Showing posts with label Somnium. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Somnium. Show all posts

Saturday, October 10, 2026

Engine Room/Camp Syndicate: So Hungry (Escape from Club Apophis, 60)

(click to enlarge)

STORYLINE: “Hungry... So hungry…”

The voice pulsed in Kyle’s head like a corrupted audio loop that refused to die.

He panted, crouching low as he dragged Jihoon through the narrow, suffocating crawlspace. Jihoon was far heavier than he looked. All dense muscle and dead weight. And Kyle was rapidly losing patience. Crawling through the damp, reeking depths of the Forbidden Zone was bad enough, but doing it while hauling a comatose body was pure hell.

To make matters worse, their only source of light was the old, gutted television strapped to Jihoon’s head like a makeshift helmet. The damn thing flickered to life whenever it touched Jihoon’s skin, projecting a pale violet static down the muddy tunnel.

Jihoon. Comatose. Haunter of old televisions.

Just another cursed day in the Zone.

Up ahead, their guide, a massive, scaly beast known as the Shadow Serpent, slithered effortlessly through the dark, completely ignoring Kyle’s struggle. Low fog swallowed Kyle’s boots. Overhead, copper pipes dripped with a maddening rhythm.

A startled bat squeaked, its leathery wing brushing Kyle’s cheek. He jumped, jerking upward only to slam his head straight into the ceiling pipes. The metallic clang echoed down the length of empty tunnel.

“Oh, hell no,” he muttered, "That had better have been a flying rat and nothing else."

He dropped to his knees to catch his breath, easing Jihoon onto the mud. A second later, a dull thump echoed back from the dark.

Kyle froze. Echoes were supposed to fade, not boomerang back.

The television screen flickered and slowly died.

Total pitch darkness.

The Serpent was lurking nearby. The strange beast took many forms. Sometimes pure energy, sometimes a shadow. But right now, as it led them, it was corporeal. He heard the heavy rasp of scales sliding against scales. And when its rattle tipped tail brushed his hand, it felt icy and slippery.

Kyle dug through his backpack until his fingers found an entropy-powered battery light. It turned on with a heavy, satisfying click. Violet light flooded the narrow space. Finally, he could see where he was. Or at least, he could if there wasn’t a wall of undulating obsidian scales blocking most of his view.

The ground trembled. A cold draft rushed through the passage, carrying the smell of wet stone.

The Serpent suddenly hissed, its massive coils tightening into a defensive knot. Its head swung forward, then whipped back toward the way they had come.

“I told you Snakepoo,” Kyle grumbled. “Not the best route. Now we’re too far to go back, the hell if I know how much further ahead we have to go.”

The Serpent turned its massive head, giving him a look that somehow resembled a sheepish shrug.

"Right. Physical dead-ends aren't something a Shadow Serpent thinks about when picking a path."

Snakepoo suddenly looked up and flicked its tongue.

A deep concussion rolled through the tunnel walls, followed by the distant screech of tearing metal somewhere above them. The pipes shuddered in their brackets.

The Serpent froze, every muscle in its coiled body instantly rigid.

Fine grit rained from the roof.

Kyle frowned. “What?”

The Serpent leaned down, tenderly nudging Jihoon’s limp fingers with its snout. Then it looked straight up.

Far above their heads, something massive groaned beneath the weight of the earth.

Without a sound, the Shadow Serpent dissolved into a column of black vapor and shot straight upward through the solid rock ceiling. Just like that, the scaly bastard abandoned them.

“I don’t know if I should be happy or worried," Kyle muttered, letting out a long breath. That big ass snake made his skin crawl.

He gently placed a hand on Jihoon’s shoulder, “Looks like it’s just you and me now, Buddy.”

He unbuckled the dead TV helmet and pulled it off to give the guy some air.

“Hungry…” the voice murmured in his mind, like a recording stuck on repeat.

Kyle unzipped his pack to search for rations, but he already knew the truth. There were none.

He wiped sweaty bangs from his eyes and finally got a good look at Jihoon. The shy, nerdy runt he knew in school was gone, replaced by someone strikingly sculpted, pale, and otherworldly. Jihoon had been the first person to escape the Zone alive. And the Zone takes back what belongs to it.

“So hungry…”

“Could you stop that, Jih… I mean… Lath… Urgh. I don’t even know what to freaking call you anymore. Jihoon? Lathandro? Jihandro?”

Kyle grumbled as he gathered up the ridiculous mass of silky white hair spilling across the mud. In the tight, jagged crawlspace, floor-length hair was a massive liability, one snag on a copper bracket could snap Jihoon’s neck if they had to run.

“Seriously, dude, the hair is a problem,” Kyle muttered. His hands were surprisingly gentle as he began weaving the heavy strands together. “It looks badass, sure, but in the real world? Total pain in the ass.”

Jihoon remained motionless. Kyle tied off the braid as best he could with a frayed strip of cloth, resting his friend's head back down.

That was when he noticed Jihoon’s lips were parted slightly. He saw something white gleaming against his lower lip. Long. Sharp.

“Need…”

Kyle shifted uneasily. Sweat ran down his face.

Those teeth didn't belong in the mouth of his friend.

He looked left and right, then leaned closer to inspect them.

They weren’t what he was expecting. Not vampire fangs. They were thin and translucent, almost like quartz, with a delicate hinge at the gumline.

Kyle reached out with a trembling finger and tapped one.

The fang folded backward neatly against the roof of the mouth. When he released the pressure, it snapped forward again.

That’s when he realized what they were.

Snake fangs.

“Feed…”

A chill raced up his spine.

He used his thumb to gently peel back one of Jihoon’s eyelids.

The eye was rolled back, but the bottom edge of the iris was visible. The pupil wasn't a round human circle; it had narrowed into a vertical slit. And the color made Kyle's breath catch. He realized Jihoon’s teal eye color, that thing that had always made him unusual, was the exact same color as the Serpent's eyes.

Kyle gasped. As he recoiled, his hand caught the edge of the exposed tooth.

A thin line of dark crimson bloomed where the fang sliced his skin.

He stared at the blood welling up on his hand.

Then he looked back at Jihoon.

“Hungry….”

Kyle’s heart hammered against his ribs. "I know."

“So hungry...”

He gulped. He wanted to say something smartass about this situation, but the words died in his throat. He just sat there in the dirt, staring at Jihoon like an idiot.

Against every instinct he possessed, Kyle raised his bleeding hand back to Jihoon’s lips.

The hinged fangs deployed instantly, driven by pure reflex, and sank deep into the flesh of his hand.

Kyle squeezed his eyes shut and let out a sharp hiss. It felt like a white-hot needle driving through his palm, but within seconds, the pain dissolved into a weird, numb warmth. The sensation hummed through his core, heavy and intoxicating. He gasped, a faint moan slipping out before he could stop it. He knew he should be terrified, but a strange euphoria hijacked his brain.

He fell into a daze… falling.. falling… once more into sleep….

He found himself standing in a blinding, sterile white expanse. There was nothing here. No walls. No ceiling. No horizon. Just Kyle, standing in the light, and the dark silhouette waiting before him.

He kept his eyes fixed on the polished floor. His reflection stared back. His security guard uniform was immaculate, stripped of mud, blood, sweat, and exhaustion. This was what he was supposed to be. A guardian. A protector. An unbroken sentinel.

This dreamspace was different. Honest.

Kyle swallowed. He didn't want to look up at the figure standing in the blaring light. The figure reached toward him. A pale hand. Long black claws.

Kyle's gaze followed it only as far as the chest, and stopped. A golden serpent rested against the black-and-white robes. His breath caught. He knew that necklace. He had seen it around the mummified nun. The symbol of the Children of Apophis. But this wasn't the little golden brooch the Children wore. This was larger. A ceremonial necklace. Roped gold, heavy enough to look like an emblem of rank. A much higher rank.

Kyle's stomach tightened. Why was that around this person's neck?

He still didn't look up. Every instinct he had screamed at him to run. Run now. But he didn’t.

The figure's fingers slid easily between his, silky and graceful. Where their palms met, blood welled up. Kyle flinched at the sensation. It was a covenant. A sacred bond sealed in blood.

Vile. Wrong. Permanent.

Then he smelled it. Clove. Heavy. Sweet. Suffocating. He felt dizzy.

The other clawed hand caught his chin. Slowly, gently, it tilted his face upward. Kyle braced himself. Dark robes. Regal posture. Terrible authority. And that smug, predatory confidence. He knew exactly who he was going to see. But when he looked up, it wasn’t MasterGin. It was Jihoon, his strange serpentine eyes deeply amused, his lips curving into a mischievous grin.

“Boo.”

Kyle gasped, his eyes flying open as he yanked his bleeding hand back.

“Something about you is very, very wrong,” he yelped at the comatose figure on the ground, cradling his wounded hand against his chest. “Not cool! Not cool at all!”

Soil rained down from the ceiling.

He didn’t like this. Not one bit.

At least Jihoon had been fed, and would shut up now. Who knows how long MasterGin had kept him locked up and neglected. Once they got out of the Zone, his friend could get proper medical care.

Then came the sound. A horrible, wet choking from deep in Jihoon's chest.

Kyle looked down in horror.

Black, viscous fluid bubbled up from Jihoon’s throat. His chest heaved violently as he fought for air. His skin turned a mottled grey, the dark hollows under his eyes bruising into deep purple.

“Shit!”

Training took over. Kyle rolled Jihoon onto his side, supporting his head as another surge of black fluid spilled from his mouth. Don't panic.

A thick splatter struck the mud. Then another. Far too much. Far more than the few drops of blood Kyle had given him.

What the hell had he done?

Finally, the heaving stopped. Jihoon lay limp in the dirt.

“Hungry… So hungry…”

Kyle let out a shaky groan and pulled off his outer shirt to wipe the black sludge from his friend’s face.

“Don't you dare," he said quietly. "Don't you dare die on me after all the bullshit we all went through to get you out of here. Do you hear me? Man up.”

A sharp burning sensation pulsed in his hand. Thin violet veins were creeping up his forearm from the bite mark.

Infection.

His skin prickled with an icy, metallic heat, like frozen needles marching beneath his flesh. Kyle’s breath hitched, his heart hammering against his ribs in a full-blown panic. His vision swirled at the edges. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his palm flat against the damp soil to anchor himself, but the heat surged straight up his neck and into his skull.

When he forced his eyes open, the pitch black of the crawlspace was gone.

The dark had bled into a faint, violet-tinted luminescence. The world was rendered in eerie thermal contrast. Every crack in the freezing masonry radiated a dull violet hue, while the heat pulsing from the overhead pipes stood out in sharp, unnatural focus. Like a viper tracking prey in the dark, he could see the very temperature of the room.

“What the…?”

He rubbed his eyes, then opened them again. The tunnel still glowing.

A familiar voice echoed through his mind. Because, of course it did.

"Still hungry…”



On him, Jihoon:
Hair: RavenBell - Persephone Hair, basics [M][mesh](Engine Room)(350L)
Hair emissive: RavenBell - Persephone Hair, emissive overlay [M][mesh](Engine Room)(200L)
Tattoo: Nuuna - EVI Metallic EVOX 2K tint [BOM](Engine Room)(300L)
Makeup: Rubedo - Blanche, 12
[BOM](Camp Syndicate)(290L)
Outfit: SOMNIUM - Aether Magus set, black, - Legacy M/A[mesh](Engine Room)(850L)
Boots: MEMENTO - NEO. Boots V2 [LEGACY M] [mesh]
Crown: UNA - Ruise crown Silver [mesh]
Claws: Subject Thirteen - Solstice Set - LegacyA [mesh]
Snake Necklace: SIGMA Minos necklace [mesh]

Skin: outernaked - #evox - juhoon skin [NF: natural] - wb [BOM]

Eyes: Poetic Colors - Jaded Eyes - Jade [BOM]

Head, bloody tattoos: LeLUTKA - Kane Evolution [mesh](3990L)
Body: TheShops - [BODY] Athletic Meshbody (Legacy)(m) (1.7.1) [mesh](5000L)

On him, Kyle:
Shirt: ARCHIVEFACTION - EIGENGRAU Shirt, white, LegacyM [mesh](Engine Room)(350L)
Shoes: ARCHIVEFACTION - EIGENGRAU Oxfords, black, LegacyM [mesh](Engine Room)(350L)
Pants: ARCHIVEFACTION - EIGENGRAU Pants, black, LegacyM [mesh](Engine Room)350L)
Tattoo: Izzie's Face & Body Blood & Wounds (199L)
Hair: TRASH Lucifer w/o Horns V1 - Rainbow pack [mesh](299L)
Eyes: Mana Jelly Eyes,  Clear [BOM] (Midnight Order)(399L)
Skin: MUDSKIN Hajimu, C, Brow, WINTER(gacha)(The Arcade)(75L)
Glasses: SOLE SA, Glasses Penta CP, Black [mesh](339L)
Head, bloody tattoos: LeLUTKA - Kane Evolution [mesh](3990L)
Body: TheShops [BODY] Athletic Meshbody (Legacy)(m) (1.7.1) [mesh](5000L)

Setting:
Window: Eclectica - Steampunk Round Windows [mesh](Engine Room)(350L)
Pipes: SIGNΛ - Modular Pipes Kit [mesh](Engine Room)(900L)


BONUS IMAGES: inworld raw shots,  midday sky, default camera:







Tuesday, April 7, 2026

Engine Room: The Jellyfish Man (Escape from Club Apophis, 39)

(click to enlarge)


STORYLINE:    This was a heist. 

Which meant, statistically speaking, Plague was either about to become a legend, or a cautionary tale with excellent hair.

Finally, he was inside MasterGin’s clinic, the Fort Knox of DNA rewrite voodoo, and he, the Biohacker of Jae Won University, was about to steal it. 

In and out. Cure Jihoon. Fix himself. Save the world. In that order. …More or less. 

And if history wanted to throw in fame and glory, he wasn’t going to argue.

He came prepared. His parents thought that six-thousand-credit charge was for lab equipment. Please. Six thousand credits didn’t buy microscopes. It bought bad decisions with excellent specs.

In this case: a nanotech cloak blanket. Perfect for black ops. Terrible for subtle life choices. The enforcers hadn’t seen him at all. They were too busy chasing Kyle, Minjo, Echo, and Lisa.

Unlike them, he actually knew what to look for. Infrastructure. More specifically, signs of a negative pressure room.

He darted down another hallway, deeper into the labyrinth. 

The Plastic Surgery Clinic wasn’t a clinic at all. More like a villain origin story with a lobby. Polished floors, museum lighting, the kind of place where ethics go to get redesigned. He had no time to marvel at billion-dollar artwork, which genuinely pained him. The clock was ticking.

He took a stairwell downwards. Posh tunnels gave way to older tunnels, gleaming marble replaced by cement with all the charm of a decaying bomb shelter.

His foot hit water. The splash cracked through the hallway like a jump scare with no soundtrack to soften it.

Shit. He glanced around.

The corridor held its breath. So did he.

The pool of water he was standing in had a faint bioluminescence glow. It had leaked from under a sealed door with lots of unfriendly symbols that all translated, across every language known to man, into one simple message: ‘Do not be the idiot who opens this door.’

Jackpot.

He licked his lips. He could almost taste that Nobel Prize.

He produced a bypass kit, popped in a cursed energy battery courtesy of Sophia, and went to work on the door panel. The lock mechanism, however, was old. Older than he expected. Not smart-lock. Analog. Physical tumblers.

He switched tools. His hands steady, remembering things his formal education hadn't taught him, like how to pick a school locker.

Click.

The door swung open as if moved by an unseen hand.

Very Haunted House. Three stars. Too cliché.

The dark laboratory was state-of-the-art… if the state in question was 1960s and deeply unethical. The air around him felt damp, like breathing through someone else’s lungs. The smell hit next. Formaldehyde. And something that had been alive too long. The equipment bore the heavy scars of relentless use. His fingers touched a keyboard with the characters of “A” and “S” completely worn down.

From tanks holding something segmented and glowing, a sickening green light cast shadows on the walls as it writhed.

Not touching that. Not even academically.

He pulled off the cloak and paused at an old-school computer. The black DOS screen, with a single lime green blinking box, waited for him to type code.

…Right. He wasn’t that kind of nerd. Filing cabinet it was.

Drawers. Stacks. Paper everywhere. Useless. Too slow. He suddenly missed computers.

Something moved behind him. Not a step. Not a breath. …a slosh.

Shit. Please don’t be something glowing and legally classified as ‘should not have legs.’

He turned, looking for anything slithering.

Two transparent feet, outlined in a faint glow, stood directly behind him. A trail of wet footsteps led back to a massive, bubbling tank.

His heart stopped. Fantastic. Cardiac arrest in a haunted aquarium.

His gaze tracked slowly up.

A translucent man, built of something like jellyfish flesh, stared right at him. “Who are you?” he asked in a gurgling human voice.

Not a hologram. Not a projection. The nightmare was… wet.

Plague stared at his transparent body as if hypnotized. He could see liquids moving through his veins. Faint electrical sparks across the transparent mass of his brain.

“Forgive me,” the Jellyfish Man said. He put on a white lab coat, gloves, and sprinkled white powder over his head, until it resembled a sculpture. “I get so few visitors here. I forgot my manners.”

Of course he had a lab coat. Of course the nightmare had dress code compliance.

“I’ve seen this movie before.” Plague willed his voice to sound steady. “The Invisible Man, 1933. Overrated.”

The Jellyfish Man extended a gloved hand, “I’m Dr. Hoshu Tanaka.”

Plague shook his head in disbelief. Dr. Hoshu Tanaka. Founding father of DNA rewrite research. The man who wrote the rules, and then vanished from the game entirely.

“No, you’re not.” He switched to Japanese. “Dr. Tanaka died a long time ago.”

The Jellyfish Man nodded his head and sat down on a stool. “I see. You know who I am. You are sneaking around. You have a kit for breaking into secure places. That means you’re here for only one thing, …to steal my research.”

Plague took two steps back, subtly checking the seals of the bio-containment suit. The air felt wrong. Too thick. Like he’d already been breathing it too long.

“No, I’m just…” he gestured vaguely “… a low-paid, highly under-appreciated intern. You’d be amazed what HR lets through.”

“You are a terrible liar,” Dr. Tanaka chuckled. “You are aware,” he said gently, pointing to the open door, “That warning was mine. I put it there. It was not a decoration.”

Plague continued to back away. “If you touch me, I get infected right? Be honest. Are you venomous, contagious, or… both?”

“Contact transmission. Airborne spores require a 10-minute exposure.” Dr. Tanaka nodded and began to text on a halo pad, “I am writing Nurse Paine to let her know I am not to be disturbed for the rest of the evening.” He touched a button on an old control panel. The door closed and sealed back into place. “…at least from threats outside.”

Sweat dripped down Plague’s back.

Dr. Tanaka set the pad down and focused on him. Not like a person. Like data.

“Now,” he said, folding his hands, “Let us begin a fair trade of information. Tell me who you are and how you know my name. Then I might tell you where the decontamination unit is.”

Plague's eyes swept the room for another exit. Condensation dripped down the glass of a nearby pod. When he neared it, a pale worm, thick as his wrist, struck the glass with a sound like a wet slap. It gave him flashbacks to things he would absolutely deny ever reading.

Plague’s shoulders sagged. He turned back to the aquarium's sole resident, “The name’s Plague.” He gave a small shrug. “Marketing.”

“That’s not a name. Your only way out is a fair trade of information.”

Plague paused for a long while, studying the powder-covered face. He resembled Dr. Tanaka. Or something that used to be him.

Plague kept a safe distance from everything that glowed.

“All right then," he said, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his bio-containment suit. “We may or may not have a few things in common. But that depends on how you became transparent. You did a bio-hack on yourself?”

Dr. Tanaka’s eyebrow raised. He looked at the suit for a long moment. “I see. You are a DNA Hacker.” He pointed to Plague’s chest. “Experimenting on yourself was foolish. And now you are here to steal my technology to save yourself. Am I right?”

Plague chuckled and buttoned up. “Righteous indignation. So then. Your transparent-hood was an accident. Spores or contact?” His eyes swept the lab. All those glowing things. All of them eager to be near him.

“Worse,” Dr. Tanaka’s voice dropped. His gaze lowered.

A chill raced across Plague.

The lab hummed around them. Neither moved.

Dr. Tanaka then stood and glanced at the largest tank. “I live mostly in that tank now. I killed the parasite. Eventually. Before it could finish rewriting my DNA… before my mind was lost. But I exist like this now. Something inhuman. I can never go home. I can never see my wife and child. It’s better they believe what the world believes.”

Plague’s heart quivered. His hands went still. He looked at the large tank. Then at his own chest where the bio-containment suit pressed against his ribs.

“My work is what remains of me now,” the Doctor continued. “I chose to give my tragedy meaning by understanding how the creature rewrites its host’s DNA without rejection.”

“How long ago?” Plague's voice cracked on the question. He cleared his throat. “How long ago did you solve it?”

The lab answered for him. Nothing.

Plague studied the tanks. The Doctor. The powdered coat. The worn-down keyboard keys. Years of research, typed by hands that were no longer hands.

"That's how MasterGin's plastic surgery works, isn't it? MasterGin isn't reshaping people's bodies with surgery, drugs, or augments. He's infecting them with these... things, then altering them while their bodies are malleable. Your research is the off switch, stopping the process before they turn into monsters.”

Dr. Tanaka pointed to the far corner. “The decontamination unit is over there. You have about 5 minutes left before infection.”

Plague bolted towards the unit, then turned back to look at the Doctor. “I could get your life’s work out there, in the real world. Full credit for your discovery. I swear it. Your sacrifice…” His throat became tight. “I mean, your work should be out there helping people. Not locked in here being used by monsters.” He only noticed the tears when they hit his chin.

Dr. Tanaka’s expression was unreadable. “Three minutes. Or this conversation was meaningless.”

“I’ll come back for you.” Plague turned and ran.

He hit the decon unit at full speed.

An automated voice chimed overhead, “Decontamination Process initiated.”

The doors air-locked around him as he quickly stripped down to bare skin.

Through the glass, the Doctor studied what the suit had been hiding, his grotesque deformities. He didn't look away as a cloud of formaldehyde and chemicals enveloped Plague.

When the cycle had finally ended, Plague quickly pulled on his sterilized bio-containment suit and glanced outside. The Doctor had already submerged in his tank.

A green light pulsed through the dissipating haze. He stepped closer and saw a small decontamination transfer unit mounted on the wall, designed to safely move items from the lab to the outside. The case was bathed in just as many chemicals as he was, traces of haze still swirled around it.

He opened the hatch. Inside were several items. A gold VIP serpent brooch. He’d seen that on Nurse Paine’s collar. VIP clearance. A way out. And that wasn’t the only surprising thing. There was a meticulously pre-packed decontamination travel kit. Absurdly so, given the lab had just let him walk in with a school locker pick. Was this meant for Tanaka? An escape that never happened? He didn't have time to understand all of it. More items in the case were a data chip and an ornate gilded crystal bottle labeled GIN AESTHETICA™. The Doctor's formula. Someone else's logo. Inside, a soft blue glowing lotion simmered, smelling faintly of antiseptic and something he couldn't classify.

There was a note in precise handwriting: ‘For the one who returns.’

Plague stared at it.

He quickly pocketed the brooch, sealed the case, and darted for the VIP tunnels without looking back.



This post was inspired by my ongoing series, and super cool mad lab themed items at The Engine Room.   From Somnium is the Scientist's Coat. The Fatpack has a hud to change textures for the coat, shirt, and tie. All textures are PBR with a latex look, handy for dealing with messy creatures. lol.  ...From DeadBoy is 8 fingered stabby gloves, -- the Toxic Touch Gloves, for men and women. It comes with a hud to change the latex glove color, straps, and suspicious liquids in the syringe.   ...From NI.JI are the Rimless Glasses.  These are PBR glasses with many texture options for the lens and frame. It's mod, so you can scale and position for the perfect fit.   ...From Waffle Science Lab is the Artificial Mastermind consoles. I love these things. It has that retro NASA vibe to me. Just touch the consoles to change the metal color, panel, and base colors. They are mod, so you can move and scale how you like.   ... From Dirty Rat is the Manipulator sculpture, perfect for the desk of any serious mad scientist.   ...From ND Design is build from the recent Cyber Fair. It's two stories with stacks of mainframes, tanks with aliens, and a hatch that opens. It comes with a Rez box. The set is mod so you can move things around or tint. I created a bit more of a military lab look with tints, and a metal PBR floor.


On him, Plague:
Outfit:  SOMNIUM - Scientist's Coat - Fat Pack - Legacy M/A PBR [mesh](Engine Room)(2500L)
Glasses: NI.JU - Rimless Glasses [mesh](Engine Room)(325L)
Gloves: The DeadBoy - Toxic Touch Gloves (Legacy M) [mesh](Engine Room)(699L)
Scar: Cubic Cherry - Decay [BOM, Materials]
Makeup: maledictus - Lacrimosa, red [BOM]
Tattoo: Vae Victis Pillar of Inun EvoX [BOM]
Hair: Dura - U122 -A: Men's [mesh]
Head: LeLUTKA - Kane Evolution [mesh](3990L)
Body: TheShops [BODY] Athletic Meshbody (Legacy)(m) (1.7.1) [mesh](5000L)

Setting:
Control room panels: Waffle Science Lab - Artificial Mastermind [mesh](Engine Room)(750L)
Sculpture: Dirty Rat - Manipulator [mesh](Engine Room)(385L)
Set: NSDesign - NS Exolab [mesh]

BONUS IMAGES: inworld raw shot, hi-res, midday sky.





Sunday, November 9, 2025

Salvage Station, Camp Syndicate: The Hunting Ground (Escape from Club Apophis, 26)

(click to enlarge)

STORYLINE: The plan was in ashes. 

Minjo’s hand trembled with the cold fury of an intellectual whose entire framework had just been shattered. Her weapon stayed leveled at Hwan’s chest.

“You destroyed it,” she spat, the words tight. “Our plan. Our tech. Our only way to reach Kyra. You just... ended it.”

“I destroyed a beacon,” Hwan replied, his amber eyes flat and unfeeling. “You weren’t contacting your friend. You were ringing a dinner bell. Patrols will be here in minutes. You can stay...”

He turned his back on them, a profound act of dismissal, and stepped through the shimmering boundary of the Forbidden Zone.

“...or you can follow me to your friends.”

“Wait!” Echo cried.

Then came the sound. It began in the distance, a high-pitched, metallic shriek threading through the forest, - a choir of knives being sharpened in the dark. It was getting closer.

Minjo lowered her weapon, rage cooling to pure survival logic. “Everyone... pack light. Now.”

Ghost, the silent protector, was already moving. He grabbed a small Prepper’s wind-up generator, and shoved a knife in his belt. As he crossed the veil, the faint blue light of his halo-gloves glitched, fizzled, and died. His digital voice went with it. Now he truly was mute.

The world turned gray. The air thickened instantly, pressing in with a physical weight, saturated with the smell of dust, rust, and long-dead carcasses.

“We don’t go over. We go under,” Hwan commanded, his voice a low gravel in the dead air. He motioned to the skeletal city ahead. “The Sisters patrol the streets. We take the tunnels.”

Hwan strode toward a wide service entrance. A quick, open route.

Ghost froze. He grabbed Minjo’s arm, his grip like a steel clamp. 

He knew the main tunnels were patrolled, often flooded, thanks to the Smart Chip map. And Hwan himself, was a creature of the Zone, an eater of souls. He was leading them too calmly, too openly. Ghost trusted his own instincts more.

Fifty yards away lay a forgotten manhole, rimmed with rust. Smaller. Deeper. Safer.

He shook his head at Hwan’s silhouette. Then, with the tip of his knife, he scratched two words in the dirt: Separate. Follow.

Minjo’s eyes flashed with understanding. This was one of Ghost's insights, another of his "mic drops" delivered in steel and dirt. He was betting their lives on the Underground Catacomb Map burned into his memory.

He wrenched the manhole cover aside. The metal screamed in the silence. He gestured, "Down. Now."

One by one, they slipped into the pitch-black. The cover sealed above them with a dull, final thud.

They vanished.

For five agonizing minutes, they moved cautiously in blind, suffocating silence. The only sound was the rhythmic drip... drip... drip... of water, echoing in the vast dark. Ghost felt his way along the cold stone walls, while his other hand held a lifeline to Echo. Every breath was a risk. Every step was calculated.

Then he stopped.

The tunnel was wrong. There was a sheer wall where a fork should be. The map in his head dissolved. The subtle turns, the new forks. The data was bad. He was lost.

He froze, one arm raised in warning. Doubt, a feeling he despised, flickered in his mind like static. He had failed them.

He had no choice. He pulled the generator from his belt and began to crank. The grinding noise was obscenely loud. The halo-gloves flared a weak, ghostly blue, casting their terrified faces in eerie light as he frantically tried to access the map file.

“Lost already, Ghost?”

The voice sliced through the dark, not twenty feet away.

Hwan stepped from a side tunnel, his amber eyes like twin suns in the void. He’d been waiting.

"Your choice was clever, Little Shinobi,” Hwan said evenly. “But this is my home. I carved these holes. I know where they all bleed. You should have known a map on a decades old smart chip was out of date."

He tilted his head toward the damning blue glow. “Now snuff that light. You’re ringing the bell again.”

Ghost obeyed, his jaw tight. The light died, plunging them back into a darkness that felt heavier, more hostile. His gamble had failed. His insight was wrong.

They moved on. They had little choice. Hwan was now in the lead.

The tunnels grew narrower, the air moldy and old. A soft vibration hummed through the ground, a low-frequency thrum that they felt in their teeth, like the Zone itself was breathing.

Hwan stopped suddenly. He didn't lift a hand. He simply ceased. “Hold,” he breathed, the sound barely a whisper.

A stillness fell, heavier than the darkness.

“They’re close,” Hwan whispered. “The Sisters see like snakes, they hunt heat and motion. They smell power. And they feed on sight. Do not move. Do not bleed. And do not look, no matter what you hear.”

Above them, a wide sewer grate. Beyond it, gray daylight filtered through dead leaves.

A shadow moved across it. Something gliding, jointed and wrong. The rustle of heavy fabrics.

A procession.

Plague made a strangled sound, half-gasp, half-prayer. Ghost pressed a heavy hand to his shoulder: Silence.

One of the Sisters paused directly above them.

Her habit, stiff with dried blood, brushed the grate. She sniffed the air, neck twitching like a bird. She could smell them. She could smell the residue of the generator, the faint, delicious trace of power from the device they’d just shut down.

Echo clenched her fists until her nails drew blood. Her need to do things right screamed inside her skull. Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t....

The Sister lingered above, the click of rosary beads too close, too hungry.

Then, a metallic creak. The grate above them shifted.

A second later, something dark and slender slipped through the bars.

Metal scraped on stone, -- slow, deliberate.

The Nun was descending into the tunnel.

No one moved.

Echo bit her lip until she tasted blood. Minjo’s fingers hovered over her weapon. Plague was trembling, his breath a ragged, silent scream.

Ghost didn’t look. He couldn't.

He drew his knife by feel alone, holding it low, angled for silence. The sharp steel of the blade caught the Nun's swirling light, reflecting it as a single, dull-red glint.

The thing crawled closer, its joints cracking, its robes whispering against the wet floor. Its breath, if it could be called that, came in ragged pulls, tasting for life.

Hwan’s rule, a memory in their heads: They see through motion. They feed through eyes.

A drop of something, not water, fell onto Ghost’s shoulder.

It hissed.

He froze, holding his breath.





On Him, Ghost:
Cowl: SOMNIUM - Outlander [mesh](Salvage Station)(350L)
Coat: SOMNIUM - Outlander [mesh](Salvage Station)(350L)
Knife: FOE - Tsarkknife [mesh](Salvage Station)(699L)
Pants: Rebis - Werk Trousers [mesh](Camp Syndicate)(350L)
Mask: Pucca Firecaster Creations - PFC Ninja (Male) [mesh]
Headband: :::Last Ride::: 47 Samurai/Headband back [mesh]
Gloves: Archivefaction - Penumbra Gloves_Legacy M_Slim Fingers [mesh]

Setting:
Cursed Nun: Orphic - Dreadveil + Male (Full-body cloak)[mesh](Camp Syndicate)(599L)
Setting: Dreadmorne - Dungeon/Catacombs Building kit [mesh](Camp Syndicate)(1500L)

BONUS IMAGES: inworld raw shot, hi-res, midday sky. 






Thursday, November 6, 2025

Camp Syndicate: The Ice Cream Man (Escape from Club Apophis, 24)


(click to enlarge)

STORYLINE: Jingle. Jingle. Jingle.

The sound wandered through the dark forest like a lost child,  an ice-cream cart’s bells ringing a melody of fossilized joy.

He let it play. Even monsters could be nostalgic; childhood memories were the last to die.

The porcelain mask pressed cool against his face, its smile painted on. Beneath it, his breath smelled of wet earth, rust and sugar.

He pushed the cart through a carpet of needles and broken glass, the wheels whispering over bones of old roads and people.

He stopped to wipe a dark stain from his crisp white jacket,  an old spill that would never come out. A reminder of the last mess he’d cleaned.

He listened. No wind. No insects. The forest here had forgotten how to live. Only the fading echo of tiny bells.

Then a click.
A whisper not his own.

Through the twin holes of the mask, he saw them: four intruders, half-hidden by ferns and moonlight, crouched near the shimmer of the Forbidden Zone’s boundary.

Children.

Their lights blinked; their voices were too loud, their hearts too bright. Fumbling with toys. Breaking the silence. They didn’t see the slithering shadows moving in the trees.

He tilted his head, listening.

The air vibrated with a sound he couldn’t hear but felt in his teeth.

One of them, the girl with violet stripes on her sleeves, was kneeling beside a box. Not a toy. A thing armored in scales so black it swallowed the moonlight. Even from here, he could feel it humming in his skull, a low-frequency scream, the psychic howl of something that did not belong in this world.

He flinched. They didn’t know what they’d touched. They didn’t know the rules.

He parked the cart. The jingle stuttered, then died with a final, off-key plink. He lifted the lid. The cheerful logo inside peeling and slashed with dried blood. His arsenal waited in neat rows: Raspberry. Chocolate. Strawberry Swirl.

His hand hesitated. Then: Vanilla.

The hammer was heavy, worn, reliable. Vanilla never let him down.

He moved through the trees without a sound, the damp trunks closing around him like a whisper. 

Every step erased a sound. The crickets stopped. The wind forgot itself.

The intruders were right ahead, still arguing.
The shimmer pulsed against their faces, painting them ghost-pale.
They made the bad box glow. They made it talk.

He watched with amber eyes as the girl’s hands trembled over the bad box. He could smell her fear.

Closer now.

Close enough she could see the reflection of his porcelain smile in dark glass of her device.

She looked up, sensing it. Her breath caught.

He raised the hammer. The jingle echoed once in his mind like a heartbeat.

And he brought it down.



This post was inspired by the outfit and theme of Camp Syndicate, the Slasher Movie genre.



On Him, the Ice Cream Man:
Outfit, mask, Hat: SOMNIUM - Mr. Sundae Set Bloody Legacy M/A [mesh](Camp Syndicate)(2250L)
Weapon: Krova - CLAW Hammer [mesh](Camp Syndicate)(350L)
Hands: Aii - Demonic Touch, bom/fingers, Legacy M [mesh]
Tattoo: HISS - PATTERNS BODY 2 - FADING TINT [BOM]
Shoes: 
L&B - LEGACYfit* Swear Old School Low Tops - Noir [mesh]
Body: TheShops - [BODY] Athletic Meshbody (Legacy)(m) (1.7.1) [mesh](5000L)

Setting:
Lantern: Oblivis - The Last Light STEEL [mesh](Camp Syndicate)(285L)
Gun: FOE x Nidhogg - Carbine Ax [mesh](Camp Syndicate)(499L)
Body parts: Whats Lost Spirits - Walk it off Body parts Pack [mesh](Camp Syndicate)(600L)
Hatchet, Hammer: Arts&Gear - *AG *CampingTools [mesh](Camp Syndicate)(300L)
Axe, Baseball bat, Boat oar: Puddles - Camp Weapons  [mesh](Camp Syndicate)(200L)
Knife, Blood: Evil Baby - Killer's Tattoo [BOM](Camp Syndicate)(350L)
Cart: BONDI - Ice Cream Small Cart, 12 Pink-Silver COMMON [mesh]

Location:

BONUS IMAGES: inworld raw shot, hi-res, midday sky. 




Wednesday, October 15, 2025

Engine Room, Androgyny Event, Camp Syndicate: Plague (Escape from Club Apophis, 22)

(click to enlarge)

STORYLINE:  “So they’re vampires,” Plague said flatly, breaking the silence before anyone could romanticize it. “Ancient, ridiculously dramatic vampires who decided to cosplay as mob bosses. Great story pitch. It’s like 'The Godfather' meets 'Interview with the Vampire.' Coppola would weep. Can we get back to the part where we save our friend?”

The hologram of the speakeasy collapsed in a shower of static, leaving behind the coppery whiff of spilled blood and the phantom scent of gunsmoke in the air. The workshop fell silent again, the gentle ticking of Minjo’s brass contraptions marking time while everyone ignored him.

Ghost’s hands were a blur, cross-referencing Prohibition-era mob hierarchies with everything he could scrape from the net about Monstrum. Minjo, her back to everyone, was already sketching a rescue plan on a nearby whiteboard. Echo sat cross-legged on the floor beside the Black Snakeskin Box, a tangle of wires and circuit boards spread around her as she coaxed its strange power core to life.

Plague stretched, cracked his neck, and muttered, "Okay, I'll just be over here in my corner. Quietly creating a miracle cure for a biological horror, like I’m Alexander Fleming. No biggie. Don't mind me."

No one did.

He snatched the vial of claws, and the tube containing strands of Jihoon’s old hair from the workbench. “I’m starting the analysis. Yell if the time machine spits out Al Capone’s ghost.”

His corner of the workshop looked like a cybernetic parasite grafted onto an antique heart: chrome instruments threaded through brass skeletons, his bioreactors blinking among Minjo’s clockwork arms. His parents paid her obscene rent for the privilege, -- hoping her discipline might rub off on their prodigal heir. They saw Minjo as a future leader, a sound investment. Plague just saw her as the only person unimpressed by how big his inheritance would be.

He laid out the samples. The first: a few black strands from the paper crane, Jihoon before Lathandro. The control. The second: an obsidian claw clipped from a bandaged hand in the hospital, the mutation. He whistled softly. “From origami to armageddon. Let’s see what you’re made of, buddy.”

A flicker of memory cut the grin short. Guilt churned in his stomach. He remembered leaning against the lockers, voice dripping with practiced disdain as the new, beautiful Jihoon walked by. "Stupid femboy," he’d said, too loud, too easy. "Bet he hacked his DNA."

The words tasted like poison now, because they were a lie meant to hide a truth. The real criminal biohacker of Jae Won University was him. He was the one obsessed with gene-hacking. For months he’d been running back-alley CRISPR protocols on himself, trying to code sharper cheekbones, a clearer complexion, anything for an edge in the cutthroat world of biotech grants. But his body had fought back, rejecting it all: rashes, migraines, a week shaking with fever. He had failed. He built a containment suit to keep the evidence and the shame sealed away.

So when Jihoon emerged from Club Apophis remade, and radiant, Plague’s envy had been swift and vicious. He’d projected his own failure onto Jihoon, painting him as a cheater. He’d pushed his friend away right when Jihoon needed him most, and that path ended at the stadium with Jihoon screaming, engulfed in fire.

This was penance. 

He would find a cure. A cure for Jihoon first, but maybe a cure for himself, too. He’d save his friend, fix his own flawed biohack, and be hailed as the man who finally conquered DNA-rewrite rejection. He allowed the daydream to flicker, his speech accepting the Nobel Prize as cameras flashed. He grinned at the thought.

“Science first. Glory later,” he told the sequencer. “You and me, let’s make history."

The sequencer hummed to life, running a full genomic sequence. The results for the control sample were clean. Unremarkable. Perfectly boringly human. He saved the file, fed a sliver of the obsidian claw into the machine, and waited. Then repeated the process.

Hours bled into a blur. The distant chatter about safe zones and infiltration routes faded into white noise. By the time the first hints of dawn stained the workshop’s high windows, he was staring at the screen, rubbing his eyes, his mind refusing to process what the data said.

Finally, he pushed back from his station, his chair groaning in the quiet. “Uh, guys?”

His voice was strained. Minjo turned from the whiteboard, her marker frozen mid-sentence.

“I’ve got the results,” Plague said, running a hand through his hair. “There’s no difference.”

“What do you mean, no difference?” Minjo demanded, marching over.

“I mean before and after. Identical. No viral markers, no synthetic code, no biohack signature. Either the universe is pranking me, or Jihoon’s DNA is the same old boring model.” He held up a finger. “And before you say contamination, I ran it six times.”

Minjo crossed her arms. “That’s illogical. We saw the claws. Your process is flawed. Do it again.”

“Six times, Minjo. Seven if you count the one where I forgot to breathe.” He sighed, dramatic. “My methodology is sound. The equipment is calibrated perfectly. The data is the data. Maybe you should accept that instead of assuming I’m an idiot!”

“I’m not calling you an idiot! I’m saying the result is impossible. There must be an error in the process.”

Before the argument could catch fire, a soft chime interrupted. Ghost lifted his gloved hands, holographic text drifting in a calm blue light above them. A simple question floated in the air: "Did you test the mitochondrial DNA?"

Plague froze.

Mitochondrial DNA, the power source of every living cell. He hadn’t even considered it.

He shot Ghost a grudging look. “Oh sure, Hologram Hands gets the win." He shook his head and muttered, "Sheeze, why is he always like that?"

He turned back to his console, frustration replaced by focus. An hour later, as the new analysis populated the screen, his jaw went slack. Half of Jihoon’s cells looked normal, powered by the same messy mitochondria as everyone else’s. The rest were something else entirely. His scanners couldn’t classify the energy source; the instruments simply read it as undefined.

The data made his blood run cold. “What the hell are you, Jihoon?”

The others gathered around as he stumbled back, his heart hammering against the metal ribs of his suit.

“What? What is it?” Minjo asked, her voice sharp with alarm.

“I found something alright. This isn't a bio-hack,” Plague breathed, his voice trembling with awe and terror. He pointed a shaking finger at the cellular map. “Jihoon isn’t being rewritten or infected. He’s a chimera. Half human… half something that doesn’t match any known terrestrial bio-signature. Two systems running in one body, and it looks like one of them wants the stage all to itself.”

A heavy silence settled over the workshop, the machines ticking like distant clocks.

Echo’s voice, quiet but certain, broke it. “Then we’d better hurry.”

Plague looked back at the screen, the dueling biological signals flickering like rival heartbeats. His voice came out soft, almost a joke. “Well,” he said, “guess we finally proved 'Meteor Strike' really is out of this world.”

No one laughed. 

The glow from the data deepened, and for a breath, it felt as though the thing inside Jihoon was staring back.



Halloween Season is upon us. But as you know, dear readers, Halloween is everyday on BishieStyleSL. lol.  I was so lucky to have items 
from three events perfectly suited for our handsome but flawed boy Plague.   ...From the brand new event Camp Syndicate, (which inspired by cabin-in-the-woods slasher horror movies), is the coolest icky scar wound material effect I have ever seen in SL, -- Decay by Cubic Cherry. It's a BOM tattoo layer with 3 layers of bom plus materials effect for EVO X mesh heads. You can adjust the layers to best suit your skintone for max effect. Using well positioned face lights can enhance the effect, I used red and cyan.   ...From the Engine Room is the gorgeous SOMNIUM Automaton MK2 mesh body, with a, 
outer frame and skeletal inner frame. The PBR materials are excellent and it poses well. It comes in 6 different texture styles. I used the black and red Enforcers for this image. Just wonderful.  ... From the Androgyny Event is the Maledictus Lacrimosa BOM makeup style that worked great on my male EvoX mesh head! I love the shadow below the eye, and upper lid with a metallic loud color.  Also at AE is the fun Prismo Aura attachment doubling as DNA molecules in my image. The hovering rocks move, some float, some spin in place. It comes with a texture hud for 8 colors and 7 glow colors.   ...In the background, I used the Ambice Cyber "Nova'' Station, but in my final image, you can barely tell it's still. Still, I wanted to include it and show you what it looks like below in the raw shots. The set is mod, so you can move pieces around or scale it up or down.=.


On him, Plague:
Scar: Cubic Cherry Decay [BOM, Materials](Camp Syndicate)(275L)
Body: SOMNIUM Automaton, Enforcer [mesh](Engine Room)(950L)
Makeup: {maledictus} Lacrimosa, red [BOM] (Androgyny Event)(199L)
Aura: TERIYAKI Prismo [mesh] (Androgyny Event)(499L)
Hair: Dura U122 -A: Men's [mesh]
Head: LeLUTKA Kane Evolution [mesh](3990L)

Setting:
Set: Ambice Cyber "Nova'' Station [mesh]

BONUS IMAGES: inworld raw shot, hi-res, midday sky. Scar shown at midnight with local lights for materials effect.





Saturday, March 29, 2025

Engine Room: Murder at the Cabaret

(click to enlarge)

STORYLINE: The velvet curtains of Le Rouge Noir rippled in a wind that did not belong. Giselle blinked, her vision sharpening against the haze of cigar smoke and dim crimson lights. The club still pulsed with jazz, but the laughter, the music, the warmth of bodies.... None of it touched her.

Then she saw, *him.*

The Master of Ceremony stood before her, his grin too wide, his haunted eyes gleamed like a cat’s in the dark. She saw now, for the first time, he was merely a puppet to a terrifying creature hovering behind him. Beneath the sheen of his silk suit, his skin cracked like old leather, shifting as if something monstrous animated him.

“Darling,” he purred, voice like velvet and decay, “I’m afraid you’re quite dead.”

Giselle staggered back. Her mind screamed that it couldn’t be true, she had just been dancing, drinking, alive.

“But,” the Master continued, stepping closer, the scent of brimstone curling from his lips, “I do love a good game. Solve your murder in three nights, and you may yet waltz out of here breathing.”

His grin widened, revealing teeth too sharp, too many.

“Fail…” He chuckled, low and terrible. “And you’ll dance for me forever.” 

It's time to go back to the past that never was, Engine Room has returned! This post was inspired by a story I wrote while on hiatus, and the awesome cabaret and burlesque themed items this round.   ...The spooky monster head Arges is by Lightwood. The eye is animated, and comes in several colors. It's meant to replace your normal head. However for my image idea, I combined it with the bento animated Ride of Delusion by Contraption, so its looks like a shadow spirit possession.  ...Talk about spooky, I felt like a ventriloquist doll in this amazing Caberet style makeup for men by Somnium. It has an old feel with parts of the makeup cracked. Comes with brow and mustache and without. This rare gem of a retro male makeup is a free gift at the Engine Room too! The beautiful and versatile tuxedo set by Somnium is great for many occasions. It includes bowtie, shirt, vest, tailcoat, pants and the hud includes 7 textures options for each area of the suit so you can mix and match colors, (including dusty and bloodsplatter).   ... The Hunter's Handbook by Static is very fun. It's wearable as a necklace, and then you can trigger a pose for it to be worn in your hand as if reading it. Its has fits for men and women, and an unrigged version. It comes in 3 colors.   The prosthetic hand is by Cabalpier. In PBR and nonPBR versions, with both style and texture options. It's unrigged so you can display it too!  ...I used the handy Contraption Dapper gloves which include an alpha to hide one hand's glove. ...The spooky haunted eyes are by Hallbourne. I love black sclera eyes for that extra spooky look.   ...The Burlesque club setting is by Paparazzi. (Thanks for your help on the set, Akira!)

On Him:
Monster head: Lightwood Arges Head Inferno Black Chains [mesh](Engine Room)(399L)
Makeup: SOMNIUM Maestro Makeup - Brows/Mustache, ears  [mesh](Engine Room)(gift)
Outfit: SOMNIUM Maestro's Aria set, Legacy (PBR)[mesh](Engine Room)(850L)
Eyes: Hellbourne :H: Thaumaturgy Eyes, White [mesh](Engine Room)(275L)
Book: Static Hunter's Handbook [Bento][mesh](Engine Room)(325L)
Hand: CABALPIER Dead Hand M6, Male (PBR)[mesh](Engine Room)(425L)
Pet: Contraption Ride of Delusion *rdeath [Bento](500L)
Gloves: Contraption Dapper Dandy's Gloves Legacy M [mesh](350L)
Shoes: Muho Zas Shoes, black, LegacyM [mesh](90L)
Hair: Volkstone Ryot ll Hairbase / Black [BOM](199L)
Head: LeLUTKA Kane Evolution [mesh](3990L)
Pose: Puppets World trust me m k f (35L)

Setting:
Set: Paparazzi BACKDROP - Burlesque [mesh](350L)

BONUS IMAGE: inworld raw shot, midday sky