THE LATE REPENTANT
Story by LiveIron on SoFurry
Anon
>"Global monitoring picked up a spike a few hours ago," Steele says.
>You look through the photos of the old manor, made of brick and stone.
>"We're doing a media check, but so far we haven't found anything to account for the rise we're seeing in psychonormal levels. Not a case of mass-formation fluctuations after a documentary or news segment, at least not one we can find."
>You think back, trying to recall if you ever heard of this place -- the Mallet estate. The briefing documents Steele has given you don't ring a bell.
>The sprawling grounds are tucked away in some state-owned swathe of forest, taken after the aging owner disappeared.
>Former servants and groundskeepers ended up in Special Assignment or in the ground not long after. There were stories of secret meetings and passageways, guests that arrived and left at odd hours with even stranger habits and attire.
>The State apparently didn't want anything to do with it, just as put off as everyone else.
>F.E.R.A.L.'s observations of the site revealed a definite psychonormative presence, but it'd stayed benign.
>"Your mission is recon, Hummingbird," Steel says. "You go there, you use the recording instruments, and you leave. A scan of the grounds should be more than enough data."
>You glance at the equipment you've been issued -- there's more there than the data collection gear.
>Armor, kinetic and psionic suppression charges.
>An expanded IFAK.
>"In case it's not just nothing," Steele mutters. You nod, then load up.
>"You'll be using vehicle 112," she says. "The radio repeater should help if you come across any interference."
>The tigress motions for you to wait after she hands you the keys, reaching into her coat.
>You pause at the snap of buttons and straps. She offers her sidearm to you, a massive Tridentia.
>"In case your friend isn't enough," she says softly.
>Her eyes are gentle, but you can tell she's in no mood for discussion.
>At least it's not polymer.
>You can see why the old grounds have a reputation for the unnatural.
>The road to the estate is overgrown, made of hard-packed gravel and stone. The forest surrounding it is largely old-growth and has been left wild.
>Driving through it at dusk doesn't help.
>Nor does the fact it's Fall.
>Dark shapes of abandoned cars litter the woods on the way up.
>Their reflectors glint at you like eyes.
>The walls of the estate proper loom up in your headlights after what feels like hours of twists and turns. The wrought-iron gate is open.
>You flip down the PsyScope and switch off the car.
>The entryway to the Mallet Estate awash in the scope's standard light blue color, built off old night-vision tech.
>The various overlays and readouts are new -- and shielded from most paranormal energies the agency has come across, unlike digital systems.
>"Gate's open," you say into the radio, "but I'm not getting any significant residual readings on it."
>"Proceed," Steele's voice crackles back. "Last check-up team reported the same."
>You adjust the gain on the repeater only to find it's already maxed out.
>You grip the wheel tight and nudge the car through the breach, into the estate proper.
>The grounds are dilapidated, dead leaves covering the grass. Young trees and bushes have sprouted up in the middle of the yard.
>Those that were once maintained and shaped are now dead or have grown wildly out of proportion.
>More cars are scattered about, but none of them are on the gravel road.
>You note that they're of relatively modern make.
>You stop near just before the parking circle, a large fountain between you and the front door.
>The growing night air is crisp when you step out. You're glad the exposure suit is insulated.
>You're pulling the multiphase scanner from the back seat when you hear the leaves rustle.
>The wind is gentle. Too gentle.
>You stare at the manor, focusing your ears.
>Splintering wood.
>Steel on steel.
>And yelling, all faint.
>You drop the scanner as figures round the fountain, the PsyScope beeping and highlighting them in purples and reds.
>As if you didn't know they were extrahuman.
>"Stay back!" you shout.
>They don't stop shuffling towards you, pausing briefly when you summon Talia.
>You hesitate, looking at their forms.
>They're anthros, almost normal looking save for their chests.
>All of them are bare, the fur gone as if it had been burned away, a red circle covering their sternum.
>Their claws and teeth enlarged, more animalistic.
>And even through the night-vision, you can tell their eyes are hollow.
>They only make noise when you fire, snarling and squealing like demonic hogs as Talia's bullets dart through them.
>Their actions get more frenzied, their shambling gaits more firm. They lurch towards you with claws extended.
>You backpedal and roll over the trunk of the car, pumping shot after shot into them.
>The last one skitters around the car and almost swipes you, but misses and embeds its claws in the door.
>Blood coats the vehicle when you put the creature down, spraying from the tiny bullet holes.
>You take a breath, grimacing at the iron stench, and pull up the PsyScope.
>"I've got contact," you say into the radio. "Shit..."
>Steele's response is garbled, but you take it as a request to confirm.
>"Corrupted civies of some sort. That or cultists with a lax dress code."
>You catch 'stand by' from the radio.
>You pretend you don't.
>"Heard more in the house, going in to secure."
>Steele's growl is enhanced by the static.
>"Can't scan the grounds otherwise."
>You flip the scope back down and head for the manor proper.
>The sounds from earlier get louder as you approach.
>Splintering wood.
>Steel on steel.
>Cries of pain and anguish.
>You run. More corrupted anthros burst through the main doors to meet you, others smashing through nearby windows.
>Fortunately, point-shooting with a tiny handgun is easy and fast.
>Even if pulling the trigger hurts.
>"They have no choice. You have no choice."
>Talia's words help. But they don't absolve you of the guilt.
>Any of it.
>The main foyer of the manor is bathed in torchlight and Psy signatures.
>Bodies of the transformed anthros litter the floor and crowd the space, all moving towards the two figures fighting on the grand staircase. One is large and wields a blade, the other a staff.
>Both are awash in paranormal energy.
>You're about to yell when the larger figure cries out in pain.
>There's no way.
>She grabs the transformed anthro that slashed her leg in one hand, flinging it across the room.
>It can't be...
>Then she lets out a guttural scream and slashes wildly at the staff-bearing figure, hitting only wood.
>You flip up the PsyScope and stare in confusion.
>"Rebecca?
>The tigress' ear flicks.
>She slashes at the latest wave of snarling anthros and pauses, her eyes widening.
>"Anon?"
>Then you see it.
>The figure with the staff -- a human -- pulling something from his belt.
>You react too slow, like you always do.
>He's already pulled the pin.
>You run towards her anyway, crashing through the throngs of feral anthros.
>But you're too late
>Just like before.