Gregt but Not 2: Diminished (2) (Patreon)

AU: Non-canon details for Warhammer 40k Tyranid units.

-VB-

GBN 2
Diminished (2)

Being a Tyranid Lictor came with new heightened senses. I saw farther, smelled deeper, tasted more, and struck harder.

My sight was not limited to a human’s visible spectrum. I even named a color that was a red redder than red yet bordering on black and then less yet more. I didn’t quite know how to express it. It was, after all, a new color for humans. After all, if you didn’t know what color “puce” was, then you couldn’t tell what was “puce.” Similarly, my newly named “sarm” was also similar. I could tell people about “sarm” but could anyone tell what color it was until they see it?

And considering that nearly one hundred percent of humanity cannot…

If my sight was esoteric, then my new sense of smell bordered on psychedelic. I could smell bacon from ten miles away. I smelled bacon everywhere! But the good part was that I could tell the distance of those sources by the intensity of the smell, not perhaps to the exact feet, but within visual sight at least.

Yeah, that was a doozy.

Taste in everything was simply more. There wasn’t more I could say about that.

And perhaps the detail most relevant to the cape scene: I struck hard. Breaking a brick wall was not a problem. Breaking a person was not a problem.

Trashing a car? It would happen by accident if Lictors weren’t so stealth-focused and, as such, really careful about the effects of their actions.

Yes, I was strong.

And I think punting gangsters that force drugs on kids was a good way to put that superstrength to use.

So that’s what I did on the second night of my patrol. I found Squealer’s Tinker workshop with the rest of their cape roster in it as well, and took the fight to them.

No, I didn’t charge in.

No, I didn’t challenge them in the open.

I did what Lictors do.

I snuck in.

I killed silently, leaving no trace of my victim (usually by swallowing them whole). I made my way through the Merchant’s fortress, the old and dysfunctional lighthouse that once shined for the sake of boats, as silently as the landing of downy feathers upon sand. I found the capes as surely as I found their stashes of components, money, and drugs.

My clawed hands approached inebriated Skidmark and Mush from behind.

And then snapped their heads off.

Squealer hurt the spewing of blood and whirled around, and then squealed when she saw her “Skiddy” dead.

Before she could do anything, I was upon her.

Crunch.

She tasted horrible.

Her body fell to the floor, and silence returned to the room. There was no one to sound the alarm; I’ve already killed them all.

Sniffing, I walked over to Skidmark. Staring down at his body, I wondered if eating him wouldn’t hurt me …

I mean he just looked so …

…

Yeah, probably not a good idea. Diseased meat was a thing, and even if Tyranids didn’t get quite as sick as other races, I didn’t want to go through the trouble of eating sick meat in the first place.

Ignoring Mush and Skidmark’s bodies, I walked over to the safe and pried the hatch open.

Money spilled out, and I gathered them up in a bag and left the place, ignoring all of the components and the drugs.

My travel back home was done silently with me using my body to hide the bag of money while the body itself camouflaged into the night. I jumped between buildings, and the only sign that I was there was the very slight tremors that I left with my jumps.

When I came back home, I deposited the bag of money underneath my bed and then walked down to the basement.

Still in my Lictor form, I regurgitated all of the digested biomass onto the floor and allowed my Tyranid instincts to … get to work.

-VB-

In my sleep, my body tried to identify the function of the Corona Gemma. It made no sense. My body tried to make sense of it but I put a stop to it; it was a useless endeavor, so there was no need to waste even an iota of more energy into its mysteries. Once I ate a proper shard, I would have it anyways.

I woke up the next day to the “smiling” faces of Tyranid Rippers. I felt all of their minds in my mind, and knew that they would not harm me. After all, if they meant me harm, then I would be dead.

I sat up, ignoring the sticky substance similar to Zerg’s creep - except it was red - and briefly examining myself to confirm that nothing about my human-Greg form had changed. After that, I turned my attention to the Rippers.

Unlike the standard Tyranid Rippers, my Rippers possessed three key differences. First, their mouths were not the hinged jaw armed with sharp teeth but lamprey-like suckers that dilated and constricted. It was also rimmed with a lot of serrated teeth for maximum bleeding. Second, their hindlegs and forelimbs were of similar size and build yet vastly thicker and longer than the stubby things standard Tyranid Rippers used as arms. Third and lastly, the tips of their arms were armed with claws.

All in all, my Rippers were nasty pieces of work just like the standard Rippers.

I loved them.

Now, I was going to put them to use. Who to use them on? Who to use them on? Merchants are already gone at my hands, which left me with the Azn Bad Boyz, Undersiders, Empire Eighty-Eight, New Wave, Parahuman Response Team and Protectorate East-North-East, Faultline’s Crew, and Coil.

…

…

Actually, I don’t think I can win against Coil, not like this. He would simply choose a timeline where he got away. Plus, I didn’t even know what he looked like or where he lived. Undersiders were even worse in that regard; their hideout was just that: a hideout. Unknown to those not in their team or in Coil’s employee.

New Wave… their addresses were well known.

I also highly doubted that PRT ENE would look too much into a crime scene if the scene in question looked like Slaughterhouse Nine’s work.

… But why go after New Wave?

I knew that I had to question myself.

New Wave was a hero group. They improved the situation of the bay. That was an improvement for me - in the short term that I remained humanoid and not under attack by the government for my power.

… Actually, in that regard, why would keeping heroes around be beneficial for me when they would inevitably come after me for being myself? Heroes did that, especially the kind of heroes that Victoria Dallon and Carol Dallon were. Miss Militia would come after me, too. Armsmaster would see glory in my decapitated head. The Wards would see monsters.

I realized now that heroes are not my friends.

Heroes are not my allies.

“Then they only deserve to be food…”

But didn’t they deserve to know why I might be after them? Could I not simply ask them to step aside? After all, I would only go after villains if I can help it.

I thought about that.

And then I nodded to myself.

Perhaps I shouldn’t act too hastily in attacking others. I would never have allies or friends, then, even if my upcoming hive would be all I need.

Yes… I would parley with New Wave.

Get it? Parley? Wave?

… Was this why people hated Greg?