Endgame

Decker grits his teeth. "See that tunnel over there, Vintij...?" Decker says, gesturing towards the archway with the news ticker over it. "If ya cut the meat blob in half, it'd still be too big to fit through there. Pass the word to Arno that he shouldn't send any more men down there til' we deal with the thing." Something about the dastardly-looking man's behavior piqued Decker's curiosity, and he walks over to the outside seating. Man, I mus' smell like shit right now, Decker thinks to himself. "hey friend, something in the news got you bothered?" Hopefully not the raindrop story. That'd be kinda sad.

"Jigsaw puzzles, huh...? How much does a guy gotta like' em to where it's a core part of his personality..." Decker laughs, shaking his head. He keeps his hands in his pockets and paces casually, looking towards the corner of the plaza where the O'kor'uk and pale man were seated. He checks the signage - looks like they were outside of the police station, medbay, and a restaurant...? "Golkan plaza, eh. Heard any rumors lately, Vintij? Pardon me for te odd question, but we're doin' investigatin' work and gotta pick people's brains. Was wonderin' if you heard murmurings of any odd happenin' 'round here. Even if it's not particular to Greg, it could help..."

Decker waves back, and then grins at the first hedline. "Score one for the home team," he says, grin turning to chuckling at that last headline. Slow day at the office, eh? He looks down at the little yellow robot working so diligently to clean up his tracks, and feels a bit bad. Decker stomps out his boots where he stands, at least minimizing his impact. "Ah, so you're familiar with our little rescue mission, then. You an' Greg pals? We're having a hell of a time down there. I feel awful, givin' your little cleanin' fella this much extra labor. Speaking of which, bein' down in the sewers has me a little spun around, directions-wise, plus I'm new to this station. Where in the station are we right now?"

"Lots of things left to figure out. Like where the hell did Flatfoot go runnin' off to? Where's our fifth corpse? What is the proper code for that door, and the hell was the thing that sent you flying? Maybe after we're through here, we double back 'round the sewer system, go to the other secret doors that are further from the blob. If we both put our muscle together, we might be able to finesse it open..." Decker startles a bit as the man helps them up from the sewer. "Oh, like you wouldn't believe, friend," Decker laughs. He has to shield his eyes just for a moment. The artificial light was bright, the trumpet was... not exactly calming, and everyone was scurrying to and fro. He glances at the newspaper headlines to see if there was anything of note before turning his attention back to the man. "You doin' maintenance work yourself? Decker DaCabe here."

The duo proceed down the corridor for a bit, but soon familiarity sets in, and they realize where they are. "We went through the whole network an' still haven't found our guy? Maybe he's above ground... Or maybe..." Decker thinks back to his glimpse of the wall of flesh. That had to be someone's flesh... Right? "Let's hope he isn't part of a our new best friend, eh..." "Well, I'd like to go back an' maybe get those secret doors popped open, but it may be more pertinent to do after that damn meat blob is gone. Let's backtrack to where we came out of the outflow grate an' head back to the surface through the manhole cover. Onwards and upwards, I 'spose..."

Decker emerges from the muck and sits down on the nearest walkway after emerging from the claustrophobic outflow grate, and just takes a couple of deep breaths. "Never once... did I think... I'd be grateful to be in this damn tunnel," Decker grumbles, looking back towards the tiny pipe he just emerged from. "Downright roomy, ain't it... Oh, Gods, never again..." Decker unstraps his rifle and checks to make sure it's loaded, before slapping his knee and standing up again. His back felt like it was gonna ache for a while. "Let's see what's around this corner before we head topside again, Ronin," Decker says, gesturing for his (definitely human?) companion to follow.

Decker's composure slips, and as his attempts to expose the secret passage are met with failure, he can do nothing but frustratedly pound his fist on the wall and listen to the sound of encroaching flesh. Closer. Closer. Closer... The beam of his flashlight dances from the wall, to the passage where the creature was coming from, back to the wall, back towards the outflow grate. He didn't get the best look at the Wall of Flesh, but he knew it was big - too big to pursue them far through there. "Okay Ronin! Plan B time!" Decker adjusts the seal on his mask, on his maintenance suit, before making a break for the busted outflow grate.

"I can hear it gettin' closer..." Decker says, noting the slope of the archways, how they seemed to dip at a seemingly innocuous point in the wall. A gloved hand traced the curvature of the arch. "You wouldn'ta BELIEVED how many eyes this damn thing had, Ronin. I think I could hear them blink, eurgh." He looks down the corridor towards where the busted outflow was. "I'd really prefer not to go down there, but that blob definitely couldn't..." Decker presses his hands against the wall where the archway dips and presses, trying to feel if there was any give...

"Another bend, alrighty, we can give there a gander, or..." Decker turns and sees it. Eyes. Staring at him. They blink, but not in unison. He can hear their eyelids grind shut, the meat and gristle scraping against the sewer. Some part of the scrapper's brain just short circuits at the sight, and fear takes over. "-or, or WHAT THE F*CK IS-" Decker freezes until a primal instinct jolts up his spine like lightning, compelling him to scream and run. It was as undignified as it sounded; he fell backwards first, barely catching himself with one of his arms, before flailing back another couple of steps. By the third pace he was upright and running, back around the corner, nearly colliding with Ronin. "RONIN! There's, there's," Decker inhales, trying to compose himself. "The meat blob is real." Decker looks behind his shoulder and unholsters his shotgun, trying to determine how quickly the Wall was pursuing, if at all.

"It's just about the third or fourth time we descended into these damn sewers, and the stench still gets to me," Decker grumbles, pressing forward to the yet-unexplored junction and glancing down both pathways.

"Can't see a damn thing," Decker sighs, standing up. "I'm not confident in hotwirin' this thing. It's not really my specialty, and if I screw it up, well... I was worried about an alarm before, but now I'm more worried about whatever just tossed ya like a ragdoll. I think I'd like to find our friend Flatfoot or one of his posse and drill 'im for info, figure out what we're dealing with in there, before we walk in there and get tossed about again. They left the lights on too... feel bad for whoever picks up th' utility bill." "One last thing before we head back into the sewers, Ronin. The numbers on the keypad most worn down were one, three, six, and eight. If we can find anything with those numbers on 'em, that may very well be our passcode..." Decker starts to walk back towards the manhole cover they emerged from.

Decker stands there, trying to puzzle out what sequence of numbers it could possibly be. "Maybe just punch 'em in in orde-" And then Ronin slams against the metal, and Decker springs to attention, moving to check on his friend. "Ronin! The hell?! You okay?" Cautiously, and without pressing himself up against the metal door, Decker tries to peer through whatever small slit the altercation just created. "I, I think you're right. I'm trying to get a glimpse at it, but... I feel like we're gonna have to deal with whatever that thing was eventually, if this is Flatfoot's warehouse, but... we ain't ready yet. Back into the sewers, y'think?"

"Not havin' the best of days, but thanks for the wishes," Decker mumbles, running a gloved hand across the graffiti. He inspects the numpad to see if any of the numbers were more worn down than others. If he could narrow it down to just 4 numbers, that'd be... that'd be uh... less than the amount of combinations currently available, Decker concludes. "Think that sword of yours can cut through this door too, Ronin? It looks pretty sturdy," Decker worries aloud. "I can take a crack at popping off the numpad and hotwiring this thing, but in case that sets off an alarm or somethin' I'd like to save that as a last resort. Worst case we just scamper back into the sewers I s'pose..."

That part usage to make that graffiti looks downright brilliant, Duvors.

"Wait, that must be-" And then the kids make a run for it. "They weren't bad kids. Made the right decision in the end," Decker nods, affirmatively. "And it sounds like Blue Jacket's friend was probably last to see those hooded figures alive. We found four o' the corpses... brain-on-the-floor guy, second dead guy, flamethrower fella, and arm on a rung guy. Is there a corpse we have unaccounted for, Ronin?" Decker says as he goes to inspect the small warehouse. Was there a door, was it locked?

"Ya got me there. And, you're welcome." "Hey, if you saw Flatfoot - he's the one on the wanted poster right there, ugly son of the gun with the hat - then we'd be pretty interested in knowin' what you know." Decker holds up his hands in the 'hey, I'm unarmed!' sort of way, despite clearly having a shotgun slung over his back. "Hey, woah, let's settle down here. First of all, we did chat with your dad." Decker brandishes the hallowed candle that the priest had given them, the warm glow still emerging from it. "He gave us this to lend us a hand on this lil' errand o' ours. And we promised to tell his boy to scamper home in return if we saw 'im, as thanks for his gift." "As for unable to describe, y'see that second wanted poster, above Flatfoot's ugly mug? Y'see how it's got no details, no nothin', just a name and a pretty borin' sketch? That's not from a lack of tryin' on the poster's artist, y'know. it's not because the police got lazy on this one. His appearance literally can't be nailed down. There's bad folks around these parts, and we're not tryin' to meet 'em to shake their hand, I can tell ya that much."

"When I was your age, the second I was done with a mural like that, I binned the spray can and ran as far possible," Decker shrugs. Simpler times. "Although that is downright fascinatin', that history lesson, so thanks.' Decker says genuinely. "Listen, I'm trying to keep you away from this trouble," Decker warns. "That being said, have you seen anyone go in and out of the sewers 'sides us? Could you describe 'em? And was there one you were... unable to describe?"

"That all checks out to me," Decker says. "And this missing poster shows that Pip wasn't kiddin' when he said Flatfoot Thompson was bad fella. This list of crimes, god... The police don't have a damn thing on Avery. Seems like Thompson was arms dealer to these folks - look, he was even bagged for the sale of occult objects - and Avery was a leader of sorts. But we know what that blood said. He turned on them, and it got them killed..." Decker shudders. "This is... starting to come together." "But where does Greg fit into this? He wasn't dead among the robed figures. He was dispatched for routine maintenance. Did he... see something that he shouldn'tve?" "Regardless, looks like turning in Flatfoot could be pretty good for us, monetarily speakin'..." "Listen, uh, kids," Decker says, walking over to them. "First order of business, this graffiti your work? Because I think it came out pretty damn well, adds some life to this place! What was the inspiration? That being said, my friend wasn't mincin' words.We're investigatin' some mishaps in the area. Now, I don't think y'all would get deliberately mixed up in this sort of thing, you seem like good kids. The point is it ain't safe in these parts, and it'd be better if you were safe and back home with your folks." "That includes you Neros. We bumped into your dad to ask him for a bit of advice on how to proceed. Your old man's worried sick about you. He'd be happy to have you home, y'know."

"Eh. I dunno. I mean, does having two arms and two legs and a nose make somethin' a human? Seems like a shallow definition to me, personally. Judge by actions and then judge by words, is what my Ma always raised me to do." "E.S.," Decker notes mentally, before they emerge from the manhole cover. His eyes are immediately drawn to the mural of graffiti. "Kids these days, so damn talented, huh?" Decker says, as if he hadn't tagged a building or two in his heyday. "Let's check these wanted posters and see if these names match anythin' we got on hand," Decker says, doing precisely that.

Decker hears the whirring of the gears and sighs. "Well. Good thing that Ronin's sword got the job done, I 'spose. Makes ya wonder though, what other route is there to here... through the manhole with the dead guy's arm? Or do th' sewers loop back in on themselves... Somethin' to chew on in the ol' brain..." Decker walks over to Ronin. "Pretty good penmanship for a dead guy, huh?" Decker chuckles, but it was obvious it was masking his growing anxiety. "Yeah, haah... Jeez, poor poor bastard. Whatever gods are out there I get the feeling these fellas are gonna be pleadin' for a while." "And the flamethrower. There's some sorta... blob the other note mentioned. Guess this is proof they wanted to cook the damn thing, huh? D'ya think that sentient blob of meat our employer mentioned is... gulp... real? Gods, I get th' feelin' these maniacs are preparing something way worse than the world's smelliest barbeque." "Guess the only way we can find out is if we press on, though. We can either head to the surface and see if that manhole takes us elsewhere, or we can press on to the next junction... what are y'feelin'?"

We're locked inna sewer with a tonna corpses and what's likely horrible, bristlin' beast on the loose, Decker thinks to himself. What harm is pressing a button? He's about to when he hears Ronin's question. "Uh, somethin' about corpse numero tres spur that question, bud? Eh, you know what, forget it. Listen... I'm not one of the great minds of this century, I can tell ya that much. But hey, you met Pip. He was just as capable of talkin' and feelin' and bein' a pal and rootin' for ya when you were facing Kenshi just as anyone else. So I guess... I dunno why they couldn't be?" As Decker finishes his response, he glances over the panel to see if there was any sort of markings that would indicate pressing the white switch would be a horrible idea,and if there's not, gives it a press.

Decker grits his teeth as he sees the severed arm. "Seems like a fella was trying to climb up and out an' instead got... pulled back down? Or, most of 'em got pulled down anyway, Hell, that's some grip strength to still hold onto a ladder rung like that. Even when ya dead." Decker inspects the water to see if the same disturbance was skulking about in the sewers. He walks to the non-bloodied ead end and runs his hand along the edges of the potential panel, wondering if he could pop it open and see what was inside. "Uh, we mighta gotten bit desensitized with all the dead bodies, we should probably also double check and frisk Corpse Number Three."

"Are they a cult, ya think? If so, where's the smuggling ring? Are they the smuggling ring? ...A smuggling cult?" Decker muses aloud. His voice echoed back to him in these dank depths, only reinforcing his lack of certainty. Decker takes a look at the parted algae, nodding. "It'd be a bit big for a flushed fish, ye," Decker says, moving against the wall. "South pathway?" Decker asks, confused. "We can go left or right at the fourway junction, left or right at the T junction, or right into what looks like a dead end with a dead guy. Which do you mean?" Not sure if Ronin is talking South relative to the character's perspective or relative to our location on the dungeon map.

"The shared robes, no safety gear? I'm startin' to think these are cultists or somethin'... but then, why are they killin' their own?" Decker pockets Jet's card, just collecting evidence. "From your sleuthin' they all died here. And I mean, the other guy obviously died here too, his brain is bobbin' in the water. So did they slam the gate shut hoping it would stop whoever was out for blood? Clearly it didn't protect 'em one bit..." "We oughta press forward. I vote next right still."

"That's... That's true, huh, isn't it. You'd think that they'd be wearin' maintenance garb like us. And I can't imagine if they're gonna crack someone's head like an egg, they'd take the time to redress 'em. Somethin' is wrong here. Very very wrong. Look, look over there, there's another one..." Decker moves over to inspect the new corpse, paying special attention to cause of death and any ID left on the body. The air in this tunnel was so stagnant... was it suffocation, or bludgeonedto death, like the last poor soul? "After this I say we take the next right."