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Mortuus Orbis	By : Sparrow & InBrightestDay Category: -Misc Video Games/RPGs > Crossovers Views: 3538 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the franchises, characters, or anything else from the settings in this collection. These include Street Fighter, Marvel, Sailor Moon, Kill La Kill, and others. I made no money from this work.

Chapter List
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As she made her way down to the operating room, Isabeau couldn’t help but help but think that it was never really quiet in the bunker.
It seemed that way, admittedly, when one compared it to having the night watch, where there was nothing to do but sit in the cramped lookout they had made in the building over the entrance, trying to ignore the freezing cold and listening to the city’s nightmare chorus, but even down here, beneath dozens of meters of steel and concrete, it wasn’t completely quiet. She could hear the gurgling of the hot water pipes, the hiss of the radiators, the occasional thumping sound from the vents. The noise from the vents was particularly strange to her. Apparently there was a device called an “air purifier” that drew in air from outside, cleaned it, and blew it throughout the bunker. It seemed to do its job well enough, but the sounds it made from time to time could be rather alarming.
There was quite a bit of technology like that, of course, the air purifier, the electric stove Makoto used, and the strange weapons that they had found stacked in crates as though waiting for them, with names stamped on them that Isabeau didn’t recognize, that were like and yet unlike what she knew from her own world. Isabeau was currently carrying one of those, in fact, the weight of the weapon slung over shoulder a constant companion.
Then there were the people, equally curious, from nations and worlds beyond what she had ever imagined was possible. It still made her head spin to think about it. She had found herself inescapably connected to some of the new arrivals. Given her wealth of experience and her extensive knowledge of the languages of the Empire and its trading partners, Isabeau found herself operating as a translator for new arrivals who struggled with English, as per Ash’s instructions. It had actually had some enjoyable results, as young Makoto was pleasant to talk to, and being able to speak in her native tongue seemed to make the girl more comfortable around Isabeau than most.
Still, she mused, whatever benefits Ash’s directive had wrought, she didn’t think she’d ever get used to serving under women. Especially since Ash didn’t seem to be handling her position as the team’s leader particularly well. Her continued insistence on a rational explanation for their circumstances seemed more and more irrational in and of itself as their situation grew ever stranger, and Isabeau couldn’t help but feel that Ash was straining to hold onto control, not of the group, but of herself.
It was, perhaps, inevitable. While there was the odd exception (such as Isabeau herself, and of course the Queen), women in general really weren’t made for positions of authority, and being forced into an unnatural role had its consequences.
Then there were the new arrivals to deal with. While she appreciated the need for a larger force, this was still somewhat frustrating. Isabeau made a mental note to keep her eye on the two new Oriental women, especially the one who had claimed to be a policewoman.
Isabeau had ducked into the shower room to call anyone there to dinner, and had come face-to-face with a naked Chun-Li, still towelling herself dry. The sight was imprinted onto Isabeau's memory, for all that it had only lasted seconds before she had ducked back out in embarrassment.
Chun-Li was fearsomely beautiful in the regal, haughty way that Oriental women were. She had a smooth, oval-shaped face, big brown eyes the colour of melted chocolate, and long black hair that, still wet from the shower, had looked like a waterfall of ink pouring down over her shoulders. Visible under her soft golden skin were muscles that would put a navvy to shame, her legs and thighs especially so thick they looked almost as wide as her waist, and yet her breasts were round and pert like grapefruit, each crowned with a bright pink teat like a fresh rosebud.
Isabeau remembered the courtesans she had seen in Nanking, when she and her father had gone there to ensure the peace treaty was signed, the ones the sailors had called Sing-Song Girls because of how they sang to try and attract noblemen to take them as concubines. If Chun-Li had been there, she thought, then the Emperor himself probably would have asked for her.
She shook herself, trying to dispel the image of Chun-Li’s nakedness from her mind. There at least was a benefit of Ash being in charge, it would confound any attempts at seduction. Nonetheless, Isabeau resolved to make sure they didn’t get up to any mischief behind her back.
A more pressing concern, she thought with a frown, was that of the nigger woman who she had seen getting overly friendly with the boy Harry. She needed to step in there fast, before the girl got her hooks too deep into him. It was never pleasant to watch miscegenation in progress, especially with a boy so young. The sheer audacity of the other “black widow” made Isabeau’s lip curl in disgust.
And, of course, there was the reporter, O’Neil. Isabeau didn’t know exactly when, or what form it would take, but bringing a mick in was going to cause trouble. She made another mental note to make sure to keep any supplies of alcohol they found in the Bunker as far away from O’Neil as she could.
Thinking about the Irishwoman, or the American, or whatever she was, made Isabeau’s mood darken further. It wasn’t even because of something that O’Neil herself had done, but more how when Isabeau had left the kitchen, the journalist had been deep in animated discussion with Moon, the other Oriental woman. O’Neil had been talking about something called a ‘zombie movie’, and for a moment Isabeau had wanted to ask her what such a thing was before she had remembered her sense of propriety.
The word was at least familiar to her; ‘zombi’ being what the Haitian houngan and mambo sorcerors had called the people whose minds they had enslaved with their magic. Isabeau had fought such creatures more than once over the course of her long life, but she had no idea what a ‘movie’ was. Some sort of play, maybe? A magic lantern show? Why someone would make such a thing about the zombi was beyond her ken.
It seemed trivial, but the thought had followed her out of the kitchen, and it was only now that she realised why it was bothering her. It was the same problem she had had with all the kitchen machines that Makoto recognised on sight, there was so little she had in common with any of these people. It was like they were from another world to her, one that she knew nothing of.
Would they recognise any of the things she thought as commonplace, she wondered. The Concert of Europe, the Half-Breeds, the Order, the Court of Mordred, the Hecate Sisters, and all the other arcane beings of the world. Even their attitudes towards each other were so different. Isabeau had heard that after the civil war, some of formerly rebel American states had passed laws introducing segregation of the races, but none of them had batted an eyelash at spending time around the Negro girl and the Chinese woman. It was all so confusing. Even Carol, the only other woman here who seemed to be British, treated Isabeau like she were some kind of strange beast, regarding her cautiously from a distance, and when pressed mentioning things and people that didn’t make the slightest bit of sense.
Personal space was at a premium in the small corner of the bunker they had claimed as their own, and yet Isabeau didn’t think she had ever felt so alone.
Blinking, she realised that she had arrived at the operating room, and after opening the door went inside to where Doctor Báthory was finishing putting all of her tools in place.
“Dinner is nearly ready,” Isabeau said. “We’re going to be having it in the common room.”
The one person Isabeau thought she might feel comfortable around was the doctor. True, Erzsebet’s… eccentric nature and odd sense of humor could be a little much sometimes, but at the same time the woman had a sense of real discipline to her, and that was something Isabeau was sorely grateful for after how uncouth the others were.
Moreover, she felt as though Báthory understood things the same way as she did. Isabeau hadn’t yet worked up the courage to ask her directly, but the woman seemed to want to keep most of the others at arm’s length, yet had the rare distinction of being the only one of them who could coax Satsuki into actual conversation. Strangely, however, Makoto didn’t seem to like the doctor very much, and had actually seemed frightened of her more than once. Isabeau wanted to ask her about it, but given the girl’s fragile mental state it probably was best to let her get to it in her own time.
At the moment, Báthory was over at a large sink, finishing rinsing off some of her tools, and turned back to look at Isabeau.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” she said. “By the way,” she rattled one of the taps, which produced nothing but a coughing, gurgling noise. “We seem to have lost the hot water.”
“I’ll make sure to collar someone later and inspect the water main with them,” Isabeau replied.
“Very well,” Erzsebet said, nodding. Stepping away from the sink, she went to pull off the thick gloves she had been using during the dissection. Idly Isabeau caught sight of her notebook lying on a nearby table, and flipped it open, scanning the contents.
“Hm,” she made a noise of mild curiosity, only to look up when Erzsebet leaned over and flicked it shut again.
“What?” said Erzsebet, her cold blue eyes narrowing at Isabeau.
“Oh, I was just curious,” replied Isabeau. “I thought you said you were Hungarian. Why write all your notes in German?”
“...I went to university in Bavaria,” Erzsebet said, after a moment’s pause. “Had to learn German while I was there, and I guess the habit of writing in it stuck.”
“I know how that can be,” Isabeau said with a rueful smile. “I swear, sometimes my dreams are in three different languages, four if I’m unlucky.”
Erzsebet chuckled companionably, though Isabeau noticed she never broke eye contact. She shook her head.
“I’ll be going back to the others now. Don’t stay here too long, you don’t want it to get cold.”
*
Leaving the operating room behind, Isabeau headed back down the long, concrete halls, making her way toward the common room. She had to admit, she was rather interested in what Makoto’s concoction was actually going to taste like.
She had made it most of the way back, in fact, when the door to the dormitory area burst open, and Tania stumbled out, dripping wet and completely naked, looking nervously back the way she had come.
“Do you mind?” Isabeau said, averting her eyes. “I don’t very well know what 2099 is like, but here we still have some level of common decency, and I would appreciate if you not run around the bunker in—”

“I-In there!” Tania shrieked, cutting across her, seeming almost wild with panic. “She’s got Harry!”
Isabeau didn’t know precisely who she was talking about, but it didn’t matter. Unshouldering her rifle and checking that her sidearm and long knife were loose in their holster and scabbard respectively, she advanced on the door Tania had come from. Adrenaline crackled through her body, her finger hovering over the trigger of her rifle as she tried to remind herself how much lighter the pull was on these strange automatic rifles.
Punching the switch to open it, she moved inside.
Isabeau smelled it first, blood, and rot, and a reek coming from inside that for a moment catapulted her back years when, at the height of summer, a stench to make the nose bleed had risen from the Thames. Isabeau almost thought she felt the sun beating down on the back of her neck for a second as the stink made her gag, then the moment was gone and she swept up her weapon.
She saw what must be generating the foul miasma, a woman straddling the small, mangled form that lay on the blood-soaked bed in the center of the room. The knight snarled out loud, and the woman whipped around, grey lips peeling back from crimson-stained teeth as what had been Natalia Romanova caught sight of her.
The emotion generated by seeing the poor boy lying mutilated and devoured between the zombie’s thighs must have got to Isabeau more than she’d thought it would, for her first burst was slightly to the right of dead-center. As it was, the bullets still blew the side of the dead woman’s skull off in a shower of shattered skull fragments and matted clumps of hair. She pitched off the bed, overbalanced by the impact, and slammed to the floor.
Isabeau didn’t hesitate, horror at the boy’s gruesome demise and the twisted monster that the other woman had become pushed to the back of her mind as she advanced, firing a burst into base of the zombie’s spine as it tried to push itself up. The creature continued to writhe around until Isabeau put another burst into the back of its head, blasting the former spy’s head into a wet pulp. It immediately went slack, and the knight took a step back, looking to Tania in the doorway.
“Watch out!” Tania called, anxiously watching her dead counterpart as the corpse began to shudder afresh. “She’s got these worm things-”
As though they’d been waiting for their cue, a host of squirming, coiling intestines burst from the dead woman’s back, spraying foul juices everywhere as they lashed around with fanged maws, searching for their tormentor.
The colour seemed to drain from the world, Isabeau suddenly feeling as though her every sense had been sharpened to the very finest edge, everything slowing to a crawl before her. The tentacles went from thrashing so wildly the eye could not follow to moving as though through treacle.
She knew what this was. The Blacksight. When for a moment a knight of the Order let go the limitations of ordinary humanity and moved so fast that the world around them seemed almost to stand still.
Isabeau shifted her grip on the rifle, hearing its frame creak beneath her fingers, then shredded the first thrashing feeler with a burst of automatic fire. Then the second, and third, switching from one to the other before the first had finished splitting apart like rope unravelling. She worked methodically, every atom of her being focused on her task as she shot them apart, stitching a line down the middle of each tendril so that they seemed to burst apart and shrivel away like plants withering.
Ash had been adamant on what kind of bullets they were to use inside the bunker, something she called ‘hollow-points’. Apparently they wouldn’t ricochet from the concrete and metal walls, minimizing the risk of collateral damage. As Isabeau was discovering, they also worked marvellously for tearing apart the more monstrous creatures that dwelt within the Necropolis.
Time suddenly returned to its normal rate, Isabeau staggering as the focus left her, momentarily dizzy and weak. Fortunately, the tendrils of reanimated gut were now no more than shredded threads of weakly squirming flesh writhing feebly on the corpse’s back. She turned to Tania, standing stunned in the doorway.
“Get on the intercom to Ash and the others,” Isabeau ordered. “We need-“ she broke off, seeing Tania’s attention suddenly moving to the bed. “Ah.”
Two quick strides had her at the foot of the bed, and she wearily drew her rifle back to her shoulder as Harry stirred. His eyes, once a vibrant green, were now pale and empty. Denuded bones audibly clicked together as he sat up and bared bloody teeth in a silent hiss of fury.
Then the bullet hit him between the eyes, blasting the back of his skull out amidst a cloud of pulverized brain matter. He slumped back to the bed, and moved no more.
“Yes,” continued the knight, turning back to Tania as though nothing had happened. “Tell them to get a sack and switch the incinerator on. And, I feel this bears repeating: put some clothes on, for goodness sake.”

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Mortuus Orbis