[That hand is pulled along when Donnie backs up, revealing an equally human arm. With it, several more hands follow, reaching, grabbing at both boys with a surprising amount of gentleness. These are not particularly strong hands, and their grip isn't meant to try and crack bone. It's meant to hold on.
Accelerator stops, looks down, sees that slender hand, and recognizes it. Denial is a powerful drug, but he can't really deny this for any longer.
Surrounding the three of them, with those hands, things are starting to bob to the surface of the shallow pool of blood. Bodies. Ones that crack and lug themselves to their feet. Some of the hands gripping the turtles start hauling themselves up through the blood, more bodies, until they can stand.
The Sisters look slightly younger than the trio, with shoulder-length brown hair and upper class school uniforms. There are only two things that stand out: the nightvision-esque goggles adorning all their faces, the lights of which give off a soft red glow, and that they would all look identical if not for the fact that some of them have had limbs, body parts, replaced with pinkish, purplish, abnormal alien appendages.
The Krangified Sisters all have very passive body language. None of them are attacking, none of them look to be smiling or in pain. But their gaze is clearly fixed on the three of them.]
....
[Accelerator is dead silent. Donnie had said none of this was real, so these can't be Sisters 10 032 through 20 000, but even that logic doesn't quell the shock at seeing all of them in this disgusting place. He doesn't understand the parasitic attachments to them, all it does it make the situation more grotesque to him. Still - they aren't attacking, so it's fine, there's a thorny pain in the back of his head that he ignores, they just -
Then, the Sister directly in front of all of them speaks up. She's still covered in blood, and there are rips and tears along her body like her body had been blown open from the inside out, and a bullet wound in her shoulder. Her voice is soft and flat, with no emotion behind it.
"'Anata wa hitori ja nai,' says Misaka #10 031, while considering the philosophical meaning of being truly alone even while standing next to someone."
Ten thousand thirty-one.
It feels like there's a wrenching in his brain as he hears that number, and then he's stumbling backwards, doubling over with a hand to his mouth as he shakes with the effort to not start heaving.]
no subject
Accelerator stops, looks down, sees that slender hand, and recognizes it. Denial is a powerful drug, but he can't really deny this for any longer.
Surrounding the three of them, with those hands, things are starting to bob to the surface of the shallow pool of blood. Bodies. Ones that crack and lug themselves to their feet. Some of the hands gripping the turtles start hauling themselves up through the blood, more bodies, until they can stand.
The Sisters look slightly younger than the trio, with shoulder-length brown hair and upper class school uniforms. There are only two things that stand out: the nightvision-esque goggles adorning all their faces, the lights of which give off a soft red glow, and that they would all look identical if not for the fact that some of them have had limbs, body parts, replaced with pinkish, purplish, abnormal alien appendages.
The Krangified Sisters all have very passive body language. None of them are attacking, none of them look to be smiling or in pain. But their gaze is clearly fixed on the three of them.]
....
[Accelerator is dead silent. Donnie had said none of this was real, so these can't be Sisters 10 032 through 20 000, but even that logic doesn't quell the shock at seeing all of them in this disgusting place. He doesn't understand the parasitic attachments to them, all it does it make the situation more grotesque to him. Still - they aren't attacking, so it's fine, there's a thorny pain in the back of his head that he ignores, they just -
Then, the Sister directly in front of all of them speaks up. She's still covered in blood, and there are rips and tears along her body like her body had been blown open from the inside out, and a bullet wound in her shoulder. Her voice is soft and flat, with no emotion behind it.
"'Anata wa hitori ja nai,' says Misaka #10 031, while considering the philosophical meaning of being truly alone even while standing next to someone."
Ten thousand thirty-one.
It feels like there's a wrenching in his brain as he hears that number, and then he's stumbling backwards, doubling over with a hand to his mouth as he shakes with the effort to not start heaving.]