it was - but is it, really, or is he just being defensive because Qubit's caught on to him?

In another second, though, the motion behind Carlisle catches his eye. Apparently, all the yelling is drawing more zombies - but wait, something's not right. Carlisle's the only one yelling, and they've already established the shamblers have no interest in him. And these don't - they're advancing, but their empty gazes are fixed on Qubit. Even though he's standing still and staying silent, they're coming for him in particular.

Well, that's alarming. (If it seems like Carlisle's lost his attention midway through, that's because he has.)

Panicking isn't his style, though, analysis is. And something's not adding up. It could be Carlisle's voice attracting them, but why now and not before? Is there some other trigger he's overlooked? And why do they look just as angry at him as...

Oh.

Well, of course.

Rather than responding to any of what Carlisle said - he missed half of it, anyway - Qubit slowly raises his hand and points over the man's shoulder. ]

We've got company.

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle's eyes land on Qubit's finger, and he turns to see just what it is that's more important than his little tirade. He's met with the gazes of no less than nine zombies, some of their pupils a milky white, others aglow with feral, furious energy. Not a single one of them is looking at him -- they all look past him, through him, their attention fully on Qubit.

One lets out a graveled roar, their voice ragged from their ruined vocal chords, and the others react without hesitation. Most are on the slower end, their legs stiff, their feet dragging along the ground as they shuffle toward the pair; at least three of them are much faster, their limbs still flexible enough to allow them to sprint.

And sprint they do, taking off toward Qubit with wild, ravenous ferocity. That's plenty to get Carlisle's priorities in order.]

Glyphs. Glyphs now.

[And with that, he takes off running, despite the fact they're not after him.]