Another One Bites The Dust | KyouHaba

Storming The Warehouse

After further investigation, Kyoutani found himself with quite a good file written up on the factory. It had been working for ten years before the owner went bankrupt thanks to loan sharks and had slowly fallen into disrepair over the following twenty years It was meant to be demolished about five years ago but no one seemed to have got around to it. It was four storeys high and had multiple freezing rooms, large shipping containers and old photos he had somehow found on Google showed large machinery: conveyor belts, robotic arms, and the like. Most of the equipment was probably rusty by now and he felt a small wave of relief wash over him that he wouldn't need to worry about contracting tetanus anymore.

He wondered what it would look like in there. If there would be flesh strung on hooks and chains dangling from the ceiling again; if it would be gloomy and dark, to emphasise the freaky shadows; if there would be blood splattered on the floor with a foul smell of copper in the air. Not that he'd be able to smell that anymore. But the thing he found himself thinking about the most was the raised platform, where the stitched-up zombie had been. They were called Frankenstiens, officially: Kyoutani had found that out after turning to Yahaba's necromancy books.

Frankenstiens, when built correctly, were true monsters. No pain, no fear, no guilt. They had superhuman strength, easily able to overpower any abile or potente that stepped against them. Fully completing one beyond just muscular structure was more of a novelty, it seemed. Apparently, a Frankenstein didn't actually need skin. No zombie did. The dead could keep going without their body intact, it seemed. They were invincible against basic attacks. The only things that appeared to work were fire, water, or carnamancy.

It turned out any form of necromancy that wasn't cast by the reviver was ineffective. When he told that snippet of information to Yahaba, the silver-haired man simply shrugged.

"So? I'm a carnamancer first, necromancer second. I don't know enough necromancy to do damage to a Frankenstein anyways, no matter how shittily made."

Kyoutani hummed, scrolling once more through the information on the factory. "Fair enough. You've got your tetanus shot, right?"

"Yes," Yahaba sat on the table, putting his crossbow on his lap, the weapon not yet loaded. "Wouldn't matter anyways, I'm sure I could manage something like that in my own body long enough to get to the Sanctuary."

"Did you stop off at your flat to grab that?" Kyoutani asked, eyeing the crossbow.

"Mhm. Fetched your old pistols too," Said Yahaba, rooting in his pocket to toss out two glocks.

The zombie grinned as he picked them up, finding they slipped into his hands naturally, like water. "Oh, I missed these babies. I thought I'd never see them again."

"I found them when I was clearing up your place," Yahaba commented calmly, slipping a bolt into the crossbow. "Thought I'd hold onto them in case you ever came back."

"I'm glad you did!" Kyoutani flashed him a grin. "I've been punching things for too long."

Yahaba scoffed, "Oh, you love punching things, don't lie. They're all loaded for you, and you could probably grab a belt of ammo from the weaponry wing if you feel like it."

Kyoutani closed the laptop and stood. "Yeah, I'll do that now. Do we have a team?"

"Four aquamancers and fifteen Guardians patrol outside, we head in with a team of five other National Detectives pairs."

"Anyone we know?"

Yahaba shook his head, clipping the crossbow into it's holster that was hidden by his bomber jacket. "No. Or at least, I doubt you would know them. Might recognise a few from training."