Entry #A-12: "Annihilation" [Text Open Network/Action closed to Tony, Dirk and Richard]

[dead_black_eyes]

[[OOC: This post contains torture and gore.]]

[Those who know L's number will recognize it, scrawled in blood. They will also see a location nearer the outskirts of Locke City written after it, as well as a short but desperate message.]

SEND HELP

[OOC: Since L has no means and is in no shape to answer network responses, Belle Goldman will be doing the honors at a later point.]

Comments

After [Closed to Tony, L, Richard, and Dirk]

[dead_black_eyes]

Dazed and petrified, there were several long moments where L could only stare in shock at the carnage spread out before him. The fact that he was covered in warm, far-flung gore was actually the least of his worries; while the germaphobe ordinarily panicked over the smallest bits of perceived contamination, he had just seen Tony transform into something enormous and terrifying. A monster, or demon, or unnamed grotesque horror, whatever it was had erupted when Tony was near death and L was near cracking, tearing the interrogator in half and painting their grim cell a hideous shade of deep crimson. It had lasted for just a few moments but L remembered every detail, and every detail made him tremble as the other Mafiosos made a hasty and panicked retreat. Though his own legs wanted to run, they were currently tied to a chair, as they had been for the last week, and his adrenaline had no such easy outlet.

That loose leg was at the forefront of his thoughts, though. Kicking against the floor, he threw himself down with as much force as he could, feeling it in his shoulder but mostly in the gloriously cracking wood. He tugged his hands away from the twisted amalgam of splintered wood and knotted rope, pulling himself toward the dismembered Mafioso's belt. A knife and a gun were both present, and he used the former to saw apart the ropes binding his legs and stuffed the latter into his suit pocket. Since he was covered in burst human, anyway, he took advantage of the ability to finally contact the network by scrawling his number, a location, and an appropriately urgent message in the cooling blood and entrails.

He wasn't finished yet, though. There was still the matter of Tony's unconscious form. At least, L hoped he was merely unconscious, pulling his limp arm over his shoulder and maneuvering clumsily to drape and lift his slight but dead weight. With his difficult hands, it was more about balancing the body than holding it, and there were a few false starts before he had any success at all. He staggered to his feet, which slipped slightly on the slick floor. Starting off at a tottering, lurching run, he found the outside hall, along with the path to the warehouse's nearest exit, bizarrely clear. His run became an adrenaline-fueled sprint as he barreled through the door and out into the fading but natural sunlight of evening, a scrawny, blood-soaked young man who carried the same on his back. He had last approached this building at night, and he was currently on the other side of it, but he knew where he was, and his ruined dress shoes pounded the pavement back toward the more populated and friendly parts of Locke City until his legs finally gave out. He collapsed in a heap alongside Tony, breathing hard, shaking as he removed his jacket and collared shirt and pressed them against anything that looked like it was bleeding. Tony was covered in blood, his own and another's, and it was almost impossible to tell the difference at this point.

In L's current state of mind, it was also nearly impossible to tell the difference between friend and foe. Anyone attempting to approach the refugees would be advised to do so with extreme caution.