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| Sanitarium - Welcome home; Open | |
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| Topic Started: Jan 1 2009, 05:27 PM (1,328 Views) | |
| Colossus | Jan 1 2009, 05:27 PM Post #1 |
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Unregistered
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Time of Day: 10:02am Place in the timeline: December 27th Location: Solitary and Grounds Had it been a week? Twelve days? There really was no telling when there was no one to talk to, nothing to pass the time... not even any light or a way to tell if it was night or day in the world outside the little 10'x15' darkened cell. There was only one way to tell... but even the amount of times bread and water thrown through a partially open door twice a day tended to bleed together after the first week of solitary confinement. Laying on his back on the hard concrete floor of his holding cell, Piotr Rasputin was beginning to think that he was a much more social creature than he'd originally assumed. Day after day of hearing absolutely nothing was getting to him... no laughter or shouting or name-calling; he would have even settled for hearing the spin of an air conditioning fan. The claustrophobia had set in a long time ago as the oppressive silence began to feel more and more like he was shut in a small box filled with cotton balls – slowly smothering in the quiescent dark. He knew it was all in his head... that he had plenty of air and that he would be leaving this cell soon, but it was getting hard to think straight while going over the attack formations he had been taught in English again. Rubbing his eyes wearily, Colossus continued, “Echo twelve...” He pictured the formation in his head and how it was supposed to work, imagining himself in the attack formation taking point in an effort to penetrate an imaginary enemy. “Kilo seven,” Now he was acting as more of a wall, keeping close to those he was assigned to protect or watch over while making sure any enemies stayed just out of his arms' reach. Suddenly, the pop of a security door made him flinch as it pulled him from his thoughts... was it breakfast again already? Piotr didn't bother to move... there was no point. However, unlike the normal routine of opening the door just enough to send the prison food flying in the hold, the door was flung wide open, flooding it with light Pete hadn't seen in who knew how long. As the prisoner rose into a sitting position, throwing an arm up to shield the light from his overly- sensitive eyes as someone's silhouette slid in the doorway. “Two-two-seven, you know how long it's been,” the guard asked. “Two weeks,” he asked as he ventured a peek from behind the large forearm. “That's right. And why're you in here?” “For hitting a guard,” Colossus responded simply. “Yep... and the standard down time is two weeks in the hole.” Pete slowly began to rise to his feet. “Hold on there, pal. Turns out you shattered his jaw and he's gonna have to be eating out of a straw for a while. That's earned you another week.” Pete's brow furrowed with confusion; he hadn't thought he'd hit the man that hard. Without another word being said, the door was thrown shut, once again plunging the room into utter darkness. Peter merely hung his head in dejection, “Huieplet.” --------------------------------- January 3rd – 10:00am “Seventy-two... seventy-three... seventy-four... seventy-five...” Another week in complete darkness... left alone with nothing to keep him occupied except his own mind. Merely counting numbers in English or going over the alphabet hadn't been enough anymore; now every number was occupied by a military push-up, sit-up, or even doing shoulder presses while standing on his hands. Trying to exhaust himself physically was the only thing he found that kept him from going insane in total sensory deprivation. Unfortunately... that came at a cost – his stomach was constantly rumbling as more energy was used during his workout and he ate every meal of bread and water with unbridled desperation. After what he thought to be the fourth day, he had to cut back on the work-out... surely they would let him out of here soon so that he could rejoin the others and get something decent – at least decent compared to bread and water. “Eighty-seven... eighty-eight... eighty-nine...” Once again, the door popped and flooded the room once more with bright light that was too sensitive for Piotr's eyes; this time he kept staring at the gray floor as he continued through his push-ups. “Inmate two-two-seven, lets go.” An orange jumpsuit was tossed on the floor in front of him, as he pushed up for the ninety-fourth time, pausing to look at the clothing. It would feel good to wear after three weeks of complete nudity with nothing to sleep on but the hard concrete floor. Standing to his feet, he gave the guard in the doorway a glance, hesitating before actually making a move for the garment... not quite sure if he was ready to believe he was about to be released. “Lets go. We don't have all day.” Pete bend down and picked up the large suit, “Spasiba.” Ten minutes later, he was escorted out into the Grounds where the majority of the prisoners had been released for the next two hours before lunch – something he was very much looking forward to. His blue eyes scanned the area briefly before falling to the ground as he took several steps forward, away from the two guards in sentinel armor who had escorted him out of cell block F. He found a table close to one of the walls with what looked like half a deck of playing cards and sat down at it, slowly reaching to snag the top card away from the rest and turn it over, gazing at the picture with keen interest. His eyes took on a certain hardness; three weeks in the hole didn't happen without leaving an impression, yet he had no regret at all for what he had done. In fact, he was glad the guard would not be able to eat anything normal again for a while. No one should hit a woman... regardless of where or who she was. |
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| Saint | Jan 1 2009, 07:09 PM Post #2 |
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Hypnosis / Psionic Bolts
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It had only been a short time since they had managed to get captured and yet Saint had no clue on how long. For a few days he had been moved from location to location as they made their way over to C.A.G.E, every few moments of his waking moments interrupted due to another needle being injected, filling him with enough sedatives that he wouldn't be any trouble. Rage had been taken elsewhere after he thought was the fourth stop, but he had arrived alive to the prison. Magneto had been right about almost everything. After he had been harshly awoken by a smack to the face from one of the more beefier guards, he had been subjected to several tests by the medical staff to see if he could cope without his mutations and still live. Blood had been extracted, DNA checked, tox studies run, but he must have come out clean due to no futher actions. Shortly after he had been taken out, sprayed down, checked for anything he could bring in by a rough full body search and his short hair made even shorter by a buzz-cut, leaving his scalp roughly covered. As soon as he had been made aware of what was going on, they had attached a null-braclet to him, like a common dog being made to heel on a leash. "First things first, scumbag. You no longer have a name, you are inmate 199. Second thing, the rules are do what the guards tell you and you won't end up in solitary. Your powers are now useless, and will remain so during your time here, which according to your record is likely to be the rest of your life, if you last that long. You have been shown where your cell is, recieved all your belongings you will have here and have been registered. Lunch is in two hours, till then you will be in the Grounds. Try not to piss off the other prisoners, we don't want to be cleaning you off the walls on your first day. Welcome 199, to the rest of your life" With that Saint was more or less dumped at the front of the grounds, feeling a lot more less stronger than he had when he had started here. But he had been chosen for this and he would suffer it for the reasons. All he had was to stay alive long enough at first. He started to walk through the area, making deliberate decisions to avoid. He passed mutants of various size, colour and body shape, feeling most of their gazes pass over him as he moved, wondering if they were sizing him up or just looking straight through him. Kyle had seen enough prison movies to know that if he didn't get on the right side of people, he wasn't going to do well in C.A.G.E. But he had a plan at first. The more noticable he was the more of a target he would be to the others. Stay under the radar and get by un-noticed. Then when he gained enough safety, make his moves. Slowly making his way across the ground, he reached the opposite wall, stopping to lean against the wall and survey the grounds. Near him was a large man who Saint glanced at as he leaned, who was not fat but muscular, an unknown air around him. Saint didn't know anything about the people, but he knew that this guy would be used a lot in prison as a strong guy, his size making him an asset or even a gang leader. All prisons had gangs, but in a mutant prison, he doubted that the normal racist dividings would apply. He had to figure them out and fast. |
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| Blackout | Jan 2 2009, 01:01 AM Post #3 |
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Unregistered
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There wasn’t much left of anything anymore, not anything that really made sense, and didn’t disintegrate like the rest of the world did every night. The only things that remained were gunmetal grey and a sea of orange, and numbers-- that was all that life really was now, lines and symbols and colours… and a whole lot of insane introspection, of word bubbles and white noise. Lucian sat on a table, because what else was there to do? He would count the heads of inmates, the same scruff-slicked empty heads, starting over when his mind tripped up over the medication or stumbled on the end of a misplaced digit. The lighting irritated him; it was a stark glaring lump of hard radiation that had no mercy for those beneath it. It would bite right into your eyes and chew into the retinas so it felt as though there were daggers spiking into your brain… although there was something strangely masochistic about it, and he’d roll his neck and stare right up at those insipid strips that lurched across the expansive ceiling, until lines had burned themselves behind his eyelids. There were new heads to count today. A skinny, pretty piece of meat and someone else he hadn’t yet seen beyond the distant shape of a crisp new jumpsuit, and they had already blended into the background. The Russian, the stoic one, had been recently thrust back into society, too- Lucian had noticed, since he made it his business to notice things, even if reality was made blurry by whatever shit they stuck into his veins. At least it was better than acting like a complete freak, although even that had its interesting points. There was always the daily invasion of his cell and the ruthless stabbing of whatever it was they were using to administer his meds —something that looked like it had been pulled off the set of a Star Trek movie— and he’d leer at the staff and say something clever, and they would ignore him so hard that it was obvious that they weren’t really ignoring him. There were some days, bad days, that he wondered why they didn’t just throw him into the psychiatric section… but the curiosity was generally dampened by a certain amount of cynicism, since it wasn’t that much of a stretch to consider the possibility that the guards just wanted to see what would happen if they left him in with the other, more stable inmates. Of course, the term ‘stable’ in of itself was relative, and he was only crazy without his powers; sure, in here that was a given, but still… he had a valid reason behind being certifiable, whereas the other idiots were just plain nuts. Then again, it all came down to semantics. Today was a regular day. A regular day full of orange and grey and numbers, although Lucian found himself compelled to move once he spotted inmate two-two-seven sitting all alone. Luc had enjoyed his conversations with the muscle-bound European, before he had been packed away into the lonely dark of solitary. This one had one of those exceedingly long fuses, and striking a flint at it never grew tiring. The ones that didn’t budge… that had the thickest concrete walls, which were lined with tougher skin… they usually fell the hardest- snapped the loudest, and it was amusing trying to see exactly where the weakest threads lay. He found his way to Colossus, in that traipsing manner of his, and slid onto the seat opposite. A fingertip drove onto the top of the pile, inching the next thin slice away from the battered half-deck, never looking at it, instead fixing the Russian with a faint, sickly smile. “There’s some blind mice running around today,” the unreadable Brit said in colourless tones, fingering the card with those bony insect fingers, dead-gaze sliding all over Piotr like a greasy rag. |
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| Zeitgeist | Jan 2 2009, 01:20 PM Post #4 |
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Axel Cluney
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The ball was tossed in the air; a twenty six year old man jumped in the air and slammed the ball downward. The orange basketball bounced to the ground as the team, who had just lost groaned, and the other team, the one the young man was on, patted Zeitgeist on the back. His real name was Axel, but he found the name to be dripping with bad luck. If he wasn’t referred to by his number he told everyone his name was Zeitgeist. It had been nearly two and a half years since Prisoner #36 went to the CAGE. During his stay he had made friends, and enemies. And when a fellow inmates pointed out that the ‘Russian Bruiser’ was finally out of solitary, Zeitgeist looked over to see Piotr was in fact out of solitary. Zeit picked up the basketball, dribbled it and slowly made his way to the table. It took him a few minutes to get to the table but when he looked up Axel saw Luc was sitting with him. With a heavy sigh and an eye roll he approached the table. “Being a creepy fuck again, Luc?” Zeitgeist kept dribbling the ball alternating hands as the semi-spherical ball rose up from the ground. There was a lot he wanted to say to the boney inmate. For the most part he held it in, because he knew that Lucian was a sick, twisted, freak. But when you come out of a three week sentence of solitary Axel certainly knew Luc’s face was not the first he’d want to see. |
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| Sack | Jan 3 2009, 10:46 PM Post #5 |
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Unregistered
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He had been sitting on one of the numerous benches provided for inmates to sit on. Next to him, a large, green man whose body seemed to be twisted and gnarled like the roots of trees. It was his boss, the Big Guy, the Man, the Big Cheese. Whatever the fuck you want to call him, that's him -- the guy in charge. Around him were several members of a collective "gang", a term they themselves did not bother to coin. No, they were a new order, a significant rebuilding of society -- a new nation: Gene Nation. Sitting there, Sack's yellow and violet eyes trained themselves upon the basketball game that was just finishing as a well-build man -- fucking good looking one, that ant -- slammed the orange sphere into the net, spiking it down into the ground underneath. He didn't know the guy, he didn't care about his name. The guy was a mutant like everyone else here. What he did, Sack had no idea. Didn't really give a shit either. The guy wasn't part of the Nation; that's all. "I'm gonna play some ball," Sack said with a bemused note, his jell-o-esque figure hopping down, the force of it causing the built regions of his body to ripple and jiggle. That was his bodily structure, a unique protoplasm that held together my psychic energies. Usually, he could make his body amorphous and, well, strangle people to death by laying on them. Now that he was trapped in some outrageously large null-field, his body was restricted to normal human limitions. Fuck. Ing. Humans. The thought of it made his gellatine balls rise up and cough out his throat. Walking towards the guy with the basketball, his stature was noticably shorter than everyone else. That didn't stop him though, he was going to show up this prick and get that ball -- he needed that ball. Wanted to do soemthing with that ball. Juggle it around, whap it, maybe even stroke it some. Oh yeah, that ball. That orange, delicious ba-- oh crap, homoerotic thought processes. Thing boobs, think tits, think sweet ass...! "Hey, White Boy," he called over, still walking towards him. "Stop fucking with the tweak and cough up the ball." Coming to a stop a few feet away, he intruded upon rival territory, for good reason. Yard rules dictated the ball be shared, or shit was gonna start. |
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| Colossus | Jan 8 2009, 07:58 PM Post #6 |
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Unregistered
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He was aware of the person sitting at the table across from him, but didn't bother to even look up and see who it was. It was already evident that it wasn't anyone he really cared to know – a member of his own group would have said something by now... at least given him some kind of greeting in English or his native tongue. The fact that silence reigned for the first few moments was enough to keep Piotr disinterested. Instead, he kept studying the king of diamonds in his hand, gazing at it as if he were looking for some kind of coded message hidden away in the picture. “There’s some blind mice running around today.” His own suspicions were solidified with those words – Lucian. The man delighted in prodding and poking at Colossus, eyeing him as if he were some kind of psychological experiment. Piotr had been in this place long enough to determine that this man, like the majority of those in here, was a bad man who delighted in causing people pain and playing head games. This was someone that the Russian couldn't begin to understand; he wasn't able to fathom what it was that made some men actually want to be cruel. What was it that drove people to seek out the pain of others or go out of their way to make someone feel uncomfortable? He had never seen the attraction in it. Luc was also notorious for play mind games, trying to trap people in their own arguments or turn people's own words against them. Piotr was more of a simple man – he liked facts and honesty over trickery and razor with; his fellow prisoner was intelligent, Pete would give him credit, but it was a twisted, evil form of intelligence that really had no place or use on this planet. Unlike Colossus, Lucian belonged in here. He finally looked up from the card, blank blue eyes meeting that oily gaze, his mouth turning down in a slight frown at the man's 'I-know-something-you-don't' smirk that painted his facial features. He continued to stare in silence, trying to piece together exactly what it was Luc was trying to say to him. Suddenly, a young man standing against the wall not too far away, looking like he didn't belong here, caught his eye. The guy looked like he was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, propped up against the wall like he hadn't a care in the world, but he still stuck out like a sore thumb; all new faces did regardless of how well you tried to blend in. However, he wasn't about to mistake novelty for weakness... every prisoner in the CAGE was more dangerous than the common mutant criminal... no one got sent here for accidentally blowing up a microwave or jaywalking. That's what the Raft was for. He finally met Luc's gaze once again, “Leave me alone, Lucian. I do not care about mice or speaking in riddles.” His tone had only the slightest bite to it; his gaze sharpened, losing some of that dead look as he gave the man a silent challenge. “Being a creepy fuck again, Luc?” A much more welcome voice cut through the atmosphere that had been slowly increasing in intensity; Colossus finally tore his gaze away from Lucian and settled it on one of his fellow gang members and cell neighbor. He didn't offer his friend a smile, but his eyes softened slightly at finally seeing a friendly face for the first time in three weeks. “Lucian was just welcoming me back, Zee. That is all.” He looked back at Lucian, that gaze hardening once more and sending a clear message – back off. "Hey, White Boy... stop fucking with the tweak and cough up the ball." Peter didn't even bother looking in Sack's direction... he had already identified one of the CAGE's louder inmates – a member of Gene Nation. Still meeting Luc's sickly gaze, the large Russian man planted his hands on the table and stood up, letting the folding chair that he had been sitting in slide back as he straightened his knees. “If you will excuse me,” I would like to welcome our new inmate and maybe play some basketball.” As he walked around the table, he laid the card back down on the stack and passed between both Axel and Luc, “It is good to see you both once again.” He made his way over to the new guy, keeping his guard up as he approached him. The man looked ok, but that was never enough to determine how a prisoner of the CAGE would react... after all, Luc was a perfect example of how appearances could be deceiving... he hadn't seemed like much, but Pete had heard that he'd been sent to solitary for stabbing a man in the eye. It didn't take Colossus long to observe the actions of the completely unpredictable psychopath to realize that he couldn't judge solely on looks alone. Reaching the new guy, he offered him a large hand, “It was two days before anyone said a word to me when I first arrived, and they were very hard. I do not wish for you to go through that as well. I am Piotr, and for what it is worth... welcome to the Cage.” On the basketball court, another prisoner had gotten to his feet... the man went by stretch, despite the fact that he was only 5'6” tall. “Yeah man... what the fuck's up with you takin off with the ball.” The LD50 member made took a few steps toward Axel, right behind Sack... nobody just took off with the ball like that. |
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| Saint | Jan 9 2009, 12:41 AM Post #7 |
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Hypnosis / Psionic Bolts
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Leaning against the wall, the Acolyte watched as people moved across the grounds, from playing ball to just looking around much like him. It was odd, he had expected something more brutal from his introduction. Apparently it wasn't the mutant Guantanamo like he had heard. So far nothing had happened yet, no mass beatings or torture. Then again, it wasn't even lunch yet... But then again, maybe something would happen soon. It was all a matter of waiting it out to see what was going on, get it all figured out before he could possibly make a judgement. However, he did notice that everyone seemed to stay close together in small areas, giving the image of gangs. Maybe there was some, maybe not but from what Saint knew there would probably be some, who banded together to gain power in the prison. Simple pyschology at work but it was true. Another man came and talked to the large muscled man while a heavily mutated man in the distance shouted something out in the distance. Saint didn't hear what was said about the basketball or what was said back, but he could hear about the interaction between the trio in front of him. Some of it was cryptic, others just an insult. Whatever it was, the dark haired man who appeared to be a fellow Brit, but another guy who had approached didn't seem on the best terms with him, well downright insulting the guy. Normally Saint would of found the guy vaguely attractive, but there was something in his eyes, something that Saint couldn't tell about him. However, he still was cute, Saint made a mental note to remember him. Then the large guy stood up out of his seat and approaching him. For an instant, Saint fought the urge to run away from the much larger man, but it was quelled. Saint couldn't afford to show weakness here. Give someone an inch and they would take a mile, thats what would happen. No, Saint needed to keep a brave face, and the longer he was here the easier it would get. He choose to do this, he was selected by Magneto and this was what he must do. Looking up into the russians face, Saint looked upwards at the former X-men, unaware that in a different place they would be fighting tooth and nail on their different ideas and teams. But this was CAGE and this was a whole different game. "Thanks, I'm Kyle and I gotta say, your welcomes a lot better than the guards was" he replied, with a small smile of politeness on his face. He shook Piotrs hand, despite the fact that his hand was nearly half the size of the russian man moutain. |
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| Blackout | Jan 9 2009, 02:27 AM Post #8 |
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Unregistered
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“Leave me alone, Lucian. I do not care about mice or speaking in riddles,” finally left Colossus’ lips. “Who’s talking in riddles?” Lucian crooned smoothly, twisting his wrist so that the card, held loosely between middle and index finger, indicated the new thing that slouched against the nearby wall. It was an erroneous object… newlyweds to the prison were always this obvious, even if they were trying to merge with the shadows. It made them easier to spot when they tried… sort of like a rodent scrabbling against the smooth sides of a bathtub. Mice. Like he said. This slab of Russian meat never took the bait, though. It seemed practically impossible to chisel down the stony European… which made him all the more fun to test. Lucian had come across this type before… the type that prided themselves on their patience and understanding, the rare few who sincerely believed in something worth fighting for beyond their selfish, lonely existences. And they had always been the most enjoyable to watch crash and burn, because the thought that there still existed people naïve enough to believe in something so fucking puerile made Luc want to vomit. As the shape of Piotr’s number one fanboy fell over the pair, silhouetting their uncomfortable arrangement, the British technopath’s tongue rode along his bottom lip, like it was trying to wipe away some suspicious commentary. Zeitgeist dribbled out a sentence, words like snot sprouting from that sphincter he called a mouth, and Lucian simply didn’t acknowledge the newcomer, still pinning his target of attention in place, deaf to outside influence. He did drop the card though, letting it clatter softly to the table, meshing spindle-fingers together into a bony collective, before leaning closer to the Russian and saying in that soft, dirty way of his; “I think your doggy wants a biscuit.” “Lucian was just welcoming me back, Zee. That is all,” the Russian giant rumbled alongside a warning shot in the shape of a hard stare. Ohh, was that a tug on the line? It made Lucian’s omniscient simper slide into faint satisfaction, whatever the case. "Hey, White Boy... stop fucking with the tweak and cough up the ball." Sack’s interjection finally snapped Lucian out of the one-on-one huddle he’d been so intent on sucking the life out of. It broke it apart, too, which was annoying; Piotr disappeared towards the rodent, saying something about welcoming him. How disgustingly congenial. So Lucian turned, rotating slowly on the chair so that his dogeyed, deathly greys met Zeitgeist’s boring brown irises. Pity spread, like a rash. “Looks like they’re waiting on you and your ball,” Luc said to Axel, lingering on the final syllable, deliberately letting his eyes trace from the top of the larger inmate’s shaved head, down to the prison-issue footwear. That analytical gaze travelled right back up again, as though Lucian was searching for something invisible to the naked eye. “I see it hasn’t dropped yet.” |
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| Zeitgeist | Jan 9 2009, 02:01 PM Post #9 |
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Axel Cluney
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Zeitgeist merely ignored Luc’s statement as Peter told him that he was simply welcoming him back from the Russian’s three week solitary punishment. There was something that he had to admit to himself, not that he liked to but, he practically knew everyone at the prison. Axel had been there right from its opening. Every new member that came in, the brown haired man knew their name, and most of their crimes. Lucian played mind games, and half the time he had fallen prey to his mental manipulations. At times he was a hot head. Other times he was on a roll. Luc offering a good hearted welcome back was hard to believe. But Petey was a good guy, and his friend within the C.A.G.E.; if he said nothing was wrong Axel was liable to believe him. He heard someone calling him out about the basketball and rolled his eyes. Sure in hindsight he probably should have tossed the ball to someone else but the mutant did as he pleased. True, it got him in quite a few fights, a lot of fights, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to let the punks in C.A.G.E. run him and tell him what to do. Perhaps that’s what got Zeitgeist to be the lieutenant of the Sayans, but then again you don’t get in a position like that for being a big ole kitty cat. Then Pete said he was going to welcome the new guy and play some b-ball. Zeit smirked and replied, “See ya on the court, man.” Faintly hearing something else about the basketball from behind him Luc spoke to him. “Looks like they’re waiting on you and your ball, I see it hasn’t dropped yet.” Axel glared at him and said as he was walking away from the crazed inmate, “I bet you know all about dropped balls, Luc.” The mutant walked back to the court and shouted out to the ones who were calling for the ball, “Okay you whiney bitches chill out.” Once he was close enough he shot for the hoop and made it in the basket and continued, “Now quit messing around, and let’s play some ball.” Yeah, Axel was a hot head, and it got him in trouble often. |
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| Sack | Jan 10 2009, 07:32 PM Post #10 |
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Unregistered
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Sack was still waiting for the ball. He didn't like waiting. This guy holding the ball was a ball-hog, liked to hold balls, juggle balls, dribble balls, probably suck balls. Oh yeah, here we go again. Another homo-erotic tangent. Sack canted his head to the side, his visage taking on impatient characteristics as his yellow and violet eyes glared at the human-appearing Zeitgeist. As his head canted to the side, it shifted suddenly, a vivid crack expelling itself from his neck. Were someone at the right angle, they would've seen his vertebre shift along his spine through his transparent skin. Just as his neck finished popping a leak, Sack's eyes caught hints of a shadow behind them and instantly went into an addrenaline enduced rush. The short, gelatinous mutant span on the axis of a heel, his violet gaze falling to glare on the LD50 member Stretch. "Don't fucking come up behind me like that or I swear to god I'll fucking eat your eyes." Cold, serious, the words that came out were very unlike what his normal demeanor were. Stretch looked at him briefly, caught off guard but trying to show no weakness. Weakness couldn't be afforded here in the CAGE. "Alright man, I was just getting the ball." With a subtle growl that caused his throat to jiggle with the vibration, he turned back towards Zeitgeist and the nerdy tweak. "See? Even the tweak's got the ide --" and the guy left after a quick word with the technopathic tweak, leaving Sack and Stretch standing there, ignored. Fuck. No. Sack was not going to be ignored by some commie piss-ant. The guy took the ball and, without even trying to cause any problems, Sack WALKED over to the guy and asked for the ball. Instead, the guy talked to the tweak and didn't even acknowledge the Gene Nation member. You don't walk away from Gene Nation and shout at them from the court when they were standing right NEXT to you. Fuck that. Fuck him. Sack's visage contorted, the plasticitiy of his features melting together into a transparent, angry face. Purple streaks of his hair (cause those guards couldn't shave it due to its nature) rose from their typically slicked-back form (they stuck to his scalp like glue), giving him a dangerous air. Sack stalked after the guy and then wheeled himself to the guy's front, instantly in his face. A set of fingers jabbed itself into Zeitgeist's chest. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Cracker-Jack? Got a monkey in your closet? What the fuck? Don't walk away from me when I asked you for the ball. Don't ignore me, dipshit. You think 'cause your taller and better looking that you can just disregard a REAL mutant? Fucking. I bet you think that just cause you're pretty you don't have to abide by yard rules, huh? I bet that's right, HUH?! Fucking funny man, fucking funny. I don't give a shit who you're with. You could be with the fucking Irish mafia and walk around New York all gangsta like with your big-ass shorts, but in here it's different. There's a species amount of difference." His hand pressed harder against Zeitgeist's chest, giving him a push. "Fucking "whiney bitches chill out" too, huh? You fucking chill out, Colonel Sanders. Gimme the fucking ball and take your ass back to the showers and drop the soap, white boy, you aren't allowed on this court anymore." (If anyone is offended, sorry.) |
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| Ursa Major | Jan 11 2009, 08:46 AM Post #11 |
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Unregistered
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JP BETWEEN URSA MAJOR AND ZEITGEIST In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. This, a passage from a useless theologian, was the rule that Mikhail had lived by in the CAGE. He was not the leader of the Sayans because of his fists or strength, even if they were top caliber. He was the secretariat of the Sayans because he had the vision to lead. That, more than anything, was his ace in the hole. Ironic, then, was it that his chief lieutenant was about to do something very short sighted. The Gene Nation member was a pissy little thing. Where he got the gall to jab him with those boney fingers was beyond Zeitgeist. Ignoring most of wht he was saying he just didn't feel anything Sack had to say was worth listening to. But then, he pushed him. Axel gave a sort of chuckle and smile that said, 'I can't believe this fucking little prick just did that.' "Ya know somethin' runt, next time you start causing trouble you better make sure you got the muscle to... back it up." Zeit then continued by pushing Sack back. The loud commotion started to attract a crowd, the guards readied themselves for a fight. Zeitgeist was a good lieutenant. He was strong fighter, had a strong back. One of these days, Mikhail was going to get shanked or get tuberculosis, or any number of other prison fates. He knew this. He knew he could trust Zeitgeist to handle the revolution, and not go the way of Trotsky. The problem was that Zee's head wasn't always screwed on tight, as the Americans would say. He'd "fly off the handle." Ursus walked through the crowd, none daring to try to stop the former KGB agent, not since he sent that LD-50 scrub into the infirmery with a broken nose, and three fractures in his arm six months ago. Fear, as Machiavelli noted, was a useful ally. He stepped behind his lieutenant. "Zeitgeist," He said coldly, "This svoloch isn't your enemy." Zeit heard among the clamoring his leaders voice. Mikhail also known as Ursa Major. With just hearing him call out his name he started cooling off. Like a switch that was flipped. Axel reluctantly took a step back. "Yea but I wanna punch his lights out, boss." Axel was a good soldier, one who followed his generals' orders. But oh how he wanted to knock out the racist little prick. A deep rumble escaped from Ursa Major. Deep and menacing, it was as cold and unforgiving as the Sayan mountains that the gang took their name from. It was a growl Mikhail had perfected in his time in the wild. He had caused some of the weaker KGB agents to soil their pants with that growl. "Collective action problems arise when the needs of many contradict the wants of a few," He said sternly. It was a common thing for Mikhail to say. It was his way of saying "I don't care what you want." "Give him the ball, and let him play the game. We have more important things. Mikhail Ursus was used to his words being followed instantenously. He had been leader of the Sayans for year, and if anyone was going to follow his orders, it would be Zeitgeist. It was reassuring to see the boy calm down. Ursus didn't like to see his lieutenant stuck in solitary for something as stupid as a basketball. But with every action must come reaction. The LD-50 Member started to snicker. The loss of face had to be balanced with the sacrifice to keep it. It had been a while since Ursus had been able to use his Systema training. "Something funny?" Mikhail glared. Stretch, for all of his faults, wasn't cowardly, he stepped forward "Yeah, how much of a fucking pussy you Rusk--" Mikhail stooped down and into his face. "Go ahead, finish the sentence." The mutant prisoner didn't like Mikhail sticking his face into his own business. He flailed. Really, a very pathetic punch. Ursa Major may be older than the average prisoner, but all that KGB training didn't leave him. He caught the fist, and forced it back. The medication they used on the former rubbery mutant made his bones brittle. There was an audible snap as his five fingers broke. "Take your ball," Ursa Major growled at Sack, "Play your game." The Sayan Secretariat turned to his recently returned Colossus, "Piotr, good to see you're still alive. Blackout, not so much, ja." |
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| Colossus | Jan 12 2009, 07:21 PM Post #12 |
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"Thanks, I'm Kyle and I gotta say, your welcome's a lot better than the guards' was." Piotr nodded at the reply and offered his fellow a smile in return as he shook his hand firmly, “The men guarding us have preconceived notions about all mutants. I think it is one of the requirements to work here. They regard us as animals and treat us as such. Just do not try and start any trouble and they will leave you alone.” He glanced toward one of the guards stationed at the nearest door before offering Kyle an apologetic look and a shrug, “Most of the time.” The people that had been baying for their precious basketball were quickly increasing their volume as things were getting heated. Piotr looked over his shoulder to see that Sack was practically toe-to-toe with Zeitgeist poking the taller of the two men in the chest and shouting insults at him for some reason the Russian hadn't caught. “Forgive them. Many have been in this place much longer then I have, and they are already short-tempered. I suppose it does not help matters that they are rivals.” He finally turned to see if he could figure out what was going on as he stood beside Kyle. “...and walk around New York all gangsta like with your big-ass shorts, but in here it's different.” Colossus glanced at his new companion, excusing himself as he began striding quickly toward the two men shouting at each other. He wasn't about to step in and intervene without knowing exactly what was going on... especially if he wasn't needed. After all... he'd just gotten out of a three-week confinement in solitary; he was in no hurry to return. "Ya know somethin' runt, next time you start causing trouble you better make sure you got the muscle to... back it up." Before Colossus could take more than a few steps however, he halted, seeing another figure step behind the hot-headed Zeitgeist to intervene, reproving the younger man for his actions and demanding that he give up the basketball. Mikhail – the leader of the Sayans... one of the three largest gangs in the prisons, incidentally the one Piotr had joined. The young man watched as the older Russian ex-KGB soldier tried to diffuse the situation with his gruff orders and intimidating demeanor. Colossus and Mikhail had a lot of differences of opinion; his elder was a die-hard Soviet who bled tundra and despised everything western. Not only that, but he'd been part of the Russian secret service which had now merged with another department and was now known as the FSB – a group which had a hand in putting Piotr in this very prison after keeping him locked up in another facility where they did experiments on him. They had poked and prodded and tried to do things like see exactly how high his pain threshold was. He'd been sent to the hospital on more than one occasion after testing the affects of his mutation on his body when it was unarmored. He didn't transfer any of this grudge onto Mikhail though... the older man had been in prison long before Piotr had been taken. In fact, despite his differences of opinion with the leader of the Sayans, Colossus had a reluctant respect for the man and his passion for keeping his prison 'family' protected. It had taken trying to ward off eight inmates single handedly under the realization they he was eventually going to succumb to sheer numbers for him to realize that he couldn't make it in prison on his own, despite being one of the largest, strongest inmates in the CAGE. With that in mind, he aligned himself with the ones he could get on with the most. An audible snap broke Piotr from his thoughts and pulled him back to the here and now, seeing Stretch scream as he cradled one of his hands. Mikhail was striding away from the group as all hell was quickly breaking loose. One of the others waiting for the basketball shouted out, “What the fuck, cracker!? Hey!” "Piotr, good to see you're still alive. Blackout, not so much, ja." Colossus's blue eyes tore off the scene, his mouth turning down in a slight frown at the situation as he met the eyes of his superior. He offered the older man a nod and held out his hand in greeting, “After three weeks, I am not so unhappy to see Blackout, but it is better to see you Mikhail.” He looked over Ursius's shoulder, “You are still keeping things ordered, I see.” |
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| Saint | Jan 12 2009, 11:58 PM Post #13 |
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Hypnosis / Psionic Bolts
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Piotr's words were comforting to Saint and he saw that the large mutant was a nice guy on first impressions. But for all Saint knew the russian could just be trying to get him to drop his guard so he could sell him around the prison as a bitch. Or then again, he could just be a genuine nice guy. Wondering what the other inmate was in CAGE for, Saint's reply was interrupted by the fact that one of the more mutated prisoners was currently rowing with a short mutant about a basketball. Was it like a territory issue or something, Saint wondered. If it was, then it was clear to see that others were weighing into it. Another large man and the person who had been talking to Piotr a moment ago had now started up and tried to defuse the system in an less than diplomatic way. However, the other mutant seemed to make a move in and settle the argument. After a brief exchange of words, there was a quick movement and the older man effortlessly broke the other mutants fingers, making Saint visably flinch at the sound. The fact that the mutant had brittle bones was not known to the new guy Saint, yet the message was still clear. In here, you don't mess with people if you wanted to survive. Wondering where Rage would be, he quickly glanced around the grounds trying to see her. But not a glimpse greeted his eyes so he brought himself back to the situation at hand. "Thats brutal" he said quietly as he saw the other mutant known as Stretch grasp his injured hand with gasps of pain and felt a near pang of sympathy for his fellow mutant, no matter how much he had been asking for it. Already people had established themselves in his mind as potential allies in his goal to destroy the generators to free everyone but first he needed to see who he could trust in here. The job was too big for just the three of them, yet how did Saint know that anyone he asked to help wouldn't sell him out. He had the entire place memorised in his head, even the sewage pipes which were near useless. To do the job, he needed man power to even get to the generators, let alone disable them. But he had a plan and that was all that mattered to him. Now lasting long enough to put it into place was a whole different matter... |
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| Blackout | Jan 13 2009, 06:28 PM Post #14 |
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"Piotr, good to see you're still alive. Blackout, not so much, ja." Mm, visible dislike, really, how incredibly unconventional. Luc allowed his head to tilt, angling his deadgaze at Mikhail, smiling sarcastically at the Russian bastard as if he was imagining where to hang the ursine’s head. Dining room, or study? Maybe the lounge, since heads on pikes always went so well with the décor. Stretch was roiling around on the floor, sobbing piteously about his hand; Christ, someone needed to put a bullet in that pathetic lump of meat’s brain. Stamp on his head until his skull smashed and warm, sticky lifejuice mushed together like blackcurrant gateau and raspberry coulis. Lucian’s eyes drifted over the fallen inmate before they slid slowly back to the Russian, head otherwise motionless. Bony fingers moved to his lips and he whistled, one sharp shrill blast of air, not because he could give a damn about gang ethics, but because that’s what he did. Stirred things up. Several angry looking members of LD50 were already crossing the grounds, although not much could be said for the irritability that skewed across their features, since most of the inmates usually looked annoyed about something or other. Unless you were Luc, who enjoyed his distantly amused, lofty expression a little too much… and since if Luc looked angry it meant that someone wasn’t leaving his or her apartment unless it was in at least six or seven plastic bags, it was better for everyone when he appeared agreeable. Greasy and sickening or not. Technically the dismembering episode had only happened once… or twice if you counted the cat… and really, inside this box he didn’t have the muscle to back anything like that, since he preyed on the weak, and here the weak never lasted long enough. Here an angry Luc invariably ended with a syringe full of bullshit, a bout in solitary, and someone losing an eye, but that wasn’t nearly as impressive. The swarm of infuriated inmates descended all at once, cracking knuckles, glaring wolfishly, cricking necks, because that was all part of the act, apparently. So the circus was in town today. Beautiful. Clowns and their toys, and their infantile melodramas made for great popcorn fodder, although Lucian’s equivalent was runny oatmeal, or crappy meatloaf. “Hey Sputnik,” the large purple-faced tank at the head of the posse gargled, strutting like a cockerel in season; “you wanna tell me what the fuck crawled up into your Commie brain and shat on it? You lookin’ to start some shit with my boys? Cause I swear to fucking god I’ll rip your tongue out and shove it so far up your ass it’ll end up right back where it started.” God, Luc couldn’t care less for their inflated sense of compatriotism, or their attention starved need to jack up their egos by swinging their dicks around and butting heads. Prisoners would give everything for some semblance of power, even if it was one big miserable illusion. It was pretty ridiculous, this hierarchy, this idea that in here they had even a scrap of real control, but it was an amusing game to play, especially when the pieces were so easy to nudge around the board. Guards hustled on the walkways, muttering urgently to one another and making impressive hand gestures, exchanging cleverly coded messages in that pretty sign language of theirs. Luc was fairly sure it was mostly for show. All they had to do was slap that big red button and burst a few eardrums and the dogs would nice and tidily drop to the floor. Vision trained on the pack, Luc meandered towards where the newcomer stood, abandoned by Colossus and staring dubiously at the volatile crowd. “I wouldn’t trust him if I were you,” the unstable technopath warned, sounding deathly genuine, stormcloud eyes dark and broody, still gazing at the gathered inmates. “Of course, I’m sure an intelligent man like yourself has already figured that out.” |
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| Sack | Jan 13 2009, 09:29 PM Post #15 |
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Ya know somethin' runt, next time you start causing trouble you better make sure you got the muscle to... back it up. The taller and blatantly more muscular man gave Sack a shove. Tilting a little from the force, Sack was forced to move back a few feet in order to regain his balance. "What was that? A speech impediment? 'Make sure you got the muscle to -- aah DUR -- back it up.' Man, there's a reason why shits like you get torn up here. Thinkin' they're all big bad white boys. Bitch, you ain't shit with your clean shoes and trimmed nose. Time your pushes better, Skywalker." Sack rebuttled, moving to step right back up into Zeitgeist's face. Before he could even do so, some guy, some HUGE guy came out of the crowd that was beginning to grow around Zeigeist and himself. The guy was another Russian wang, some freakin' commie bastard who thought Marxism could be turned into Mutantism, or something like that. Sack didn't know, he wasn't a politician. If anything, he was an anarchist. The government wasn't helping him, the government wasn't doing jack shit. All they did was throw mutants into a freaking cage. This CAGE. Sack's hand lifted to the violet mess atop his head that could be considered hair. With his specialized cuff, he still retained traits of his mutation, so pulling the gelatine-esque substance surrounding his skull thinned the material out, exposing the true skull underneath the protoplasm to the light, giving him a ghastly appearance. Of course, Sack did this while the giant Russian was breaking fingers. His jaw clacked together, eyelids and lips receeding somewhat to expose violet oculars and white teeth, looking rather skeleton-like. As soon as Stretch's hand was broken, Sack released a crackling laugh, mixing it in with the guy's scream and general "ooooouch"es that rose from the crowd. Gritting his teeth with laugher, he heard the giant Sayan say Take your ball, play your game. With the permission given (not like he actually needed it or anything), Sack swiped out a blue hand to knock the ball from Zeitgeist's own. With a quick turn, Sack dodged his way after the ball. "Thanks comrade!" he shouted over the crowd, grabbing the ball. As he moved, he saw guards begin to exchange hand signs, their movements becoming tense. LD50 guys were going over to the mess now, trying to start shit. Coming to the defense of their member -- just what Sack wanted. Oh yeah, Sack did it. He rubbed them the wrong way -- those other mutants. Now shit was gonna go down. What an accomplishment! All by himself, didn't even need other Nation members. Oh yeah, he was a bad motherfucker. With a pleased grin, Sack made his way towards the hoop. Positioning himself like an amateur professional, his hands shot the ball into the air -- "Schwoop da woop!" he said delightfully as he threw it. The ball soared, struck the rim and rolled right inside the net. Pleased, he was finished playing ball for the time being. Sauntering back over to his own little cluster of Gene Nation, Sack was granted a position next to Vessel, that big green man with twisted and gnarled muscles. They talked quietly. "Have fun?" "A little. I'm good at working the crowd. Ever listen to Metallica? 'Master of Puppets' should be my theme-song." He wiggled his fingers. "That is because they are the weaker of our species, Sack. Weak and feeble. That is why they are not part of the Nation." "Oh yeah? I had no idea. I mean, I didn't know the second I went over there that LD50 guy was going to come along too and ask for the ball and get involved. Nah, I didn't know that. Never thought about pitching the commies and freaks together while making our party seem neutral. Nope! Just happened." "Still want me to show you that thing?" "Nah. I'm pretty good. General humanoid structures are the same. 'Lest they're like Tazzy or Bugs, even Pikachu." He pulled at his own cheek, drawing the transparent resin of the other close so that teeth and cheek bone could be seen through the other side. "Between the second and third." "Trader got it?" The large green mutant folded his gnarled arms. "Yeah..." |
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7:21 PM Jul 11