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Survivor; Colossus, Landshark, and any spectators
Topic Started: Jul 5 2009, 11:51 PM (528 Views)
Colossus
Unregistered

Time of day: 14:02
Place in the Timeline: July 1st


The wild cheers and and derision coming from the crowds surrounding him were almost non-existent; it registered as a type of static or merely something similar to the annoying buzzing of flies. What he did notice was the thick arms wrapped around him, trying to kill Colossus in a crushing bear hug. Stinking breath and wild eyes and sweat and the taste of blood – these were the things that were real for Piotr.

The Russian pulled back his had and drove his fist into the side of the maroon mutant he had been pitted against. The blow drove his opponent’s face to the side and the grip on Piotr’s body weakened just enough to free the arm that had been pinned by the hold. He delivered another blow to his enemy, this time following through with the swing and interlocking the fingers of both hands to make one large fist he drove into the elongated chin in the form of an uppercut.

The last attack snapped his opponent’s head back, and Colossus made a move to smash the man’s head between his fists in an attempt to end the foolishness. In mid-attack, however, the maroon-skinned mutant brought his head forward, crashing it into the Russians face. Fortunately Piotr had been quick enough to turn his face just in time to avoid breaking his nose, but the thick skull caught him on the jaw and mouth, splitting an already-busted lip even more nearly forcing him to spend the next two months drinking from a straw.

The freakish looking monster of a mutant – about Piotr’s size and one of his rivals in LD50 – then roared at Colossus, his stinking breath and spittle engulfing the Russian’s senses. Reacting without thinking, Colossus grasped at the fleshy, beak-like mouth of his opponent – his left hand catching the top portion and the right trapping the bottom half – and gritted his teeth as he fought against the strong jaw muscles to keep the mouth gaping.

His enemy struggled, shaking his head vigorously and doing his best to try and shut his powerful jaws on top of Colossus’ hands as he began squeezing on the Russian’ torso with enough pressure to crush the body of an ordinary healthy man. Piotr let out an anguished cry as he struggled for every breath, afraid that the other mutant might actually succeed in breaking him, but continued to apply pressure; he could feel the other man’s jaw slowly widening as his own muscles screamed for him to stop.

Suddenly a snap ripped through the air and the pressure on his chest slackened significantly; Colossus’ feet found the ground as his opponent staggered several feet backward. He let his hands fall away from the jaws of the other man and wiped the saliva on his shirt, his bare chest heaving as he gulped in lungfuls of delicious air. The other man fell to his knees as he grasped for his face, his lower jaw hanging slack, unable to close against his upper.

“One-one-five is down! Two-two seven moves on,” the referee shouted at the crowd as he stepped in the middle of the ring. Colossus looked at him with a bewildered expression, “I was told five matches only.”

“You heard wrong, criminal,” the ref shot back. “Ten minutes till the next match!”

An exhausted Piotr stared at the man a few moments longer before turning away and moving toward a corner where a water bottle awaited him. Dropping to his knees, he grabbed the container and downed several mouthfuls. Were they merely seeing how many matches he could last before he dropped from exhaustion?

He tossed several of the guards spiteful looks before searching the crowds for any sign of Tina or Kyle; the way he had been treated by humans for the past several years almost made him consider joining the Brotherhood and following Magneto’s cause. They had done nothing but show him the back of their hand, and his friends had no idea where he was.

He took a deep breath and dragged the back of his arm across his split and bloodied lips as he resorted to the same thing he always did – he took that anger and buried it in his chest. It would be his fuel for the next battle and it would carry him until they could find a way to break free of this miserable place.
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Sack
Unregistered

"OH COME ON REF! FUCK YOU! THE GUY'S BEEN THROUGH FIVE!" Sack shouted from the sidelines, fingers curled around the fenced barricade that lined the ring. "LEARN THE GAME, COCKSUCKER." He shook the cage as the ref who took the All-American Challenge (18 inch dildo, or something) up his ass turned away, opening the side of the Pit. Everyone was on the guy who was still standing's side. They were all mutants. All stuck here together. It could be anyone that was going to have to fight him next. Hell, it could be him. Even in that Sayan's condition, Sack would probably get his ass whooped.

"Why the hell am I not doin' that?" he seethed underneath his breath, resting his head against the fencing of the Pit. Moping over the fact that he had been removed from his position because of 'excessive vulgarities' (whatever the hell that meant), Sack remained one of the participating sideliners for the last few Pit fights, somehow escaping the horrible clutches of the Pit itself. Leaning back in fatigue of just standing there while this guy kicked ass, he bumped into someone.

"Hey, fuck off--"

It was a guard, two in fact, standing on opposite sides of a prisoner. Both held a guy tightly, who as bound in a straight jacket, his face covered with a metal mask. He didn't appear to be struggling. In fact, it looked like he was resigned to his position, bound together with straps and cloth.

Like always, the cold, callous voice of some sapien came on over the speaker. The crowd fell hushed as the numbers were read from whatever resource they had.

"Prisoner seventy-four."

The prisoner bound and gagged, was directed into the Pit by the two escorting guards. Both of them shot a smile towards the kneeling prisoner on the other side of the ring, then the larger of the two jerked the belts, slowly undoing them on the prisoner. "Stand still, freak. You'll get your chance." And the mutant did, standing still as the straps and jacket were pulled away. They didn't bother taking it off fully, but as the jacket fell down the bare body of the mutant was revealed, a sight that would have made any other mutant but Sack cringe.

Hundreds of mutilations and scars covered the mutant's arms and shoulders. If there was any way that his neck could have bent, no doubt the chest and stomach would have been to. Like knives had been shoved into the same circular design all over, the mutant's skin was irregular in any accessible flesh. Sack had no doubt that if the mutant dropped trow, his legs would be just as mutilated.

And somehow, that didn't comfort him...




He drew in a breath, eyes closed. It smelled... so fresh. His lungs held onto the sweet scents of sweat, urine, feces, and blood that lingered in the air. Oh yes, he could tell that someone took a shit somewhere as he was guided out. It had been so long, so long since he had been given room to stretch. As those oh so terribly nasty guards unstrapped him, his body relaxed. It was the most freedom he had had in months, the most freedom away from that loud-ass fire baby down in the deep cellars of the CAGE.

But, ah, it would be the sweetest freedom he would have for a long time.

Fresh prison air washed against his skin, covering him in a delicious aroma of rape and abuse with that straight-jacket hanging from his wrists. His bald head felt the air run against his scalp like water from a shower. God, a shower would be awesome.

"Alright, we're taking the mask off. Stand still and you get all you want."

Oh yeah. Stand still. It's what he was good at. Perfect. Stand still. Right.

The metal mask fell from his face and the guards hustled out of the ring, locking and chaining the door shut. But, alas, as the mask was pulled away and the guards shimmied out of the Pit, he felt the cold sting of air against his lips. He lifted a hand and ran his calloused and scarred fingers along them, barely feeling anything through the amount of scar tissue on them. Instead, he felt the sting of his facial muscles, his lips, ripped and shredded until there was hardly anything for his mother to kiss. Flesh hung haggard and in slivers, his mouth cut but not bleeding. It had healed over, perhaps from the times that he had been biting his own arms and legs.

He gave a slight twitch, lowing his hand back to the side as his eyes finally opened. A third lid, gray as rock, parted beneath his two main ones, dead, horrible eyes finally looking around. It was bright. He didn't like that. There were things moving -- so distracting. But there was one that was stilled, one that was locked with him. One that was stuck and one that was forced to fight.

He locked eyes with Poitr, his hands curling inwards, wretched cracking of tendons and joints finally finding relief. He jerked the jacket off his hands, letting it fall to the bloodstained floor. His cheeks pulled his lips back in a smile, dead eyes looking down to the bloody mess on the floor. He crouched, elbows resting on the black sweatpants he was given before coming here, for the sheer dignity of having clothes. He dipped two fingers there, wiping up the blood that was spilled and brought it to his face.

He breathed a sweet, metallic tang.

"A-a-ah...!" he moaned with a shiver, suddenly jumping to his feet and tiptoeing like an excited little girl. "It's so fresh! It's still arm!" he said, walking from side to side, tongue lashing out between his lips to taste it. "S'like jizzing in my pan--!"

And then it hit him like a dominatrix with a bludgeon. He stopped, struck with the high of bloodlust, and turned towards Poitr. Eyelids pulled back, and the grey, dead-like eyes focused on him, lips pulling back in the biggest grin a little kid could give. Taut and torn lips revealed serrated, Great White-like teeth; the cause of all the scars.

He screamed, the veins of his neck pulsing, and charged the other mutant. His mouth open, he shot forward, crossing the Pit in barely two bounds as he took to the air in a leap. A curled fist would fall with the crazed mutant enthralled with bloodlust to the Sayan, aiming to crash upon him like a great wave.

A frenzy had begun.


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Zeitgeist
Axel Cluney
Zeit was down near the sidelines watching his friend beat one inmate after another. After the fifth pretty much the whole crowd shouted in protest. He could even see in the distance that Sack was even protesting. He couldn't help but to shout out his own cries of protest, “What the fuck Ref! He's been through five!” Axe tried not to shout too loud, still harboring the injury from April the wound was healing over. But better not to risk it getting re-opened. The guards were oh so kind enough to let him stay in the infirmary for a little longer than usual. The last few moments waiting fro them to get to him was nearly unbearable.

If Petey wasn't there to help keep his head straight he would have lost his mind. It was an absolute killer to watch his fellow Sayan in there with out some sort of back up or tag out. At least they let him rest till the next opponent came. Everyone got quiet when they found out who the next inmate was. Seventy-four. “Shit.” Zeitgeist had been at the CAGE pretty much since it started, he knew about 74. “Fuck.” That crazy fucker. He never actually saw the guy in person but he had heard enough from the guards.

They brought the prisoner in the PIT. They released him. What were those fuckers thinking!? Did they really want Petey to loose that bad that they'd bring that fucking psychotic bastard in with him? Axel pushed his way toward the fence, protecting his wound with his life but ferociously moving forward to stop a death. Feeling as though that's what it was, a death sentence, he muttered, “Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Fucking bastards. Goddamn.” Muttering the words to the humans and guards who couldn't hear him.

Then they all saw him, all of him. Teeth, scars, the furry, the frenzy. The inmate who was a shark, one that walked on land and was had the sense to be even more ruthless than an actual Great White. Which made him, more deadly. No where was safe when he was around. Not even the shark himself. The scars on his own body was evident enough. The inmate lunged for the Sayan. The crowd cheered and screamed, and somewhere within the barrage of voices one voice of a Lieutenant cried out, “Pete!”

Axel didn't know how far his voice would carry out.
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Saint
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Hypnosis / Psionic Bolts
Crushed, the crowd cheered or cried out foul-play depending in their faction as favorites fell beneath the strength of Piotr, the man mountain of the Sayans. but Kyle, crushed amongst the crowds tried to push himself forward to support his friend. Stuck behind a mutant whose body had once been covered in a copious amount of fur, now shaved to a tiny amount, he shoved at the sides, his sight obscured from the action and instead he was forced to guess what was happening as the crowd roared. Judging by the amount of support, he guessed that Piotr had won again.

Five bouts was the limit for the fights and after that, most of the competitors were pretty much dead from exhaustion. Kyle hadn't seen a fight before that had lasted more than three bouts, his only had lasted two before a Gene Nation thug had smashed him into the ground, leaving him with a bruised rib and a chipped tooth for his troubles. But the Russian mutant had lasted longer than Saint had seen and yet they still were not letting him leave.

Finally pushing his way to the front of the crowd, the Acolyte spied the scene in front of him and heard several gasps around him as the sixth challenger was brought into the arena. Kyle himself had never seen the mutant in person before, only had heard rumors passed around of a crazed cannibal who had supposedly eaten so many people before being caught.

No, not Jara, although having her around in CAGE would of made the experience a bit more bearable but that of 74, a grotesque mutant who devoured human and mutant alike. And now Piotr was going in against him. Shit. Kyle felt himself recoiling from the sight of the psychopathic mutant as his restraints were gone and he seemed to waver for a moment, licking his finger, before he suddenly seemed to surge forwards like a piston being fired. The British mutant knew that he had faith in his friend being strong but there was a limit to being able to face down something that seemed to be a human weapon.

"Move Pete!" he screamed out at the arena, urging the other mutant to move before he became the latest meal for 74. All of the people in the crowd suddenly erupted into sound, from the prisoners to the people paying in the high rise seats, away from the rabble of the criminals, insane and the unlucky ones who had ended up in CAGE. This one was going to end with blood spilt. Whose it would be would remain to be seen.
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Colossus
Unregistered

Seventy-four.

Piotr’s clear blue eyes glanced around at the different faces, picking up on bits and pieces of conversation… mostly gasps and shocked murmurings at the announcement. He himself did not know much about this prisoner seventy-four, but if there was any way of accurately determining the threat level of his opponent by their reaction, it did not bode well for him.

Colossus heard several protest the treatment he was receiving, and a small portion of him warmed at their sentiment; however, most of him kept that cold anger… it bubbled in his chest as he rested with one forearm pressed against the bars of the cage as it lay on top of his head. The cool metal touching his forehead felt unnaturally comforting to the mutant, reminding him of the abilities available to him just out or reach of his fingertips.

He had never overly-valued his mutant abilities; they were unique and had served several purposes over the years, but they had also caused him tribulation. Had he been given the choice in the past, he would have forfeit his abilities and merely made a life for himself using his two strong hands. Now, however, as he heard the chanting crowd around him and heard the ruckus behind… he longed for the ability to turn into that organic steel once more. To no longer feel pain or cold… to be able to go on indefinitely without even needing to breath; he would never take his abilities for granted again.

He finally shoved himself off the bars and dropped his arm, turning to face his opponent just as he heard a few shouts from the crowd… his older friend Axel and newer friend Kyle were shouting warnings and encouragement.

Running at him, baring strange teeth that resembled a shark’s, was one of the strangest men he had ever seen… covered in scars, veins bulging… a look of pure bloodlust in his eyes as he screamed a wordless threat at the Russian.The man was nearly on top of him as soon as he had fully turned, his lithe body in the air, a fist bearing down on him. He was fast… fierce.

So was Piotr.

Colossus through out one open hand in an attempt to catch the man in the chest in order to throw him over his head, hoping that if he knocked him against the bars hard enough, the fight would immediately end. He needed it to be over… the man looked like he wanted to eat the large Russian. He spun his body just enough to avoid getting hit in the face, opting to take it in the shoulder opposite of the one intended to support his opponent’s weight. He didn’t attempt to block the strike for the sole purpose of gauging exactly how hard the man hit. He was surprised at the pain that blossomed from his shoulder as it rolled back. He inwardly deflated slightly… he would not win this in one move, as he had hoped.
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Sack
Unregistered

Prisoner 74 wasn't one that liked to size things up. He didn't care that the other guy he was being forced to (forced?) was a few inches taller than him. No, he didn't care about that.

He just didn't care.

Prisoner 74 had spent a long, long time in the catacombs of this floating ship, unable to vent any energies on anyone or anything but himself and the small, bedless cell he had been given. How many days without sunlight, or even without lights, had he gone? It had been more than seven months since he was allowed to vent on someone besides himself.

Mid-air, Prisoner 74 hadn't realized anything other than the thrill of being able to move around with fresh (prison) air. He never rationalized anything. He never figured that this guy was bigger than him, more muscular, and probably trained. He didn't even try to think about what prison gang he was from. Sayans, Gene Nation, LD50: he had forgotten all of them. There was only his number that identified him now. Only the desperate and feral lust to launch himself at others for the horrors they had done to him. There was only hunger.

74, who was known to LD50 as Landshark a long time ago, came down upon the Sayan, air forced to exit from his lungs as he nearly impaled himself on the man's hand. Even as the breath left his body, he continued, his fist crashing down upon the man's shoulder in the few instants they were together. The hand of the Sayan swept him up and over the other, throwing him back against the bars. A pained yowl was all that the Landshark gave off as he smashed against the bars, the force threatening to fracture his bones. He fell, tumbling into a roll, arms acting as a buffer between him and the floor. Without any care for his own physical condition, he pulled himself to his feet, blood pouring from the back of his head, a conditioning reminder not to leap at the guy again. He had felt pain so many times before his nerves might as well be dead.

With a vile resolve, Landshark came upon Colossus again, throwing himself at the other imprisoned mutant with a violent right hook that aimed itself at the area below the man's sternum.




Sack fell back from the flying body of the batshit mutant crashing against his side of the arena. As the guy fell, Sack returned to the side, gripping the lining. He smiled, watching. Even if the ref was a total douchebag and was making the mutie fight a sixth match, he couldn't help but enjoy himself. The Sayan was throwing his dominance around, his physical prowess superior to those that he fought. Now he was fighting someone that obviously didn't care about anything.

There was a big difference between psychopaths and Sack. Psychopaths didn't care about anything, and Sack cared only about himself... and killing the human race, of course.

"Monkeys in a barrel!"
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Raven Darkholme
Unregistered

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Current Form: Nullified and Painfully Normal[/align]

She had been sitting in the crowd for the entire event, paying top dollar for a seat that was right against the railings that separated the elevated crowd from the pit below. The crowd was growing more and more rowdy now, however, as a large Russian was taking on anyone that was sent at him. In fact, he had been through five rounds and a sixth was about to start. "Six bouts?!" a man near her exclaimed, raising his expensive beer and holding it up in praise. He yelled out his approval, obviously wanting to see the Piotr go until he was killed. The man that they sent out for the sixth bout to take on Piotr might just do that. He looked rather crazed. Mystique inched up on her seat, keeping her legs crossed, and looked down into the pit with a look of amusement on her face. She held a glass of wine in her right hand, which she sipped on as she enjoyed the show.

"Move Pete!" a prisoner shouted as the "Shark" began his attack, and just before the crowd erupted into more shouting. Mystique stood up quickly and leaned onto the railing as so many others were doing, moving so that she could see where the familiar voice came from. Through the bars, amongst the many other faces, she spotted Saint. She couldn't help but to smile at the sight of the Acolyte. She was unsure of how many of her brothers and sisters were still alive, but seeing a familiar face gave her a bit of comfort.

The crowd seemed to settle in, still being loud, but they took their seats in order to enjoy the fight. Raven took a seat on the edge of her chair, crossing her legs once again as she looked around the inside of the pit. She was still unsure of how she was going to get into the main security room and shut down the nullification and the other security systems. One thing was for sure, however, and that is that she would need a way to make herself exempt from the nullification. Once that was done, she would be able to infiltrate the security, most likely during a fight such as this one. The guards, at least in this area, seemed to be distracted by the fight. Judging by the amount of cameras, she also guessed that guards in other areas of the facility were watching the fight as well.

With another sip of her wine, finishing the glass off, she watched as Piotr threw the Shark guy around. The guy got right back up and went on the attack again. "Ms Lewis," a man said, drawing her attention. "Would you care for more wine?" Ramona Lewis gave a polite nod to the waiter and held the glass as he poured her up another serving. She then watched as he walked back through the crowd and into some double doors, which must be a kitchen or concession area so that the "high rollers" could have food and beverages during the fights. A small smile came to her face as she smelled of the expensive wine, and she took yet another sip of it. Without her mutant abilities, the warmth of the wine in her stomach was a different feeling than what she was used to. It was very... pleasant.

As the fight raged on, Mystique, or rather, Ramona, continued to observe the surrounding area. Now and again, she would stare down towards where Saint was watching the fight. Inside... her anger was beginning to grow.
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Colossus
Unregistered

As soon as he had tossed the body over his head, Piotr immediately turned to face his aggressor who was already climbing to his feet. His eyes – dull from fighting prisoners who thought themselves untouchable and omnipotent. They were tiresome… their words meaningless to him.

This one, however, had none of that pride or ego that they needed to prove to his friends or fellow gang members or rivals. He was pure anger and rage and fury… something Piotr had not seen in any other save himself during his time locked away in the Hydra facility… strapped to tables… cut on, put in extreme temperatures, starved, beaten, and many other horrible things. Despite the fact that this man was out to kill him and displayed nothing more than primal hate, Colossus felt a sudden strange kinship to the man. Perhaps he just needed someone to show him some kindness.

His opponent came at him again with that uncanny speed he was not quite accustomed to. The blow found it’s target, driving the wind out of Piotr and making him double over involuntarily. Yet despite his winded state, he managed to move his arm toward the man’s mid-section with the intent of slamming the hooked limb directly into his midsection, slipping a foot behind his attacker’s ankle in hopes that the move would drive him to the floor.

He gulped a ragged, raspy breath, reeling at the strength the insane man had… but grateful that it had been a fist and not the man’s teeth that had made contact. “Do not…” He coughed as he lunged toward the mutant again and took another breath, “…do this. We only help those… who oppress us.”
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Sack
Unregistered

The Landshark required no motives. Or rather, one would say that he had no true motives. Those driving forces were cognitively rationalized by a person, and as the entire area would see, Landshark lacked much of his ability to rationalize. Months of darkness, months of solitude, months of silences and screams, months of living in your own filth. Maybe things were becoming years now... he never knew anymore. There were spans of days where he was given nothing to eat. So he turned inward. Starvation was a cruel lesson, one that he had failed. He found that he tasted poorly, but it filled his stomach.

He also found that others tasted much, much better than he did.

In his times out of solitude and the darker regions of CAGE, Landshark spent his time in a existenstial state of mind. Food was something he was given. But it wasn't enough to stifle the hunger twisting his stomach into a tight knot. So he found solidation in the flesh of others, the most easily accessed sources of food. His cannibalism seemed to do the job, as bodies had a good bit of meat on them. Even between the ribs and around the toes there was something to weigh down the hunger.

That would, if it was even considered to be one, be his only motive.

Ever starving, ever finding the need for more, the Landshark would do whatever it was that was necessary to fill his belly, even if it meant breaking his bones and shedding his own blood.

The impact of his fist on the gut of the Sayan was pleasing. He felt the hot, exhausted breath wash against his skin. That breath was all the Sayan should be fighting for. As soon as the Sayan found his resolve, Landshark felt the impact of the hooked limb in his body, driving him backwards. Struggling as the Sayan's foot intercepted his reversed momentum, Landsharks' hands would leap to grip the Sayan's attacking arm, nails aiming to dig in. If he reached, the resistance of his own nails grazing into Poitr's flesh would give him enough time to bring his other foot around, catching himself from falling.

He didn't even hear Poitr speak. The thought of filling his stomach was too loud.

With his feral strength, the Landshark would pull himself back, using Poitr's own skin as a grip. His mouth opened wide and aimed towards Poitr's upper arm with onlly one goal: to feed.
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Rage
Unregistered

She didn't want any part of the Pit. Rage, being thrown into one of these matches herself, had to attend but took no interest on the surface. The massive mutant inmates around her practically over crowded her. But she watched, on the other side of the fence was Piotr. Having to go through these matches. The call for a sixth match caught her attention. This inmate the new challenger, was fury incarnate. Teeth like a shark. She moved towards the fence and saw Saint. Casting him a quick glance but quickly focusing back to the fight.

The hazel eyed girl grabbed at the fence. Inmate 74 was giving the Colossus a run for his money. Concern shown through her eyes. Concern, real concern, for Piotr's life. The Russian would surely die. He needed an upper hand. The shark-like inmate was like an animal. “Piotr...” A small wave of her own furry against the humans that were doing this swept her eyes. She slammed her hand at the fence and cried out. “Colossus! Colossus! Colossus!” She chanted it over and over until the other inmates would follow along. At first the few around her took the hint and chanted with her.

The Rage bringer hoped the other inmates would follow. She hoped it'd anger the humans to know the the 'animals' within the CAGE had names. The hazel eyed girl hoped it would give Piotr Rasputin the encouragement to stand up and fight. He had to win, or he would surely die. He had to.
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Raven Darkholme
Unregistered

As the fight raged on and the prisoners began to chant "Colossus," Mystique stood up once again and finished off yet another glass of wine. She walked to the edge of the railing and looked down to where Saint was standing, before looking to the fight and watching as Piotr showed off his raw power against a man who was quite speedy and... well... hungry. The wine served it's purpose well, flushing her pale skin in a way that could be read as desire towards others. As she watched the fight, Mystique's brown eyes stayed focused on Pete and she clenched the metal railing so hard that her knuckles turned white. In truth, to those who would take notice, "Ramona Lewis" was flushing and filled with an obvious desire towards the fighting prisoner.

Finally the woman turned and held up a slender hand to one of the servants who were waiting on the high rollers, calling him over. The man hurried over with a pleasant smile. "More wine, Ms Lewis?" he asked, expecting that to be her demand. She surprised him as she said, "Bring a guard over." The waiter nodded slowly and then walked away. Ramona then turned back to the fight, her pupils dilating with a twisted desire as she watched Piotr move. It wasn't very hard to act attracted towards the Russian. Actually... there was little acting involved in what she did next.

"You needed something, miss?" a guard asked, obviously confused as to why one of the high rollers would call him over. He quickly got the picture as Ramona turned towards him, however.

"That one there," she said, pointing down towards Colossus. The guard walked to the railing beside her and looked down to Piotr. Mystique raised a hand up to his back and rubbed it smoothly, her fingers trailing up his back and onto his shoulders until her arm around around the back of his neck. The guard did not pull away as she leaned over and put her lips up to his ear so close that her breath was tickling feeling there. Since Mystique was so tall, this was more easily accomplished for her than for most other women. "How much?"

The question whispered was simple and yet straight to the point. It was a question that they received from time to time, but usually from one of the males seeking to fulfill some fantasy with one of the fighting female mutants. Coming from someone like Ramona, however, the guard couldn't help but to have a shiver of pleasure run up his spine. He turned his head to look at her, while Mystique stayed very close to him, and he smiled at her. "I will find out for you," the guard replied, thinking of himself as her personal hero. He turned to go to his supervisor, but Mystique held him firm, pulling him back towards her.

"And that one there," Ramona said, pointing towards the gathered prisoners who lined the pit. "The handsome one with the dark hair," she continued, pressing her cheek against the guard's slightly and pointing towards Saint. They were close, so the guard could follow who she was pointing at quite easily.

"Two?"

"Mmmhmm."

"But I don't think..."

"Shhh. Just go get your supervisor."

With an obvious swallow, the guard turned and walked back where he came from, tripping on a chair on his way in an obvious stupor. The thought of that woman doing such a thing filled him with his own desires and he rushed off in an attempt to get her what she wanted. In the mean time, Ramona resumed her position watching the fight.

Moments later, the guard returned. "This way, Ms Lewis," he said, causing Mystique to turn and follow him through the crowd. They walked nearly to the other side of the fighting arena before turning and going up some stairs that held seating on either side. At the top of the stairs at the very top of the pit, they entered a door that led into a security observation booth. Inside, two other guards were sitting and both turned their attention towards her with a knowing interest. Mystique smiled at them and then continued following the guard, moving to the next room over. There, sitting in a chair watching the fight through a one way window, was the supervisor. He was a stern looking older man with the beginnings of grey hair and a squared away security uniform. Turning towards her, he looked surprised. He was expecting a heffer. "You are asking for what exactly? the supervisor began.

Mystique answered immediately, "I want to have a personal encounter with the Colossus and another one of your prisoners - the one that I pointed out to him." She motioned towards the guard that she originally spoke to as she said that.

"Personal encounter? What kind of place do you think this is?" the supervisor asked, leaning forward in his seat. Despite his stern exterior, he suddenly began to look as interested as the other guards.

"A kind of place that likes to keep its customers happy. A kind of place that likes to make a profit off of mutants," Ramona explained, walking over to the observation window to look down at the pit. Colossus was still there. She stood still for a moment as the supervisor considered, her eyes trained on the Russian's muscular form. Ramona raised a hand up to her chest and rubbed her fingers along her collar bone, speaking as she gazed out. "I can make it worth all of your time, sir. I see something and I must have it..." Mystique turned her eyes towards the supervisor with a playful smile. "Men like that are not the kind that I typically find. Strong. Bad."

"And the other one?"

"I'd just like to fuck him, too. He looks like a man I once knew... the thought of taking both of them in is.." she paused, raising her hand up to wipe her brow. The wine was really making her hot. "...exciting. Like I said, sir... I'll make it worth all of your while, and I will make it worth this facilities while in the future. I'm sure you know that I am well funded and connected."

The supervisor cleared his throat and turned towards a nearby desk, taking out some papers that he had clearly gathered before she had arrived. On it was the list of "high rollers" along with their background check and history. He saw that Ramona Lewis was the ex-wife of a Saudi Prince who was quite wealthy from oil. He thought it to be unusual that she was married to a man in such a position at one time, but with the Americanization of the middle east, it wasn't that much of a surprise. They even had listings of the high roller's fund sources and he saw that Ramona was visiting from France and was a multi-multi-millionaire. It just so happened that the supervisor was fluent in French and he finally looked up to her from the paperwork. "Vous habitez en la France?" he asked.

"Oui, je fais. Vous parlez du français ! La langue d'amour," Mystique answered immediately with a smile.

"Cent mille pour on, Miss Lewis," he said, demanding a hundred grand for each of the guards for the service. "Nous garderons ceci entre nous. Mon echilon supérieur n'a pas besoin de savoir," he added, stating that this will be a private matter that does not need to have his superiors involved. "Je planifiais sur avoir de Piotr combat un septième match, mais ceci fera plutôt."

"Consenti. Et cent à la Cage," Mystique replied with a smile on her face, promising money towards the Cage as well. "Merci, monsieur."

The guards all seemed to be pleased after the supervisor explained the arrangements and two of them were sent to retrieve Saint and Piotr. Mystique was advised that she may have to wait for Piotr to visit medical, but they would both be brought in at the same time. After that, she was led out of the pit and into one of the back corridors before being shown to a private room where the "action" could take place in private. It was nothing more than what looked to be a psychiatrist type office, with a desk, a couch, and several cushioned chairs. She took a seat there and with a smile, she waited.



[exit Mystique, to be continued in Sex, Lies, and no video tape ]
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Colossus
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A pained grunt slipped from between Piotr’s gritting teeth as seventy-four sunk his nails into his forearm, using his grip to regain his footing. He wasn’t even acknowledging his words of reason; Colossus was not naïve enough to believe that everyone in the CAGE was merely a victim of mutant hatred. There were just as easily guilty mutants as there were guilty humans. Personalities, attitudes and moral beliefs were just as varied as skin pigment.

Either seventy-four was one of the truly guilty, or had been mistreated for so long that he no longer cared. Whatever the reason, Colossus concluded that he could not reason with the man. That point was driven home as his opponent lunged for his arm, sinking those dangerous teeth into his bicep and straight to the bone. This time, Piotr could not help but throw back his head and let out a roar of pain as his arm felt like it burst into flames as muscle, tissue, and tendon tore.

Fueled by the anger at being mistreated for so long and the chanting of his name that was now flowing through the air, he immediately brought his free hand down in order to slam his fist into the side of his opponent’s head several times, directly on his ear. He hoped that a few blows on such a sensitive area by a man whose strength pushed the human limits would be enough to make the man release the hold he had on Colossus’ arm. He uttered several swear words in Russian… he would kill this son of a bitch if he had to… whatever it took to get him back to his room for some much-needed sleep.
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Sack
Unregistered

( Jp between Sack [landshark] and Colossus )

Oh god, that taste. The sweet, metallic tang. Like locorice coated with honey, splashed with particles of rustic teriyaki. It flooded into his mouth, seeping past his edged teeth. Prisoner 74 was lost to the taste, the smell, and the feel of it. Thicker than water, it rolled into his mouth and flooded his tongue. But he did not swallow. No, he did not need to drink the essence of another. It was not enough. He needed to tear the meat that the blood came from, rip it from the sinew, tendons, and bones. Only that would fill his gullet.

Before he had a chance to indulge in the Sayan's flesh by shaking his skull wildly until his teeth sheared it from the rest, the heavy impact of a fist to his ear sent a wave of pain through his skull, rattling his senses. The first impact was not enough to pull him from the flesh, but the second was. Fire spread across his ear and head as he let go, a seething yelp as he raised a palm to clutch it. Blood spilled from his mouth and over his chest, running over the ridges of countless scars. In the forceful assault by the Sayan, two of his teeth were broken off within the flesh of the other, leftover blades from the horrible attack. They'd tear into the man's flesh even without 74's mouth there.

Reeling, he clutched his ear, trying to forget the pain and focus on the blissful taste in his mouth. Red salivation spilled in his fury.

Finally free of seventy-four’s hold on his arm, Colossus wasted no time following his assault with another. His right arm was mangled, bleeding profusely and he couldn’t even move it; his enemy had torn through a good deal of muscle in his attack. He ignored the massive amount of pain shooting through it as he dared not waste precious moments.

Despite his focus on his enemy, Piotr couldn’t help but worry about the next several weeks in the prison. He relied on his strength. Others relied on his strength; with one arm out of commission, enemies would be emboldened to attack. He could not have that, and this man had to be punished for jeopardizing so many.

Without hesitating, Piotr stepped forward, closing the gap between him and his enemy and immediately swung at his opponent again, aiming for his bloodied face.

As the feral mutant began to recover from the pain of a fist to the side of a skull, he turned back towards the Sayan, just as the other found the strength to strike back. As clouded eyes set on the bitten mutant, so did the iron-hard fists of the Sayan's hand set on his face. A shockwave of force made his features roll, the strength of the punch driving teeth from his mouth and through the air. The sensation of his cheek caving in was accompanied by splinters of bones in his flesh.

74 tasted something knew as his own blood seeped into his mouth.

Staggering back, 74 fell back against the fence, pinned by an invisible force. Dazed by the blow, blood flowed thicker from his mouth. The landshark took a breath in through his nose, not bothering to breath through the blood. Instinct told him to be wary of this man, to get out of this tank. After a few moments, clarity began to return to his eyes as he glared at the Sayan. Ignoring his instincts, 74 barely rationalized his options.

Sooner or later, he would die here. There was no more purpose in living.

Through shattered teeth and broken cheek, the landshark let out another roar and charged the Sayan again, a flurry of knuckle and bone soaring at the Sayan.
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Colossus
Unregistered

JP between Sack [Landshark] and Colossus

Colossus immediately followed his first swing with a second, driving his fist back the way it had come on its first run, but missed his target completely. The man had staggered too far out of the way of the first blow to make contact.

Nostrils flared as his brow knitted together. Colossus was as strong as the metal he embodied, but also silent. There were no witty words or cries of frustration or anger. He only made sounds when struck hard enough… just like steel.

After his second swing followed through, his opponent charged once more… intent to kill shining in his eyes. Piotr lowered his head and charged like a raging bull, his bad arm hanging at his side… his good one raised high in the air for a strike.


As soon as prisoner 74 had gone in for the attack again, the Sayan struck back, charging him in response. The heavy raised fist of the Sayan blazed near the crazed mutant in the face, but the unyielding rage persisted as 74 tilted his head in a last moment dodge. The Sayan's grazed against 74's broken cheek, urging splinters of bone to poke through his flesh. Ignoring it all, the murderous fiend threw his own weight back at the Sayan, sending one fist to the man's chest and fractions of moments later the second to Poitr's gut.


Blood and sweat splattered the area as bodies collided, seventy-four’s fists slamming into Piotr’s chest and gut almost simultaneously. The blow to the chest wasn’t so bad, but the repeated punch to the gut winded the Russian, causing him to nearly black out as he doubled over on his opponent. Stars danced in front of his vision as he choked down ragged gasps, but used the opportunity to wrap his one good arm across the other man’s back and drive a knee into the other man’s groin. He immediately pulled the knee back and struck again, unsure of whether he was hitting his intended target or not. He pulled back for a third strike, his lungs still rattling noisily as he struggled for each labored breath.
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Sack
Unregistered

JP between Sack [landshark] and Colossus

The blood in his mouth made it difficult to breath, filling it with thick coils of liquid rather than the air he needed. Seventy-four was as enduring as the Sayan was, taking nearly every blow and returning it with vigor. Drooling hot blood and firing it out onto the Sayan with heavy, struggled breaths, the landshark buckled over as a knee jabbed itself into his groin. He released a horrid yelp, lungs croaking as the raw pain flooded from his body. The same happened with the second blow as the knee crashed into his loins, putting a stop to all of seventy-four's violent momentum.

With the third blow, seventy-four could take no more. The cheap blows rendered him victim to the sensitivities of flesh. He fell forward, face planting on the Sayan's shoulder as his knees gave, falling down, a thick smear of the landshark's blood coating where he fell. Clouded vision barely registered the world around him, bright lights blistering his retinas. He wanted to close his eyes forever, perhaps the first want of something other than something in his stomach.

Weakened hands fell at his sides as he drew in several breaths, consumed in the stillness of the battle. He tried to say something, but the blood made it difficult.

Piotr did not care about winning a competition… it had gone past that. He only wanted the violence to stop; he only wanted the man to listen. To take a stand, but no… his opponent did not listen and now look at where they both were. Broken… made into fodder for the stronger prisoners who would likely have their way with the both of them if they were not confined.

He grabbed seventy-four by the hair and pulled him him up so he could look him in the eyes, “You shame mutants and make the humans stronger. You should not fight your own kind, comrade. Part of me wants to kill you for your stupidity, but you are brave… a good fighter. I do not want to see the good parts of you lost to our people. Remember—”

The cage door was thrown open and the guards rushed in and quickly pulled the two apart. Piotr yelled out in surprised pain as he was grabbed roughly by the injured arm. “Settle down. Fight’s cancelled early,” the head guard said. He looked around, “I apologize for cutting this round short, but we have some fresh fighters out for you… welcome one thirteen!”

As they pulled Piotr away, he gave Landshark another glance, “Remember that you choose what kind of man you can be.” With that, he was shoved outside the cage and down the hall. He wasn’t sure where he was being sent or for what reason, but the only thing he could think of was the arm that was on fire and the fact that he had nearly killed the man when it had been unnecessary. He marveled at the kind of man prison was turning him into.

Coughing through blood, seventy-four managed to remain standing as the Sayan was pulled away. Breathing deep in through his nose, he released it through his mouth, spitting a thick glob of blood onto the matt. For once, the Landshark had settled, watching as the Sayan was pulled away. Those words the man had spoken...Even as he was bound and gagged again, Landshark thought on them. In his wake, a trail of blood followed as a horrible laughter began to rise behind his muzzle.

(end, unless people want to post about it.)
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