*Into the medbay come roughly a dozen Zoanthropes, holding the bodies of both Ochita and Dariel, each in a psychically-generated bubble of biomass. Their living crystal-flesh automatically regenerates, gaping the spans of wounds within their glass-like shells. They remain inert, floating gently, as their bubbles are deposited in an empty space, the brain-bugs keeping them shaped continuously. The Tyrant then rises from against the wall, and walks over to Ochita's ethereal tank, removing its faceplate with one hand, using it to gesture and aid its declamatory endeavor:*
T: "Twenty little Indians went out to dine;
One choked his little self and then there were ninet'n."
*It then moves over to the beds, looming above Amy.*
T: "Nineteen little Indians sat up very late;
One overslept hirself and then there were eight'n."
*As it steps to Jon's bed it then recites:*
T: "Eighteen little Indians travelling in Devon;
One said he'd stay there and then there were sev'nt."
*It now turns on its heels, towards Dariel and speaks:*
T: "Seventeen little Indian boys chopping up sticks;
One chopped himself in half and then there were sixt'."
*And, finally, at the foot of Nysa's bed,*
T: "Sixteen little Indians playing with a hive;
A bumblebee stung one and then there were five't."
T: "...sad, isn't it? It is, however, likely that the... organics will recover. As to the two tiberium-based... patients, only time will tell. That crystal is a strange substance indeed. Quite stubborn and sturdy. I doubt life made from it will extinguish so swiftly... so we may still hope."
*Finally, it stops before Yumiko, and bows its four meter height, gaze held down, saying:*
T: "I do not believe I have had the honor... though on some level you seem... familiar..."
T: "I am a so called Tyranid Hive Tyrant. A thousand bodies and a single will, though this one I find most fitting to interact with others. Who would you be, to come here so suddenly, so undetected, when my selves swarm and teem below the ground? A vision of purity for us to hope to reach? Or are you a phantasm, of our most noble hopes given fleeting shape?
*It raises its massive head, and grins at her, countless bolt-like teeth shining in the light.*
Author
Topic: The Land of Lost Dimensions. (Read 650761 times)