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Post by jarahamee on Oct 3, 2017 0:51:15 GMT -6
[Cassius accepts the help freeing himself from his bindings and would take a bone saw, and a knife from the table. He then would go to back up Sohl whether he is seen or not seen]
Cassius paused in his maniac efforts to free himself and noticed Sohl for the first time. Another captive, in here with him. He didn't know the man, but he decided this was a friend. He focused on releasing himself from the bonds that Sohl was not working on in the meantime. He flexed his wrists after being freed, and then brushed off his shirt. He was barefoot. He hoped there was not any broken glass on the floor. He looked at Sohl and then flashed his sharp teeth in a smile.
"...I don't know you but thanks."
He spoke in a swift, hushed voice. He was no stranger to conflict, captivity or combat.
He walked over to the tool table and picked up a bone saw and knife, flexing his arm as he did so and shifting it in his grip for just a moment. He was a swordsman after all, to some degree things came naturally to him. He did seem strangely at home holding the deadly implements. His eyes gleamed. He was ready to fight. Or ready to flee. He was not sure which. He saw their enemy, but then, this was no different than any other day, he simply lacked The Beast to help him.
He shifted behind Sohl to ready himself for combat or to follow, still holding tight to his prizes. They were heading towards the sobbing. Just as well. He was ready.
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Post by Marshmallow on Oct 3, 2017 8:33:58 GMT -6
[OOC: Ilchymis cries some more, and continues trying to struggle free, hoping that his slender build will allow him to slip out of the bindings around his wrists.]
Ilchymis' sobbing pleas continued, broken by the occasional whimper. His struggling against the restraints was beginning to rub the skin of his wrists and ankles raw. Though his arms and hands were slight, slender, the straps held fast. He was only hurting himself. The stinging burn of the rough straps against his skin gave Ilchymis pause. His struggles ceased, and he simply laid back and sobbed.
The masked specter paced endlessly, silently at his side. It circled its ward time and again, mane billowing as it fretted. It could not touch the bed nor the bindings with its ethereal form. Its claws passed harmlessly through them without so much as a whisper of a breeze. Worse yet, whatever this place was, whatever it had done to them, Ilchymis seemed deaf to their call. Again and again It commanded, coaxed, pleaded for the construct to be calm, to be quiet, to pull gently, to wait... But It had no voice here. It had no power here.
Then, abruptly, the terrified construct quieted. But it had nothing to do with the spirit's silent advice. It wasn't because he was calming. Quite the opposite, actually. The shambling footsteps outside had come to a halt, and the whispers gave way to a distinct, mechanical whirring. Ilchymis froze, tense and silent with mounting dread. And then he began to tremble. That was a sound he knew. That was a sound he feared. The scars that ringed his neck, that crossed his ribs and circled each arm and leg a dozen times over almost ached with the phantom pains of past torment.
An anguished sob sounded from him before he could stifle himself. In desperation, he bit his lip to muffle the sound. The canvas burns didn't matter anymore. The minor pain of chafed skin was nothing compared to what was coming for him, so Ilchymis renewed his struggle. The sleeves of his nightdress provided at least some buffer between his skin and the canvas straps. His hands and wrists were slender, he had to be able to work them free of the bindings. He pulled and twisted his arms with all the strength his fragile body could muster, trying to find an angle to slip free. It hurt, but hysterical fear blocked out the pain. So he kept pulling, kept twisting...
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Post by NightshadeVII on Oct 3, 2017 9:51:57 GMT -6
{OOC: Pan decides not to react to Stensons questions, remaining quiet. Then frustrated that the straps aren't loosening, she tries to undo them with her teeth, if she succeeds in this, she’ll waste no time freeing herself.}
Even as her trashing grew more and more desperate, as she lost sense of her own movements, the straps didn't seem to be loosening. They just stayed as tight as ever, stubborn pieces of fucking leather keeping her down, keeping her restricted and immobile. Heart pounding against her chest, the witch stopped struggling, falling back onto the metal bed, or whatever it was. The blinking light caught her eyes again, cutting through her skull, into her brain, unaware of each and every sharp, needle-like jab, the flickering caused. It was like being poked and prodded at, without her own consent, like the light was curious. But it was cruel, continuing its rhythmic stabbing at her senses. All the while, it became harder to keep her eyes open, every pause allowing her eyelids just enough time to drop, every flicker forcing them open again. The constant change twisted her thoughts, and dizziness took over, causing a drawn-out groan to push past her lips. The headache had grown, pounding against the walls of her skull while that stupid light kept flickering. Why was this happening? Why was she here? Turning her head away, Pandora laid eyes on a door, just slightly open. A way out. But what did that matter when she couldn't even free herself from the restraints trapping her? At this point, overwhelmed by the stabbing light, the headache and the dizziness, she could barely form a coherent thought. Why would she even try to free herself?
Then the screaming started. So many voices screaming at once, but not in union, some delayed, others coming too early. Everything fell together, making it impossible for her to even tell one voice from another. The shrill, high-pitched tones disconnected from the screams, becoming sounds in their own right, accompanying the light in cutting through her mind. And still, the light flickered. On, off, on, off. Her hand twitched violently, almost as if it had its own life. Shortly after, she gripped at the metal, stopping the second twitch that never came. The sound of her own breathing became loud, obnoxious, invasive even. She couldn't think.
As the screams turned to voices, actual voices, asking questions and calling out who’s there, her heart twisted together in that same second. She recognized those voices, some of them at least, seemed familiar. They didn't deserve to be here. Wherever the hell here was. Why where they here? At first, Pandora had thought, that she was alone here, left to her own devices because of some universal karma. It wouldn't have surprised her if that was the case. She probably deserved it somehow. But if she had brought others, people she cared about, with her to this hellhole. She couldn't take it. Please. Was this her fault in the end? Oh god, it was. Of course it was! It would be just her thing! Biting her lip harshly, she choked a sob. Why had she done this? She hadn't meant to, but somehow it had happened.
Questions were repeated, and Pandora opened, her eyes. The light kept flickering, disorienting. Cutting. Tearing. Torture. “I’m here... I'm here, I’m here...”, she finally whispered, answering the question that had been asked, but not wanting to make her presence known, “I fucked up.” It wasn't determination that filled her, it wasn't that sense of purpose that made her sit up in the metal bed. It was something else, that unplaceable feeling, that urge to do something, but not for herself. This was something that couldn't be placed, something that mixed together with the stabbing, flickering light and the echoes of screams in the air. These people didn't deserve to be here.
Disoriented, but with a sense of strange half-purpose, she looked down at the restraints around her wrists. Leather, buckled. Without hesitation, she began working at the leather strap, hoping to open the buckle with her teeth. Whilst at work, a high-pitched, drilling, like those tools dentists used slipped into the room, coming from the hallway. She didn't want to know what made that sound yet, but there was no doubt in her mind that it wasn't good for any of the people trapped here. She had to get out. Now.
If she succeeded in opening the restraints, she would waste no time freeing herself and slipping silently off the metal bed onto the floor. From there, she’d see what she could use in the room and possibly find a place to hide if need be.
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Post by qhostqrowls on Oct 3, 2017 10:09:24 GMT -6
[OOC: Faolans shuts up because the poteinally hungover irishman yelled at him, and continues to try and wriggle his way out of the restraints.]
"Keep yer voice down, yah wanker." Snapped a voice to his left. Faolan craned his head, looked over at the man strapped down on the gurney nearest the door. He hadn't even realized that there was someone else in the room, and immediately quietened, wilting at the stern tone.
If the Irishman's growls hadn't silenced the doctor, the resumed, louder footfall outside their room would have. Faolan cowered against the table, not even daring to breath as a bent silhouette shuffled its way past the grimy window before, thankfully, continuing on. The other 'patients' of the sick setup had fallen eerily quiet too, likely sensing the danger that radiated from that hunched shape. The metallic whine that followed the creature sounded much more like a drill or torture tool then any surgery implement...
At least it hadn't investigated their room. Faolan tore his gaze away from the door and once again looked over at the redhead, who seemed to be having much better luck escaping then himself. The doctor quickly followed suit, checking along the bars of the table to see if rust had eaten away and created sharp edges on the metal. If he failed to find a suitable weak-spot, the splicer would continue, now much more quietly, to twist and tear at the restraints, his thin wrists already beginning to smart under the friction. He didn't know what else to do, and glanced longingly at the scalpels and saws that lay just out of reach.
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Post by tsukikoko on Oct 3, 2017 11:56:32 GMT -6
[OOC: Sara hits the deck, ow. Hears other people screaming, has a bit of an internal crisis. Starts cutting herself free, hears the whirring metal of whatever is outside, has MORE of a crisis. Assuming she succeeds in getting free, she scrambles over to the pile of clothes to see if there's anything she can use in there, while keeping hold of a scalpel blade for at least some sort of a weapon.]
People were screaming. The sound, audible even over her struggles, chilled Sara to her core, made the hairs all across her arms and neck stand on end, made her fight only harder. Because she knew those voices; Kit, Ilchymis, Faolan, what was happening to them?!
Sara's struggles, it seemed, had not been in vain. Her tail collided with the table and upended the cold and given the circumstances, quite frankly terrifying, array of surgical tools that had lain beside them. Her bed followed suit not long after, tipping dangerously sideways as she threw her weight with frantic vigor. Just as the drag of gravity pulled her and the bed over, the shifter had a half second to think Ah shite. as she spied the sharp implements and hard floor below her. She collided with the unforgiving surface with an almighty crash and a thump, pain spiking through her shoulder and vibrating right up her spine through her hip. For a few moments, she was paralysed by the shock of it, but adrenaline and survival instincts commanded her to move, to wiggle and struggle until the blessed feel of metal touched her hand. She worked the blade, twisting and turning it until she felt it catching on her restraint. She mustn't stay still, she had to reach the others, had to help them; pain was temporary, death was not.
If death was even the outcome. There was potentially far worse in store for them all.
As if to hammer the point home, a high-pitched whirring whine sounded from outside the door. Sara's head snapped up, half expecting a figure to open the door while she was unable to defend herself; but the sound - a circular saw or drill by what she could ascertain - continued on along with the owner's footsteps. Right towards the direction of her friend's screams.
"No, no, no, NO. NO YA SODDIN' BASTARD GER AWAY FROM 'EM!" Sara's voice finally found her, bellowing out in a cry equal parts terror and rage. Her own wellbeing forgotten, she attacked her bindings furiously with the scalpel blade, ignoring the small cut to her palm as she slipped in her haste.
(The following assumes she got free this round) But the restraint suddenly gave way with a snap and her hand was free.
The shifter wasted no time. She clawed at her other restraints, unbuckling herself and making a short, sharp scream of frustration and rising fear when one did not release as quickly as she wanted -needed - it to. After what seemed an eternity, all the shifter's limbs were free and she kicked away from the bed with the scalpel in her hand, scrambled halfway to her feet by the time she reached the door. She almost threw it open immediately, driven by a mad protective terror for her friends. Her hand had actually gripped the handle by the time a sudden terrible clarity struck her; she couldn't shift. If she ran out there now she had barely any way to defend herself or fight. She could easily be killed. She would never see Aaron again and whatever it was would have even less in the way of harming the others. Think. Think and do something useful .
Sara turned frantically, looking around the room for anything, anything that might be of more use to her. Her eyes fell on a pile of rags beside the door that might once have been clothes, stained and grimy from who knew what. But there could be something she could use beneath it, or at the very least she could tangle whatever figure was outside in the fabrics. The shifter crouched beside the pile, rummaging through it as quickly as she could, constantly aware that time was ticking away and the danger had not passed. She couldn't let people die. Please. Not again.
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Post by Sharei on Oct 3, 2017 16:36:33 GMT -6
[OOC: Kit gets off the bed, collects the items on the table and puts them in her coat pockets. She then moves the bed to be in line with the door, and goes to look out at what is beyond. Kit prepares several strategies in her head for its reaction.]
Stenson's voice floated down the hallway on sickly sweet air. Kit froze, and for a moment it felt as though all of the blood had rushed out of her body. No. He couldn't be here. How could he be here? She'd stayed away from him. She'd avoided him so that he wouldn't-
And Ilchymis was here too. Kit could hear him screaming and sobbing. Sara's voice called out. Faolan too. A stab of guilt went through her on hearing his voice. She could still remember turning and leaving him to die. He had urged her to do it, and there had really been no other choice. There was nothing she could have done, and yet...
They had never really talked since then. She was aware he worked in the WDSA hospital, but schedules and guilt had kept her away.
And still, tap tap tap, the footsteps came nearer.
Kit redoubled her efforts. The restraint came free enough that she could slide her hand out of it. Kit resisted the hoot of triumph that wanted to come out and focused her attention on freeing her other hand. Once that was done her ankles were next, and in no time at all, she was sliding off the bed to land quietly on her feet. It was thanks to her paranoia that she was fully clothed and wearing shoes because she'd taken to going to sleep in full dress. Dark blue jeans almost black in color matched an equally dark shirt. She'd specifically bought a dark grey canvas jacket she'd been wearing to bed too. It was light enough to move freely in, but would provide protection from any chill and damp.
It also had deep pockets, which is why she'd picked it. Kit reached into one and was unsurprised, but still lamented, the fact that it was empty. She'd filled those pockets with useful items from matches and a flashlight, extra batteries, to a switchblade and a gun. She'd never fired a real handgun in her life, but thought she could make an exception for the Maze. She'd even packed a bag she'd kept by the side of her bed, ready to be grabbed if anything seemed amiss.
All of that was gone. It was... a little strange because the last time she'd been pulled into the Maze she'd had her camera bag and her phone. Why hadn't the Maze let her take the item again? She let herself be frustrated over that for only a moment, then went immediately to work. It didn't matter. If she couldn't bring anything for protection, she'd make her own.
It's going to be okay, she told Stenson and the others, grimacing even as she lied to them in her own head. It wasn't going to be alright. Fear for them clogged her throat and made her chest tighten as she picked up the bone saw from the table. The surgical tools were spread out on a length of hide, or it might have been leather, but she didn't stop to look as she rolled the whole thing up and stuck it in one of her coat's deep front pockets.
A screeching sound like an electric saw went off outside her door. Kit didn't stop what she was doing to look but continued until she had everything off the table. Whatever horrible monster was out there hadn't come in yet, and had passed by her room. She tried not to think about where it was going, and instead on how she could stop it.
Some of us are going to die. she thought as she turned and grabbed the end of her hospital bed. She yanked it into a position that it could be moved quickly out the door, sure that the sound of the bed's wheels squeaking couldn't possibly be heard over the noise the creature was making. We all might die. Some of us are undoubtedly going to kill each other. She thought of Sara, so fresh out of her recent trauma, cut down by the very people she knew and loved. Some of us won't come out right in the head afterward.
She tried not to picture Stenson's face, because it lead to her imagining his body broken and bleeding on the dirty linoleum floor. She tried not to picture his lifeless skeleton pulling out of its body, wicked sharp claws and monstrous teeth.
She tried not to imagine hacking apart his body before that happened to prevent it. Her grip on the bone saw tightened.
Oh Sten, why did it have to be you?
Tears blurred her vision. Kit swiped at them ineffectually and went to the door to get a look at whatever horror lay beyond. It took some very careful and slightly unsteady tweaking of the door to widen the crack just enough that she could see the hunched creature, and Kit's mouth flattened into a line. Stenson's voice was coming from that direction. So was Sara's. Kit's heart beat faster. What could she do? She had to do something.
Something clanged back down the hall from the direction that the creature had come. Kit froze, her eyes focused intently on the creature. Would it turn to investigate? Kit held her breath and very quietly made herself smaller so that she was less likely to be seen peeking.
If the monster turned to go investigate, Kit would let it go. Then she would creep down to find Stenson's room and help him.
If the monster went to investigate, found nothing, and then turned to come back, Kit knew that she would act. The hospital bed was in a position now that it could be pushed out the door with some speed. Her room was at the end of the hallway, and if it came back she could ram it with the bed. That would provide some little protection from its immediate reach, as long as she stayed on the other side of it.
There was always the chance that it would ignore the sound, though. If it did, Kit would have no choice but to burst out into the hallway and get its attention. She was ill-suited to combat, but she didn't know who else was in there and whether or not they had escaped their bindings. At least she knew that she was fast, and if worst came to worst, she could run.
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Post by Salandis on Oct 3, 2017 16:39:13 GMT -6
[OOC: Raine works a wrist free then reaches for the release tab his cautious exploration found. Should he be successful he will turn the same treatment on his unwilling room mate.]
With his new room-mate quietening down, Raine turned his attention to his own strap. As his head cleared, the screams and cries outside of the room became a clear counterpoint - one that dropped off as a shambling series of footsteps walked past. Raine heard some names shouted, but tuned that out entirely. Even if he had friends here, he could best serve them by freeing himself first.
Strapped down close to the door, Raine could see nothing as whoever was outside walked by: But the shrill whine following whoever was outside did not bode well. The footsteps seemed almost hesitent, as if unsure of which patient it had come to collect. Holding his breath, he hoped only that it didn't come this way.
Working as quietly as he was able, he carefully worked the frayed ends of the wide canvas strap through the rusted open gap in his bedframe. As he did, he took an unusual (For him) amount of care to not scratch himself on the metal. He was unsure if it would cut him, but... the room still felt uncomfortably warm. He didn't want to risk it. One hand free is all he would need to undo the release buckle, and should he manage that he would at least free the other captive here!
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Post by Pearl Dragon on Oct 3, 2017 20:11:21 GMT -6
[Surgical item dimensions, for anyone who grabbed stuff: Scalpel (5 inches long from bottom to tip), Surgical scissors (3 inches long blade to tip), bone saw (7 inches long, 3 inches wide), Plastic tray (9" x 12"), Knife (6 inches long, blade is about the size of a butter knife and triangular in shape), pages and papers if collected will be revealed once characters read them.]
The figure continued to stand where it was and seemed to twitch slightly more and more to the left, the whirring mechanism singing out with a hungry whine from its hands.
In the room that held Sara, the pile of clothing lying on the floor seemed to be the source of some of the odor that permeated the room. Once the shifter had cut herself loose and begun to dig through the pile, she would notice the smell strengthen. As one article of clothing after another was pulled from the pile, the worst of which discarded to the side, she would notice one of the deeper clumps had hard lumps within it. As it was pulled up and unbundled, the folds of cloth released a number of fingers that rolled out and pattered onto the floor followed by a rather finger-less hand from the center of the bundle that landed heavily onto Sara's lap, a dead, violating weight caked with dried blood. Where it came from or whose it was, no one would ever know. If she dug deeper into the pile, there was a texture of fur and stiff leather, which revealed itself to be Cassius' cloak. Underneath of that, at the bottom of the pile, was the 'cleanest' set of thin cloth pants and an open-backed hospital shirt with three 'decency' ties going down along the sides. Still darkened in some areas with brownish-red stains, it had the least amount of smell for its condition, although it still stung the nose from time to time with the lingering odor.
Over in Hui's room, there was another loud crash, similar to Sara's. As Hui twisted and swung his body and arms from side to side, the wheels of the bed began to roll and skirt along the floor until they began to rock from side to side, tipping with the momentum. At long last, he had managed to swing his body far enough into the momentum to tip the bed completely over. The edge of the bed came down onto the edge of the nearby table and both then tilted inward in a crashing implosion of metal instruments. Hui and the bed struck the ground first, followed by the other table and numerous blades and cutting utensils that struck the man in the head and shoulders while also clattering onto the floor. One of the scalpels nicked Hui's temple, but otherwise the worst of their points managed to avoid poking out an eye or cutting off an ear upon impact. Beneath one bound hand now pressed against the floor, Hui would feel the rounded handles of a pair of surgical scissors, perfect for cutting loose the straps. Other items scattered around him included 3 scalpels, a knife, and one other set of scissors.
Despite his earlier attempts ending in failure, Ilchymis began to notice that the grip the buckles had on his wrist were indeed buffered by the nightgown that was pinched between his skin and the canvas, giving him some protection against the burn. With renewed effort, his twisting and pulling, aided by the slick nightgown, finally allowed his wrists to slip far enough out that he was at last free. The redness around his wrists had worsened, but only to a hot rash that was tender to the touch. Now that he was free, he would be able to work the buckles off of his ankles to leave the bed. On the table nearby was an assortment of instruments, 3 scalpels, a bone saw whose handle was barely attached by a rusty screw, and a rather ragged looking pile of gloves and bloodied cloth strips.
Although his disguise spell did not seem to be working, Ari's attempts to remain quiet seemed to be working. The thing outside of his room did not seem to be drawn to his presence...yet. Although, his skinned wrists remained just as painful and bloodied as ever, still without any sign of healing.
Pan was free at last as well, biting at the sour fabric of the straps and buckle until at last the buckle's pin came loose and she was able to free herself from her bonds. Once she was off the bed, she see the table of instruments in her room, which was slightly different than the others. It held much less in the way of surgical instruments, save for a scalpel, small scissors, and some bloody bandaging, but at the edge of the table closest to the wall there appeared to be a couple of yellowed pages. The print on their surface was with a typed ink, like a document, and one fluttered slightly off the edge and between the wide gap of space between the wall and table. If she happened to look into the gap, she would notice a rather familiar shape beneath the page, a rectangular box. If opened, it would contain an empty space much larger than how it appeared on the outside, void of any of its previous items, and the space within only about as big as a small traveling suitcase (22"x14"x9"). And, no matter what it previously looked like inside, it was now dark as the inside of an unlit closet.
In Raine and Faolan's room, there was now much more luck with escape as the soft sound of ripping fabric filled the room under the harsh ringing from outside. The strap of Raine's restraints began to tear, thread by thread until finally the rusted edge chewed completely through the fabric. Almost instantly, the strap slipped from its loop around the bar of the frame and hung swinging by the side of the bed, allowing Raine's arm to rise freely from where it was bound. Although the cuff was still fastened around his wrist, he would easily be able to reach and undo the buckles of his restraints to help Faolan escape. Faolan, who had followed in Raine's lead, did not find any rusted edges, but would have noticed a loose screw at the center of the right side of the bed frame, which if loosened all the way, would've disconnected that part of the frame to cave downward to allow the loop of the strap to be slipped down and off the frame. However, with Raine's help, the two would soon be completely free to stand and move about the room. On the table nearby, there was a single, exceptionally small scalpel and two pairs of scissors, as well as a wide plastic tray. On the floor, as if discarded, was what looked like part of a notebook, the binding broken and in pieces with only a few intact pages, one of which had a hastily scribbled writing on the front-most pages. The other pages seemed to have been ripped out completely as if whoever owned it had suddenly wanted to rid the journal of its contents.
Kit's successful escape allowed her time to gather the items on the table, a bone saw with a rusted handle, a small scalpel and small set of surgical scissors. There was also a dull, green plastic tray underneath, crusted with a blackish substance. All but the tray would fit into her pockets.
Despite the loud crashing sounds that had subsided to a hushed panicked scrambling and a few shouts from some of the rooms, the twitching figure paid them no heed. Instead, it began to chuckle in a heaving manner, a choked and painful sound edged with dark, malicious humor. The sharp twang of a tin bouncing back and down the far hall was the only thing to interrupt it, one final chuckle breaking off and drawing back into its mouth with a rattling breath. Its shoulders turned, lab coat dragging heavily across the floor as if to follow the sound, but instead it turned to face directly at Sohl. Still its features were shadowed beyond recognition, but the light now reflected dimly off the rounded top of its head. Thin, spidery strands of hair hung loosely around the sides of its temples like a transparent halo, and a sickly pale skin stretched across a bald, disease-splotched scalp. Although its face and eyes were shrouded in darkness, the cold stare of its eyes could still be felt, pinned to Sohl like a dart to a board. It stood, barely moving, staring at the youth for an uncomfortable amount of time, and even if Sohl ducked back into the room, he and Cassius would still feel the tension of the thing's gaze upon the door. One skeletal arm left the whirring instrument to reach into the air, long spider fingers snapping once...then twice, a harsh sound that echoed even over the high whir of the tool, before it gave a massive twitch that jerked its entire body back around and to the left where it suddenly revved the machine in its hands and swept into the room where Stenson was being held captive, coughing forth a rather maniacal fit of laughter. The metal door swung open with a metal wail before it swung violently shut and locked behind the thin figure, the edge of its coat disappearing inside the door frame. Even if Kit exploded into the room to attempt a distraction, the creature was set. It's mind was made up. And it wasn't..going to stop.
Stenson pulled and pulled at the restraints around his wrists, gritting his teeth painfully to get the strap loose. The more he felt his panic build, the more careless his attempts became. And then, he heard the sound of a coughing, rattling laugh. Fingers snapping loudly in the echoed halls even over the sound of the...whatever it was the thing had running. Stenson's heart gave a quick burst of excitement as finally the pin to the buckle seemed to lift slightly from the hole in the strap. He was almost there!
But...
Just as he had his moment of triumph, it very quickly drained away like ice cold water running down his back. A dark blade of shadow fell over him, blocking out the blinking light bulb overhead. It stood over him, and in the darkness that shrouded his face, he couldn't seen even a speck of detail, no visible features, only the top of its bald head as it leaned over him. His own natural night-vision had suddenly left him blind in the low lighting. He hadn't even seen it come in the room, and he lay there, stiff and terrified against the cold metal table. "P-...please, whoever you are...I-....I can help you..Don't do this..."
There was an awkward, chilling moment where he thought maybe his words were breaking through to whoever this was staring down at him. Maybe they needed help...a small bit of hope that perhaps they were a victim as well, but he also knew deep down that this thought was the farthest thing from the truth.
Just then, the pulsing lights in each room gave a sudden flare, brightening to their fullest potential before each one flashed out and plunged them all into darkness. Stenson swore he saw rows of thin, yellow teeth right before the lights went out, but he had very little time to process what he was looking at before he lost all sight completely. The only thing he could sense was the sound of the thing in its hands as it left the side of the bed and rose up towards the ceiling. The lights in all the rooms flashed on again for half a second, and Stenson got one final look at the figure as it held what was unmistakably a handheld mechanical circular saw over its head before they were once more plunged into darkness. Stenson tensed, tried to solidify the skin of his torso in preparation for whatever was about to happen, and-...nothing.
In the inky darkness, Stenson thought maybe the thing hadn't moved, still holding the saw above its head the whole time. But then he noticed the vibration at the center of his chest. At first, there was no pain, maybe the granite had formed after all, only he suddenly began to feel a line of ice cold metal sinking into his chest. Stenson jerked at the sensation, yelled and screamed as the pain finally kicked in, and the line began to trace itself up the center of his chest, to his collar, to his neck.... As it continued, the cold was replaced by a spray of hot, thick liquid that coated ever inch of his skin around the areas. As he stared up into the darkness, Stenson never knew exactly when he finally lost consciousness, only that he hoped Kit had enough time to get out...get out....get-
Outside of the room, the others could only watch helplessly through the small window as a dark red mist covered the scene within. The sounds of the saw carried on, muffled slightly by the flesh it dug into as the thing inside did its work. However, they wouldn't have too much time to grieve, as another set of footsteps could be heard somewhere even farther off than the first. Was it headed in their direction? Or somewhere else entirely? All but one light remained out, as a single long bulb throbbed weakly to life in the room closest to the hallway, lighting the corridor leading back the way the first creature had come. The opening to the hallway arched overhead and linoleum slowly become concrete tiles, rough and dirty. There did not seem to be much light beyond the single bulb. What little could be seen were a few discarded, rotting corpses that lay motionless and some even in pieces on the ground. Two slightly blocked the door to Hui's room, and two more lie closer to the hallway.
[Map: Here]
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Post by Sharei on Oct 3, 2017 20:58:24 GMT -6
[OOC: Kit tries to get the creature's attention, but is too late to save Sten. Kit freaks out and starts banging and clawing at the door to try and get into the room with grief and rage-filled single mindedness]
The monster turned away from the noise after an uncomfortably long stare down with one of the doors. It wasn't buying the bait and instead seemed to be mocking their attempt at deception. Its laugh skated down Kit's spine like rusty nails and dread pooled in her stomach. It reminded her all too uncomfortably of Viktoria's laugh, of Hui's laugh, of the way the Maze had left her feeling helpless and terrified. It was fear. That was the only way she could describe the sound.
It moved away from them and down the hall, toward one of the doors on the far end. Though she was afraid, and though she knew it was anything but a good idea, Kit heaved a ragged breath and shoved the door open. "Hey!" she shouted, trying to draw its attention. "Hey, you monstrous shit-"
But it ignored her. New fear jumped beneath her skin and her feet were moving before she was consciously aware of what was happening. What room was it going to? Where was Sten? Where were Ilchymis and Sara and Faolan? "HEY!" she shouted again, more urgently, and broke into a full tilt run. Still, it ignored her. Why was it ignoring her? What room was that? Who's room was that? She had to get it to stop. She'd tackle the thing if she had to. If that was one of her friends' rooms- "No, no- don't- fucking-"
Her palms struck the door just as it closed. Kit's momentum carried her into the heavy metal barrier, and there was a half-second of recovery as she reeled from the impact, but no amount of daze stopped her hearing the frightened voice from within. It was Stenson.
Her heart lurched. Pain, hot and fierce, clenched her chest. It was his room. Of course, it would be his room. Of course, the first person it went after was the one that meant the world to her. Of course, this bloody place with its awfulness and terror, would go straight for the thing that would break her.
"Stenson!" she screamed. She peered in through the window, saw the light flickering wildly, saw it raise its arm, and the pain became the bright cut of grief. No, there had to be something she could do! There had to be anything she could do! Kit grabbed the handle and yanked on it, but the door was locked. "STEN!"
Kit whipped around to look for something that she could use to break the window, but there wasn't anything immediately available. She could have gone back to grab one of the beds, but how likely was that to get through? She couldn't exert enough force to go through a door. Panic spiked inside.
He's going to die. I'm going to have to watch him die! No! Don't do this! Not to him! God, no- please-!
She tried the handle again. It was locked. Kit backed up a couple of steps and threw herself at the door, using her shoulder to try and budge it. All she succeeded in doing was hurting her shoulder, but the physical pain was a distant thing, something far away, as though it were happening to someone else. Her brain had gone numb to everything but the grief, and when the first spray of wet red blood flashed across the window, grief was matched by rage. She clawed at the cracks in the door, the frame of the window, and pounded her fists on the metal. She didn't care that it was bruising and breaking skin. Her only thought was of getting inside.
"STEN!"
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Post by kilnarak on Oct 3, 2017 22:24:42 GMT -6
[ Ari tries to get people to get moving, and unless someone stops him, he's going to start heading off down the hall. ]
Ari crouched in silence, trying not the hyperventillate. He needed to keep calm, he needed to keep calm until he could get somewhere safe, at least. He couldn't afford to break down. He heard something clang in the hallway and held his breath, holding absolutely still. The thing in the hall shifted, he strained his ears listening to the footsteps, the whine of the machinery, tried to determine if it was getting closer. Something slammed, in the hallway, and the noises were suddenly muffled.
Ari's breath hissed past his teeth and he crept slowly to the door again, peering out. The door across from him was closed and a woman stood at it, screaming a name he didn't know, pounding it with her fists. He stared a moment, his ears pricked to hear the noises - voices inside, screams, the whir of that machine - and then with a shudder he forced himself to creep past the door and step into the hall. He glanced up and down at the various doorways, most cracked open, most with frightened faces peeking out. Unfamiliar faces, mostly, or so twisted with fear as to seem unfamiliar.
He hesitated, uncertain of what to do. Part of him wanted to go to the woman across the hall, to see if he could help her, and another wanted nothing more than to get away. He stood frozen with indecision, then abruptly lurched into action. He moved out into the hall, a few steps nearer Kit.
"H-Hey? We should... We should get out of here yeah? Be-Before they... come back out... We shouldn't stay here..." He hovered near Kit a moment, then stepped away whether she was coming or not. He couldn't stay here. They couldn't stay here. If they stayed here they would die. "Th-There's a... There's a trick or... Th-They want us to do something... l-like a-a-a game..." That's how it had been the other times, it would be the same this time, wouldn't it...? "B-But we have to... we have to go! If-If we stay still w-we'll die!"
He moved down the hall, peering in each doorway. He didn't stay long at any, moving quickly, heading down the hall. They couldn't stay! Whether they followed him or not... unless someone specifically stopped him he was going to head down the hall, away from the terrible thing with the machine.
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Post by MP on Oct 3, 2017 23:08:37 GMT -6
[OOC: Sohl leads Ilchymis out into the hall and attempts to drag Kit away from Stenson's cell. He suggests blocking the killer's door before they run.]
Sohl's scleras were like pitch, his body trembling from head to foot as the shadowed gaze turned on him. Ears pinned flat to his skull, he rose up on the balls of his feet as the thing swayed watching him, drifting sideways like a desperate cat. It felt like the Crow - worse than the Crow - and he had to get Ilchymis away from it, get them all away from it before that stare turned into something red and ugly. He edged out into the open, one step and then another. The thing moved like a sick animal. He thought he could outrun it if it came for him. Lead it down the hall. Only, it turned its head and kept walking. It wasn't interested in him yet.
Its indifference was like a weight lifting from his shoulders. No sooner had it turned its back then he was running, low and skulking toward the sound of Ilchymis' sobs. He all but skidded into the room, throwing off whatever remained of the restraints and glancing constantly over his shoulder in case the thing should change its mind. No sooner was Ilchymis free then Sohl threw his arms around him in a tight hug, as much for comfort as to muffle any incoming sobs. The words tumbled from his mouth in a desperate, coaxing whisper.
"Ilchymis, come on, we have to go right now - right now." He looked toward the door again, ears flickering in panic as more familiar voices sounded from the hallway. That was Kit yelling. She was - no, Stenson was in trouble. The thing was in the room now. It was in the room, and he heard the door clang shut. Hurry - hurry, they had to do something. Had to help. Kit was screaming as he’d never heard before. He took the construct’s hand and half led, half dragged him toward the door, still whispering. “We get the others out and run, okay? You go to the other doors and - ”
They made it out just as the screams began, Kit and Stenson’s mingling into one red note. Sohl broke off mid-sentence, turning Ilchymis abruptly towards the lit hallway, with a strangled “don’t look.” He repeated the command - “don’t look” - as he ran to help. It wasn’t too late, it wasn’t too late.
But it was. Sohl saw the arterial spray through the glass as he approached. Heard the bubbling sound of blood through open flesh and the spattering whirr. He faltered. Might have frozen altogether as he listened with blank horror and disbelief to the death screams of the officer who had saved his life. But Kit was screaming too, battering at the door, and he didn’t want the monster to turn on her next - refused to lose another friend. He was at her side in another moment, pulling her back, still repeating that feeble, useless phrase: “Don’t look - Kit, don’t look at it. Th-there’s nothing we can do.” His voice was trembling, breaking with shock, but his grip had the strength of terror. He practically hauled her toward Ilchymis, pleading all the while with her - with all of them. “We have to go. B-block the door. We have to go.”
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Post by jarahamee on Oct 4, 2017 0:02:00 GMT -6
[Cassius takes one of the tables and pushes it out with him, following Sohl. After Sohl takes Kit out of the room, he wedges the hospital bed against the door as best he can.]
Cassius followed closely behind Sohl, pushing the medical table with them. It could serve some purpose, perhaps to push them back and away. He panted, his eyes wide, both weapons in his left hand pushed awkwardly against the table. He looked oddly casual wearing shorts and a t-shirt, his hair crushed to one side.
He rushed in to help Ilchymis first, then all but back-petals out, after he realized who it was and tried not to draw too close, guarding the door instead as the doctor-creature made its moves. Cassius' face caused enough screaming from that person before, and whether this was real or not it was not worth causing more distress to Ilchy. He held his bone saw like a sword and held it out before himself like a proper guard.
Then he heard Stenson and Kit. Jones. He stopped dead.
He recognized the voice of Officer Jones any day, and with that he dashed inwards, coming a moment too late. Jones. Jones... His ally, his friend. Stenson had always been a good officer and public servant. Brave, loyal, kind. Self-sacrificing. Another voice. Kit. She was here too.
He rushed forward, realizing that he was too late. Stenson was gone. It wasn't the first time he had seen a friend die, but this was gruesome. What on earth was happening here? Where were they? Had he lost Stenson? He felt numb. He waited for Sohl to pull Kit free and then used the hospital bed to help wedge the door closed and lock that creature inside...inside with poor Stenson. Stenson would have wanted it this way. No, Stenson would have wanted to be alive. He grunted and wedged everything closed he could. He was sorry. Jones...
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Post by tsukikoko on Oct 4, 2017 5:59:39 GMT -6
[OOC: Sara launches a hand across a room, grabs Cassius' pelt, goes to help and.... Has a complete psychotic break. Ends up in a small chat with Beasty, goes wolfy and heads down the corridor to confront whatever might be coming.]
The pile of clothes, if it could even be called that anymore, was vile and rancid, but Sara continued to dig through it in some vain hope that something useful might have been discarded alongside them. As she pulled out more and more pieces of mangled fabric, the shifter felt a sudden weight within one of them. She unfurled it quickly, a brief flash of hope welling in her chest that she might have found something. She had, but the something turned out to be a decaying, fingerless hand that fell quite neatly into her lap. With a choked off shriek, Sara launched the hand, herself and the pile of clothes into the air with a frantic, explosive flail of limbs. The detached body part collided with the wall and fell to the floor with a dull, fleshy thump. Sara sat on the ground, chest heaving, staring at the butchered thing as though she expected it to come to life. The scalpel was still in her hand and she threw it away with disgust and fear, wanting nothing to do with the horrible implement. When nothing else happened, she instead became aware of a softer, distinctly fluffier feeling against the tip of her tail. She turned, to find a fur item of some description, dislodged in the brief chaos, was not draped across her reptilian limb. The shifter reached over, lifted the item and found, to her surprise, it was Cassius' cloak! She recognised it as belonging to the scarred officer, had seen it with him a few times. Was he here too?
A laughter, chilling and terrible, sounded outside, sent a shiver up Sara's spine. She heard a heavy door close, the turn of a lock and the electric saw suddenly became much less audible. No. Next second the shifter was on her feet, throwing open the door to the corridor but already filled with dread that she had been too slow.
Stenson was dead. She knew it even though she couldn't see. The whirring of metal, the note of Kit's screams, words from the others for her to get away from the door, they could only mean it was too late. Too late. She had been no help at all. Useless. Again. Now her friend - her wonderfully kind, shy, caring friend was dead. He would never again crack that charming smile, laugh and joke around in the adorably silly manner he showed off once comfortable around someone. Kit- oh god, Kit. She had lost... What must she have seen just now? Flashes of red splattered across the shifter's vision, reminders of her own near demise rearing up as she thought on Stenson's death. She remembered what it had felt like, to have her flesh torn asunder, to feel the life leech from one's body and imagined all too well what it must have been like for him.
Something inside broke.
Sara began to keen, then whine. She gripped the wall, bent double, wretched but had nothing to throw up except bile. Her arms wrapped around her chest, Cassius' wolf pelt still held in one hand, her eyes wide and staring, body shaking violently. She began to wail. Her voice echoed down the halls, a shuddering sob of a sound as she collapsed just outside the doorway to the room she had been trapped within. The shifter's tail curled around herself, as though by doing so she might caccoon herself away from the unfolding horror. Her hands moved to her face, fingers splayed over skin damp with tears. Still her despairing howl continued.
You have to get up. You're useless. The others are in danger. You're just a burden. Get UP, MOVE! You're pathetic. They're going to kill you, MOVE! You deserve it. You have to help the others. You'll only get them killed. You have to protect them! What good are you? [Let me help you, little one.] Sara inhaled sharply, her cries and conflicting thoughts coming to an abrupt stop at the unknown voice. She fully anticipated the jaws of some terrible creature to snatch ahold of her, but instead the voice simply continued - resonated inside her own head, gravelly and bestial. [You want to protect your pack.. put on the skin. Speak the words. I SHALL GIVE YOU STRENGTH.] The shifter turned her gaze to the fur cloak, felt it almost ripple beneath her fingertips. She moved mechanically, as though puppeteered, numbly following the orders of another while her own thoughts lay scattered and broken, incapable of coherence.
As the cloak fell across her shoulders, as she pulled it over her head, Sara's lips moved seemingly of their own accord, speaking words she had never known but were now growled into her ear. The shift felt nothing like her own; it crawled across her skin, seeped to fill gaps formed from her altering body. She fell forwards. Hands and feet became paws, her face elongated to a canine head, new fangs sliding out from darkened gums. Even her tail gained a coating of fur, wriggling unnaturally across the reptilian surface. Sara's nightshirt now hung strangely across her new canine form, torn in a couple of places by the shift. Where the ginger haired woman had sat only moments before, now a lithe, shaggy wolf took her place.
She rose, ears flickering, nose filling with the scents of fresh blood and decay. A growl built in her chest as her lips pulled back in a snarl. She was terrified, pupils as wide as saucers, but the furious protectiveness had returned, spurred on by the harsh beastial voice still in her head. [Go. Fight. Defend.] She obeyed without thinking, desperate to stop further bloodshed and pain, to help her friends. Sara began to run, claws clicking against the hard floor as she skittered along the hallway in the direction Stenson's killer had come. She could hear another's footsteps, another potential murderer. Whatever was down there, whatever was coming for them, she would meet it, hold it off, draw it away, anything she could to give the others a chance. It was stupid, reckless, but she would put herself between them if there was even a sliver of a chance she could prevent further deaths.
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Post by Marshmallow on Oct 4, 2017 6:11:10 GMT -6
[OOC: Ilchymis is freed, follows Sohl, gets further traumatized by Sten's death and has a small internal breakdown. He will follow Sohl if he leaves the area.]
"Sohl..!" Ilchymis half-sobbed his dear friend's name as the blonde darted into the room. His hands were trembling too badly to finish unbuckling the straps - but Sohl made quick work of them. The moment he was free of the table, Sohl had him in a tight hug. Ilchymis all but collapsed against him, unsteady knees almost buckling as he crumpled. Quaking with fear, he buried his face against Sohl's shoulder and cried.
"Ilchymis, come on, we have to go right now - right now." Sohl whispered urgently.
The construct still clung to him, stifling the next terrified sob by biting his lip. He could hear shouting outside - voices he knew. Kit. Stenson. Ilchymis was dreadfully afraid, but he nodded obediently and squeezed Sohl's hand, gripping it like a lifeline as they moved into the hall.
Suddenly there was screaming. So much screaming. "Don't look," Sohl had urged him before darting away. But Ilchymis couldn't fight the impulse to turn. That was Kit screaming, and Stenson. His friends. Stenson had become like a big brother to him, if he was hurting... if he was in danger... Ilchymis took a step in the direction of the cries and the sealed door. "S-Stenson..?" He was just in time to see the first terrible splatter across the little window. Even in the dark, he knew what it was. He could hear it, muffled only slightly by the door: the running of the saw, the rending of flesh and bone.
A scream of his own threatened but Ilchymis clenched his jaw firmly shut, biting down on the sound until it was just a keening whine at the back of his throat. He clapped his hands over his ears and turned away. It felt wrong to abandon Stenson like that, but he couldn't... he just couldn't bear to look at the blood, or listen to the butcher's work. Nor could he bring himself to move. The sole light ahead illuminated not just the hallway, but the broken corpses of those who had come before. The sight of them, and the shock of everything up to this point in time, left him feeling cold, lost, numb.
He stood, trembling, rooted to the spot. If Sohl or someone else prompted him to move however, he would follow closely to avoid being left behind, more afraid of facing this nightmare alone than anything.
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Post by NightshadeVII on Oct 4, 2017 6:43:47 GMT -6
{OOC: Pan frees herself and looks around the room. As soon as she notices the box, she picks it up and secures it. Then, she decides to salvage whatever she deems useful in the room, this includes the scalpel and the bandages. Noticing the yellow papers, she boxes those as well, without reading them, seeing as they don't strike her as a first priority. After salvaging what she considered useful she heads into the hallway, and begins walking, calling out, until she sees the sillhouettes of Sohl, Kit, Ilchy and Cass, but she can't tell if they're friend or foe.}
Ok, ok c’mon, almost there, just a little bit mo- YES! The buckle finally surrendered, leaving the restraint to fall, releasing her wrist. A little surge of warm hope coursed through her body. Maybe she could manage to do something after all. Energized, but disoriented, the young witch made quick, fumbling work of the remaining restraints, her chest not even growing the slightest bit lighter with each restraint removed. At the moment, she could only help herself, and that wasn't good enough, it just wasn't. Everyone else here was screaming and yelling, but she barely knew what was going on. Useless. Scrambling off the metal bed, limbs uncoordinated, her knees almost gave in under her as she tried to stand. The light still flickered, almost seeming to dictate her swaying as she fought against herself, grabbing at even the slightest sense of balance. Gritting her teeth, she forced her eyes open again. Get moving. Now.
Just as she took the first step, she heard an unmistakable accent. Yet it still took her far too long to find the name. Sara. No. No, no, no, she didn't deserve to be here, didn't deserve- no one here deserved to be here- they needed to get out. Letting out a hiss of frustration, the young witch began searching the room, looking for anything useful, anything that might tell here where they were. Some bandages and a few surgical tools lay spread on a table, a scalpel and a pair of scissors, and, judging by the state of this place, she didn't want to know what they had been used for. No matter what, she could defend herself with them, and that was all she needed for now. Her eyes fell on the yellow papers, the machine-written letters obscured by the constant flicker of the light, making it harder for her to even tell what the words were. But they were words. Words written hastily on a paper, there was no way were they getting her, and everyone else, out of this hellhole. As a paper fluttered and fell, Pandora’s heart jumped with surprise and recognition. Strangely clean in contrast to every thing else, an awfully familiar sliver box, standing between the table and the wall. As time went on, the urge to move, do something, anything at all, just grew and grew. She hadn't done anything, hadn't done anything for anyone. People were screaming, sobbing, but she could barely tell the sounds apart. People would die. People were dying. Weren't they? As those thoughts became clear, pushing back anything else, the witch set into motion, picking up the box she knew so well, securing it. She didn't even bother to look down into it, didn't notice how small it had become. Seconds later, the bandages, despite their condition, and the yellow papers were shoved into the box and the lid closed. Shaking hands gripped desperately at the scalpel. She barely registered that the whirring noise had dulled, before the screams grew louder. Something horrible had happened. And she hadn't done anything.
Light flooded the room, dragging a strained whine out of the witch, before she pressed her free hand against the side of her head, applying pressure as if she was trying to keep her head from falling apart. But it didn't stop. She couldn't stop it. Then darkness. No flickering lights, no rhythmic pain. Relief and fear mixed together as she lost a constant. Shaking her head violently, loosing balance and stumbling forward, she pushed the door back, staggering into the hallway. Nausea took over, threatening to spill, and the hallway swayed under her feet. Each step was a challenge. Not seeing where she walked, her foot suddenly stopped moving with her. And she fell. One second she was standing, the next she wasn't. Contact was ruthless as she slammed against the damp floor, only just twisting enough for her not to get hurt on the scalpel. What was even happening anymore? What was going on? The world had disappeared with the flickering light. Her brain was being torn apart and put back together with every heartbeat. Limbs heavy. Maybe she should just stop moving. Maybe she should just lie here, knowing that whatever was here would find her. She deserved it. This was her fault.
But people she cared about, people she really cared about were here, getting hurt, being scared. They didn't deserve it. Maybe she did, but sure as hell they didn't! They didn't deserve this pain. “Fuck...”, what was meant to be a scream was barely more than a whisper against the floor, as she slammed glenched fists into the damp linoleum. Don't pity yourself. No time. Get the fuck up. And move. Hands and feet against the ground, she got up, slowly. Too slow. MOVE. The first few staggering steps were taken. She had no idea where she was going. But she was moving. Her first attempt at calling out a name failed, fell uselessly off her lips and disappeared. Not good enough. A deep breath and she tried again.
“Sara?! Are you there?!”, black spots flashed before her eyes in a moment, annd she staggered down the hall. More than blind in the dark, the managed to make out sillhouettes. Was it somebody she recognized? She couldn't tell anymore. "Who are you?!", the young witch called out, her voice breaking, strained as her grip on the scalpel tightened, "Please... who's there?
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