Dead End Job

[madimpossibledreamer]

I’m actually one of the weirdoes that prefers the first game to the second but thinking about “Chad” there’s some similarities here that make this song pretty relevant for writing this chapter.
Desmond actually getting to use information from Initiate is great.

Main Points: Assassin's Creed/The Secret World
Summary: Desmond finally has an assassination target, though the Park is fighting them on even making it to Chad the Chipmunk.
Word Count: 1906
Rating: Teen

 

         The inside of the House of Horrors is...weird. Well, not that Desmond had expected it’d be normal. This isn’t the real world, but some ghostly version of it, and who knows how close it is to how it’d been, before the Park closed. But if this is how the attraction looked at the time...he just doesn’t get it. A bunch of badly lit mostly empty rooms, with peeling wallpaper and broken wooden floorboards and the occasional cardboard cutout? What’s the fun in that? They’re painted to be cutesy, not scary. Not that that would make much of a difference, Desmond thinks. An occasional speaker crackles on as they pass, managing not to murder every single one of the cutouts in the process, but not even John tries to do another ‘broadcast’ on these. Maybe they’re just that degraded, or maybe he’d actually find that beneath him, somehow.
         And it’s not like Desmond’s memorized a map, or anything. This place wasn’t even on the map he’d seen. But he’s got a pretty good sense of space, and somehow, he has the feeling that space is warping, probably under Winter’s direction, and they’re just going in circles somehow. Rukh’s actually starting to clack his beak impatiently and hop on Desmond’s shoulder, turning his head a lot as if trying to scope out the situation, so Desmond’s pretty sure he’s not just imagining things either. Which is definitely creepier than some cardboard ever could be. Even if one of them actually supposedly looks like the guy, and it feels like they’re being watched from it as they walk by. The same isn’t true of the chipmunk cutout. Desmond does examine it long enough to memorize the guy’s face, because it is highly useful to know what your enemy looks like.
         Although...he finds his steps slowing as he realizes a pattern, and just stares at the next one placed helpfully right around the corner. If these were original, Winter definitely knew about things he shouldn’t. Which, sure, he’d bought plans to construct some sort of weird machine-thing for evil magical purposes, possibly to attain immortality. But that hadn’t meant that he’d known about everything else, and given how amateur this whole operation seems, even to Desmond, he’d figured Winter didn’t actually know about the rest of it. If this isn’t just part of the illusion, though, he’d been wrong about that. He’s pretty sure this is the Filth hyena-dog, made to match the cutesy style of everything else, and that’s just weird. And it’s not just that—a werewolf, sure, whatever, unless they’re radically different in this world anyone could design one and be really close, but only someone who knew about real vampires, according to Shaun, would have shown the gas mask. Or the uniform. (Or, probably, the gun.) Like, just staring at that getup your first thought wouldn’t be vampire, for most people. Desmond’s hadn’t been.
         He’s about to voice that when suddenly there’s movement and then someone bumping into him, and it’s only the teenager’s lighthearted laugh that makes him hold back from accidentally stabbing someone who’s probably not an enemy. Rukh actually lets out a startled squawk. “Sorry, mister,” the teenager apologizes, then just keeps running past further into the house. “Wait up!” The kid seems...more or less real. Alive. But then, Lorraine had sure seemed pretty alive too when she’d been trying to kill him, so that might be a ghosts in the ghost world thing.
         He disappears from sight before he should, but that gives Desmond an idea about hunting the chipmunk mascot, because Chad the Chipmunk had been a lot more proactive about hunting them than Lorraine had been.
         “When you’re hunting a predator, it pays to know their prey,” he tells Alice, who nods solemnly. Rukh also nods.
         “Doesn’t help with wendigo, though. They eat anything,” she states, pouting.
         “Which spirit are we talking about again?” Carter asks, not quite catching on either.
         “Chad. You said he was the reason that the Park got shut down, that he’d gone after a couple teenagers, and there were a lot of missing kids and one dismembered one, so…” He trails off, seeing Carter shiver.
         “...I’m a teenager. Alice is a kid,” she points out, and he nods grimly.
         “Stay close to Alice. I’m pretty sure your paralysis thing could keep him in place at least briefly, even if he can actually teleport and wasn’t just moving between the real world and here. Plus you can feel free to just burn him to a crisp. Either of you. I can probably shield us if I need to.” That’s probably the widest he’s seen Alice grin, and even Carter’s smiling a little.
         The nearest speaker crackles, and then to Desmond’s shock a voice actually comes over it. Highly distorted, but not enough he can’t understand it. “Attention, Park guests. The ice-sculpting show starts in fifteen minutes at the Octotron.” That’s…another really weird choice. Why ice-sculpting? Not like he’s going to get an answer about that one, but...he doesn’t get that, either.
         Then again...maybe there’s at least a good reason for the speaker working this time, as they round another corner and find themselves in the room with the blackened cutout and the one with a hole in it again. The Park’s taunting them. Like they’re not going to get back outside again, and definitely not in time. Like they’re going to die in here. Which would probably be scarier if Desmond wasn’t determined to get out.
         “Hey, you three. You know how to make a portal?” He could probably figure it out, but if they know how to make it work, that’ll mean he’s got more energy for later.
         Carter looks at least a little more confident. “That’s something else in the curriculum for later, mostly because the last time I tried I kinda exploded the classroom a little bit so they put it off for later, but maybe I should ask Miss Usher to fill that in, on account of, you know…” she trails off and shrugs. “It being kind of really useful and the rest of the teachers being dead.”
         Rukh hops down to stare intently at a wall, face turned almost entirely sideways, and then lets out a series of gurgles that Desmond’s never heard before and isn’t quite sure how to identify.
         “I have some experience,” Alice agrees, looking a little shifty. Probably not something she was supposed to have learned. It’s not clear whether she’s actually understanding what Rukh’s saying, and she probably wouldn’t elaborate even if Desmond asked her. Rukh bobs his head a couple of times, and she adds, “It would help if you could draw the outline of a doorway on the wall there.”
         Easy enough, with the Hidden Blade. Not neat, really, but it’ll do. It’s not too distracting, but even then he’s having trouble following along with what they’re doing. Whatever language Alice is using isn’t a language Desmond knows, and Rukh is Rukh, though he’s actually being loud for once, crying out, and that’s unusual enough that Desmond glances behind him occasionally just to watch. Because even if he doesn’t learn how on his own (this time) to be able to follow along, it’s fun to watch. Rukh’s flexing his wings and opening his beak wide as he struts around in front of the wall importantly. It’s not clear how much of the show is actually necessary and how much is showing off. Desmond backs off when he’s done, just watches, and then suddenly there’s a door. Carter practically dives for it to pull it open. He’s not sure if she’s starting to get a little freaked out or if she’s worried the door’s gonna get re-absorbed if they’re too slow, but either way it’s probably good to get out quickly anyway. Rukh hops onto Desmond’s shoulder probably quicker than he’s ever done.
         It’s not the side, though. Surprisingly. They come out what seems like the front door, but it takes a moment to actually make out much of anything, because it’s suddenly light out, somehow. Even the sun looks a little weirdly distorted. Desmond glances back to see a giant witch’s mouth, gaping wide. They’re probably going to have to get back here, later, but for now they have to try to get to the Octotron in less than fifteen minutes, which means they probably have to run. He starts, but Carter interrupts him, calling from behind. “That’s the wrong way, Desmond. It looks like the Park rearranged itself.”
         She’s standing by a wooden map of the park. That has a rhyme about Chad, including that his name used to be Steve and that he’s rotting in jail now and something about being drunk and picking fights he loses, but they don’t have time to read the entire thing. Particularly since it seems like the Park is larger than it used to be.
         “Where are you going in such a hurry?” one of the workers in uniform calls out, but they ignore her. It’s not obvious, like it had been, but if Desmond looks carefully, he can see a few signs of rot on the worker’s faces. The guests are just a little seethrough, particularly against the most vibrant of the paint jobs on the benches and rides.
         “Even during his trial, he refused to answer to his birth name,” Carter tells him, slightly breathless.
         It’s a little strange actually hearing other people talking, now. Families discussing rides in excited tones, couples whispering sweet somethings into each other’s ears, children stuffing their faces full of cotton candy and other snacks.
         “Well, he probably didn’t think anyone would take him seriously if they called him Steve,” he reasons, feeling Carter staring, incredulous.
         They get people calling worriedly after them, or cursing them out, or craning their necks to look as they rush past. Running probably isn’t too common at places like this, unless you’re kids or teenagers, maybe.
         “You’re not acting like you’re taking him seriously now,” she points out, and he shrugs.
         “Oh, I’m taking him seriously.” That’s not separate from mocking the mascot. He can do both at the same time. And he’s fairly certain they could end up dead if they mess up, so no, he’s definitely not taking it lightly.
         It’s really interesting in a warped way to see the cracks in the illusion, though. Because now that he’s seen enough of it, there are cracks. It’s not quite as robotic as the carnie-zombies had been, before, but their movements are still just the slightest bit stiff. Like the stiffness of a corpse. The guests occasionally just walk through something without realizing they’d even done so, but what they are aware of, even if they don’t realize it, is some sort of dread, because they’re pretty much all reacting like they’re on edge when Desmond, Alice, Carter, and Rukh rush past, and all the bright, light-hearted conversations are carried out in lowered, hushed voices.
         And then there it is. The Octotron, with the mascot dutifully chipping away at the ice, and Desmond shivers, feeling suddenly cold.
         Because of course even the chipmunk has to be playing mind games, and because the Park had managed to get inside his head and see his vulnerabilities. Anything to get under his skin. That’s an ice sculpture of Juno. Chad’s not finished yet, but Desmond can immediately identify it anyway.
         Carter’s panting. Desmond kind of wants to join her, but he doesn’t have time for that, or for panic. At least his pocket feels warm again, and given that things look brighter he’s pretty sure his arm’s glowing again, too.
         One of the teenagers points and laughs, probably about to say something, and Desmond lunges forward because something is about to happen, he just knows that.
         He’s right, because Chad lurches to his feet, changing his grip on the ice pick. “Who’re you calling a loser?”
         “That’s not very nice,” he tells the mascot, having grabbed the ice pick traveling toward the teenager’s eye. Who screams and panics and falls over himself trying to get away, and the worst part of this is, he’s probably a ghost that’s been reliving this death over and over since his death, so that sucks.
         “Let go,” the mascot hisses, voice distorted. The thing is, it doesn’t matter how creepy the red glowing eyes are behind the mascot head or how much extra monster-strength it’s got. With that mascot hand, clumsy and not meant for detail work (which actually makes the ice sculpture just that much more impressive), prying the bloody weapon out of its hand is actually a hell of a lot easier than he’d thought it’d be, and when he follows up with the Hidden Blade because unless Steve had died and possessed the costume or something, there must still be something fleshy underneath...well, it’s fast.
         He’s gotten so used to zombies and Draug and wendigo that it’s only as he’s pulling his arm back, sleeve a little bloody, and the man’s bleeding out into the chipmunk suit, dying, that he realizes oh yeah this is about how it goes for a lot of the targets, somehow I’ve forgotten. They’re not all Rodrigo or Cesare. Sometimes they just die. And sure, ‘Chad’ isn’t human anymore, but he’d also never learned to fight. Maybe those teenagers were his first victims. Somehow, Desmond doubts it, especially having seen the mascot near the bloody area in Sideshow Alley, but even then...if it was him, he’d been going after kids. Dismembering at least one. Picking on targets younger and smaller and likely unable to fight back. Not someone like Desmond.
         “They’re always laughing at me,” the man sneers uncertainly, gurgling through the blood.
         The world is a little darker, a little greyer, mostly around the edges of Desmond’s sight, all the places he’s not looking.
         “They won’t be anymore.” Because pretty much nobody who even remembers him is even alive at this point. He was sad and insecure and reacted in the absolute worst way possible, and it’s not like anyone he’d killed deserved it, but...it’s not like they were blameless, either. This is the same people that burned a woman alive for being a witch. So it’s not like Desmond pities or respects him, but...maybe that’s part of why bastards like this deserve the send-off. Because everyone at least deserves to be treated as human, even if it’s just here, at the end. “Rest in peace.” He lowers the body to the ground.
         “One down,” he announces.
         “Holy crap,” Carter responds, blinking—oh yeah, there was that weird time-distort thing after a kill in the Animus, wasn’t there? Does that mean that wasn’t actually just some sort of...game-like shorthand introduced by the programmers or whatever? ...Huh.
         Alice, meanwhile, is staring with hungry eyes at the Hidden Blade. “I want one.”
         “When I have the time to train you with it properly, sure.” She pouts at him, and he shakes his head. “Look, I don’t want you to get hurt. I didn’t get my first Hidden Blade until I’d practiced with a wooden one and made my own.” Rukh croaks as if for emphasis. Even then it’d probably been too early for him. For Alice…
         He stares at her, considering, and she tries her best to look like a responsible killer. At least, he’s pretty sure that’s what she’s doing. Mostly it looks like opening her eyes wider and trying to sort of stand to attention.
         She has been torching zombies. He doesn’t know if she’s had to fight or kill humans (or, say, dragons), though, and assassination is a lot closer of a death than magic. Which is good, in some ways; it forces you to have to consider whether a death is necessary, or at least live with the consequences. But it also means it’s probably harder mentally, and he’s not quite sure she’s ready. She’s a lot closer at her age, whatever that age actually is, than he’d been.
         “Like a Juk-To.” She nods decisively, making up her mind. “I will earn one.”
         Sounds like she doesn’t fully think she’s ready yet, either. “I’ll teach you.”
         “I know,” she states simply, but something about the way she does it has him thinking that maybe that was some kind of joke.
         “Maybe focus on the Park first?” Carter interrupts nervously, but Alice just nods again, not angry about the interruption (maybe because she’d gotten a promise so isn’t otherwise worried).
         “I can multitask.” Desmond’s own jokes don’t always land, but from Carter’s uncertain smile it seems like this one did.