Cyntha

"That's....a few more limbs than I intended. But eh, what's the difference?!"

A beaten muddy board of oaken wood creaks and bends hopelessly under a gentle rolling footstep. "Oh! Wow. Reaaaaally gotta get the place fixed up, don't I? Hey, you think so too, don'tcha?" a lulling voice asks genuinely, overly-delighted in its intonation for the mundane words being spoken. In the middle of the room, well, more like a basement-gone-makeshift-laboratory truthfully; stands a curiously-dressed girl clad in a charcoal dress, draped with a deceptively cutesy rose-inked ribbon. Even more curious are the pair of jittering, restless, obsidian cat ears that sit atop her head; shaking unsteadily as if practically freezing despite the surrounding air being quite cozy. Her flushed lips curl upwards into a sickly grin, the catgirl's garnet eyes narrowing with a discomforting, predatory glare as she focuses in on her subject.

Therein, centered and lying flat atop a rustic, out-of-date operating table- a chestnut haired girl no older than perhaps twenty some-odd years jostles about. She's bound, strapped *more* than snugly down by a number of chemically treated leathery restraints, one or two of which finding themselves across her plump lips and twitching eyelids to boot. The lush, pillowy, once unsullied milky skin of her arms now bares raw; burning a variety of differing scarlet shades from her fruitless struggles against the biting shackles. A delayed, perhaps last-attempt sound finds it way out of the girl. It's a nightmarish scream, a commendably shrill and primal one that roars loudly despite the leathery barrier.

"My! I give that one a ten for effort! That's the loudest one I've heard in a while. What was your name? Sera? Sarah? I'm pretty sure it was something like that. You're gonna make a great assistant! Yep. I'm not a fan of slackers! And you definitely have the energy we're looking for here." the inky-colored catgirl explains, her grin exploding into a maddening howl of laughter and unintelligible cries. They come to a quiet after some time, "Sorry, sorry, I get a little carried away sometimes. I mean well, I really do. You'll come to learn. Anyway! That's enough of me flapping my gums away. I'm sure you're eager to get started too! So am I!" Peering down for a moment, the catgirl holds up a raised palm, her slim pallor fingers lead upwards into hooklike nails that glint off of the gentle beams of moonlight which dare to naively poke their way through small scuffed up window-panes adorining the very tops of the cemented basement walls.

Whispy, ashen strands of "smoke" gather from seemingly nowhere inside the laboratory, they swirl about in the upwards palm; coalescing and condensing all at once into the form of an ebony surgical scalpel. Its tip shimmers ominously, just from one glance anyone familiar with these tools could discern that this one was atypical. The edges were *too* keen, even for a surgical instrument- this would find its way -through- flesh rather than -across- it with more ease than a whirring bullet does through paper. "Okie dokie! Let's get started!"

...

An agent adorning a standard white dress-shirt takes a lengthy drag of his cigarette, sighing tensely whilst exhaling tiny plumes of smoke that whisk off into the air of the reticent office and disappate; leaving only the acrid smell of tobacco behind. He ruffles his unkempt hair, the strands of which prod out in seemingly impossible ways, and mouses over a set of documents followed by an innocent *click*.

-[SUBJECT] CAPTURED SUCCESSFULLY IN [REDACTED] FOREST AFTER PROLONGED SEARCH, [REDACTED] LIVES LOST IN THE PROCESS.

-[SUBJECT]'S PRESENCE APPEARS TO ADVERSELY AFFECT THE MINDS OF PERSONNEL, RECOMMEND CHANGING GUARDS EVERY HOUR AT THE LATEST.

-WE HAVE QUESTIONED SUBJECT ON THE METHODOLOGY OF REANIMATING DEAD TISSUE BUT THEY REMAIN UNCOOPERATIVE.

-[SUBJECT] REITERATES THAT THEY WILL ONLY COMMUNICATE IF PROVIDED WITH CELLMATES, PENDING LEGISLATION FROM ADMINISTRATION ABOUT UTILIZING DEATH ROW PRISONERS FOR THIS PURPOSE.

-INMATES HAVE DISAPPEARED DESPITE CONSTANT VISUAL AND AUDITORY MONITORING, CAMERAS AND MIROPHONES DISPLAY A 20 MINUTE GAP. NO TRACES OF STRUGGLE INSIDE THE CONTAINMENT CHAMBER.

-[REDACTED FACILITY] HAS FALLEN, PERSONNEL OVERWHELMED BY WHAT ADMINISTRATION HAS DUBBED "THE REANIMATED". [SUBJECT] HAS ESCAPED, WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN. FURTHER INVESTIGATION PENDING.

-A MESSAGE INSCRIBED ON THE WALLS OF THE CONTAINMENT CHAMBER UTILIZING FLUIDS OF PERSONNEL SPEAKS TO A POSSIBLE GOAL OF [SUBJECT] ATTEMPTING TO REUNITE WITH THEIR "BROTHER", SECONDARY INVESTIGATION ON THIS INDIVIDUAL PENDING. THREAT LEVEL UNKOWN.

....

"Celie, sissy misses you!" Cyntha cries almost orgasmically, hot gusts of air furling lewdly across her lips. Her face is coated, smeared across with a thick sheen of viscous red glaze. A blood-curdling raspy moan exits from behind the catgirl in the shadows- a young woman with barren greyed orbs for eyes and dead-wheat colored hair and mindlessly lurches forward.

Quick Stats:

Age: 19

Gender: Female

Race: Cat-girl/Eldritch

Height: 5 feet 6 inches

Powers: Weapon materialization, regeneration (so long as a single cell remains), mind-alteration (degradation of sanity and logic/reason of victims), necromancy, enhanced speed and strength (especially upon the ingestion of blood).

Relationships(* indicates a canon relationship):

An_IRL_Cat Alt.