DGS3 -- Day 2, Phase 1

[Eddie the Head]

Spoiler

Piece of Mind Eddie:

Spoiler

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH-HAAAAHAHAHAHAAaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhahahahahahahhahaahahahhahahahahahhahahahahahhahahahahahhahahahah”


Stages of man and madness narrated by the distorted monologue of a rabid zombie. Eddie’s condition consisted of all of humanity’s evil in different forms, at different times, under the same irrational justification, do we choose evil. All moments. All histories. All events. One being. All trapped in one mindbottle of a snow globe. The world’s history was a swirl. Self expression within this monstrosity was…

This version of Eddie did not know his own name, let alone was he fully aware of his surroundings. His bound hands, tied by torn fabric. In his mind the talking little boy holding his leash was god, guiding his way along a path he could not see- for he did not delve through time or space. Just place. This place.

Salt. The pesky kind that stays on your dehydrated tongue in an unwanted layer of silt.. A beach. Dunes, an eternal hourglass of

“Are you him? Is he you?” All words a scrambled mishmash here. Hash, dice, sugar, spice, the good the ugly. And everything a whole lotta bad.

Once again, an easier choice to forget than remember a mere relevant portion, unequivacable to the whole.

He welcomes you.

The gatekeeper of Hell. “Hello friend, you’ll hate it here. But, it’s all because we had a damn good time. Isn’t it?”

Rat guts would have to do. He chomped its head off in one clean blow after snatching the rat from its dark, pit of a nest with one clean swoop. His bound clutches so precisely its back broke without struggle.

An obtrusive, all encompassing slurp. All the gore that wasn’t vacuumed into his mouth was smeared across his face in a perturbing bloody stain. A click of his tongue, a crack of his neck's vertebrae. Sounds of haunted things that go bump in the night.

Engorged lips chomped again. “MINE!”

Expressing a new mood. Tidal waves of thought shattering an already sinking ship. A lost whimper. Distorted thoughts.

A plunge into untethered madness-

Banana.

 

[Dr. McNinja]

About an hour after the fight, Peter laid on his back in the middle of the woods, overly aware of the root digging into his back. Fortunately, the armor was already repairing itself after that last skirmish. The crack in his helmet was already mending itself. Man, this armor was a life-saver - but it also kinda sucked. He was getting picked up and thrown around like nothing.

“Welp,” Peter groaned, “I got to fight Superman.”

After the helmet mended itself, a screen lit up on his heads-up display. Dr. McNinja grinned.

“So? How’d it go?”

Peter groaned, looking down at his stomach wound. The armor was still slowly reforming around it, revealing the giant gaping opening in his body. Blood, luckily, didn’t spurt out and make a mess out of everything - not like Peter had circulation, anyway.

“Went great,” Peter lied.

“Yeah, I saw the fight on TV, bucko.”

“Figured,” Peter groaned, “So you saw. I kicked his ass.”

“You got stabbed in the gut.”

“Yep.”

“...”

Peter sat up, groaning in pain. Ugh. Earlier, he was celebrating that he wasn’t a total vampire like Real-Peter. But… UGH. He had to feel pain? From something like this?

Also he couldn’t regenerate it and it may be the death of him. That seemed important.

Peter scowled. “You know, the worst part of all this is I didn’t even get the sword.”

“You left it behind?!”

“There were ghosts!” Peter exclaimed, hands raised defensively, “And Superman was a zombie!”

“You’re a vampire in a spacesuit!” Doc snapped.

Peter rolled his eyes. “I panicked. Doc, I’m out of ideas. I don’t think I work on the same Radical rules that you do.”

Doc rubbed his chin. “Or maybe you’re just tired. Have you found a safehouse yet?”

Peter perked up. “A safehouse?”

“Remember, when I was in the Abyss, I spent like… most of my time in the safehouse. Until they kicked us out because it was an actual military outpost and we were in no way authorized to stay there.”

Dr. McNinja crossed his fingers pensively. “It might behoove you to find something like that. If you go-”

The communicator suddenly cut out. Peter frowned, tapping his helmet.

“Doc?”

Peter tapped his helmet again.

“Doc? Don’t cut out on me now-”

Peter blinked in realization. Of course. This was Death Game property he was wearing. Of course the staff would cut him out so he couldn’t cheat.

Well, talking with Doc still helped. You know what else Doc had back in DA?

A friend.