Encounterlogs
Alexis Odd Encounter Sr Eric 241121
In the atmospheric breakroom of the Haven Sheriff's department, Alexi, an apparent deputy, finds his routine shattered by the violent entrance of a supernaturally menacing figure. This stranger, predatory in appearance with glowing ember eyes and a disturbing sense of wrongness, demands Alexi's attention with an unearthly presence. Despite Alexi's attempt to maintain calm and assert control, the entity violently overrides him, launching Alexi into a painful encounter that culminates in his forced isolation within a jail cell, a place ominously influenced by the creature's dark capabilities.
Determined not to succumb to fear or despair, Alexi utilizes his remaining resources—his emergency knife, pistol, badge, and a radio—to signal for help. Ingeniously, he crafts makeshift earplugs to shield himself from the creature's mentally invasive chants and embarks on a daring escape. His plan, though desperate, sees him confronting the entity and its horrific wall-bound accomplices in an attempt to disrupt their sinister ritual. Ultimately, Alexi's audacity propels him into a frantic dash for freedom, barely evading the creature's pursuit. However, his fleeting relief is cut short by an abrupt intervention—an armed and armored squad commands him down with a dominance echoing the earlier supernatural encounter, leaving Alexi ensnared in yet another unforeseeable predicament.
(Alexi's odd encounter(SREric):SREric)
[Wed Nov 20 2024]
In the breakroom
Dim, flickering light from the worn, overhead fixtures casts a subdued ambiance over this modest space, emphasizing the well-worn, mismatched furniture and the cluttered countertops that bear the traces of countless shared meals and brief respites. The distant murmur of casual conversations and the occasional clinking of ceramic mugs intermingle with the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the lingering scent of homemade meals, creating a comforting, communal atmosphere within the secluded enclave. The faded, peeling paint on the walls and the scuffed linoleum flooring speak to the room's humble origins.
It is afternoon, about 42F(5C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(Your target has been abducted and is being held hostage by a supernatural criminal out to trade them for something or just use them as a shield against the factions. Your target must attempt to find a way to escape, or simply survive until they can be rescued by their allies.
)
Alexi was taking a lazy spot clean around the breakroom of the Haven Sheriff's department. While not dressed for the part, the messy blond-haired man appears to be supposed to be here.
The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead cast a sterile glow over the breakroom of the Haven County Sheriffs Department. Its a cramped and utilitarian space: mismatched chairs crowd a scuffed linoleum floor, a half-empty pot of burnt coffee sputters on the counter, and a corkboard on the wall is cluttered with faded flyers and duty rosters. A small window in the corner reveals a bleak view of the afternoon outside, where bare trees sway in the frigid November wind, their skeletal branches clawing at a gray, overcast sky.
The breakroom comes with a newspaper speaking of strange occurences - disappearances, gutted livestock, incidents at the university - a coffee pot with burnt and merely lukewarm coffee, and a radio down the desk with a creaky dispatcher's voice: "Unit three.. Respond to suspicious activity on Elm, over."
Alexi does not have the time to respond.: the relative quiet is shattered by a violent crash. The door to the breakroom swings inward with bone-jarring force, its hinges screeching in protest. A figure steps ina stranger, utterly unfamiliar to Alexi entirely, viscerally threatening and entirely too unnatural. Their presence is wrong in a way that is tough to define.
They are tall and impossibly gaunt, their features sharp and predatory, yet cloaked in a deceptive veneer of humanity. Their eyes burn like smoldering embers, faintly illuminating a pallid face framed by dark, unruly hair. A long coat, dripping from the cold, clings to their frame, the material whispering unnervingly as they move. A faint scent of sulfur clings to the air now, mixing with the bitter tang of stale jail cells, and a sense of very real wrongness pervades the man as those eyes focus upon him, the impossible figure drawing closer at the very slowest pace once that room of his gets so violently invaded
(fix, sorry, minor errors bug me entirely too much) The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead cast a sterile glow over the breakroom of the Haven County Sheriffs Department. Its a cramped and utilitarian space: mismatched chairs crowd a scuffed linoleum floor, a half-empty pot of burnt coffee sputters on the counter, and a corkboard on the wall is cluttered with faded flyers and duty rosters. A small window in the corner reveals a bleak view of the afternoon outside, where bare trees sway in the frigid November wind, their skeletal branches clawing at a gray, overcast sky.
The breakroom comes with a newspaper speaking of strange occurences - disappearances, gutted livestock, incidents at the university - a coffee pot with burnt and merely lukewarm coffee, and a radio down the desk with a creaky dispatcher's voice: "Unit three.. Respond to suspicious activity on Elm, over."
Alexi does not have the time to respond: the relative quiet is shattered by a violent crash. The door to the breakroom swings inward with bone-jarring force, its hinges screeching in protest. A figure steps ina stranger, utterly unfamiliar to Alexi entirely, viscerally threatening and entirely too unnatural. Their presence is wrong in a way that is tough to define.
They are tall and impossibly gaunt, their features sharp and predatory, yet cloaked in a deceptive veneer of humanity. Their eyes burn like smoldering embers, faintly illuminating a pallid face framed by dark, unruly hair. A long coat, dripping from the cold, clings to their frame, the material whispering unnervingly as they move. A faint scent of sulfur clings to the air now, mixing with the bitter tang of stale jail cells, and a sense of very real wrongness pervades the man as those eyes focus upon him, the impossible figure drawing closer at the very slowest pace once that room of his gets so violently invaded
The blond-haired psuedo-cop gives a quiet blink as he looks at the man approaching. His hand instinctively slips to his hip, where his sidearm rests somewhere underneath his shirt. "Yoouuu don't look like you belong her, pal. Why don't you try the front desk?" His mildly Baltic accent seems almost stereotypical when paired with his appearance and he takes in the man in front of him (man? No) qwith quick assessment and his expression turns neutraly and grim. "I'm sure you'll find what you need." Alexi tries to play it casual, keeping his posture light and trying not to draw too much attention to the drift of his left hand.
Alexi very well resists the instinctive urge to panic, perhaps. The strangers glowing eyes lock onto his in full. Their presence radiates an oppressive energy, like standing too close to a raging fire. The casual words, the tension, the offhanded words - they do not draw the grim-faced being away, its face more clay than skin, more akin to an idol's mask than a human's, terrifyingly sculpted into a perpetually-screaming face that carries deeply through the room as it goes to respond: someone someone "AMUSING." Its voice is too loud for those confines, and it draws nearer to Alexi still, closer, its bulk blocking out much light and leaving the man alone with its presence, with the shade it casts. "NO. I WAS NOT HERE FOR YOU. BUT." There had to be a but, miserably, wretchedly.
"YOU WILL DO." Their movements are unnervingly smooth, almost fluid, as they step closer, the faint sulfuric scent intensifying. A ragged, off-beige leather cloak, soaked from the grim New England cold - clings to them as if alive, the wet fabric writhing slightly when caught in the flickering light. Beneath it, Alexi can catch glimpses of something unnatural: faint, runic markings etched into their skin, glowing faintly with the same ember-like hue of their eyes. Their boots leave no wet prints on the floor despite the water dripping from the hem of their coat. Set on getting its way, on disabling Alexi, it thunders ahead with a slam of its arm and crashes into the man's ribcage, all with force enough to send him reeling on back. Anything to take the man away, to grab him by a shoulder and drag him off, so very soon after, for one of the many vacant secluded cells in this place. Not the plan, perhaps-
But he will do. Apparently.
Alexi very well resists the instinctive urge to panic, perhaps. The strangers glowing eyes lock onto his in full. Their presence radiates an oppressive energy, like standing too close to a raging fire. The casual words, the tension, the offhanded words - they do not draw the grim-faced being away, its face more clay than skin, more akin to an idol's mask than a human's, terrifyingly sculpted into a perpetually-screaming face that carries deeply through the room as it goes to respond:
"AMUSING." Its voice is too loud for those confines, and it draws nearer to Alexi still, closer, its bulk blocking out much light and leaving the man alone with its presence, with the shade it casts. "NO. I WAS NOT HERE FOR YOU. BUT." There had to be a but, miserably, wretchedly.
"YOU WILL DO." Their movements are unnervingly smooth, almost fluid, as they step closer, the faint sulfuric scent intensifying. A ragged, off-beige leather cloak, soaked from the grim New England cold - clings to them as if alive, the wet fabric writhing slightly when caught in the flickering light. Beneath it, Alexi can catch glimpses of something unnatural: faint, runic markings etched into their skin, glowing faintly with the same ember-like hue of their eyes. Their boots leave no wet prints on the floor despite the water dripping from the hem of their coat. Set on getting its way, on disabling Alexi, it thunders ahead with a slam of its arm and crashes into the man's ribcage, all with force enough to send him reeling on back. Anything to take the man away, to grab him by a shoulder and drag him off, so very soon after, for one of the many vacant secluded cells in this place. Not the plan, perhaps-
But he will do. Apparently.
Well, Alexi is in shape for a human being, but he's not wearing gear and he's not prepared for the sudden kind of attack! He goes crashing backward into a table as he's struck, smashing and tumbling into and over it with a nasty grunt and he's ass down on the floor trying to recover from the blossoming pain in his midsection. "Wha-" He can't do much more than groan out though, unable to catch enough breath to speak out. His hand doesn't make it anywhere near the pistol at his side, as the room around him spins a little bit. Adrenaline kicks in and he's trying to scramble up to his feet grasping at anyhthing nearby that will help bear his weight.
Grin widening, striding ahead with inhuman grace for its freakish, brutishly strong limbs, the creature deposits Alexi in the county jail that so many people guilty of actual crime have been deposited in. The cold of its touch sears like frostbite, enough it seems to break the man's casual facade and have him attempt to grasp at something- anything- to a point that he can at most grab for one more radio, gone silent for a lack of things to report on. Only a couple more moments pass before the clanging of a heavy cell door snapping shut reverberates through his skull, unceremoniously tossed right on inside as he is. The creature's gray-clay sculpted eyes, still flaming like embers in some pagan idol's visage, bear down on him derisively. "STAY." It is a command, and a terse one. "OR I EAT YOUR SKULL."
It does not elaborate. In fact, it turns and walks off a small distance, footsteps mingling with the rattle of the HVAC system and the station's echoes. Ominous words reverberate from down the hall, and the lights flicker, dim. Not for power failure, so much, as the light itself being drawn away, smothered by the same sorts of energy that has the cell smell like sulfur, that has Alexi feel ice seep into his bones and terrible memories resurface, memories of woe and loss and regret all around. Fed no doubt by the unknowable language that he hears, the creature's echoing voice having various tiles tremble at its very sound as he gets left to his fate-
Perhaps. He still does remain in one piece, and he still does have the radio, along with anything else in his pockets really.
Blinking a moment, Alexi has to struggle to keep his wits about him. This was not something he expected to run into on the back half a night-carryover shift! Trying to clamber to his feet after a few precious moments wasted merely trying to get himself back together. In his pockets .. his emergency knife, the pistol he never got to draw and his badge. NOt a lot to work with against something like whatever that was. The radio though ... "Well, let's preay for the easy way out .." he's inspecting the radio to make sure it has power and then he's turning it to channel by channel, letting his finger click against the button repeatedly in a simple SOS staccatto and waiting for several secodns before moving on to the next.
One by one, Alexi can very much go through those channels one by one. Three short, three long, three short, and then on to the next.. And the next again. It's at the sixth try that a voice calls out for him, ringing through the creaky speakers: "Is that an.. Hello? Come in, SOS, tell us what your emergency is." The sound is quite audible, if distorted through the chanting that still proceeds in the place further down the hall. The shadows reach far enough that they lick and shape about the tiles, styled after flames reaching for more material to burn, ever-hungry and all ravenous to smother what light they can. Merely hearing to that beast, that demon- monster- creature which should not be is enough to induce a sense of vertigo, to instill in Alexi a sense of very real wrongness, an instinctive drive to reject its very presence here in the department jail with him.
"Uh .. shit. I don't know. Deputy one six four, I've been detained in one of the holding cells by .. something. I don't know what the hell to call it, but it shouldn't be walking around on the Institute's grounds. Something batshit is happening, at the very least." His radio report isn't exactly professional in that sense as the man tries to focus on the sound of the radio and block out the chanting. He grimaces and tries to plug one ear with a finger hoping that drownign out some of that infernal vocal will help reduce it's overall effect on the Deputy. He waits for a response on the radio but he's looking around too. Alexi's knife isn't going to help him much nor his pistol to get out of the cell itself. He might have to try and damage the lock though so he begins angling the dimensions of the cell, trying to find the place to try and fire from if he has to, without being struck by a riccochet.
"Ah, fuck." The first response he gets can hardly be called encouraging, though the words sound more frustrated than full of despair: "Sit tight. Good luck. We'll have HSD on their way asap- pray they do their job well, over." With the radio going silent again, Alexi can once more look about the jail cell and figure out what options he's got to get himself out. Maintenance on the cell doors really is spotty at best.. The iron securing them isn't always the thickest, often well due for replacement, and his cell in particular is thankfully one more such a place. Visions of dread and memories of pain combat with his mind figuring out as best it can just where he might want to aim, how to stand, if it'll even help. He's got enough room to stand aside that he'll most likely not end up shooting himself.. All that's left is the hope to see the mechanism break, and that whatever captured him takes no issue with a gunshot noise to momentarily drive out even the sounds of its inhuman voice communicating with a plane entirely too far removed from earth to be healthy.
Taking a step back, Alexi grunts and then before he takes larger steps he steps forward with a sudden precise step and a front kick comes lashing out toward the locked area on the gate. Perhaps with the rust, he might not need to make as much noise as gunshots might provide. "Is worth kicking!" He grunts, slamming his foot into the door to rattle it and see what the response might be. Will the thing come back, will it ignore him for now? Is this too loud? He doesn't know but he can only find out, or do nothing and he's not doing nothing. Martial arts training, and sheer oopmh put the best snap they can on the man's kick as he shoves it into the door with more silent prayers. Holding out for HSD? He's HSD! He knows how useful that's going to be. He's gotta get out of here!
Alexi is already an impressively strong man, and having excellent form with which to kick just further proves how true the funny little rhyme he goes through might prove in his case. The door's lock creaks, the hinges rattle - a second kick dislodges a nut from a bolt, and with a third he really does manage to have the iron door clang all noisly in its frame to the point he can just shove on past. Ahead, and to the side, the chanting sounds quieter, with relatively more words, perhaps, coming faster instead. Some of these rhyme, some of these are snarled, but the effect is still enough to leave any one proper human feeling a touch nauseous and laced with dread. The other way, certainly, he might try to effect his escape- assuming he really has gone unnoticed. It is something of a gamble, especially with the unnatural shadows lapping their way past his cell, peeking on through to have the single light tube inside fade out from abuse, ominous aura only getting worse as darkness deepens despite the light's valiant efforts
With a curse under his breath and a grunt ... Alexi draws his gun and he moves toward the sound of the chanting. Reaching into his pocket - he pulls out his cigarette case! He silently says a prayer of thanks, but for once he's not trying to smoke one. He takes a couple of the smokes, balling up the paper and tobacco all and trying to wedge them into his ears like makeshift earplugs to help drown out the chanting noise. Something about it pushes at his conscious and makes him ill, and he has to focus through ti, so whatever he has to do. Sidearm out .. he creeps down the hall, trying to remain as quiet as he can. His earlier training in life will help him for this at least.
The jail corridor stretches on down, be-clawed shadows beckoning come hither and very gladly welcoming Alexi's descent towards the creature that had locked him in. Malfunctioning lights are joined by tiles scratched upon by inky fingers and chipped, shadowy nails leaving chalk-like marks in black. A door torn from its hinges by force leads into an office at the corridor's end, where the man sees the monster stand hunched over a desk, arguing, speaking to, conversing, but above all chanting at five faces much like its own on the walls. Some are horned, some have snakes for beards, some have eel-toothed mouths for eyes. All turn for him as he wanders on over, painted clay cackling brightly, in eager and delighted glee, enough that the monster on its feet turns to where they look and spots the brave, brave man. "I HAD TOLD YOU." Its voice is an intonation of blood and iron, hunched back straightening to the point its head scrapes the ceiling, not that it seems to care. "TO STAY PUT." It is the only threat it makes, already gathering more shade still inside those hands, very much intent, it seems, on wreaking far more terrible harm than a sweep, a drag, and a toss into an empty cell.
"Oh, shit!" Alexi curses, not stealthy enough to keep himself out of sight. Instinct lifts up his sidearm, a full-sized 9mm with an eighteen round clip. His trigger squeeze is smooth, and practiced, but he's not firing at the big guy since he's pretty sure that's useless. Instead he's diring bullets off at the faces in the wall, anything to stop the chanting or calling and then he's turning tail and trying to HAUL at full speed toward the exit. He's clearly made a terrible terrible mistake.
Advancing with doing what's right and brave and noble had, most likely, been something of a mistake; running with the sound of jeering, derisive laughter in his ears after firing off what shots he could. Clay dents, but no voices dim, and those shadows shift in the ever-darkening corridor, eyes blacker than shade staring at him with voidlike gazes as their claws seem to grasp for his very legs. The monster behind him is too smooth, too long-legged for its large frame, striding with large steps towards its escaping prey, sacrifice, bargain chip- whatever it may have seen in Alexi really. The low ceiling and its own lack of desperation are the saving graces Alexi gets, keeping it from catching up in mere seconds when moments, instead, will have to do. Withdrawing from it and the shadows lets him see more regular drabness down the corridor, black-on-blacker making way for sterile lighting and boring greys
He also gets, very briefly, absolutely blinded. Almost a half-dozen tactical lights are pointed his way at once, along with just as many rifle muzzles held by visibly armored people. Like the monster, their squad leader's voice is not meant for indoor usage: "DOWN DOWN DOWN! GET THE FUCK DOWN- RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!" And also like the monster, all this one does is make very, very clear demands.
Determined not to succumb to fear or despair, Alexi utilizes his remaining resources—his emergency knife, pistol, badge, and a radio—to signal for help. Ingeniously, he crafts makeshift earplugs to shield himself from the creature's mentally invasive chants and embarks on a daring escape. His plan, though desperate, sees him confronting the entity and its horrific wall-bound accomplices in an attempt to disrupt their sinister ritual. Ultimately, Alexi's audacity propels him into a frantic dash for freedom, barely evading the creature's pursuit. However, his fleeting relief is cut short by an abrupt intervention—an armed and armored squad commands him down with a dominance echoing the earlier supernatural encounter, leaving Alexi ensnared in yet another unforeseeable predicament.
(Alexi's odd encounter(SREric):SREric)
[Wed Nov 20 2024]
In the breakroom
Dim, flickering light from the worn, overhead fixtures casts a subdued ambiance over this modest space, emphasizing the well-worn, mismatched furniture and the cluttered countertops that bear the traces of countless shared meals and brief respites. The distant murmur of casual conversations and the occasional clinking of ceramic mugs intermingle with the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the lingering scent of homemade meals, creating a comforting, communal atmosphere within the secluded enclave. The faded, peeling paint on the walls and the scuffed linoleum flooring speak to the room's humble origins.
It is afternoon, about 42F(5C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(Your target has been abducted and is being held hostage by a supernatural criminal out to trade them for something or just use them as a shield against the factions. Your target must attempt to find a way to escape, or simply survive until they can be rescued by their allies.
)
Alexi was taking a lazy spot clean around the breakroom of the Haven Sheriff's department. While not dressed for the part, the messy blond-haired man appears to be supposed to be here.
The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead cast a sterile glow over the breakroom of the Haven County Sheriffs Department. Its a cramped and utilitarian space: mismatched chairs crowd a scuffed linoleum floor, a half-empty pot of burnt coffee sputters on the counter, and a corkboard on the wall is cluttered with faded flyers and duty rosters. A small window in the corner reveals a bleak view of the afternoon outside, where bare trees sway in the frigid November wind, their skeletal branches clawing at a gray, overcast sky.
The breakroom comes with a newspaper speaking of strange occurences - disappearances, gutted livestock, incidents at the university - a coffee pot with burnt and merely lukewarm coffee, and a radio down the desk with a creaky dispatcher's voice: "Unit three.. Respond to suspicious activity on Elm, over."
Alexi does not have the time to respond.: the relative quiet is shattered by a violent crash. The door to the breakroom swings inward with bone-jarring force, its hinges screeching in protest. A figure steps ina stranger, utterly unfamiliar to Alexi entirely, viscerally threatening and entirely too unnatural. Their presence is wrong in a way that is tough to define.
They are tall and impossibly gaunt, their features sharp and predatory, yet cloaked in a deceptive veneer of humanity. Their eyes burn like smoldering embers, faintly illuminating a pallid face framed by dark, unruly hair. A long coat, dripping from the cold, clings to their frame, the material whispering unnervingly as they move. A faint scent of sulfur clings to the air now, mixing with the bitter tang of stale jail cells, and a sense of very real wrongness pervades the man as those eyes focus upon him, the impossible figure drawing closer at the very slowest pace once that room of his gets so violently invaded
(fix, sorry, minor errors bug me entirely too much) The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead cast a sterile glow over the breakroom of the Haven County Sheriffs Department. Its a cramped and utilitarian space: mismatched chairs crowd a scuffed linoleum floor, a half-empty pot of burnt coffee sputters on the counter, and a corkboard on the wall is cluttered with faded flyers and duty rosters. A small window in the corner reveals a bleak view of the afternoon outside, where bare trees sway in the frigid November wind, their skeletal branches clawing at a gray, overcast sky.
The breakroom comes with a newspaper speaking of strange occurences - disappearances, gutted livestock, incidents at the university - a coffee pot with burnt and merely lukewarm coffee, and a radio down the desk with a creaky dispatcher's voice: "Unit three.. Respond to suspicious activity on Elm, over."
Alexi does not have the time to respond: the relative quiet is shattered by a violent crash. The door to the breakroom swings inward with bone-jarring force, its hinges screeching in protest. A figure steps ina stranger, utterly unfamiliar to Alexi entirely, viscerally threatening and entirely too unnatural. Their presence is wrong in a way that is tough to define.
They are tall and impossibly gaunt, their features sharp and predatory, yet cloaked in a deceptive veneer of humanity. Their eyes burn like smoldering embers, faintly illuminating a pallid face framed by dark, unruly hair. A long coat, dripping from the cold, clings to their frame, the material whispering unnervingly as they move. A faint scent of sulfur clings to the air now, mixing with the bitter tang of stale jail cells, and a sense of very real wrongness pervades the man as those eyes focus upon him, the impossible figure drawing closer at the very slowest pace once that room of his gets so violently invaded
The blond-haired psuedo-cop gives a quiet blink as he looks at the man approaching. His hand instinctively slips to his hip, where his sidearm rests somewhere underneath his shirt. "Yoouuu don't look like you belong her, pal. Why don't you try the front desk?" His mildly Baltic accent seems almost stereotypical when paired with his appearance and he takes in the man in front of him (man? No) qwith quick assessment and his expression turns neutraly and grim. "I'm sure you'll find what you need." Alexi tries to play it casual, keeping his posture light and trying not to draw too much attention to the drift of his left hand.
Alexi very well resists the instinctive urge to panic, perhaps. The strangers glowing eyes lock onto his in full. Their presence radiates an oppressive energy, like standing too close to a raging fire. The casual words, the tension, the offhanded words - they do not draw the grim-faced being away, its face more clay than skin, more akin to an idol's mask than a human's, terrifyingly sculpted into a perpetually-screaming face that carries deeply through the room as it goes to respond: someone someone "AMUSING." Its voice is too loud for those confines, and it draws nearer to Alexi still, closer, its bulk blocking out much light and leaving the man alone with its presence, with the shade it casts. "NO. I WAS NOT HERE FOR YOU. BUT." There had to be a but, miserably, wretchedly.
"YOU WILL DO." Their movements are unnervingly smooth, almost fluid, as they step closer, the faint sulfuric scent intensifying. A ragged, off-beige leather cloak, soaked from the grim New England cold - clings to them as if alive, the wet fabric writhing slightly when caught in the flickering light. Beneath it, Alexi can catch glimpses of something unnatural: faint, runic markings etched into their skin, glowing faintly with the same ember-like hue of their eyes. Their boots leave no wet prints on the floor despite the water dripping from the hem of their coat. Set on getting its way, on disabling Alexi, it thunders ahead with a slam of its arm and crashes into the man's ribcage, all with force enough to send him reeling on back. Anything to take the man away, to grab him by a shoulder and drag him off, so very soon after, for one of the many vacant secluded cells in this place. Not the plan, perhaps-
But he will do. Apparently.
Alexi very well resists the instinctive urge to panic, perhaps. The strangers glowing eyes lock onto his in full. Their presence radiates an oppressive energy, like standing too close to a raging fire. The casual words, the tension, the offhanded words - they do not draw the grim-faced being away, its face more clay than skin, more akin to an idol's mask than a human's, terrifyingly sculpted into a perpetually-screaming face that carries deeply through the room as it goes to respond:
"AMUSING." Its voice is too loud for those confines, and it draws nearer to Alexi still, closer, its bulk blocking out much light and leaving the man alone with its presence, with the shade it casts. "NO. I WAS NOT HERE FOR YOU. BUT." There had to be a but, miserably, wretchedly.
"YOU WILL DO." Their movements are unnervingly smooth, almost fluid, as they step closer, the faint sulfuric scent intensifying. A ragged, off-beige leather cloak, soaked from the grim New England cold - clings to them as if alive, the wet fabric writhing slightly when caught in the flickering light. Beneath it, Alexi can catch glimpses of something unnatural: faint, runic markings etched into their skin, glowing faintly with the same ember-like hue of their eyes. Their boots leave no wet prints on the floor despite the water dripping from the hem of their coat. Set on getting its way, on disabling Alexi, it thunders ahead with a slam of its arm and crashes into the man's ribcage, all with force enough to send him reeling on back. Anything to take the man away, to grab him by a shoulder and drag him off, so very soon after, for one of the many vacant secluded cells in this place. Not the plan, perhaps-
But he will do. Apparently.
Well, Alexi is in shape for a human being, but he's not wearing gear and he's not prepared for the sudden kind of attack! He goes crashing backward into a table as he's struck, smashing and tumbling into and over it with a nasty grunt and he's ass down on the floor trying to recover from the blossoming pain in his midsection. "Wha-" He can't do much more than groan out though, unable to catch enough breath to speak out. His hand doesn't make it anywhere near the pistol at his side, as the room around him spins a little bit. Adrenaline kicks in and he's trying to scramble up to his feet grasping at anyhthing nearby that will help bear his weight.
Grin widening, striding ahead with inhuman grace for its freakish, brutishly strong limbs, the creature deposits Alexi in the county jail that so many people guilty of actual crime have been deposited in. The cold of its touch sears like frostbite, enough it seems to break the man's casual facade and have him attempt to grasp at something- anything- to a point that he can at most grab for one more radio, gone silent for a lack of things to report on. Only a couple more moments pass before the clanging of a heavy cell door snapping shut reverberates through his skull, unceremoniously tossed right on inside as he is. The creature's gray-clay sculpted eyes, still flaming like embers in some pagan idol's visage, bear down on him derisively. "STAY." It is a command, and a terse one. "OR I EAT YOUR SKULL."
It does not elaborate. In fact, it turns and walks off a small distance, footsteps mingling with the rattle of the HVAC system and the station's echoes. Ominous words reverberate from down the hall, and the lights flicker, dim. Not for power failure, so much, as the light itself being drawn away, smothered by the same sorts of energy that has the cell smell like sulfur, that has Alexi feel ice seep into his bones and terrible memories resurface, memories of woe and loss and regret all around. Fed no doubt by the unknowable language that he hears, the creature's echoing voice having various tiles tremble at its very sound as he gets left to his fate-
Perhaps. He still does remain in one piece, and he still does have the radio, along with anything else in his pockets really.
Blinking a moment, Alexi has to struggle to keep his wits about him. This was not something he expected to run into on the back half a night-carryover shift! Trying to clamber to his feet after a few precious moments wasted merely trying to get himself back together. In his pockets .. his emergency knife, the pistol he never got to draw and his badge. NOt a lot to work with against something like whatever that was. The radio though ... "Well, let's preay for the easy way out .." he's inspecting the radio to make sure it has power and then he's turning it to channel by channel, letting his finger click against the button repeatedly in a simple SOS staccatto and waiting for several secodns before moving on to the next.
One by one, Alexi can very much go through those channels one by one. Three short, three long, three short, and then on to the next.. And the next again. It's at the sixth try that a voice calls out for him, ringing through the creaky speakers: "Is that an.. Hello? Come in, SOS, tell us what your emergency is." The sound is quite audible, if distorted through the chanting that still proceeds in the place further down the hall. The shadows reach far enough that they lick and shape about the tiles, styled after flames reaching for more material to burn, ever-hungry and all ravenous to smother what light they can. Merely hearing to that beast, that demon- monster- creature which should not be is enough to induce a sense of vertigo, to instill in Alexi a sense of very real wrongness, an instinctive drive to reject its very presence here in the department jail with him.
"Uh .. shit. I don't know. Deputy one six four, I've been detained in one of the holding cells by .. something. I don't know what the hell to call it, but it shouldn't be walking around on the Institute's grounds. Something batshit is happening, at the very least." His radio report isn't exactly professional in that sense as the man tries to focus on the sound of the radio and block out the chanting. He grimaces and tries to plug one ear with a finger hoping that drownign out some of that infernal vocal will help reduce it's overall effect on the Deputy. He waits for a response on the radio but he's looking around too. Alexi's knife isn't going to help him much nor his pistol to get out of the cell itself. He might have to try and damage the lock though so he begins angling the dimensions of the cell, trying to find the place to try and fire from if he has to, without being struck by a riccochet.
"Ah, fuck." The first response he gets can hardly be called encouraging, though the words sound more frustrated than full of despair: "Sit tight. Good luck. We'll have HSD on their way asap- pray they do their job well, over." With the radio going silent again, Alexi can once more look about the jail cell and figure out what options he's got to get himself out. Maintenance on the cell doors really is spotty at best.. The iron securing them isn't always the thickest, often well due for replacement, and his cell in particular is thankfully one more such a place. Visions of dread and memories of pain combat with his mind figuring out as best it can just where he might want to aim, how to stand, if it'll even help. He's got enough room to stand aside that he'll most likely not end up shooting himself.. All that's left is the hope to see the mechanism break, and that whatever captured him takes no issue with a gunshot noise to momentarily drive out even the sounds of its inhuman voice communicating with a plane entirely too far removed from earth to be healthy.
Taking a step back, Alexi grunts and then before he takes larger steps he steps forward with a sudden precise step and a front kick comes lashing out toward the locked area on the gate. Perhaps with the rust, he might not need to make as much noise as gunshots might provide. "Is worth kicking!" He grunts, slamming his foot into the door to rattle it and see what the response might be. Will the thing come back, will it ignore him for now? Is this too loud? He doesn't know but he can only find out, or do nothing and he's not doing nothing. Martial arts training, and sheer oopmh put the best snap they can on the man's kick as he shoves it into the door with more silent prayers. Holding out for HSD? He's HSD! He knows how useful that's going to be. He's gotta get out of here!
Alexi is already an impressively strong man, and having excellent form with which to kick just further proves how true the funny little rhyme he goes through might prove in his case. The door's lock creaks, the hinges rattle - a second kick dislodges a nut from a bolt, and with a third he really does manage to have the iron door clang all noisly in its frame to the point he can just shove on past. Ahead, and to the side, the chanting sounds quieter, with relatively more words, perhaps, coming faster instead. Some of these rhyme, some of these are snarled, but the effect is still enough to leave any one proper human feeling a touch nauseous and laced with dread. The other way, certainly, he might try to effect his escape- assuming he really has gone unnoticed. It is something of a gamble, especially with the unnatural shadows lapping their way past his cell, peeking on through to have the single light tube inside fade out from abuse, ominous aura only getting worse as darkness deepens despite the light's valiant efforts
With a curse under his breath and a grunt ... Alexi draws his gun and he moves toward the sound of the chanting. Reaching into his pocket - he pulls out his cigarette case! He silently says a prayer of thanks, but for once he's not trying to smoke one. He takes a couple of the smokes, balling up the paper and tobacco all and trying to wedge them into his ears like makeshift earplugs to help drown out the chanting noise. Something about it pushes at his conscious and makes him ill, and he has to focus through ti, so whatever he has to do. Sidearm out .. he creeps down the hall, trying to remain as quiet as he can. His earlier training in life will help him for this at least.
The jail corridor stretches on down, be-clawed shadows beckoning come hither and very gladly welcoming Alexi's descent towards the creature that had locked him in. Malfunctioning lights are joined by tiles scratched upon by inky fingers and chipped, shadowy nails leaving chalk-like marks in black. A door torn from its hinges by force leads into an office at the corridor's end, where the man sees the monster stand hunched over a desk, arguing, speaking to, conversing, but above all chanting at five faces much like its own on the walls. Some are horned, some have snakes for beards, some have eel-toothed mouths for eyes. All turn for him as he wanders on over, painted clay cackling brightly, in eager and delighted glee, enough that the monster on its feet turns to where they look and spots the brave, brave man. "I HAD TOLD YOU." Its voice is an intonation of blood and iron, hunched back straightening to the point its head scrapes the ceiling, not that it seems to care. "TO STAY PUT." It is the only threat it makes, already gathering more shade still inside those hands, very much intent, it seems, on wreaking far more terrible harm than a sweep, a drag, and a toss into an empty cell.
"Oh, shit!" Alexi curses, not stealthy enough to keep himself out of sight. Instinct lifts up his sidearm, a full-sized 9mm with an eighteen round clip. His trigger squeeze is smooth, and practiced, but he's not firing at the big guy since he's pretty sure that's useless. Instead he's diring bullets off at the faces in the wall, anything to stop the chanting or calling and then he's turning tail and trying to HAUL at full speed toward the exit. He's clearly made a terrible terrible mistake.
Advancing with doing what's right and brave and noble had, most likely, been something of a mistake; running with the sound of jeering, derisive laughter in his ears after firing off what shots he could. Clay dents, but no voices dim, and those shadows shift in the ever-darkening corridor, eyes blacker than shade staring at him with voidlike gazes as their claws seem to grasp for his very legs. The monster behind him is too smooth, too long-legged for its large frame, striding with large steps towards its escaping prey, sacrifice, bargain chip- whatever it may have seen in Alexi really. The low ceiling and its own lack of desperation are the saving graces Alexi gets, keeping it from catching up in mere seconds when moments, instead, will have to do. Withdrawing from it and the shadows lets him see more regular drabness down the corridor, black-on-blacker making way for sterile lighting and boring greys
He also gets, very briefly, absolutely blinded. Almost a half-dozen tactical lights are pointed his way at once, along with just as many rifle muzzles held by visibly armored people. Like the monster, their squad leader's voice is not meant for indoor usage: "DOWN DOWN DOWN! GET THE FUCK DOWN- RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!" And also like the monster, all this one does is make very, very clear demands.