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Life's Hard on the Inside
Topic Started: Apr 16 2009, 08:16 PM (601 Views)
Sack
Unregistered

Time of Day: 7 PM.
Place in the timeline: April 7




"EVERYONE OUT!"

The common call. Prisoners began moving outside of their rooms again, the chain gang beginning. They had already been let out into the showers earlier and to the cafeteria for their evening meal. Now they were being allowed out into the common area for an hour or two, where prisoners could mingle with one another. The blue, opaque mutant joined his imprisoned brethren in the line, standing and walking as they were told, orderly and with an air of vengeance. However, there was something else. Something between all of the guards -- something off. There was something on their mind that was never there before. Trying to read them out of the corner of his eye, Sack found it difficult to find any answer. They were being quiet. Very hush-hush. It wasn't like them.

Curious, Sack spoke up to one of the guards he was familiar with; Garret. "Hey Steve! What bitch gobbled your dick and is makin' you sweat like a pussy?!"

The guard looked over at him with a bland look, then returned to his quiet conversation. Sack's brow rose. Well... this was very interesting. He could make an insult and even talk while in line without retribution. The other prisoners began to sense the same, glancing over at the guards as they walked by. With sneers and glares of contempt, the prisoners began to mutter amongst themselves, keeping to the line and moving. Much to the luck of the guards, they did not wish to be kept in solitary where the 'problem' mutants were kept.

Routinely, when the chain-gang was let loose into the common room, Sack patrolled the central territory, conversing with a few, greeting some others, and making the rounds towards the 'guard tower', a room built into the side of the complex where the guards stayed, protected behind several layers of glass. Above it, a single speaker was placed. It wasn't big or anything, and it was usually too hard to hear. On the other side of the window, several guards were standing, huddled around what was probably the only actual television in the whole CAGE. Today they were huddled quite tightly. Usually they just tried to block the prisoners from watching out of spite, but instead they were pressed close to the TV, making it hard for any of the prisoners to see it. Biting the inside of his cheek (an action quiet easily seen given his coloration), Sack knocked on the window. A guard glanced back, then went back to watching the TV.

"Hey..." he said, complaining to himself. Banging again, the guard looked over his shoulder and seeing Sack motioning him aside, was kind enough to do so. Only revealing the right third of the screen, Sack saw the words "Unparalleled destruction", "World War III?", and other such statements.

"Hey! Move it, fat ass!" he banged on the window again, harder this time. Finally, the guards moved. He banged again, pointing upwards at the speaker. A guard pressed a button and turned it up.

All he heard was the noise of the people behind him. The images on the screen were separated into quadrants, each with a different location listed. Some place in Pakistan, Washington DC, Europe, and the Midwest. The images were horrible -- something even Sack never wanted to see. A cold chill swept him from his head to his toes.

"VESSEL!" he yelled over the din of the common area, calling to the leader of Gene Nation. The large, green mutant looked up -- as did many others -- at Sack with a quizzical expression on his face. His scream caused the noise to subside, just as the words "Apocalypse" sang over the speaker. Turning back to the glass, Sack literally pressed his face against it. Other mutants became curious and looked over his shoulders, all becoming quiet. They didn't even move aside as the leader of Gene Nation came over and stood next to them.

"What is it?"

A voice spoke from the speaker, answering:

-- in New York City, where the heralds of the Apocalypse began to decree a new order. Chaos. Unparalleled chaos. We cannot even keep track of the numbers of the dead and dying.

What is happening now is an event beyond the magnitude of 9/11, beyond Desert Storm, beyond the war on terrorism. The event is said to escalate to the next World War. All police forces, rescue teams, and whatever we can muster have been deployed to the Midwest and DC. President Obama and his cabinet are said to have been evacuated from DC.

Europe burns. There is unimaginable death spreading over the face of our allies.

From New York to DC, destruction has laid waste. Hundreds march and thousands flee.

In the Midwest, the land has turned foul. Miles of farmland now rot -- the life-force of America's great bounty have decayed beyond recognition.

In Pakistan, a plague unlike any other has begun to flow towards India, accelerating tensions between the regions. Nuclear War hovers over --


Sack stole a glance towards Vessel, whose green appearance seemed to pale a slight shade. He wasn't alone. Everyone else who had gathered felt the same shock and horror. Outside the walls of this CAGE, a war had started. A war they would all willingly participate in -- no matter what side they were on. All they could do is sit in here and watch the small screen.
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Rage
Unregistered

Ushered out like cattle, as willed by the guards. It was their evening stretch in the common room. As much as she hated to admit it to herself the Rage Bringer was getting used to the rituals and procedure around the CAGE. Even fights in the PIT. The hazel eyed girl sat down by herself and observed. The guards uneasy, and quiet. Fellow mutants tense. Then that crude blue goo mutant heading toward the guards’ tower.

Tina lowered her eyebrows and tried to see what he was doing. He banged on the glass and called for a member of his gang, the large green one. It was then she noticed some other mutants were getting more worried. The gathering mutants were curious and quiet.

Curiosity got the better of the hazel eyed girl. She stood up from her seat and walked over to where the others were standing. There would be no way for the girl to push her way through. Seeing through the bulky legs of the other gathering mutants would be unlikely also. So the Rage bringer loomed, and listened. Directing her ear to the barely audible speaker and listening intently on the report.

Her heart dropped when the report told them of the happenings of the world, outside of CAGE. Yet there they were, stuck there while the rest of the world was dealing with the end of it. And while it made her angry, there was nothing more than the rest of them could do.

All that could be done was strain to hear of the news and either wait for one of two reactions. The first being things going back to the way they were; treated like trash from the guards and living that normal routine life that prison demanded. Or wait for the mass hysteria to start, which would mean the end of the prison or the end of them. There were only just sitting duck in the CAGE with no powers.
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Blackout
Unregistered

Something was amiss. Counting numbers was easier when the digits didn’t huddle and cluster together like a mass of frogspawn. The clump of orange at the guard tower was bothering Lucian, and he hovered a little way away from it, narrowly watching and gnawing on a hangnail. The guards had been acting strangely all morning, too, quietly mumbling and grumbling to each other and ignoring small incidents they would otherwise have set upon. Their body language screamed it. It annoyed him, this secret they were shouting with their movements alone, and he wanted to know what they were hiding.

He got his answer when a speaker shrieked, “Apocalypse…” and it was like a cold compress sliding along his spine.

The word caught everyone’s attention, and in a strange synchronicity all heads twisted to stare at the speaker that had spat it out. The report that rolled in its wake held the courtyard in rapt attention, and the inmates remained staring bug-eyed in the same direction, until one by one they began exchanging worried glances and quiet little mutters that travelled around the spacious area in a lilting buzz, like a verbal Mexican wave. Listlessly, Lucian’s eyes strolled from one agitated prisoner to another, half listening to them, and struck intently curious by the way the world was burning on the airwaves.

It was a muddle of tightly wound thoughts that assaulted him, a furious mixing bowl of nonsense and paranoia. In a moment he thought fuck, yes, now everything would be shaken out and toed around and twisted and twisted until heads pop off and there’s nothing left but grains of sand and worn out clichés, and all the washing would be hung out and dirty linen would be pressed in bleach…

But… past the giddy rush of that initial novelty, here was the end of the world, biblical in proportions and far too real, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

A laugh bubbled to the surface, a smattering of nerves and adrenaline coughing up through his cancer-thin chest, insect-like fingers inching across his orange jumpsuit as though trying to catch the fluttering before it wriggled too far. The noise of amusement died as quickly as it had arisen, and was replaced by a frown that pulled his lips into a sour twist.

And Lucian, Lucian, with his taste for the blacker things in life, his kink for passive murder and his thirst to watch society drown … his psychosomatic need to fuck- rape- shatter the weak wholly and completely… that Lucian realised his hands were shaking. He had no reins here, no big red button to punch. No safeword. No control. The CAGE they had him trapped in was one thing… here he had some measure of power, even if it was watered down. Here he could pick off the strays. Whisper soft words in their ears until they were biting their own tongues off.

Today, Lucian didn’t believe in any sort of Supreme Being. Deities were self-made, and he had created himself in god’s image a long time ago. But this word, this ‘apocalypse’ and its prophetic connotations, it was a dangerous and frightful thing, and he couldn’t do anything about it. And that’s what scared him.

Slinking like a starving mongrel through the crunch of bodies that crushed together, Lucian forced his way to the forefront of the gathering crowd, and stared at the images on the screen with an expression utterly devoid of emotion.

Hmm. Beautiful. And disgusting. And terrifying and wonderful and fascinating and unsightly and… Scalding. He wasn’t sure what to think, never mind feel. Feeling was this strange sharp object that pricked his belly from time to time and invariably left him bleeding, although being masochistic, he wasn’t sure he didn’t enjoy it… but then again, on the same limb, masochism was more often than not a self-inflicted state of being. Another margin of control he liked, but this nausea was far from welcome. It wasn’t a sensation he was accustomed to, and it was making the hair on his neck stand on end.

A ruffled Luc was a dangerous Luc, but he didn’t let the waver show. Breath fanned upon the Plexiglas, and the unbalanced mutant tugged his head back an inch or two and dragged his fingertip across the misty condensation, leaving behind a semi-circle smile and two thumbprint eyes. Lovely.

Someone was eyeballing him, looking aghast. He drew in a little shock of a breath, as if he had discovered something terribly interesting, and ended it with a crooked grin and a gutter-toned, “Nice weather we’re having.” The grin though was more like a deathbed grimace, and the cracks were just about showing in his murky eyes. They kept sliding off to the side, dancing onto the television, and down and up as though searching for something, because Lucian had never really had his illusion of control shattered before, and that cowardly centre was desperately rearing for some foundations.
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Saint
Member Avatar
Hypnosis / Psionic Bolts
For Saint, the time inside had been hard for him. The fact that he was separated from his faction, missing out on all the things that had been happening. He was one of the three that made Magneto's Acolytes, spreading his word as it were, to the rest of the Brotherhood when he was unavailable. But now, he was imprisoned and Amelia was preaching the gospel of Apocalypse, leaving only Primal left from the small group. If Saint had been outside, he would of immediately volunteered to fight where ever Magneto sent him, even if it was a suicide rush. But here he was, in CAGE surrounded by his brethren who had been confined in the prison by their oppressive human captors.

Like dogs they circled each other, power plays for dominance all made every once in a while. But today, when they were all ushered into the common room to see what was going on in the outside world, there was no back stabbing or mind games. Kyle watched transfixed in horror at the screen, watching images of his new home town being devastated by what was happening. After all the things Saint had seen in his life, from the burnt remains of the Wolf's Head Massacre to homicidal robots, to the memorial to the victims of the Mutant Town Explosion.

But this was on a whole different level. The scenes were horrific and Kyle suddenly thought that all of his team-mates were down in that mayhem in New York, possibly dying from whatever the hell was going on. It was no way anything that the Brotherhood would do, mayhem on that scale. The British Acolyte thought about all the people he knew and somewhat cared about being caught up in that destruction. Magneto, Billy, Amelia, Jara, Cam and the rest of the Brotherhood, yes even Raen as well. They were the closest thing that he had to a family. No-one in CAGE had he made friends with, keeping his head down low and he had mostly gone undetected. Sure he was friendly enough with some of them, but no-one outside of Rage that he would bother classing as close enough to be mates with. Wisdom and that Lucian though, scared the crap out of him. He needed to get out of the jail, put the plan into action to escape but with all the chaos on the outside, would their attempts even register. No, he needed to escape and do something.

However, he wasn't the only one who was worried. "Hey, my family's out there!" cried a large mutant next to him, pushing at the others to try and see what was going on the screen more clearly. The other mutants similarly concerned for their families also began to jostle and shout, the guards looking uneasily as the shouting began to grow. Saint himself joined in with some loud words, complaining, hoping to make the crowd grow into more of a frenzy, trying to play off the heightened emotions to cause a riot that would work to his advantage. However, with the guards beginning to reach for their weapons, it looked like it might not work.
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Colossus
Unregistered

Piotr placed a large, but gentle hand on Kyle's shoulder, “We cannot help those we care about by getting shot and thrown in solitary, comrade. Do not make things worse than they already are.”

Despite the fact that Colossus was addressing the young terrorist, his piercing blue eyes never left the television screen, taking in the frightful pictures of carnage displayed. He blinked slowly, trying to comprehend it all... what did it mean? Four horsemen? Apocalypse? Brother turning against brother? Human against human? Mutant killing mutant? There was even talk of bodies of water turning to blood, killing entire habitats.

Would he die here? Would he and Zeitgeist, and Mikhail, and this boy and little Tina die in this prison like so many mackerel stuffed in a tin can – helpless to do anything but wait for the merciless hand of these killers? Colossus shook his head.

What could he do? What could any of them do? The guards wouldn't free them just because of the end of the world. Very few of them cared at all for the prisoners of the CAGE. If they themselves fled their posts, it was likely that they would live the inmates to whatever fate fell upon the prison. They were all classified as soulless, evil mutants; according to society, none of them were worth lifting a finger to save their lives. The only reason they weren't dead already was because killing them was too controversial.

Unfortunately, Piotr was about the only one with a cool head on his shoulders. Almost every other prisoner in the place was beginning to shout, their raised voices demanding protection, the ability to defend themselves, freedom to find their families and make sure they were safe. Every request was drowned by ten others, and all fell upon deafened ears. The only thing that mattered to those in charge were the looks of desperation in the eyes of their charges... the balling of fists and clenched jaws and quaking legs. Nothing was as unpredictable as a man – or mutant, in this case – desperate to survive.

One of the taller guards in the clear, protected room slapped his palm over a large button as he looked in the eyes of all the inmates beginning to crowd around the television, “All of you, back to your cells now. You will comply or we will be forced to take measures to make you comply.”

“What about our families,” one inmate yelled, “My wife and kid are human. They didn't do anything. Who's going to look after them?” Any other questions that he might have asked were drowned out by other inmates trying to make themselves heard.

“I will not tell you again. Proceed in an orderly fashion to your cells. This is your final warning.”

“Final warning my ass!”

“Yeah... if the world is gonna end, we ain't gotta do jack shit, so fuck you, pig.” A brute of a man threw himself up against the clear partition; the act was pointless, but it got the point across... they weren't going anywhere...

And while Colossus wasn't about to instigate anything, he wasn't about to leave; Piotr wouldn't hesitate if the opportunity to escape this place revealed itself to him. He wouldn't die in here if he could help it. “If we could only deactivate our collars and the fields... half of these men could tear this prison apart with their bare hands,” he muttered.

Shots were fired, fists were thrown, and suddenly it got a lot harder to tell who to hit in the tangled mess of arms and legs and angry faces.
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Feral
Unregistered

Following her dinner, Feral was given her routine hour of free time. As the prisoners flocked to the television, she followed them, and paid close attention to the news that was being presented. If she had her powers, she wouldn’t have a problem hearing or seeing the TV, but, without them, she was just another girl in the crowd. Suddenly, the inmates got riled up, and the Latina heard one inmate, in particular, yell that he had no way to protect his family. The girl sighed and grabbed one man that was taking part of the mini- riot by his shoulders, and growled at him. “The hell are you guys talkin’ ‘bout?” The man threw her arm at her side and surprisingly responded. “The world’s gonna end. Crazy mutants are beatin’ the shit outta everything, killin’ people left and right. They call themselves Horsemen of ‘pocalypse.”

He turned away, and Maria looked at the floor questionably. Killing people left and right? Hopefully Lucia would get in their path. As the riot increased, guards came out of their stationary posts, and brought their guns with them. Being that things like this happened all the time, the girl rolled her eyes, and tried to find at least one person that she could discuss the matters with. Turning her head, she noticed that Tina, the woman that she had beat the shit out of, was standing relatively close to the television, and she made her way to her, only getting hit by an inmate once. As she neared her, she lifted her hand to her, trying to stay friendly to at least one person in the hell- hole. While Maria did hate her sister for putting her in the prison, she knew that she wouldn’t be able to handle being the only living Callasantos. Plus, if Lucia was dead, that meant all the Morlocks were dead, too. If Eldan was gone, then there was no way she was going to turn him straight.

“Hey, uh, d’you know if those ‘Horsemen’ have made their way towards Mutant Town or anythin’?” Shortly after she asked her question, though, a gunshot was heard. “Oh, shit!” She said quietly, and moved away from the others in an effort to not be mistaken for one of the many rabble rousers partaking in the fight. While she was unaware of what Sack had been doing, and that he was the one that had started the nasty turn of events, she still knew that she had nothing to do with what was going on. She wasn’t a radical gang member like the others, and she had nothing to do with the fighting. With a sigh, Maria lowered her body, and got against the wall, just in case any more shit went down that she wasn’t prepared for. “The hell is goin’ on? These assholes better stop this, I ain’t ready for no bullets in my skin.” Her breathing got heavy, and, now more than ever, she wished she had her powers back.
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Zeitgeist
Axel Cluney
An apocalypse? It couldn't be. Zeitgeist stared at the small screen in disbelieve. Then the other inmates had to ruin what little they were already seeing. The clamor, the punches being thrown; Zeit just wanted to see what was goin on. Instead because of the growing fight and the guards and their guns firing off whatever round of the day they felt, he tried to head his way out of the crowd. He could spot Peter when a fist flew toward him hitting his jaw.

It wasn't a strong punch, but it hurt no less. He looked over to see who hit him. It was a short green man who had short stems growing out of his head. Zeit recognized him, it was one of the little guys Zeit got his ass kicked for because he was too weak to defend himself. “Dude... Sprout!” Giving the little guy a 'what the fuck man' look there wasn't enough time for the little mutant with the sudden apologetic look on his face to be spoken through his voice. The guards decided to fire their weapons inward to the fighting mutants.

Luckily it was only rubber bullets. Unluckily some of the big ones hit Zeit dead smack in the middle of his stomach. He would have stopped to catch his breath but he had to get out of the mass of the crowd of inmates. Making his way through while coughing he caught up with his fellow inmate and friend.

“Aww fuck man... this shit stings.” Accompanied with a cough he bent over to hold his stomach. “So... end of the world, comrade." He took a deep breath and stood up straight in time to see a fist flying towards his jaw. Luckily he dodged out of the way. "And yet I think things are better in here then they are on the outside... That's fucked up man."
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Sack
Unregistered

It wasn't long at all before the words on the speaker system began to hit home with some of the prisoners. Some began to worry about the people in those regions -- their families, friends, loved ones. Anyone they could ever think of. Why shouldn't they? They were locked away, taken here for being a mutant. It was only natural that they felt wrath and bitterness for being locked away. Now, they were not only locked away but the very world was beginning to rip apart by the attacks on the news. Who wouldn't want to rise up and try to rescue their family?

As soon as the rising feelings of the other prisoners began to lift, he felt the heavy tap of Vessel's knuckle against his shoulder. It was a signal to move -- they didn't want to be in the melting pot with the stove got turned on. Slipping through the growing crowd, Sack trailed behind the Gene Nation leader, a growing smile on his face. Oh yeah, this was gonna happen. People were gonna freak and bullets were gonna start goin'. It wasn't hard at allt or ead the state of a crowd, especially when he had been in the CAGE for so long. He knew a lot of the people and he knew how most of them acted. He knew some would freak. Even as a middle-member of Gene Nation, he was more than capable of gathering such information. All you needed was the right spark.

Just as predicted, tensions soared. Fist began to fly and the tangled web of mutant limbs began to thrash against eachother. The air broke with the loud bursts of gunshots and rubber bullets, pinging off the flesh of prisoners in the pit of bodies. Settling against the wall like obedient prisoners, Sack and Vessel watched the crowd as they began to ache with the force of the bullets striking them.

"So it's gonna happen?" Sack asked Vessel with an excited grin, watching the prisoners go at it.

"Yeah. She's on his way there right now."

Sack had no idea who Vessel was talking about. He wasn't privy to the higher decisions and information of Gene Nation. He only knew about certain things when they were about to go down -- but set down against the wall like good, civilized mutants, it was easy to figure out what was happening. A woman whose skin was as black as the void, eyes and all, who went by the name Silhouette, ducked and weaved her way through the crowd with a nimbleness that was all too natural. She had done it before but had not been publicly known to do so. Sack focused on her, seeing as she was moving with purpose rather than savage angst. With a quiet "aah" he realized where the mutant was going.

Just as the target recieved the punch from the decoy, Silhouette slipped behind him as he bent over from a bullet to the stomach. From her sleeve her arm shifted, wrapped in a plastic bag, moving against Zeitgeist's side like a gentle cloth, driving a primitive but well honed shank into the man's kidney in a single, precise stroke. Then, moving with the crowd, she gave it a quick twists, the shank's barbed nature tearing the innards it came in contact with as she ripped it out. As she moved deeper in the crowd, she slipped the shank into the hem of another prisoner's uniform. Disgarding the bag as she went, Silhouette's endeavor was accomplished and she disappeared into the fray.

Sack would only watch the smooth-skinned white boy's expression through the bodies and limbs of the mob, a cruel smile forming on his face.

[hit carried out with permission by Jet. Sorry for the bad writing]
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Colossus
Unregistered

Due to his size, Piotr was one of the first to be hit with the stingers as many of the guards began firing randomly into the gathering crowd. One caught him on the right side of the chest, one on his left bicep, and another on his left thigh... each causing him to grimace and grunt in surprise and pain as the points of contact quickly began to swell. Ammunition of this nature wasn't lethal, save for a few shots in the head at point blank range, but it was still enough to incapacitate an average-sized man with a normal pain threshold. However, Colossus was anything but normal.

Not only was his body built to withstand assault better than the average man, his years in captivity with Hydra had taught him things about pain that he could never learn anywhere else. There were days at a time he was deprived of even a few minutes rest... kept on the edge of madness by the sheer amount of pain he had to endure. He had learned to embrace pain... to accept it and let it become part of him... to make him a better man and a better mutant; it existed for a reason and the Russian had spent weeks learning why. He had to... otherwise Colossus would have died a long time ago – if not physically, then his spirit would have dried up leaving him an empty metal shell unrecognizable by his old friends.

So Piotr didn't drop to the ground... or even make a great deal of noise, but he wasn't going to take it... his days of doing nothing while enduring pain was over. He began moving through the crowd, working his way to the front... the very possibility that he and others could gain a foothold in this place had sparked something inside the large Russian.

That spark suddenly died when he pushed past several members of Gene Nation to find Zeitgeist doubled over on his knees, blood pouring from his side. No rubber bullet had caused this kind of damage.

“Axel,” he said as he knelt beside his fellow Sayan, “Axel?”
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Peter Wisdom
Unregistered

“Bloody hell.”

It was really the only thing Peter could say in this situation. “Whole world is going to shit, and these jokers are ripping each other apart.” He muttered quietly as he watched the prison descend into chaos, leaning against a wall near the back of the crowd. Christ, he could do with a smoke right now. He wondered idly if he sneaked back into the cells he could find a few fags and a lighter hidden by the other inmates. It was something to consider. If the world really was going to end, he wasn’t going to it meet the Devil sober and without a bit of a smoke.

The way things were going in the prison itself though, it might not be this Apocalypse or his Horseman that ended Wisdom, it was going to be some great brute without much a brain. He wasn’t really looking to end his days in a mutant prison, stabbed or crushed or shot because someone thought it was a good idea to coral a load of psychos and murders into a small area and then let them know that the world was ending and their families were probably flies splattered on the windshield of the Apocalypse. On the plus side.... if they’re going to have me up against a wall and be sticking something long and hard in me, I’d rather it was a knife.

Tensions continued to rise further as panic increased, mob mentality setting in and feeding off the collective terror. Pete had seen it many times before, a sad fact about humanity as a whole. He was scared, you’d have to be pretty bloody stupid not to be scared right now, but it wasn’t exactly a new sensation for the MI-6 agent. He’d been in some horrific situations with very little hope of escape before, he’d been tortured nearly to the point of insanity, killed and nearly been killed more times than he liked to remember. So, for once, it seemed all that was paying off and Pete was able to keep his head in a way the majority of the prisoner’s didn’t seem to be able to master.

All that still didn’t answer the truly burning issue of how the hell he was supposed to get out of here though. And if he did, what then? Where did he go when the world was ending? Where did anyone go when the world was ending? Back home. Back to England. If England still existed, if there was anything left to go back to. His stomach lurched as he thought of his father and sister, his friends, his beloved London. Watching the sun rise over St Paul’s, feeling the cleanness of a new day, wandering around the dodgy pubs of the South East.... not that he was going to be allowed back home after CAGE anyway but still, he knew it was still there at least, London was still there, bustling and alive. Someone had better stop those tossers from ruining his city. MI-6, Black Air, STRIKE, all of them would be working to fight this and Pete should be right alongside them. He hoped the hot purple haired STRIKE agent was still around. Maybe they could find each other on a deserted street in London and have a little bit of rough and ready...

The back of Pete’s head rebounded off the wall behind him as a fist to his jaw hit home with stunning force. His teeth clamped together around his tongue, a thick metallic taste filling his mouth as blood dribbled from between his lips. “Fuck me, I didn’t sign up for this.” Pete snapped as he spat out a mouthful of red fluid and brought his fist up to break the nose of the man who had fit him. With a roar of pain the other prisoner stumbled back into two hefty looking fighters, both of whom immediately dragged him into their brawl. And my work here is done. Peter thought as he dodged under an incoming fist, spun a little bit by a rubber bullet to his shoulder, which had him gritting his teeth and forcing himself onwards, but he had a clear goal in mind and however many shoves and elbows and stinging impacts he received, he kept moving.

The blue gel like mutant and his large thread seemed to be staying out of trouble by sticking to the far wall and so that’s where Wisdom was going. During his stay in CAGE, he’d had plenty of time for quiet observation of the dynamics and various power struggles and other factors, and he could say with absolute certainty that the blue mutant was twisted out of his fucking mind. But still, for now, he represented safe ground and Pete was nothing if not pragmatic.... or he was until he saw the guy directly in front of him bleeding his insides out, another inmate crouched over him. “Shit. Bloody conscience.” Pete groaned as he knelt down on the other side. “Hey, kid, we need to get your mate’s back to the wall.” He said, looking over at the uninjured mutant.
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Zeitgeist
Axel Cluney
Peter was making his way through. He swore sometimes how he could even stand the rubber bullets, shrugging them off like nothing. Zeitgeist would have followed, but he felt a sharp pain. It was different from the rubber bullets. He felt for the origin of the pain and saw blood on his finger tips. A combination of horror, pain, and shock flooded his face. If what happened what he thought had happened...

With how many enemies he had made, it shouldn't have surprised him. But it had actually happened. Axel dropped to his knees. The blood rushed from the wound. He let out a small quiet groan, barely audible. All the sounds of the inmates and guards were muffled. One voice was closer to him, a friendly familiar voice. “Piotr...”

A more audible groan left his lips, when the hand that had his blood was used to keep from falling over. Axel didn't usually call the Russian by his birth name. He had a hard time pronouncing it, and it never sounded right with him; so it was always, Pete. Petey, Colossus, or comrade.

Immediately, Piotr knew that Axel's condition was serious; always optimistic, the fact that he wasn't making jokes or calling the Russian by his actual pronunciation – or something similar to it – was a sign enough. Also... the fact that the blood flowing profusely from the wound in his side was extremely dark meant that the weapon had penetrated one of the organs meant for purifying the body... likely the kidney from the wound's position.


“Hey, kid, we need to get your mate’s back to the wall.”

He looked up across Zeitgeist to see a dark haired man he'd seen floating around knelt on the other side, “Da. I would like to, but I am unsure if he can be moved.” He looked up and around... in a perfect scenario, he could call over some guards with a stretcher, but then again, in a perfect scenario, none of them would be locked in a cage awaiting the end of the world.


He finally looked back at the other man, “I am afraid we do not have a choice, though.”


He looked back down at Zeitgeist, “Comrade, we will get you out of here and try to find someone to tend to your wounds, yes?”

The sting of it, the pain. Zeitgeist's breathing had become hard and labored. A second voice was heard, he couldn't put a name or face to the voice. Being there as long as he had, one of the first to be there, he got to seeing who was who. Even scum like Lucian. And annoying pricks like Sack. He heard Petey's voice again, but was barely able to make out the question he was being asked. All he could focus on was the pain, the warm blood at first gushing out, then cooling as the air hit it.

“I didn't even see them Piotr... came out of...” He groaned once again, as the wound started taking it's affection toll. “Didn't even....” Axel closed his eyes as his hand gave out.
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Blackout
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Ah the rabble, the rabble and their inherent need for insurgence at the most inopportune of times. Sure, children, sure, let’s throw a tantrum. Let’s show all those mean guards with their big ol’ guns that you have no concept of emotional certitude. Surely that will prove beyond a doubt how wonderfully intimidating and functionally capable you all are.

Regardless, it provided a welcome distraction from what was taking place far beyond the barricaded walls of the helicarrier, all the gawping idiots and the angered yelling and the hammering of ugly, groaning mugs into any and all hard surfaces. Lucian weaved in amongst them, slight and ghostly and willowing between flying fists and the squeal of rubber bullets as they pinged against orange jumpsuits and rebounded from skulls and limbs and faces. Tomorrow there would be a brilliant slideshow of swollen purple shiners and jet-black panda masks. They would be comparing injuries for weeks, right until the last bruised dregs had faded out into jaundiced blotches.

As he roved and meandered, swilling pools of red caught the stray mongrel’s eye. Swilling. Red. Pools. All words that Lucian particularly enjoyed, especially when there was a person thrashing around in the centre of said pool, and happily, it turned out to be Axel. The zeitgeist, apparently. Axel, Axel, Axel, how pretty you look all covered in crimson. Lucian pursed his lips as he made a beeline for the crouched clump of concerned-looking jumpsuits. Shankings were boring. Simple. They were sort of like that before-bed jackoff, that itch-needing-scratched wank. No style, no build-up. Just a surreptitious thrust in the midriff and a skip off into the crowds. God, give him psychological downfall. Give him slit wrists.

Lucian ground to a halt and hovered above the fallen prisoner, opposing the hefty Russian. Tongue rolling up to meet the edge of his bicuspids, he allowed the greasy edges of a pleased sneer to trip his expression up, head tilting just enough to add to the whole imbalanced crazy persona.

Vision lingering upon the Ruskie a little longer than necessary, he feigned concern, and spat across the tumult; “Aww, did you fall and hurt your tummy?”

Not milliseconds later, someone careened straight into the technopath, arms wildly flailing, lungs hacking for oxygen, the victim of a rubber missile, or perhaps a boot in the gut. Either way, he sent Blackout sprawling. The Brit collided with the unfriendly corner of a picnic table, hip cracking against the jutting edge, and then he was wilting in a southerly direction, getting up close and personal with the shoe-scuffed floor.

Something like a giggle scrabbled out of Lucian’s mouth, but it sounded more like an off key rasp. More like a strangled curse. And then he was launching through the air, some horrid skinny human jackrabbit viciously catapulting onto the hapless inmate, nails like talons grasping fistfuls of hair and fabric.

“Get fucked you bastard son of a pig rapist!” the Briton foamed, spittle frothing at the corner of his lips, insanity bubbling past dilated pupils, and rammed his thumbs straight into this little bitch’s alarm-wide eyes.

The orange-clad fuckwit screamed, he fucking screamed like a little bitch and it was like hearing the sweet, sonorous melody of a church choir chorus at dawn, like listening to egg yolks sizzle, and it was delicious and beautiful and so goddamn tasty. Fried egg sandwiches topped with bacon, layered on Warburtons seeded batch, slathered in melted butter. Scoffing meat in church, killing choirboys. Mmm, yeah. That’s what it sounded like.

“Yeah, sing for me, whore,” Lucian snarled, thumbs buried in bleeding sockets right up to the joints. Gouging. Gouging, oh, god, gouging out those fat little balls of juice. The prisoner beneath him bucked and thrashed, trying to dislodge the limpet-like psycho, to little avail. But eventually dislodging did occur, and it happened with a liquid popping noise, a bone-melting shriek, and the dull thock of a well-placed rubber torpedo. Right in the ribcage, alongside a series of agonising crunches as Lucian’s ribs splintered like dry tinder.

Again he was on the ground, rolling like a limp fish, sliding once, twice, again and again, getting tangled amongst the upheaval, limbs smashing into shins and tripping several brawling inmates.

He came to a standstill, and there was still singing, some girl was singing war songs. Chanting something about crayons and toothpaste. Everything gleamed silver, popping heads off daisies.

The end of the world, huh?

Lucian lay there, just lay there, a deflated eyeball in each of his sodden hands, and laughed.
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Saint
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Hypnosis / Psionic Bolts
The massive amount of tension that had been bubbling underneath the strained surface finally broke loose in the common room as mutant waged prison war against mutant, all the various gangs fighting each other. Gene Nation, LD50 and the Sayans all embroiled in a melee trois of gang violence with the guards firing the bullets at the rioting crowd to try and stem the violence through pain. However, while some fell, others only became more enraged by the pain and took their frustration out on others. Kyle couldn't help but think as he ducked and weaved his way best he could through the punches that if they could all work together and utilise the aggression and focus it against the guards, if they could all work together.

However, the anger was spread at people amongst their own kind, rather than throwing over the oppressive humans that ran the hell hole of the prison. A bullet struck him in the side, winding Saint as he bent over, only to get kicked away from the rest of his group as the woman known as Silhouette slinked her way past to stab the unsuspecting Zeitgist with the improvised weapon. A knee slammed into the side of his face, dazing him and Saint fell to the floor, rolling slightly to avoid the foot to the neck. Before he could get trampled, hands reached down and picked him from the ground.

Thinking that it was some good Samaritan out to help him was just a fantasy at best, so Kyle knew what was going to happen next. The fists from the Gene Nation members came fast and thick into Kyles stomach as he grunted in the pain, feeling the barbs on one of their hands dig into his stomach. It didn't matter who he was, but he looked human and to them, that was good enough. The largest member, a heavy set mutant, his skin adorned with tiny ridges of deep blue and brown grasped Saint's face by the cheeks and spat a large globule of saliva onto his face. When he got his powers back, Kyle thought, he would make a choice to accidentally have some collateral damage with these mutants.

Luckily for him, the guards had decided to quell the rioting but using the alarm, a piercing sound delivered at ear-splitting level. The Acolyte, his arms bound grimaced at the sound, but he wasn't the only one affected. His attackers began to hold their ears, dropping Saint to the floor. A few feet away, Saint could see a prone figure, the eye sockets a bloody mess of gore from where Lucian, the pyschopath that he was, had worked his ways. Kyle would of been more shocked but his hands clasped firmly around his ears prevented him from saying anything or seeing if the figure was alright. But unless they had some miracle healer in the prison, the British mutant did not hold out much hope for the poor victim.
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Colossus
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“Aww, did you fall and hurt your tummy?”

The Russian's head snapped up as he turned and looked in the direction of the already-identified voice. Sure enough, standing over them with that half-dead half-interested expression on his face was Lucian; Piotr's eyes narrowed and his jaw set in righteous indignation, about ready to launch into a short tirade about how they didn't have the time for him right now. His friend was possibly dying. However, before he could even open his mouth to reply, a foreign body collided with the technopath, whisking him away. Colossus immediately looked at Wisdom, his mind already forgetting the antagonist, not even caring what happened to him... some small part of him that had been changed by his time with Hydra hoped that he would die among the masses.

“Let us get him out of here. He will bleed to death otherwise.”

With that, Colossus and Wisdom both began to lift Axel with as much ease as they could, careful to make sure they didn't make his condition worse.

He felt two different sets of hand lifting him up and dragging him somewhere, Zeit tried to open his eyes to see but couldn't muster the energy. He tried to at least help a little bit with the walking but the two at his sides were moving faster than he could. The inmate felt like it he was... “Oh shit...” He thought.


Zietgeist slowly said, “I knew I was gonna die in the fucking CAGE...”

“You will not die here,” Colossus said, his eyes constantly roving to make sure no one disturbed Axel's body. “I will not allow you to die as a caged animal, comrade. You will feel the sun on your face once more.” He cut his eyes up at Wisdom... he would find a way out of this prison for his friend... for himself, “We all will.”

On two separate occasions, Colossus had to release one hand from Zeitgeist and deliver a strong right hook to the face of a prisoner hoping to take advantage of the Russian's impairment and gain the upper hand – such a window of opportunity was tempting. However, two broken jaws later, the three men reached the back wall relatively unscathed where they carefully set Axel on the ground. “I will return once I can find a way to end this madness. We are under lockdown and cannot get you to the infirmary until then.”

Of all the words Zeitgeist trusted it was Petey's. Friends made within the CAGE. He leaned up against the wall, he had to try and think positive. After all one day when the both of them would get out he did promise the Russian a beer. “Lockdown... shit man... I am done for.” He gave a small smirk. “They won't get to me.”


Leaning against the wall Zeitgeist opened his eyes. They were so heavy, but if he kept them open it'd be harder to die. He saw the chaos around the other inmates. “You'd think they'd swing it into the guards huh Petey?” Initial shock of being sucker stabbed wore off, and while he was in pain the inmate tried to shrug off his wound. It only lead to him wincing from it. “Dumb mother fuckers.”


Zeitgeist wanted to set his sights on the bastard that stabbed him. He would have to spend the next few months in and out of solitary because of fights he would cause to find out which one of the inmates did it.
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