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Scrap City: Terror Town
#1
(Project CWs: Abuse, Child Abuse/Endangerment)

(1/4)

Mutation Log:
I’m cataloging our appearances so we can tell if we’ve mutated in case of future bites. Treaty is doing one as well, but I figured it’d be useful to have a second copy.
 
Chapter: Dopple. 5’4”. Has the voice of a snare drum and the complexion of a golf ball. They have white fur with speckles of black on their back and hands, and their face is littered with acne scars. They have medium ears that come to a point, and an orange trapezoid marking on their stomach. They have short, uneven, black hair. It had grown rather long in the facility, so the first thing they did after we got out was cut it themselves with a piece of shrapnel. Despite its appearance, they take good care of it.

Only mutation so far is two extra fingers on their left hand; they don’t seem to suffer from hunger pangs or paranoia yet. It could just be that they’re very good at hiding it, but they seem to have a pretty laissez-faire outlook despite how bleak everything’s been. I’m not sure if the situation has really hit them yet.
 
Fence: Ruffneck. Heavily mutated. I haven’t taken exact measurements as per his request. His face shape suggests that he might have been a Devil morph before his encounter with the facility. He’s much larger than Chapter and I, around 2 and a half times their height standing up. He walks on all fours, both to fit in rooms with us and because his arms mutated to be much more muscular than his legs. His left arm is about half the size of his right arm, and his legs are about half the size of his left arm. His right eye looks like two eyes stuck together with an elongated pupil, as if it was conducting mitosis and was interrupted. He has tusks, thick brown fur, spindly spiked metal deposits on his neck, and he doesn’t produce smoke anymore other than a smoky cough whenever he gets heated. The cigs we scavenge for him keep that in check.  
 
Definitely struggles with paranoia. It took months for him to say more than a few words to Chapter and I, and he's generally distrustful of any traders or factions Chapter mentions, or any resources gathered from them.
 
He also still isn't comfortable around Treaty - freezing and tensing up whenever she enters the common area, not taking his eyes off of her for a second. But I wouldn't chalk that up to paranoia, honestly. He has complete memory loss of his time in and before the facility, but still remembers her. And from how she talks about him, I can't imagine those memories are good. 
 
He probably resents me for letting her in here. I wouldn't blame him if he did.
 
Treaty: Snapshot morph Amerveille. 5’2”. Light grey fur with purple markings on the snapshot bits, and a red to blue gradient underneath. She doesn’t mark up her fur often - Fence made a comment once that her markings looked like a child drew them and she stopped wearing them around us since. She sometimes marks down important formulas or other information on her arms to save paper, but nothing close to the little stars and moons she wore the first week we settled in here.

She has cat-like eyes, and a voice of a pen against paper. No physical mutations from what I can tell. Paranoia is hard to gauge since she doesn’t really interact with us much in general, save for when she updates her mutation logs or when she works on her gear upgrades with Chapter. I might check in with them later to ask their gauge on her disposition, but they're typically tight-lipped about their conversations.
 
Pierce (me): Pockitt. Mouse morph. No pocket, that was surgically removed years before this. I have tan fur with white and black markings on my wrists, chest, and tail. I have pink eyes and hair. Mutations are two extra eyes on my shoulders (one on each) and a barbed tail. I currently stand at 4’1” and haven’t been feeling increased hunger, tusk growth, or irritability. I fear I may be growing paranoid about Treaty, though I’m having difficulty telling if that’s because of horror radiation or...other factors.
 
Pelle: Dopple. My fiance. She isn’t staying with us anymore. Lost all of her hair, but not her fur. Bouts of extreme paranoia, loss of memory. Loss of voice. Animalistic behavior. I'm not sure what she looks like now, and I won’t journal what she used to look like in case she never looks like that again. Whatever she looks like, whatever shape she’s in when we get her back, she’ll be Pelle. And that’s enough.


Elsewhere, something taps on the glass.
"Tell me, little one. Are you a clever monster?"
[Image: lil_lesbian.png]
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#2
Depends on who's asking...
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#3
Super clever. The cleverest. So clever you're putting yourself in danger just by talking to me because I might trick you into telling me your phone number, credit card number, social security number, and your mother's maiden name.

That kind of clever.
Artificial lifeform/mechanical construct on a mission to obtain every armor type TCP and also maybe make cool stuff along the way

If you call me a bionicle you are correct

[ARCADE SESSION] [CAVE-IN] [THE ARMOR GUILD] [GENERAL CHARACTER HOARD] [INTRO THREAD] [TCPDEX CHARACTERS]
[ADOPTS]

 
[Image: WOxKePR.png] [Image: DGVV5eJ.png]
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#4
(CW: Violent Imagery)

(2/4)

Day 563
 No one’s listening to me.

No one's listenng to me.

No one's litening to me.

No one's listening to me.  But of course they wouldn’t. Right? I’m not worth listening to, right? I’m the resident nutcase, right? The resident sorry sack of shit stitched together with surgical sutures and cigarettes, right?


Doesn’t matter what I've been through,
doesn’t matter what I've seen, 
doesn’t matter what I know to be happening again, RIGHT? I'm just being "difficult." Or pitiful. It'd all be easier if I just realized we need to work ~together~ in times like this. It's all so much more complicated than it seems. It's not really that complicated, though. I'm just going to kill Her.
  I'm going to tie Her to a chair and beat Her to death with a lead pipe over and over and over and over again.

 
 Or I'll use my hands. Crush Her throat and watch Her drown in her own blood. 



  No, no, I'll break every bone in Her legs - I'll pull out Her fucking clipboard and take notes, shaking my head disapprovingly every time She unsuccessfully tries to get up. I'll fucking grade Her
  I'll damn us all to the wastes without a plan or a prayer and I won't regret it for a second. We're all basically dead already. 

Why go through so much effort for someone who's even more dead than the rest of us? Making your bed with our previous captor because She promises She knows how to save her? She could promise you the moon and you'd believe Her. And She's getting everything She wants in return, on a promise, on an idea. Everything.
Endless time, endless resources, fought for with OUR sweat and blood, and then She takes that too. Not ask. She asks for samples, yes. But whatever you don't give willingly She takes. Remember when you were fucked up from one of your first missions looking for Pelle, despite my warnings? Remember how dutifully She tended to you? I watched Her. I saw. I fended Her off and you said I was being needlessly aggressive. But you and I both know what Her job was before all this. What She collects.

 And you wonder why I can only sleep with one of you in the room.
 Who's feeding us?
Who's protecting us?
Who's looking out for what excuse of a future we have left in this gods-forsaken city?

Because it sure as fuck isn't Her
 Something binds your limbs and muzzles your mouth."Which of your senses do you rely on most? Your sense of sight, hearing, smell, or pain?"
[Image: lil_lesbian.png]
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#5
(CW: Violent Imagery)

(2/4)

Day 563
No one’s listening to me.

No one's listenng to me.

No one's litening to me.

No one's listening to me.  But of course they wouldn’t. Right? I’m not worth listening to, right? I’m the resident nutcase, right? The resident sorry sack of shit stitched together with surgical sutures and cigarettes, right?


Doesn’t matter what I've been through,
doesn’t matter what I've seen, 
doesn’t matter what I know to be happening again, RIGHT? 


I'm just being "difficult." Or pitiful. It'd all be easier if I just realized we need to work ~together~ in times like this. It's all so much more complicated than it seems. It's not really that complicated, though. I'm just going to kill Her.



I'm going to tie Her to a chair and beat Her to death with a lead pipe over and over and over and over again.



 
Or I'll use my hands. Crush Her throat and watch Her drown in her own blood. 





No, no, I'll break every bone in Her legs - I'll pull out Her fucking clipboard and take notes, shaking my head disapprovingly every time She unsuccessfully tries to get up. I'll fucking grade Her



I'll damn us all to the wastes without a plan or a prayer and I won't regret it for a second. We're all basically dead already. 


Why go through so much effort for someone who's even more dead than the rest of us? Making your bed with our previous captor because She promises She knows how to save her? 

She could promise you the moon and you'd believe Her

And She's getting everything She wants in return, on a promise, on an idea. Everything.

Endless time, endless resources, fought for with OUR sweat and blood, and then She takes that too. 

Not ask. She asks for samples, yes. But whatever you don't give willingly She takes. Remember when you were fucked up from one of your first missions looking for Pelle, despite my warnings? Remember how dutifully She tended to you? 

I watched Her. I saw. I fended Her off and you said I was being needlessly aggressive. But you and I both know what Her job was before all this. What She collects.



And you wonder why I can only sleep with one of you in the room.


Who's feeding us?
Who's protecting us?
Who's looking out for what excuse of a future we have left in this gods-forsaken city?

Because it sure as fuck isn't Her


 Something binds your limbs and muzzles your mouth.
"Which of your senses do you rely on most? Your sense of sight, hearing, smell, or pain?"
[Image: lil_lesbian.png]
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