Pieces of Eight

July 08 2014: Fenris and Eight discover an incipient problem of the supernatural kind.

Indio Chemical Plant, Outskirts of Gotham

A derelict and long abandoned chemical processing facility. With a large parking lot.



  • Piotr (Not that one, no)

Mood Music:
[* ]

The southern outskirts of Gotham, well just over the county line to be specific. The Indio Chemical plant, or what's left of it anyway. Revelations that the place had been used to make agent orange during the 70s was a lovely way to insure that once the company went kaput, the place stayed derelict. It's here we find our favorite mechanical hero, and two of his mechanical wonders…well three. All is quiet enough, until a tall, powerfully built bald fellow bursts through the cinderblock wall six stories straight up and takes a dive into the pavement. He hits with a thud, but amazingly bones don't seem to break. Even as his right arm visibly throbs a sickly black for a moment, he starts to scramble to his boots in the low early morning light. Cursing as he races to a beat up transam, and flings the door open to produce an RPG-7 from the back seat. Stepping back with a wet cough, before turning to spit a wet foul black ichor against the ground which immediately begins to writhe with maggoty goodness. With practiced ease, he starts to bring the RPG to shoulder as he rips off the arming fuse.

Overhead, comes a soft hum of electric motors as buzzard swings over the scene, feeding Eight with raw sensor data just as he lets that rocket fly. Eight swings to a stop as that shotgun swings up to his side, before letting out a short ten round burst that tears through the cinderblock wall and strikes the RPG. It goes tumbling across the street, before Eight takes the leap from the same floor, hitting the pavement hard enough to send cracks radiating from the point of impact.

"You're going to die here, Piotr. I told you what would happen, I warned you there would be no stopping this if you started it." Shotgun swinging up and fire Eight does. A prolonged 1800rpm burst of 10g DU fired with spooky accuracy, Buzzard joins in with a similarly enduring stream of 7.62x54mmR. Leopard, followed by Muffin Tin emerge from the first floor a few moments later but don't seem entirely too inclined to open fire just yet.


There's a large multispectral burst and a large lupine form stalks onto a nearby wolf, looking down at the fight. Ah, Eight. Curious to see him in the presence of this… thing. He doesn't move to engage just yet, instead standing on the edge of the plant's roof and looking down and looking down with lambent red eyes.

"Mmmmmm. What's this now?" In another era he might have huffed and puffed and dealt with this rather handily. However here and now? Perhaps it's best simply to see what's going on.


It's glowing hot enough, that it lights up the dim roadway when Eight dumps that shotgun and jerks free the empty ammo bin. Muffin tin races off to one side to begin pouring down little pops of suppressed fire, as Leopard hustles up to dump… a fresh weapon already linked to another internal ammo bin.

"This man has the sword of Ilya Muromets, or a copy at least. One moment please, I cannot allow him room to breathe."

Leopard smashes its pokey little legs into the pavement before getting going with a pair of those miniguns, the 35mm flak cannon on its back swinging around and well it's just an horrific little display of firepower. Ending with a neat little salvo of six zuni rockets, before with its own minigun visibly glowing off goes Buzzard. Fenris has seen Eight's destructive might, and supernatural or not the amount of hurt it poured on in that amount of time? Respectable by any measure.


So what crawls out of the crater, smoking and ash black shouldnt be. Theres flecks of white bone protruding, and the skin covering that corpse looks more than just black and sickly now. It looks -dead-, and the stink is beyond foul and that extends beyond what's strictly smelly. Magically, something only continues to burn hotter and hotter. Eight's true to it's word though, rushing foreward as it's new firearm vanishes into that torso. Landing a punch that -SNAPS-, glass breaks (or it would, if explosions hadnt) and the "zombie" goes sliding down the road. Slowly, rising to his feet with a wet pant.

"Fenris, assistance would be welcome. Be aware, I am removing my safeties. Predict serious injury to either of us above sixty percent, please be cautious."


Fenris hops down from the roof, growing larger with each step until he's near six and a half feet tall at the shoulder and over twelve feet long. "The ability of humans to let dangerous magical artifacts just run around continues to astound me. I don't know why it should though." The large lupine form comes to a next to Eight as he remembers what he learned about that sword in his two thousand years on the planet.

"Whom did you anger that someone is coming after you with a legend?"


Eight slams it's fists together, before stepping forward. "I have met his kind before, intelligence minimal but they seem motivated to enslave humanity."

Fans whirrrrrring up as those hydraulics come up to full pressure.

"Be advised, all hardware safeties have been disabled. This chassis may present radiological and thermal dangers within five meters." The zombie, well isn't just going to stand there. he -shrieks-, before rushing forward to rip a -lamp post- out of the ground and swing it down on Eight. Thankfully, this doesn't seem to cause so much as a dent.

"He is quite formidable in close combat, we will need to produce massive soft tissue damage in as short a time as possible to burn him out."


"Massive soft tissue damage, mmmm?" Fenris growls and stalks forward. "I think I can handle that."

He leaps forward with a snarl and locks his jaws around the lap post, retching it out and to the side. One paw swipes forward as claws the size of survival knives and much sharper clean coldly in the light. The zombie is, if nothing else, much smaller than Fenris so fighting it is a little akin to a wolf hunting a rabbit. A wolf that can throw around forty tons for days and never break a sweat.


e gets a shot off on Eight, and it's sufficient to drive the machine onto it's back with a shower of -SPARKS-. The paw swipe connects a split second later and sends him sprawling to the side, grunting as he begins to stand -right back up-. The blood spilled is far beyond just foul, it's beyond rotted and corrupted.

"He may represent a biological contagion, on second thought." Already getting back up to its feet, as Eight glances over towards Fenris. "Can you do fire?"


Fenris shakes his head. "Fire, no." He stalks in a semi circle around the trail of blood, aiming to come at the problem from a different direction.

"Not magically anyway. I can however… do THIS!" Fenris rears up on his hind legs and hits the ground with force, cracking asphalt hard enough to send shockwaves toward his victim as he charges again, jaws snapping


He's off his feet, but again he starts to get right back up before jaws slam home. He tastes like… rot and burns like embers. Thrashing and swinging -HARD-, no it's not god hard but yeah that's way more of a punch than your average cape can match. Eight rushes in with a grunt, Skidding across the ground to grab the man by his wrists and press them firmly to the pavement with a grunt. Bones don’t seem to break flesh continues to rot but otherwise even teeth have a hard time with it.

"Hold him down!"


Fenris is happy to get him out of his mouth. “Whatever you say."

The punches actually do hurt, but he's channeling enough divinity at this point to be on the level of an Asgardian champion, which this guy simply is not. One massive paw goes down over Piotr's chest and Fenris just presses him into the concrete while Eight does whatever it is he is planning on doing.


Eight lowers a hand to his side as those panels swing open to reveal a neat little carbine with a very heavy barrel.

"Brace for spall!"

Grabbing the man's right arm with one gloved hand, before -jamming- that barrel into his elbow joint and letting loose. No, it isn't quite .50BMG but judging by the size of those casings and the pure concussive force it ain't far off. yet the joint refuses to yield as round after round pours on like a waterfall before…there’s an audible -PING- and the zombie goes limp and instantly cool. Eight ceases firing finally, as flesh steams from that neat little bullpup.

"One moment please, rearming safeties. Combat concluded, no critical or structural damage detected. Are you ok, Fenris?"


Fenris is aware of the foul, corruptive magic clinging to him. If he were mortal he'd be in a lot of trouble. As it is…

"I am fine, Eight, thank you for your concern. My divinity is stronger than the magic in this… draugr." He says the last word uncertainly, as if it is the only one he can think of that might apply.

"That was very old, very hateful magic Eight. Why was it being wielded against you? Have you upset someone with particular talents?"


Eight rips that forearm apart which is… ok sort've grisly but from it comes two slivers of cold hewn iron in the shape of a large ancient sewing needle.

"They are Ukranian ultra nationalists, who blame America for the democratic movement which swept over their country and the resulting revolution. What these are, and where they got them is a mystery but the last I fought referred to this needle as the "Sword of Ilya Muromets". The original was engaged after he attempted to murder a police officer, this one was attempting to kill a young boy. I gave warning, and then I decided he needed to be destroyed entirely. I believe, these are copies of some original as the first needle was destroyed similarly to this one."


"Ilya Muromets… Bogatyr of old Kiev. He's in a number of legends, most of them tavern stories." Fenris snorts. He'd met the man who is most likely the source of those legends.

"His sword, though… that's an interesting reference. There are some songs that speak of him being trapped in a coffin while his brother strikes the lid with his 'sword of steel', though nothing that comes to mind off the top of my head." The great wolf rumbles.

"You say this is not the first you've fought?"


Eight offers the needle over, before slumping back into a seated position.

"No, it's the second."

Head bowing as, well there’s Muffin Tin as Eight just… goes limp and keels back. The voice continues, albeit projected from Muffin Tin.

"Powers, and the location of the needle was exactly the same. This is beyond my level of understanding in regards to magic, I fear." Muffin Tin gets immediately to work, dropping bolts onto a neat little magnetized section on its back and, as that chest plate comes free the innards are exposed. It's, well not nearly as wires as folks tend to expect but you can see the heavy hydraulic lines running all over the place as well as the subtle green glow of its power cell. "I trust, radiological threats are of minimal concern to you?"


"I'm much more difficult to irradiate than most beings." Fenris says. He can, after all, eat the sun. Okay, that's a bit hyperbolic, but pulling in enough of its light to black the sky out is quite the radiological feat.

"May I ask." He says as he begins to shrink down and assume human form once more. "What it is that your drone is doing?"

As he asks he examines the corpse with a practiced eye, recalling his millennia long study of magic."


"I sustained a fan failure, the blow I received damaged my ability to cool my tertiary hydraulic pumps. If my Primary and secondary pumps were damaged, I would be unable to move. Muffin Tin is going to attempt to identify the cause of the failure, and if necessary repair it in the field. I am, unfortunately very delicate in many respects."

Says the robot made of, well whatever it’s made by but its’ just got a scuff and a tiny little dent from that punch. Anyway the man sort've, partially decomposed. it would seem the needle was corrupting the poor fellow the more he used it, by burning his very life essence to keep him fighting. That whole trade, magically, is nothing new. It tends to run in, well cannibalistic circles.


Fenris snorts again, though it sounds different in human form. "This is old, primitive magic. Potent, in its way. Whomever is creating these is handing out, or forcing, these shards upon what I would assume to be otherwise ordinary people." He turns to the damaged Eight and watches his repairs progress with interest.

"Which brings again to mind the question: Whom did you upset to get this turned on you?"


"They angered me. None have survived thus far to report to their creator."

Muffin Tin works swiftly, eventually removing the little almost CPU looking fan which it turns over for a careful study. It's been differentially polished and textured, so it moves air in 'precisely' the right way no doubt. A magnificent contra-rotating example of beautiful craftsmanship, but well Eight is Russian. So Muffin tin pounds the fan against Eight's side several times before plugging it back in and..theres a -whirrrr-. So yes…


Fenris smiles mildly. "Ah yes. Russian field repairs. I remember something of that during the forties."

The god wolf turns to regard the fallen zombie thing. "If there are two, there are bound to be more. I take it that you are tracking them? Any distinguishable patterns beyond the needle and common set of supernatural abilities?"


"I am not tracking them, nor am I able to build a sensor capable of discerning them. They do seem to be abnormally violent and both had little to no hair, but that's the only true similarity. Based on the weapons furnished against me both times, I suspect they are Ukranian or Russian in origin."

Muffin lifts that chest plate back in place, and begins screwing things back down. "I do not have a, personal life or a civilian life. I am always Eight, and I always act when I feel it is necessary. Intervene in more muggings and random acts of violence than I believe most are aware of, Coincidence brought me to both of them."


"Hrm… In that case I may have to sniff them out. Odd that I had not sensed this already. Either their creator is very discrete, or he is some distance away. Either way, I am rather upset with him now." Even in human form Fenris can growl with the best of them. Once Eight is put back together Fenris offers a hand down to help him up.

Eight accepts the hand, even if he is "black car on a hot day" sorts of warm to the touch.

"Was Ilya Muromets a friend of yours, or do you just take exception to the use of folk heroes?" The screen of eight's -face- is dark, but well once you get used to Eight most folks hardly notice anyway.


Fenris smiles a bit, remembering. "To the extent that I knew him, yes, he was a friend. The history that the world tells as its own is not complete. I stay away from the central events as a rule, but there are always forces in the shadows seeking to enact their agenda, whatever it may be. Those that use magic frequently dabble with powers beyond their control and this is as dangerous in magic as it is with science. Ilya was, for his time, a decent man who was unafraid to face the monsters of his day. I rather admired him.”


Eight is quiet for a few moments, before turning back towards where Leopard is just sort've chilling there.

"If I find more of them, I will endeavor to allow you to interrogate them then. Likewise I feel as though there must be some, magically more efficient way rather than simply burning them out. I have expended a hundred thirty three thousand dollars and sixteen cents of ordinance and sustained approximately two thousand dollars of damage. I estimate damage to infrastructure and private property likewise to be approximately two hundred thousand dollars. This is, unsustainable."


How very bureaucratic. Fenris chuckles. "If we can contain one, I can tell much from it simply by examining it. And, actually, if you would allow me to examine one of the needles, I may be able to divine much from that." Pause. "No pun intended. I hope you are not badly… hurt?" It seems polite to inquire about Eigth's health even if… the conventional inquiries make a little less sense than usual.


"Damaged, and no I am not. I am merely expensive to repair, common materials are entirely insufficient for my component construction. Human manufacturing tolerances are at best, wholly and entirely insufficient in every measurable respect. I am rated to survive a one hundred twenty millimeter ‘silver bullet’, Depleted uranium penetrator. Albeit, with damage. They are unable to seriously harm me, like most of humanity."

See, that's why Eight doesn't have alot've friends. "I have no means to examine the needle, so of course it is yours if you desire it Fenris."


Fenris produces a clean, white handkerchief and wraps the needle up in it, pocketing it.

"I presume you would be interested in my findings?" He says. Fortunately for Eight, the traits that make him off putting to humanity only make him more interesting to the god-wolf.

"The property damage is regrettable, but do you really intend to factor it into the cost of repairs?" Mostly, Fenris is asking here if he intends to fix it himself.


"I am not capable of repairing the damage without unnecessary legal entanglement, otherwise yes I would repair the damage entirely. Humans have a fixation on material goods, I do not wish to stress them without good reason."

Pausing to rescue that shotgun and it's ammo box, before stepping towards leopard to stash it. "I would fix all the broken things I came across, if it did not cause undue fear. I enjoy repairing, and the evolution of engineering provides."


Fenris makes a soft 'huh' at that. "Well perhaps you could do so anonymously. The internet is a wonderful place for anonymity, especially, I would assume for one so technologically inclined as yourself." It's really just an assumption but… Electronic Person, computer networks. It all seems to fit right?

"May I ask how I can contact you when I have something of value to say? The usual scrying methods, I fear, will not work on you.


"I monitor all radio frequencies, all the time. Any signal above fifty watts will likely get my attention, and even if I am unable to come immediately I can send a drone very shortly. I would show you my workshop, but I fear you will find it alarming or confusing or both." Eight says.

Out comes that carbine ammo box from the opposite side of its chest, before it gets to simply stitching a length of belt in to top the tanks up.

"I am not a hacker, I am a fabricator, engineer and mechanic. Being a Digital person does not make me a Hacker, the same way being a human does not make you a doctor."


Fenris chuckles. "I meant to say that you could conduct work for people off site and never have to deal with them face to face. Many businesses run like that now. Radio, mmm? Fifty watts is quite a bit of power, but I think I can manage something that will get your attention and not be too troublesome on the mortal end."

He takes one more look at the corpse and crater. "And I think I had better do so sooner rather than later. I do not know how long this will keep before it attracts other attention."


"I have more important things to do, than being the magical mechanical fairy for humanity. There are limits to my willingness to aid my parent species, sooner or later they will ask me to repair their vehicles and then they will be unhappy with how I chose to do so."

Eight pauses there, stuffing that ammo box home and holding still for a moment before there’s a -Clunk- from inside, followed by the -clack- of a bolt dropping.

"I will return home, I have to manufacture new Munitions but do not be afraid to contact me Fenris. It's nice having a biological friend again."


Fenris opens a portal with his left hand and then pauses to wave, and smile. "I'll drop in again, then, at some point. It was nice to see you again Eight. I do hope the next time we might it can be under better circumstances."

The god-wolf bows slightly. "Until then, be well." And with that he steps through the portal and is gone.

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