Ridge Creek Apartments, Don't Be Afraid

[Gum]

this thread is so trash. in my head it worked, but just didn't in the end. i'm sorry. i'm not even going to proof read it. so i'm sorry in advance if you traumatise yourself by reading this abject failure of mine. i'm just submitting it for the xp at this point.

Few indicators of oddity could compete with the well-manicured nails of a twenty-something man. Those digits pulled the door of the tall and skinny refrigerator wide. That fridge buzzed anonymously in its modest two bed. That apartment sat on the ground floor of the Ridge Creek development. That structure, just pine studs and drywall, stood silent on the rim of a quiet night at the edge of a sprawling hot city.

And oh lord the heat. To hydrate he dipped into the chill of the refrigerator for a can of sodie pop. The aluminium was inked with a blazing blue logo across a white background. It occupied the man's narrow attention span readily. On the rear of the can, in tiny print, was the ingredients list. "Pay no attention to the sodium benzoate," whispered the insidious wizards of the 1% who commissioned the can's gaudy design.

Sodium benzoate is a preservative commonly used in sodas to prevent mold from forming. Though it's generally recognised by the government as a "generally safe" additive, concerns have been raised about its safety. Some researchers say it damages DNA and may lead to cirrhosis of the liver and degenerative diseases. Additionally, when sodium benzoate is combined with ascorbic acid (vitamin C), it can form benzene, a well-known carcinogen.

With the refreshing fizz in his hand he slipped by his only window. The only view was of the metro. The transit system's walls were being graffitied by a writer working for a hip hop outfit named Avalanche. The street team vandal's lines were crisp and the fill was more colourful even than the soft drink. The neat young man ignored the chaos outside and sat down, knee to torso at ninety degrees. He was sitting at his computer desk. Comic book action figures were well organised across a braced shelf above his desk. It was slow burning masturbation, fandom indulgence. The man had a mint boxed Sledge Rivers, lithe CEO of the Zero Corporation. The rest were equally collectible, Reese Jarrek? Worth a lot of money. The Cherub? Rare!!! MacCallister? Pft, they made too many of those. After satisfying himself with a glance at his collection, the nameless citizen set his eyes on his LCD screen. His browser showed an unmoderated image board called 8post.

Somebody had replied to his thread with the following message.

ur full of shit bud lol. pics? lol

Smirking through the unnatural glow of his computer monitor, he leaned in to his clean keyboard and typed quickly. The man's eyes pooled at the prospect of righteous delight.

[Gum]

There, beneath Gum's fingernails, was the wholesome earth, black and fertile, of the rainforest farm he maintained. A pale of tepid water collected the evening before sat on the floor next to his worktop. The worktop was lit by the abundance of glassless windows wrapped in a farmhouse made of unmilled hardwoods. The forty-something shaman muddied the liquid with his dirty hands. He cupped a tiny pool of the water to his mouth and sipped for satisfaction. Outside and across the tilled earth, the tree line chirped with the pleasant chorus of bugs and birds. Gum observed and appreciated his surroundings through the sullen smile of a tired man.

Something important was missing. Gum knew that the iron skull in his possession had only one spot: on his worktop. It was not there. Misplacing things was not in his nature, the shaman was sure of it. He looked around the simple shack with a wrought brow. He had installed a crudely constructed shelf over his worktop. Upon the shelf was his collection of self carved figures. The detailed carvings were of the gods of the Dheathain Pantheon. Atataratzu and Oxxad were the largest and stood at the centre, they were flanked by Thoery, Hoel and Fase.

"Something is wrong," thought Gum, "All of my carvings are out of place. They have all been moved slightly."

Gum had to find the missing curio before his guest arrived, it was of dire consequence.

[Gum]

The well-manicured man clicked on his favourite playlist, the music streamed at a volume that was immediate and painful. Obnoxious IDM reverberated through the cheap walls and into his neighbour's living rooms. Music blasting, he hopped up from his seat and moved over to his landlord's selection of a low end electric stove. From a clinically clean drawer beside the kitchen appliance he pulled out a generous handful of plastic army men, the kind you find at a discount store. He threw them into a medium saucepan and slid it onto the front right right ring, maximum temperature. The plastic began to melt and its unpleasant aroma wafted through the rooms.

A two bed suited a single occupant with a hobby. The well-manicured man opened the door to his spare bedroom. His hobby was kidnapping people. Stained with sweat and urine, a middle-aged man sat zip tied to a re-purposed office chair. The captive was gagged, his eyes were bloodshot, his head was slouched to the side, the zip ties had wore the skin from his wrists and ankles. The kidnapping took place four days earlier. Beyond the evident physical damage, the prisoner was in psychological ruins. He looked at the well-manicured man with a thick glaze over his pinkish eyes.

“Don't look at me like that,” insisted the psychopath in charge. “I swear, it's almost over. I'll release you soon, I promise.”

Meanwhile, the plastic army men had relinquished their forms completely and were free flowing in the saucepan. The well-manicured man left the spare bedroom with a spring in his step. Once back in the kitchen he retrieved the pan from the stove. He also grabbed the santoku knife from his kitchen set.

Back in the bedroom he made a hollow attempt to assuage the wide eyed prisoner. “It looks bad, I know,” said the well-manicured man of his pan of plastic and santoku kife. “Don't worry,” his words were delivered with a wink, “It'll be fine!”

Wasting no time, he cut away his captive's right trouser leg as close to the waist as he could get. The man's soiled underwear was revealed. “Here we go,” he tossed the denim fabric to the side and quickly hacked away a piece of flesh from the man's ample thigh.

“Fatty meat!”

The victim screamed through his gag.

“This'll make it feel better.”

The well-manicured man held the pan of liquid plastic over the bloody wound and tipped out the contents. The searing plastic covered the wound and would soon set once it reached room temperature. The prisoner passed out.

“Okay, that's enough for now.”

The well-manicured man took the piece of flesh back to the kitchen, deftly sealed it in plastic wrap and stored it safely in one of the refrigerator's drawers.

"I'll need the bleach," he said to himself opening a lower cabinet door, "and the mop!"

[Gum]

Every option was exhausted in Gum's living area. The next step was the bedroom, he only had one. Gum suffered the indignity of an all fours panic stricken search. He was looking under his bed for the errant iron skull, the last possible place it could be. Arthritis in his knuckles made it painful, but he bent his fingers nonetheless and pushed up the bed frame to let some light into the space beneath. Illumination revealed droppings, they were in a line and each deposit was peanut shaped. The shaman recognised the distinctive shape and pattern of the waste.

“Plasma Goblins,” he mouthed to himself with a laboured sigh.

It was no longer in question, Gum was certain that the important curio in his keep had been stolen by a mischievous plasma goblin.

Knock, knock, knock.

Gum's guest was kicking the mud off his boots outside the house.

[Gum]

Back at Ridge Creek an exchange was in the formative stages. The well-manicured man took pleasure in removing the man's dishtowel gag.

”Fuck you,” slurred words the middle-aged man once the gag was removed.

”Fuck me? No, fuck you. And I might, the night is young.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Random. I'm a random.”

“So why me?”

“Opportunity. You were there, there were no cameras and nobody around. I'm a proud opportunist.”

The middle-aged man's head wobbled and slouched.

“Speaking of cameras, keep your head up!” ordered the well-manicured man, “I want take a few pictures!”

With his smartphone he took a series of sick snaps for uploading to 8post.

[Gum]

The barn door beams creaked on their iron t-hinges as Gum evenly opened his front door. The shaman's narrow eyes widened with a closed mouth smile. “Revlac, I am happy you are here old friend.”

Revlac was the wizard in town, travelling from parts unknown. A robed wrapped mystic actively trying to live the stereotype. His conical was steep and folded at the peak, the brim was broad and cast a black shadow over his amber glowing eyes. He did forgo the beard though, too itchy and unsanitary for his personal taste. Revlac's age was beyond him, let alone his modern day peers. Nobody knew even the era Revlac came into being.

"I know you've lost it," laughed Revlac at his dearly flustered friend.

"I have." admitted Gum shamefully.

"Lost it?” the wizard moved to correct the details as he pushed by Gum and entered his modest digs.

"You are right to correct me, Revlac. It was stolen, I think it was plasma goblins."

"Wretched interdimensional henchmen of the great evil things of our multiverse."

Gum stymied an uncharacteristic giggle. He knew the world was fantastic but wondered at the veracity of Revlac's whimsical notions.

"Laugh all you like, Gum. You don't laugh often, you might as well laugh hard when the desire takes you. After all, we're only dealing with the fate of reality itself here!"

"Um," the forty-something shaman felt like a fourteen year old shaman, uncertain if the grown ups were joking or chastising. Gum straightened his posture in response to the uncomfortable and unusual sensation somebody so senior to him provided.

"I have a solution,” and as he said the words, Revlac produced a tiny egg shaped contraption. “It's a clockwork pulse grenade,” said the wizard. Gum was none the wiser. Relvac could read his friend's confusion and so set to an elaboration, “Here is the wind up key. The tension stores the energy as I wind it you see. It's probably best if you just watch. Move that table, old bean.”

Gum responded dragged his weighty worktop, politely attempting to hide how taxing the heavy piece of furniture was on his mortal frame. “There,” grunted the aging shaman with a final heave.

"OKAY!"

Revlac wound the device and placed it in the center of the room. “Now be ready,” he insisted. The grenade began to unwind, vibrating as it did.

Without warning, the grenade exploded.

[Gum]

The well-manicured man's theatre of torture was reaching for its crescendo. He was back in the spare bedroom. The woozy middle-aged man watched through his withering eyelids as his tormentor first shook and then opened a festive popcorn tin. With a greasy grin and a final mind fuck, the well-manicured man flashed the contents of the container at his helpless victim. Sewing needles and fastening pins filled the thing to the brim.

“Why wait?” he asked as he pricked the first hole into the fleshy earlobe of the middle-aged man. The wound oozed profusely. Back to the bucket, he stuck pin after pin into a fresh spot of skin every time. Once in a while the well-manicured man reached for a damp sponge to tenderly wipe away the blood seeping from the mass of microcuts. The blood was preventing him from finding spots of uncut skin. Death by a thousand cuts, the peppering of his entire body left the middle-aged man whimpering helplessly until, again, he passed out.

The fun was over and so the well-manicured man grabbed a meat tenderiser from his arsenal of agony and slammed it into the forehead of his prisoner for an instantaneous end.

[Gum]

The explosion of the grenade in Gum's ramshackle abode reverberated with sound more than force. In addition to being audible, the shaman and the wizard watched as waves of lime green liquid washed across the weathered wood flooring. No physical damage occurred.

Success!

The liquid stuck to a furry beast, previously invisible, revealing its location. Holding its ears, the creature was clearly stunned by the force of the sonic assault.

Grum snagged the beastie by the scruff of the neck and started to shake it violently.

"No, no, no, no," chided the wiser wizard from across the room.

Gum stopped shaking the plasma gremlin and watched as Revlac pottered across the room via a frustratingly inefficient path.

"Here, like this," said Revlac as he took the still incapacitated animal and poked it in the belly. Immediately, the plasma gremlin vomited and out of its belly came the prized iron skull.

"I am relieved," admitted Gum calmly.

From inside his robes, Revlac produced a burlap sack with a drawstring top. He threw the plasma gremlin inside and insisted, "I have a friend, she's trying to domesticate these things. She has a whole breeding programme and everything. This little guy will help."

"Without trying to be rude, we may be starting to run out of time?" asked Gum with the utmost of reverence.

"Yes! Absolutely!" the wizard pressed his broad palm on Gum's painted forehead to initiate an interdimensional transfer of human matter and consciousness.

[Gum]

Energy, thick like molasses, oozed down in the shape of a tunnel. Viscous and solid at the same time, the transportation cylinder contained the interdimensional traveller, Gum. As the plasma comprising the tunnel thinned and faded with a crackle of electricity, the Xangu shaman was standing and snarling. "This life you lead. The shelter, the disconnection, the technology," he paused, "The obsessive killing, the murder."

"What the fuck?!" screamed the well-manicured man at the sight of the bizarre home invader before him. His neurotic tendencies didn't allow for the cosmically unexplainable.

Head to toe, Gum looked every inch the rainforest shaman he was. His hair was matted with ant infested magic berry juice. His face was patterned with warpaint, yellow with black rosettes. The weary lines in his leather skinned face caused the caked colours to crack. Beneath the imposing decoration he was brown skinned. His narrow eyes came before his most prominent feature, his nose. It was broad and hooked, ugly by conventional standards. For a mouth he wore a wide frown, its noteworthy width matched that of his aged jowls. From there his neck gave way into a wiry frame of muscle and bone. Said torso was barely dressed, he was naked but for straps of hide and fur tangled and draped over his body. His feet were wrapped in a tough hide. Gum forewent armour in favour of faith in the spirits of his ancestors. He hadn't reached six feet tall due to childhood malnutrition.

Gum saw that the well-manicured man's prisoner, still tied to the chair in the room, had died. Frustration and anger overcame him. “You are disgusting in every way,” the rough baritone came from Gum's nose and mouth in equal measure.

The well-manicured man reached again for his meat tenderiser. Gum responded by wrapping his old knuckles around the hilt of his obsidian studded bough. The well-manicured man swung for Gum's head, but he ducked the blow and watched the younger man spin from the intensity of his own attack. Gum nicked off a minor patch of fabric and chunk of flesh from the murder's thigh. Bleeding and grounded, the well-manicured man's reaction was to tackle the warrior shaman to the ground. Gum's head thumped against the apartment's floor. Dazed but focused, Gum looked up to see the man was gone.

Then the lights went out.

Shaman Gum clung to the deck in the darkness. His body began to transform. Inside, bones twisted and cracked, taking on a new form. Skin split open to accommodate the growth of a plush coat of fur. Hands and feet lost their length to gain girth and claws. Gum's face at the point of mutation was grotesque and incredible. Dull brown eyes glowed into vibrant yellow. Side-mounted ears, fleshy and oval in their human way, pushed forward and morphed into the more triangular ears of a feline. Flat and frowning, his mouth bulged into a stout muzzle. His human teeth, utterly impotent, dropped from his mouth and onto on the murder's floor. In their place grew a predator's arsenal of death dealing canines and marrow munching grinders. Gum had successfully transformed from a man into a jaguar.

The well-manicured man might have thought flipping the fuse was a good idea, he'd assumed an advantage in the apartment because he would be the only one to know the layout. As a cat, Gum had gained improved vision in the darkness. The jungle stalker padded silently into the hallway, his head down and sniffing for a scent. It was obvious, the well-manicured man was hiding in the bathroom. Gum nudged the tip of his nose against the bathroom door and his opponent came out swinging, at human head height. Positioned way below the attack, Gum was able to push into the bathroom and pounce at the man's shoulders. Quickly, the panther had pinned his quarry to the cold checkerboard tile.

Screaming his last, the well-manicured man perished as Gum drove his skull piercing canines through the bone and into the brain.

Static crackled over the jaguar's fur and he faded from that universe and began the journey back to his own.

Interdimensional bounty executed! BONUS!

[Philomel]

Name of Judgement: Ridge Creek Apartments, Don't Be Afraid
Judgement Type: No Judgement
Participant: Gum

Gum receives:
795 EXP
100 GP