[The hooting grows louder, and outside, claws scramble up the brick of the tower.
Buffy selects #11.89782730, and program runs through what look to be a series of calculations before a final window pops up: #11.89782730 (CRAIT) LAUNCHING . . . LAUNCHING . . .
Another shape appears on the radar screen, this one even more distorted than the first. The radar can't seem to get a firm handle on its edge, the mass churning wildly under each pass. It stands at a fixed point near the top of the screen, drawing the first shape toward it.
An alarm pings. INITIATE RESET PROTOCOL (99%)
The lighthouse begins to emit a sound, a horrible droning blend of shifting tones that shakes the tower violently, threatening to knock Buffy off her feet if she isn't careful. The noise is deafening, painfully so—her left eardrum bursts from the pressure.
On the screen, a new window pops up. This time, a timer, counting down from 90 seconds.
NETWORK DISCONNECT IN ( 00:00:90 ) . . .
The chat window pings again.
You know why I had to kill you. One of us was going to survive and it wasn't going to be you.
A window breaks overhead, the faint tinkling of glass just barely audible over the din. There's another crash, and the red light flashes once more, then fizzles, and Buffy's heart seizes in her chest.
It's a mercy, really. She's able to stay on her feet just long enough to see the silhouette of a horrible thing drop down from the light room above, and then she's on the ground, her heart writhing against her ribcage in sharp spasms. The forest spirit throws one clawed tendril at her, the spikes spearing through her shoulders and hoisting her into the air. They let her hang there a moment, swinging idly on their meat hooks, barely conscious from the heart attack—and then they lunge, tearing her open with one sickly rip.
Just before she dies, Buffy spot the anomaly on the radar screen sucking up the last of the dark mass. Then, she'll wake up.]
cw ear trauma, gore, creepy monster
Buffy selects #11.89782730, and program runs through what look to be a series of calculations before a final window pops up: #11.89782730 (CRAIT) LAUNCHING . . . LAUNCHING . . .
Another shape appears on the radar screen, this one even more distorted than the first. The radar can't seem to get a firm handle on its edge, the mass churning wildly under each pass. It stands at a fixed point near the top of the screen, drawing the first shape toward it.
An alarm pings. INITIATE RESET PROTOCOL (99%)
The lighthouse begins to emit a sound, a horrible droning blend of shifting tones that shakes the tower violently, threatening to knock Buffy off her feet if she isn't careful. The noise is deafening, painfully so—her left eardrum bursts from the pressure.
On the screen, a new window pops up. This time, a timer, counting down from 90 seconds.
NETWORK DISCONNECT IN ( 00:00:90 ) . . .
The chat window pings again.
You know why I had to kill you. One of us was going to survive and it wasn't going to be you.
A window breaks overhead, the faint tinkling of glass just barely audible over the din. There's another crash, and the red light flashes once more, then fizzles, and Buffy's heart seizes in her chest.
It's a mercy, really. She's able to stay on her feet just long enough to see the silhouette of a horrible thing drop down from the light room above, and then she's on the ground, her heart writhing against her ribcage in sharp spasms. The forest spirit throws one clawed tendril at her, the spikes spearing through her shoulders and hoisting her into the air. They let her hang there a moment, swinging idly on their meat hooks, barely conscious from the heart attack—and then they lunge, tearing her open with one sickly rip.
Just before she dies, Buffy spot the anomaly on the radar screen sucking up the last of the dark mass. Then, she'll wake up.]