Wheatley had never imagined he'd actually be up this late. But here he is, propping the sauna door open with a vase and dragging in his trap... But he really... Really didn't want to have Anon terrorizing everyone anymore. Sure, he's good as dead now, and probably gonna get stuck as some kind of nasty demon thing, but he can just blue truth the whole thing at the trial and say he was the killer, so everything will be fine!
He just... Wasn't sure how to kill Anon.
But that thing was kind of demonic himself, right? Demons like hot things. And Wheatley wanted to be absolutely sure Anon was dead, and what can make things more dead than a mashy spike plate?
That the goats wouldn't give him. So he had to ask them for a big wooden board and a bunch of knives and make one himself.]
...GRH! There. That should do it... [He looked over his creation. A board with knives stuck through it.] Perfect. Now all I need to do is get it to fall from the ceiling... GREG!
[He walked out of the room, calling for the goats.] GREG, I NEED A ROPE AND SOME ROPE FASTENER THINGS!
[Well. Hm. Anon hadn't actually had anything in particular planned tonight, beyond the usual murder night ritual of being carefully barricaded into his room for sleep -- but being up immediately means that he's wary. And there's no sense in waiting for a murderer to come to him; the best defense is a good offense, certainly.
He does sigh a little to himself, though. It looks like a choice might have been made for him today. That's what he gets for waffling for too long -- he really has become so damn indecisive lately. It really isn't like him at all.
On the bright side, it takes him approximately five seconds to find the scene of the possible-crime, given that Wheatley's shouting down the roof. He'll just discreetly sneak into a dark corner near wherever this is and keep watch.]
[Wheatley hasn't noticed Anon's presence at all. The goat arrives with a stepladder, some rope, and a large metal loop to screw into the board.]
Thanks Greg!
[The goat flicks their ear and walks off as Wheatley continues his work. Soon enough, he's got one end of the rope tied to the board and the other flung over the ceiling beams.
That should do it. It takes some effort to pull on the rope, but he manages to hoist his homemade mashy spike plate high above the floor...]
... Now... Wait, I guess? [He goes to hide behind the door and lets the steam escape into the hall.]
[Because guess who just popped up, right over his shoulder, with the most congenial smile and wearing -- for absolutely no reason but also for this section of this murderlog only -- something suspiciously similar to a certain Phantom Thief's cop outfit?? Why.
Anon doesn't wait for Wheatley to answer, but simply reaches out and picks him up by his clanky robotic neck, because that's how the villains do everything. It's a little slippery because the sauna is ridiculous, so he uses both hands!
--And casually tosses the entire robot into the contraption of his own making. This should end well.]
Wow, this thing is actually a lot more lethal than it looks, huh? I didn't even know you could build something like this. It's kind of flattering that you went through so much effort for me.
[Anon circles the contraption once, checking on the state of the robot currently crushed inside it, keeping clear of sparks. It's a good thing this outfit comes with gloves if he needs to handle anything sharp or whatever.
[Well, the body is damaged beyond repair... But the "head," while clearly more damaged and missing a handle, is still twitching and responding. The scientists at Aperture sure made their AI housings durable...
... Wheatley is not doing a very good job of hiding the fact that the light of his optic's still on. Because for whatever reason, Aperture made their robots feel pain.]
There you are. You're really way sturdier than I thought... is this like one of those zombie stories, where I have to shoot you in the head?
[Anon hasn't been as much of a chatterbox lately, all things considered, but tonight there's a wild and feral light in his eyes as he reaches down to pick up the head and hold it up, talking directly to it with a large, toothy grin.]
I think adding a gun would get too complicated, though. Let's see...
Robots don't like water, so I guess I get to stop by my favorite place tonight.
[Psych: Demons like cold water, apparently. He's going to cart the Wheatley head off in direction of the ocean.]
[In order to blow your cover, you’ve got to have cover in the first place.
There are probably literally blown covers on Wheatley’s poor compacted body parts, though.]
The ocean, of course. I didn’t bother to use that in Two Truths and a Lie because it’s way too easy.
[And he just prattles on about party games and everything while he carts Wheatley throughout the mansion. There’s a pit stop to find something to wrap the sparky head (a towel?), a minor gossip session with Nirrti, and a stop by Anon’s room after that to change into... a plaid loincloth. He’s still wearing the gloves when he heads back out.]
Hey, so, since you wanted to kill so much... How about you help me out with it? I’m sure you’ll come in handy, you’re a little heavy, too.
[Is he stopping a goat for a gas canister? HE SURE IS. All of this actually goes pretty quick because Shini needs to get her butt in here and we’re speedrunning the boring parts.]
[Meanwhile, Sherlock Holmes realized he hadn't fallen asleep - and it could only mean one thing... The detective knew his likelihood of surviving was low, but he was not willing to just give up without making his would-be killer work for it.
He returns to his bedroom, knowing that is where someone is looking for him and start to set up a counter - mocking up the bed to look like someone was asleep, and hiding in the closet, cane in hand. Sherlock could feel his heart race, as he forcibly steadies his breath to wait, and watch]
[Anon just laughs, and laughs, and laughs, sounding a little glitchy and distorted himself somehow.
He tapes the gas canister firmly onto Wheatley’s metal cranium as he carries him out and about — he’s memorized the layout of the mansion inside and out, because of course it would be important for someone like him, in so many ways. There’s a particular window he’s heading for, softly and on quick feet.
And since Wheatley insists on being so damn loud, he maintains a little distance. He’s got a good enough arm for that. In a hushed but pleased whisper:]
Don’t worry. This is going to be fun.
[And with that, he activates his makeshift knockout gas bomb and lobs it with a shattering crash straight through Sherlock Holmes’ window.]
[He's barely got the individual guest rooms memorized, and even if he did the gas canister and damage is messing with his mechanisms. He can't look about properly, his visions fading in and out of static, and HE IS BEING THROWN THROUGH A WINDOW.
Through HOLMES' WINDOW.]
aaaaá̢̛͢͝a̵̡͜A̶̧̧Ą͏̨͠A͜͟͝͏AAAAAAAAÁ͜Ą͢҉̡À̧́́͟Ą̕͡A̡̡̛͏͞A̶̧͜͠Á́͡AAAHHHH OH MY G̷͢͡O͠͏Ḑ̧̨͘RUN F̷͘͜O̴̴̡͝R̸̷͜͟͝ ̵̨́͢Y̴̴̸͟Ǫ̶U̶̕͟R̷̸͠ LIFE--!!!
[The man starts as the window shatters, his eyes widening behind his ambush spot as as a very familiar head rolled on the floor]
Wheatley...? Wheatley!
[Sherlock stumbles out, cane in hand - and he realized there's something attached to the robot, and it was hissing... gas. Logic tells him he should just run, get out - but he couldn't just leave Wheatley behind, and then he started feeling sluggish as he closed the gap to pick up the orb.
Damn it, if he was only his proper self, he could've went into spirit form, escape, and punish whoever did this to Wheatley, but his vision was quickly swimmming as he grabbed for anything to hold on, to keep him from collapsing, hopelessness starting to set just as his consciousness fades]
Ah~hh, that's pretty disappointing, detective. Getting caught in such a basic, basic trap!
[Anon's used the towel Wheatley was in to wrap his face against the gas, though he takes one big breath of air outside and monologues briefly before diving right in. He knocks over things on the table and the chair with a sweeping gesture as he makes his way over to where Holmes is -- it's pretty easy to figure out, actually, given all the sparking and thudding about the two victims are doing.
If Holmes isn't all the way out by now, he will be, because Anon crouches down to pick up Wheatley. It's easy to dislodge him from Holmes' fading grip and then bring the entire metallic ball down on the unfortunate guy's skull with the perfect amount of strength to leave a mark... but not to cave in the skull. It's harder than it looks.
Good thing he's supposed to be human-level right now!]
[Holmes groans - Anon was right, he really should have run. As he saw who was approaching through his increasingly blurry vision, he jerks his hand away from Wheatley with a sharp cry - the shock was enough to give him a moment's clarity.
Which he used to grab the nearest other object - the wooden box, tossing it right at Anon before collapsing. The last thing he saw was something silvery being forced down, then there was only darkness and sharp pain]
[Oh. Welp. Anon still has Wheatley in hand when Holmes chucks the screaming box at him -- his reflexes are good enough to like, literally catch it, but then he's stuck with an unstable thing in each hand and a body at his feet and it's a little gassy for juggling right now. So he casually drops the box on the floor, and doesn't wince at the loud screaming that erupts.
It nicely compliments the silent and ominous error code Wheatley is flashing, anyway -- there's a moment where he has to consider the conundrum of moving both Holmes and Wheatley back out the window and into the distance. There's nothing wrong with using the door, of course, but the fastest exit is still the window!
In the end, he settles for duct taping Wheatley firmly onto Holmes' front before lugging the both of them back out the way they came. It takes a while to drag the lot up and through the mansion -- he's watching his footprint trail, after all, using Holmes as a handy mop to clean it up.]
Ah, why did you have to build it on the second floor? I'm getting a lot of exercise tonight.
[He doesn't sound like he's complaining, though. Perhaps Wheatley has realized by now where they're headed, if he's still in there. Anon crouches and taps on his ball head briefly before moving them all the rest of the way towards the sauna.]
I can't believe Holmes has such a hard head he broke a robot... I wonder if his head is just going to pop out the way yours did?
[Maybe Holmes was really a secret mecha all along. (no)
Well, here they are, back at the scene of the last crime -- the sparks have died down and the sauna is as sweltering as ever. Anon wastes no time in untaping Wheatley and then tossing Holmes onto the heap o' ex-Wheatley still lying in the knife trap, bending down to carefully adjust him so he's more or less centered. He cannot be responsible for any mishaps, wobbling or terribly lopsided knife handling, because he didn't build this death trap, okay?
Wheatley himself is placed carefully off to the side on a heap of towel and gloves, out of the way of any blood splatter. If you're going to gruesomely maim a detective to death, you should at least be a little bit sanitary about it.]
Now, how did it go again... Pull on this one... Take it all the way up -- and -- there!
[And the knives flash like a thousand glittering teeth as the contraption crashes back down this time; together with the metallic bits still on the floor, they close on Holmes like a pair of terrible, terrible jaws.]
[He was quietly groaning as he was dragged, but was otherwise inert until he was physically tossed onto the scrap metal that was Wheatley's body. Upon impact he lets out a sharp gasp, his eyes blearily opening, his vision still swimming from the head blow, blinking as droplets of water dropped from the shining, sharp...
Before he could fully registered what it was he was looking at, it came crashing towards him. He only had a moment to turn his head, barely avoiding a direct impact with his face, but there was no avoiding the pain.
The man screamed as knives and scrap metal skewered him all over his body, pinning him on his right arm, barely covering the noise of ribs cracking from the force of impact. Only his left arm remained untouched due to how he was laying on Wheatley's body]
[Watanuki technically doesn't have to sleep through the night, but he usually chooses to stay in his room. With murder happening, he doesn't want to be out and about in the first place. Technically he's supposed to be figuring this all out at the same time as his pieces, and staying put in his bedroom is the best way to keep him from getting spoiled.
This night, however, he finds himself unable to stay in his room and read. No, he's thrown right out of it as he starts to feel himself getting stabbed all over. He gasps and doubles over, ending up leaning against his door to keep himself upright. He expects the pain to go away quickly, as he can't see any injuries on himself. But when it doesn't, it takes him maybe a second to guess at what's going on.]
Ruler-san!
[He throws open his door to go for Ruler's, since he is right next door, but the pain is too intense. Screaming out, Watanuki doubles over, ending up on his hands and knees in the hallway.
It's not technically a conscious choice, but his soul seems to know what to do anyway. 'Come to my side,' it calls out, spending a second command spell on a similar request.]
[His chest felt wet and heavy, there was blood in his mouth.
Concussion, punctured lung, several deep puncture wounds, probably got other organs - broken ribs, he can't feel his right arm at all - severed nerves? His mind tries to focus on deduction and assessing, trying to run away from the pain coursing through him, the knowledge that those wounds all together was mortal, trying to treat it as if he was assessing someone else.
That tug, the pressure upon his very will cut through the thousand little hot needle-like sensation and the attempt to detach himself. There was no resistance, and right in front of Anon's eyes, the detective vanishes in a red light - summoned right to Watanuki's side]
...and just like that, Moriarty appears out of the air a little ways nearby - but he's silent, merely watching Watanuki and Holmes as this little scene begins to reach it's end.]
Oh. I really thought you were going to be out all the way... If it had been one of our knock-out concoctions from the Underworld, you would have been under until you really were six feet under.
[Anon frowns a little at the flash of red light and Holmes' disappearing act -- there's no way he's escaped the fatal wounding, because Wheatley's ridiculous contraption is a very effective death trap, but it's still kind of inconvenient, all the same. And he'd been more or less bracing for what would happen once Watanuki and his bond to Holmes got wind of things.
All of it is familiar and that's because it's a little bit in reverse of how things happened in the second week, isn't it? He sighs from where he'd started forward to kill Holmes properly and all -- he doesn't have personal beef with the detective, so there really was no point to slowly maiming him to death while awake. But. The best-laid plans of mice and Infernals...]
It's too bad human drugs are about as flimsy as their clothes. I was really hoping to make this a little cleaner.
[There's nothing clean about the scene -- there's blood everywhere all over the sauna and Anon himself, even if he's kept a little distance. Wheatley's remains are still horribly mashed with the knives like a closed mouth, and there's something flopped on the floor next to it.
That's definitely an arm......
... He ignores it, grumbling as he goes to grab the towel and wipe himself off before the blood drips all over. Then he wraps up Wheatley again and carts the whole lot back out towards his original destination. It's time for a beach episode while Holmes breathes his last.]
[Holmes reappears in the south hall next to Watanuki, standing for just a moment before gravity and pain kicks in, forcing the man back against the wall, sliding down. The man lets out a sharp cry as the motion just dug the metal shards deeper into his back.
His right arm was trapped under the death trap, severed from being called, and he was deathly pale, trembling from the loss of blood. His left hand raised, pressing against his wounds, before drawing away, pressing the blood-stained fingers to the wall]
[Somehow, despite how fast his heart is racing, he can keep a calm voice through all of this. It's taken years of facing trauma head-on, but he's gotten good at shoving down his panic response and doing what needs to be done.
Pretending to be Yuuko has certainly helped with that. She was always the calm one.
He's trembling from the pain and he knows he can't heal Sherlock. He has no method to pay for the healing besides taking these injuries on himself, and even he wouldn't survive a mangling like this.
...he wouldn't be allowed to anyway, he realizes suddenly. And he curses.]
...I can't bear witness, Ruler-san. I can't tell them what happened.
[So instead, he takes in a breath and pulls Ruler's pain towards him, trying to give Ruler as much time as possible.
His next words are shaky, as he's barely holding on as the pain lights up all of the nerves in his body. He can't keep this up forever, or even nearly as long as some others can, but he'll do his best.]
You need to give witness instead. Just- what you write, make it count.
[If those are tears on his face or a crack in his voice, he says nothing about it.]
[He exhales, wincing from the motion, even as Watanuki drew in the pain, the servant has too woozy from blood loss to realize what exactly had happened to him.
But he had to - he had to give witness, if not for him but for Wheatley as well. His left hand felt shaky, shakier than even the norm, as his mind tried to figure out what he should write, his breath coming out in short, ragged breaths. Anon - Anon had to be brought to bear. Names will get dismissed as a frame up, he had to think of something else]
Ah...
[Then his pointer finger, upside down drew out a shaky T, an A, and as he goes to write another letter, making a horizontal line, the feeling in his hand went, and it drops, dragging down, leaving it unfinished]
I'm sorry... Wa... Wat....
[The light in his eyes seems to go out completely, leaving them to appear dull and grey as he grew still]
[He tries to hold out longer, to hopefully see just who did this. Ultimately it won't matter, since he can't say anything anyway, but just for his piece of mind...
...but no. As soon as Ruler breathes his last breath, Watanuki passes out.]
It's silent safe for the faint buzzing from Wheatley, silent but tenaciously errored as ever. He walks to the end of the little pier with everything else in tow -- the towel, and Wheatley. A little bit of fishing line he borrowed from the goats. Some rocks he's collected along the way. All of the kitchen knives, to add some spice to the setting. He assembles them all in a tidy pile by the end there; he'll have to make this quick, because he still has a lot left to do for his plan.
It's mostly spur of the moment, but he's always been good at improvisation and turning on a dime. Both because of his nature and because of his purpose in the world, or what should have been his purpose in the world.
It's funny to think about it now.
He stands at the edge of the dock for a while, though, as though time isn't passing at all, gazing absently at the moon. There's technically no one else here. Eventually:]
... Sorry. I really did want to make it through the Game. I wanted to find a new way, I just...
[He cuts himself off.
He isn't really speaking to anyone in particular, and he shakes his head after a moment and gets to the business of making sure Wheatley is properly sent on to the robotic afterlife. He picks up one of the kitchen knives and stabs the robotic cranium firmly a few times with it, mindful of sparks and possible voltage. Then he ties the fishing line to the handle and flings the entire thing out to sea.
[He waits an appropriate amount of time before reeling it in again -- the hunk of metal that was once Wheatley, that is. He has plans for that head, after all. Next, Anon continues his methodical run-through by wrapping the rocks, leftover gas canister that I haven't mentioned until now because there's so much going on in the towel and fishing line and giving it a good toss into the ocean's horizon. All of the knives follow, and after washing off all the remnants of blood in the ocean itself, he returns to the mansion swinging Wheatley on a small length of fishing line like some kind of macabre watermelon.
He still has one very important task: making sure Sherlock Holmes is dead.
It doesn't take him long to run across the body, at least -- it happens almost as soon as he steps foot in the mansion and just misses tripping over the pile of Watanuki-Ruler-Moriarty happening in the south hall. Anon stares at them wordlessly for a moment -- either consternation or disbelief or something else -- before he crouches to check on Sherlock's vital signs.
Or lack thereof, anyway.]
Watanuki really shouldn't have done that. He would have died faster if he'd left him with me.
[He's speaking absently to the only other live person on the scene.]
...I suspect it wasn't a conscious use of his Command Seal.
[Surprisingly, Moriarty looks...a lot more serious and grouchy than he ever has before. He almost bristles as Anon goes to confirm the detective is dead, though he doesn't move from where he's at, near Sherlock's body.]
...There's no meaning in checking deeply - the man is dead. Even his Master couldn't keep him from bleeding out from all of those wounds.
[He sounds a little like he's reciting something, a lesson from school or perhaps someone else about exactly how to murder someone (of course).
Anon doesn't seem particularly surprised by Moriarty's bristling -- he just looks at him for a moment, seeming a little more subdued than he was during the majority of the evening. There's still a strange and burning light in his eyes but it's not burning nearly as badly out of control now.]
Especially with the funny things that can happen with Servants on this island.
I guess you're mad at me too, huh, gramps? He was your rival, after all.
[Rivalry, he gets. Especially after tonight and the other time they started wrestling in the middle of the ballroom and all.]
[Before it breaks into a truly chilling grin, full of dark promise.]
If I were allowed to, I'd happily shoot your body full of holes for daring to take down the one person who has ever outsmarted me without my permission.
It would be interesting to see how long you could survive the onslaught of a Servant, no doubt.
[The air is sharp, almost daggerlike between them -
before he suddenly shrugs, and the moment is broken effortlessly.]
Sadly, I cannot interfere. So I would suggest you finish your cleanup before morning breaks - unless you'd like to be the first Culprit here to be caught red handed by the others when they awake.
Just a little while, the way I am now. If I were unsealed? I bet I could give you and your a gun a run for your money.
[He seems perfectly confident in that, and in fact he leans into that bristling atmosphere like it's something he could just drink up.
However, once Moriarty pulls back Anon does too, shrugging back in a perfect mirror.]
... Mmhmm, maybe next time. I really do need to get this done properly.
[His focus has moved, flawlessly as a switch, though it's not like he's completely ignoring Moriarty so much as he's been shunted to the background now that Anon is back on task.
He still has so, so much to get done tonight.]
I'll see you later, gramps. Watch him for me, okay?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
foundationmods) wrote2019-04-22 12:23 am
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Murder night.
Wheatley had never imagined he'd actually be up this late. But here he is, propping the sauna door open with a vase and dragging in his trap... But he really... Really didn't want to have Anon terrorizing everyone anymore. Sure, he's good as dead now, and probably gonna get stuck as some kind of nasty demon thing, but he can just blue truth the whole thing at the trial and say he was the killer, so everything will be fine!
He just... Wasn't sure how to kill Anon.
But that thing was kind of demonic himself, right? Demons like hot things. And Wheatley wanted to be absolutely sure Anon was dead, and what can make things more dead than a mashy spike plate?
That the goats wouldn't give him. So he had to ask them for a big wooden board and a bunch of knives and make one himself.]
...GRH! There. That should do it... [He looked over his creation. A board with knives stuck through it.] Perfect. Now all I need to do is get it to fall from the ceiling... GREG!
[He walked out of the room, calling for the goats.] GREG, I NEED A ROPE AND SOME ROPE FASTENER THINGS!
no subject
He does sigh a little to himself, though. It looks like a choice might have been made for him today. That's what he gets for waffling for too long -- he really has become so damn indecisive lately. It really isn't like him at all.
On the bright side, it takes him approximately five seconds to find the scene of the possible-crime, given that Wheatley's shouting down the roof. He'll just discreetly sneak into a dark corner near wherever this is and keep watch.]
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Thanks Greg!
[The goat flicks their ear and walks off as Wheatley continues his work. Soon enough, he's got one end of the rope tied to the board and the other flung over the ceiling beams.
That should do it. It takes some effort to pull on the rope, but he manages to hoist his homemade mashy spike plate high above the floor...]
... Now... Wait, I guess? [He goes to hide behind the door and lets the steam escape into the hall.]
Any second now.
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[Because guess who just popped up, right over his shoulder, with the most congenial smile and wearing -- for absolutely no reason but also for this section of this murderlog only -- something suspiciously similar to a certain Phantom Thief's cop outfit?? Why.
Anon doesn't wait for Wheatley to answer, but simply reaches out and picks him up by his clanky robotic neck, because that's how the villains do everything. It's a little slippery because the sauna is ridiculous, so he uses both hands!
--And casually tosses the entire robot into the contraption of his own making. This should end well.]
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[It's a good thing Wheatley doesn't exactly breathe, because Anon grabbing at his weird crane neck doesn't hurt him.
Being thrown screaming into his own trap and and being crushed by it though... That is painful.]
AAAAAAAAAHH-[Sparks fly out as the machine is destroyed.
...
....
... Or, most of it. Something in the back is still giving off sparks.]
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[Anon circles the contraption once, checking on the state of the robot currently crushed inside it, keeping clear of sparks. It's a good thing this outfit comes with gloves if he needs to handle anything sharp or whatever.
What's going on in the back, hmm?]
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[Well, the body is damaged beyond repair... But the "head," while clearly more damaged and missing a handle, is still twitching and responding. The scientists at Aperture sure made their AI housings durable...
... Wheatley is not doing a very good job of hiding the fact that the light of his optic's still on. Because for whatever reason, Aperture made their robots feel pain.]
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[Anon hasn't been as much of a chatterbox lately, all things considered, but tonight there's a wild and feral light in his eyes as he reaches down to pick up the head and hold it up, talking directly to it with a large, toothy grin.]
I think adding a gun would get too complicated, though. Let's see...
Robots don't like water, so I guess I get to stop by my favorite place tonight.
[Psych: Demons like cold water, apparently. He's going to cart the Wheatley head off in direction of the ocean.]
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Oh god. He's been picked up. HE KNOWS. WHAT IS HE-]
YOU'RE GOING TO GO WHERE?!
[... Cover blown. Oops.]
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There are probably literally blown covers on Wheatley’s poor compacted body parts, though.]
The ocean, of course. I didn’t bother to use that in Two Truths and a Lie because it’s way too easy.
[And he just prattles on about party games and everything while he carts Wheatley throughout the mansion. There’s a pit stop to find something to wrap the sparky head (a towel?), a minor gossip session with Nirrti, and a stop by Anon’s room after that to change into... a plaid loincloth. He’s still wearing the gloves when he heads back out.]
Hey, so, since you wanted to kill so much... How about you help me out with it? I’m sure you’ll come in handy, you’re a little heavy, too.
[Is he stopping a goat for a gas canister? HE SURE IS. All of this actually goes pretty quick because Shini needs to get her butt in here and we’re speedrunning the boring parts.]
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He returns to his bedroom, knowing that is where someone is looking for him and start to set up a counter - mocking up the bed to look like someone was asleep, and hiding in the closet, cane in hand. Sherlock could feel his heart race, as he forcibly steadies his breath to wait, and watch]
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[Is that... Wheatley's voice? It sounds like it's starting to glitch out from something...]
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He tapes the gas canister firmly onto Wheatley’s metal cranium as he carries him out and about — he’s memorized the layout of the mansion inside and out, because of course it would be important for someone like him, in so many ways. There’s a particular window he’s heading for, softly and on quick feet.
And since Wheatley insists on being so damn loud, he maintains a little distance. He’s got a good enough arm for that. In a hushed but pleased whisper:]
Don’t worry. This is going to be fun.
[And with that, he activates his makeshift knockout gas bomb and lobs it with a shattering crash straight through Sherlock Holmes’ window.]
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Through HOLMES' WINDOW.]
aaaaá̢̛͢͝a̵̡͜A̶̧̧Ą͏̨͠A͜͟͝͏AAAAAAAAÁ͜Ą͢҉̡À̧́́͟Ą̕͡A̡̡̛͏͞A̶̧͜͠Á́͡AAAHHHH OH MY G̷͢͡O͠͏Ḑ̧̨͘RUN F̷͘͜O̴̴̡͝R̸̷͜͟͝ ̵̨́͢Y̴̴̸͟Ǫ̶U̶̕͟R̷̸͠ LIFE--!!!
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Wheatley...? Wheatley!
[Sherlock stumbles out, cane in hand - and he realized there's something attached to the robot, and it was hissing... gas. Logic tells him he should just run, get out - but he couldn't just leave Wheatley behind, and then he started feeling sluggish as he closed the gap to pick up the orb.
Damn it, if he was only his proper self, he could've went into spirit form, escape, and punish whoever did this to Wheatley, but his vision was quickly swimmming as he grabbed for anything to hold on, to keep him from collapsing, hopelessness starting to set just as his consciousness fades]
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Of course, Wheatley has no legs right now, so he cannot help.]
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[Anon's used the towel Wheatley was in to wrap his face against the gas, though he takes one big breath of air outside and monologues briefly before diving right in. He knocks over things on the table and the chair with a sweeping gesture as he makes his way over to where Holmes is -- it's pretty easy to figure out, actually, given all the sparking and thudding about the two victims are doing.
If Holmes isn't all the way out by now, he will be, because Anon crouches down to pick up Wheatley. It's easy to dislodge him from Holmes' fading grip and then bring the entire metallic ball down on the unfortunate guy's skull with the perfect amount of strength to leave a mark... but not to cave in the skull. It's harder than it looks.
Good thing he's supposed to be human-level right now!]
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Which he used to grab the nearest other object - the wooden box, tossing it right at Anon before collapsing. The last thing he saw was something silvery being forced down, then there was only darkness and sharp pain]
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[THUNK.
...
.....
He's still on, but not responding.]
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It nicely compliments the silent and ominous error code Wheatley is flashing, anyway -- there's a moment where he has to consider the conundrum of moving both Holmes and Wheatley back out the window and into the distance. There's nothing wrong with using the door, of course, but the fastest exit is still the window!
In the end, he settles for duct taping Wheatley firmly onto Holmes' front before lugging the both of them back out the way they came. It takes a while to drag the lot up and through the mansion -- he's watching his footprint trail, after all, using Holmes as a handy mop to clean it up.]
Ah, why did you have to build it on the second floor? I'm getting a lot of exercise tonight.
[He doesn't sound like he's complaining, though. Perhaps Wheatley has realized by now where they're headed, if he's still in there. Anon crouches and taps on his ball head briefly before moving them all the rest of the way towards the sauna.]
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But he cannot respond.]
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[Maybe Holmes was really a secret mecha all along. (no)
Well, here they are, back at the scene of the last crime -- the sparks have died down and the sauna is as sweltering as ever. Anon wastes no time in untaping Wheatley and then tossing Holmes onto the heap o' ex-Wheatley still lying in the knife trap, bending down to carefully adjust him so he's more or less centered. He cannot be responsible for any mishaps, wobbling or terribly lopsided knife handling, because he didn't build this death trap, okay?
Wheatley himself is placed carefully off to the side on a heap of towel and gloves, out of the way of any blood splatter. If you're going to gruesomely maim a detective to death, you should at least be a little bit sanitary about it.]
Now, how did it go again... Pull on this one... Take it all the way up -- and -- there!
[And the knives flash like a thousand glittering teeth as the contraption crashes back down this time; together with the metallic bits still on the floor, they close on Holmes like a pair of terrible, terrible jaws.]
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Before he could fully registered what it was he was looking at, it came crashing towards him. He only had a moment to turn his head, barely avoiding a direct impact with his face, but there was no avoiding the pain.
The man screamed as knives and scrap metal skewered him all over his body, pinning him on his right arm, barely covering the noise of ribs cracking from the force of impact. Only his left arm remained untouched due to how he was laying on Wheatley's body]
Ngh... ah... ah...
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This night, however, he finds himself unable to stay in his room and read. No, he's thrown right out of it as he starts to feel himself getting stabbed all over. He gasps and doubles over, ending up leaning against his door to keep himself upright. He expects the pain to go away quickly, as he can't see any injuries on himself. But when it doesn't, it takes him maybe a second to guess at what's going on.]
Ruler-san!
[He throws open his door to go for Ruler's, since he is right next door, but the pain is too intense. Screaming out, Watanuki doubles over, ending up on his hands and knees in the hallway.
It's not technically a conscious choice, but his soul seems to know what to do anyway. 'Come to my side,' it calls out, spending a second command spell on a similar request.]
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Concussion, punctured lung, several deep puncture wounds, probably got other organs - broken ribs, he can't feel his right arm at all - severed nerves? His mind tries to focus on deduction and assessing, trying to run away from the pain coursing through him, the knowledge that those wounds all together was mortal, trying to treat it as if he was assessing someone else.
That tug, the pressure upon his very will cut through the thousand little hot needle-like sensation and the attempt to detach himself. There was no resistance, and right in front of Anon's eyes, the detective vanishes in a red light - summoned right to Watanuki's side]
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...and just like that, Moriarty appears out of the air a little ways nearby - but he's silent, merely watching Watanuki and Holmes as this little scene begins to reach it's end.]
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[Anon frowns a little at the flash of red light and Holmes' disappearing act -- there's no way he's escaped the fatal wounding, because Wheatley's ridiculous contraption is a very effective death trap, but it's still kind of inconvenient, all the same. And he'd been more or less bracing for what would happen once Watanuki and his bond to Holmes got wind of things.
All of it is familiar and that's because it's a little bit in reverse of how things happened in the second week, isn't it? He sighs from where he'd started forward to kill Holmes properly and all -- he doesn't have personal beef with the detective, so there really was no point to slowly maiming him to death while awake. But. The best-laid plans of mice and Infernals...]
It's too bad human drugs are about as flimsy as their clothes. I was really hoping to make this a little cleaner.
[There's nothing clean about the scene -- there's blood everywhere all over the sauna and Anon himself, even if he's kept a little distance. Wheatley's remains are still horribly mashed with the knives like a closed mouth, and there's something flopped on the floor next to it.
That's definitely an arm......
... He ignores it, grumbling as he goes to grab the towel and wipe himself off before the blood drips all over. Then he wraps up Wheatley again and carts the whole lot back out towards his original destination. It's time for a beach episode while Holmes breathes his last.]
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His right arm was trapped under the death trap, severed from being called, and he was deathly pale, trembling from the loss of blood. His left hand raised, pressing against his wounds, before drawing away, pressing the blood-stained fingers to the wall]
Wa...ta...nuki?
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[Somehow, despite how fast his heart is racing, he can keep a calm voice through all of this. It's taken years of facing trauma head-on, but he's gotten good at shoving down his panic response and doing what needs to be done.
Pretending to be Yuuko has certainly helped with that. She was always the calm one.
He's trembling from the pain and he knows he can't heal Sherlock. He has no method to pay for the healing besides taking these injuries on himself, and even he wouldn't survive a mangling like this.
...he wouldn't be allowed to anyway, he realizes suddenly. And he curses.]
...I can't bear witness, Ruler-san. I can't tell them what happened.
[So instead, he takes in a breath and pulls Ruler's pain towards him, trying to give Ruler as much time as possible.
His next words are shaky, as he's barely holding on as the pain lights up all of the nerves in his body. He can't keep this up forever, or even nearly as long as some others can, but he'll do his best.]
You need to give witness instead. Just- what you write, make it count.
[If those are tears on his face or a crack in his voice, he says nothing about it.]
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[He exhales, wincing from the motion, even as Watanuki drew in the pain, the servant has too woozy from blood loss to realize what exactly had happened to him.
But he had to - he had to give witness, if not for him but for Wheatley as well. His left hand felt shaky, shakier than even the norm, as his mind tried to figure out what he should write, his breath coming out in short, ragged breaths. Anon - Anon had to be brought to bear. Names will get dismissed as a frame up, he had to think of something else]
Ah...
[Then his pointer finger, upside down drew out a shaky T, an A, and as he goes to write another letter, making a horizontal line, the feeling in his hand went, and it drops, dragging down, leaving it unfinished]
I'm sorry... Wa... Wat....
[The light in his eyes seems to go out completely, leaving them to appear dull and grey as he grew still]
1/2
[He...actually looks sad, hearing those last words.]
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...but no. As soon as Ruler breathes his last breath, Watanuki passes out.]
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It's silent safe for the faint buzzing from Wheatley, silent but tenaciously errored as ever. He walks to the end of the little pier with everything else in tow -- the towel, and Wheatley. A little bit of fishing line he borrowed from the goats. Some rocks he's collected along the way. All of the kitchen knives, to add some spice to the setting. He assembles them all in a tidy pile by the end there; he'll have to make this quick, because he still has a lot left to do for his plan.
It's mostly spur of the moment, but he's always been good at improvisation and turning on a dime. Both because of his nature and because of his purpose in the world, or what should have been his purpose in the world.
It's funny to think about it now.
He stands at the edge of the dock for a while, though, as though time isn't passing at all, gazing absently at the moon. There's technically no one else here. Eventually:]
... Sorry. I really did want to make it through the Game. I wanted to find a new way, I just...
[He cuts himself off.
He isn't really speaking to anyone in particular, and he shakes his head after a moment and gets to the business of making sure Wheatley is properly sent on to the robotic afterlife. He picks up one of the kitchen knives and stabs the robotic cranium firmly a few times with it, mindful of sparks and possible voltage. Then he ties the fishing line to the handle and flings the entire thing out to sea.
Farewell, Yeetley.]
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The light goes out as the knives are thrust into the core.
The core gives off one final spark as it is tossed into the water.
Wheatley is finally, completely, DEAD.]
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He still has one very important task: making sure Sherlock Holmes is dead.
It doesn't take him long to run across the body, at least -- it happens almost as soon as he steps foot in the mansion and just misses tripping over the pile of Watanuki-Ruler-Moriarty happening in the south hall. Anon stares at them wordlessly for a moment -- either consternation or disbelief or something else -- before he crouches to check on Sherlock's vital signs.
Or lack thereof, anyway.]
Watanuki really shouldn't have done that. He would have died faster if he'd left him with me.
[He's speaking absently to the only other live person on the scene.]
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[Surprisingly, Moriarty looks...a lot more serious and grouchy than he ever has before. He almost bristles as Anon goes to confirm the detective is dead, though he doesn't move from where he's at, near Sherlock's body.]
...There's no meaning in checking deeply - the man is dead. Even his Master couldn't keep him from bleeding out from all of those wounds.
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[He sounds a little like he's reciting something, a lesson from school or perhaps someone else about exactly how to murder someone (of course).
Anon doesn't seem particularly surprised by Moriarty's bristling -- he just looks at him for a moment, seeming a little more subdued than he was during the majority of the evening. There's still a strange and burning light in his eyes but it's not burning nearly as badly out of control now.]
Especially with the funny things that can happen with Servants on this island.
I guess you're mad at me too, huh, gramps? He was your rival, after all.
[Rivalry, he gets. Especially after tonight and the other time they started wrestling in the middle of the ballroom and all.]
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[He says it like it hadn't occurred to him, but he quickly shakes it off.]
...It's a complicated emotion I'm feeling right now, but it's not just mere 'anger.'
That being said -
[And he suddenly appears in front of Anon, his gaze even-]
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If I were allowed to, I'd happily shoot your body full of holes for daring to take down the one person who has ever outsmarted me without my permission.
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[Anon just gives him something like a grin, wistful with a feral edge to it.
He doesn't back away or step forward, and he looks Moriarty full in the face.]
I still really want to take on that gun of yours at least once. Nights like this, I just really, really want to fight.
[So yeah, he gets the roulette of complicated emotions here. For the most part.]
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[The air is sharp, almost daggerlike between them -
before he suddenly shrugs, and the moment is broken effortlessly.]
Sadly, I cannot interfere. So I would suggest you finish your cleanup before morning breaks - unless you'd like to be the first Culprit here to be caught red handed by the others when they awake.
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[He seems perfectly confident in that, and in fact he leans into that bristling atmosphere like it's something he could just drink up.
However, once Moriarty pulls back Anon does too, shrugging back in a perfect mirror.]
... Mmhmm, maybe next time. I really do need to get this done properly.
[His focus has moved, flawlessly as a switch, though it's not like he's completely ignoring Moriarty so much as he's been shunted to the background now that Anon is back on task.
He still has so, so much to get done tonight.]
I'll see you later, gramps. Watch him for me, okay?