Orlok And The Sewage

Orlok sneezed into his hand as he trawled through the terminal. His hand rapped against the wooden surface twice and he pushed a finger to his temple in an old superstitious gesture his mother had taught him.

He'd been worried about Rowan putting some harmful viruses in him but he had to be honest, he wasn't expecting a full on surveillance suite. He wiped away his stuffy nose and glared daggers at a severed finger lying on the table.

His own severed finger. The pinky off his left hand, to be exact.

Rowan's sense of humour was holding up to be devilishly ironic. He supposed she thought it'd be funny to install a micro camera into the same finger she'd pulled a nail out of. Of course, it had been kind of silly considering it was the same finger he'd obviously be examining for further injuries or if it was healing properly.

He was glad he was somewhere with a terminal. He'd not gotten into the personnel files as they were much more secure but he had managed to get some of the power on using the backup generator. He had exactly two and a half cameras up as well.

One in the main lobby and another in one of the hallways leading to his new office. So, by now he knew Rowan just loved a good show. He'd figured this out a few hours ago, hence why he wasn't surprised when ten or so armed stooges came in looking like they wanted to fuck somebody up.

They were dressed in hardy rags, looked be an outlander tribe of some sort, dressed in turbans, goggles and other desert gear. Five had assault rifles, three were packing pistols, one had a fucking flamethrower and another two were carrying duwling swords for some reason.

Most of them were carrying grenades of some sort.

He raised an irritated eyebrow and patched into the surveillance feed of a camera with one hand, taking a moment away from the evolving code he was setting up on the other end of the screen.

"So, who the fuck is this guy exactly?" One of the tribals asked.

"Pfff. As if you don't fucking know." Orlok cracked open a can off *excessively* moldy beer he'd found and rested his feet on the table.

"You know that lunatic that got destroyed by that alpha at Rowan's place? Him. Boss-lady wants to go in and smack him up a bunch. Can't kill him though. Such bullshit." One of them grumbled.

Hmph. As if these idiots would do any better against a fucking OSEC supersoldier. they weren't even bothering to do a thorough check of his shit. They didn't seem to be military either.'

Made his job easier.

Fortunately for Orlok, he was a psychopath. And psychopaths were good and screwing with people's heads. ESPECIALLY their own heads. He kept a perfectly neutral expression and didn't focus too much on the screen. he had to assume the cameras Rowan had on him were linked to his bran somehow, or at least on his head. Otherwise they'd be unlikely to catch anything.

Honestly, ten Sand-arabs with guns and grenades and a fucking do it yourself flamethrower was more than he'd prepared for in the twelve hours he'd been here but it was like he'd not done anything to keep people out, seeing as he couldn't lock the fucking front door.

He moved over to the console without looking at it and felt his way around the keys. He kept his eyes fixed on the screen as he typed in a command sequence.

"Fucking place stinks like fuck. Who hides in a sewage plant?" One of the female gang members complained.

"Rats. Or people that are too desperate to know better. Eyes forward." The woman with the flamethrower at least seemed to have some sense.

She was taking point, using the pilot light of the flamer to light the path. She checked the building layout.

"Fucker's probably in the office. Least disgusting part of this place, I'd reckon." Hmm. Smart goon.

Not smart enough however.

The gang was heading further in at a faster pace now. he reached into a drawer and pulled out a tiny little remote control for an old RC hovercar he'd stashed inside a storage closet.

IT was tough maneuvering the thing around with only the second hand cameras to work with but it wasn't far.

"Hey, what the hell is that?" One of the thugs asked as the closet door slammed open and the car came slowly whizzing towards them.

"The fuck?"

"Wow, this guy really is a manchild. Still playing with RC cars." A woman with duel swords scoffed, putting her hands on her hips.

Orlok rolled his eyes. So he had a sense of humour. Sue him.

Interesting thing about the human body. The gasses produced from fermented human waste could often be flammable depending on the diet of the dudee taking the crap.

Also interesting was how leftover oxygen canisters could be used to carry more than oxygen. He hit a second remote switch taped to the car and then another on the side of the remote.

The three canisters dropped and the nozzles burst open, flooding the room with odorous gas. Just after the car short circuited and the internals caught fire. The fire spread to a piece of paper on the inside and lit up a petri tray filled with vodka and and flammable disinfectants.

Interesting thing. Vodka COULD burn but it wasn't really the liquid that was burning, it was the vapour being emitted from it. The car went up in a small cloud of smoke, followed by the entire room. Normally a literal fart explosion wouldn't do fuck all unless you were using obnoxious quantities of gas.

Of course, this building was so fucking old an dusty that a dust explosion was inevitable and *those* motherfuckers were fucking dangerous business. Whole mines and factories could get fucked that way if peeps weren't careful.

The tiny particles lit up, in the enclosed space and didn't have anywhere to quickly disperse to when they made contact with the heat so the entire corridor just fucking detonated.

"Hmph. What does Rowan look like guys? Does she look like a bitch?" He chuckled and broke his facade.

The last thing he saw was was the goons getting fucked.

He whistled a cheery tune as he walked over to the corridor of corpses. He made sure to count ten. The camera and the corridor was fucked but he'd fix that later.

Orlok chuckled to himself, feeling much better about himself now. He didn't say anything though as he went about grabbing dismembered corpses. He arranged them in a pattern he'd decided on on the way here, spelling out letters with blooded limbs, still fucking pissing blood everywhere.

When he was done, he took the most intact body, and slammed the man up against the wall. He drew a hacksaw and got to working severing his torso from the rest of him. He made sure to take his pants off first, seeing as he could use those for him.

When all was said and done he'd had to crack his way through several ribs and a spine but had an entire human ass and legs. He arranged it just below the writing and drew an arrow to it.

"YOU CAN KISS MINE, BITCH"

Then quickly, he drew out a wire and a battery and clamped it onto his arm. He turned the voltage up to max and cackled like a madman as the electricity surged through him. He felt something pop and looked to see that his finger was bleeding again. it had been blown off a little bit.

Still, at least the surveillance microrobes would have been shorted out, that had been enough electricity to kill a normal man. If he was lucky Rowan would have keyed her nervous system into them beforehand and gotten a nice shock for her trouble.

He'd go to a doc later to make sure he'd gotten all of them.

"Ah, it feels so good to not be watched anymore."

As for now, he had a live one.

The woman with the duel swords had had half her face burnt off and was slumped against a wall, coughing in agony. Her lungs had likely filled with blood from the shrapnel through her chest.

He was ready for this. He drew a cloth filled with anesthetic and shoved it into her mouth. She squirmed for a while and then lay still. He'd have to be fast if he wanted to stop her from dying.

He reached over and pulled her over his shoulder, cursing the damage to his own wounds. Luckily they weren't freely bleeding anymore so a little strain wouldn't kill him.

Time to earn his nickname.