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Final Prognosis; joint post, dr. bradley
Topic Started: Sep 11 2009, 04:17 AM (316 Views)
Aingeru
Unregistered

Time: 16:30
Date: July 10th
Simultaneous with the Breakout, since we sorta missed that ship

He was being herded out with the rest of the chattel. The familiar buzz of the cell locks being disengaged as clear bulletproof barriers receded into fuck knows where with a hiss, and everyone moving out into the walkways like automatons towards the Pit. One of the less glamorous facets of their five-star accommodations, but he enjoyed it more than yard time. Sure, they were clustered in a small area, but everyone’s little mind and eyes focused on the center ring. And in a prison population numbering far into the hundreds, the odds of being called out to fight were actually less than that post-lunch. They drifted out obediently, little molecules drawn off into capillaries by osmotic forces and the threat of billy clubs and shock collars.

“Two thirty-five!”

What the fuck did they want? They never called fighters outside the pi–

A brief explosion of pain blossomed at the back of his head, then everything sort of melted away.


Consciousness was a fleeting thing. He kept weaving in and out of darkness, strange shapes and sickly lights and distant buzzing and a chemical smell that didn’t help the little ball of nausea tying his stomach into knots luring him back out of his head. Had he his powers, he would have activated his telepathy. Maybe. He hadn’t used his abilities since he’d been arrested; there’d been enough KICK in his bloodstream to fry them. He hardly thought about those ramifications though. Lax features pulled into a growing wince, Aingeru drawing a hiss of discomfort. The buzz was louder, and he slowly realized it wasn’t blaring inside his head, but outside. His eyes opened gradually, settling on a familiar ceiling. The medical bay. Was he ill? He felt ill.

Aingeru pulled himself up, but didn’t manage to move much without his head suddenly bursting with pain and balance throwing him through a loop. The desire to vomit was immense, Aingeru raising a hand and grinding a palm against his forehead, a tearing sensation immediately gripping his forearms. A series of tubes bit into his flesh, drawing blood and filtering in hell knows what. With a shudder, he tore them out immediately, supporting himself on an elbow on the bed... no, table. His stomach wretched, but not from the smell of formaldehyde.

He needed to get out. Now.

Inmate 235 looked around the room panicking, expecting an orderly or a guard to come storming towards him. The room was empty, an expanse of cots and tables and medical trays. The lights were dimmed, save for the bright surgical bulb directed over his table, and a sickly yellow glow coming from some sort of tub. Vat. Thing. Aingeru was less concerned about the proper terminology and more about the thing inside. It was malformed, grotesque... human...

“Get me the fuck out of here,” he uttered, finally breaking his gaze away from whatever that thing was and sliding off the table to his feet, head pounding with a fierce headache.
His subject was awake. It was always a good day when they woke back up. You would be amazed at how many of them never get back up. He smiled as he came in, clip board in hand and a few army officers behind him. He ignored the man on the table at the moment as he lead them over to the large tube in the room with the fully grown “man” in it. He pointed to it as a smile crept across his face.

“Gentlemen, as you can see we have managed to clone a human. Giving them a body that is malleable and able to withstand normal gun fire. It's not the prettiest thing. Sadly, the genes we used for his looks did not work out as well as we hoped. But it is a solider that will do what it is told when it is told. Soon as I wake him, that is.”

The men in the army uniforms glared at him, not happy with the result. The one with the most stars on his shirt was the first to speak up. And his tone carried just as much impact as his words did. They hadn't given him enough time. But they didn't care. They wanted there super solider weather it was done right or not. Things take time and you can't expect him to make a man in a day. But they did...this is why he hated working for the government.

“Dr. Bradley. This will not do at all. We wanted a man. Not...not...the blob or some freak show. Fix it or find a new job!”

The men turned on heel not waiting for his answer and stormed out. James was livid. How dare they...he had been working on things like this before some of them were born. His eyes narrowed in on their backs as they left the room. This was an insult he would not let slide. And he had a plan to make them all pay for this...assuming the plan didn't kill him first. He turned is attention back to his subject now a smirk on his face.

“How do you feel, Aingeru?”

He asked as he picked up a chart near the man going into his bedside manner. After all he was a patient now. He had served his purpose as useless as it turned out to be but he supplied the material the doctor needed. Now it was time to see if the man could still function or if he would lay down and die like the rest. He had a feeling this one had a bit more fight to him.

He was having problems pulling the needles out. Fucking things were taped down, little leeches eating at his skin. He imagined them writhing like snakes and gorging themselves on flesh that had grown increasingly pale with his tenure indoors, screwing his eyes shut and shaking his head, then immediately regretting the room as the room felt like it pitched all to one side. No no no, needles and tubes don’t do that. But the imagery was fresh in his head, tangible, and continuously overlapped with what his eyes saw. He tore them out with increased urgency, almost frenetic. He was seeing things.

Those needles are not alive. And that vat is not there. This is a concussion, Aingeru. You know what that feels like... Then why does it feel so fucking real?

The aseptic room continued to teeter and skew, Aingeru gripping the examination table and holding himself steady. The telepath was growing self-aware, but not fast enough to keep with his surroundings. Doors opened somewhere, sounding distant and echoing as though he were at the mouth of a tunnel, or somewhere deep in it. He watched the uniformed figures come in, buzz cuts and pressed uniforms, all brass and bars, led by someone in a lab coat towards the vat while they all spoke about it. Aingeru immediately recognized the doctor’s voice, scowling. Fucking bastard. However, he might as well not have even been in the same room he way they carried on. Sure, ignore the depowered concussed mutant. Peering at a nearby medical tray, he inched slowly towards the layout and nabbed a scalpel, holding the blade carefully in his hand and using that limb to steady himself against the table. It was too much to hope that he’d land a drunken lunge at the doctor if he got close enough, but Aingeru wasn’t being given many options. Rather than draw attention to himself, he kept quiet, listening to the exchange but catching only a few words here and there, his head filled with the cerebral equivalent of cotton. The sedative or whatever that Aingeru had been stuck with was pulling one hell of a number.

Before long, the bigwigs were gone, which made Aingeru the most interesting thing left in the room. Joy. The Doc addressed him, in that snide and mocking voice of his. Aingeru wanted to stab him already, make him a brand new breathing hole in his trachea. The inmate managed to sneer right back at him.

“Better than you, brother. My job isn’t on the line...” he smirked, trying his damnest not to keel over. The doctor picked up a chart, his vitals... fuck, what the hell had that bastard been doing while he was out? Aingeru had an idea, a plethora of them, none comforting. The physician regarded him condescendingly, as always, treatment similar to any of the other biopsy collections. His hold on the scalpel tightened, the doctor nearing. Aingeru lunged at him, grabbing for the white coat and slashing at him, but the movement was anything but precise. A loud clatter rebounded throughout the medical bay, a chrome tray with all sorts of instruments knocked over in the mutant’s haste, Aingeru giving a growling shout before sprawling to the floor.

The doctor chuckled softly as he watched Aingeru try and attack him. He reached down and patted the man on the head as he took the scalpel away. He was a feisty one... the amusements never seemed to stop with this one. He then reached to his hip and pulled out one of his dart guns and aimed it at the man. A daring glint in his eye.

“Funny you should mention brothers...”

He motioned over to the tank at his latest experiment had just been rejected by the powers that be. Sure it was ugly as sin. But it was an obedient monster and that was the basic description they had given him. It wasn't his fault that the genes Aingeru gave them turned out so ugly... besides there is no controlling how things mutate. It's why it's an anomaly. But he took his mind out of his thoughts and back to the man at hand.

“This, my dear boy. This is your greatest moment in life. A day that will be one day be looked on for it's scientific greatness. Your genes. Made the perfect monster. Fully obedient to its masters and ready to do every beck and call of those who command him. So lighten up and smile. Today science has hot new ground.”
He was proud of it. Sure it was only phase one. But still everything had to start somewhere. And this he was sure was the first step towards the perfect worker/killer/soldier what ever he desired. If he could create perfection...then he could prove to the world there is no God. Simply science. And that would be a great day.

The room pitched forward. Aingeru hit the floor. Hard. He felt the impact rattle his bones and clatter teeth like dice inside his skull, or maybe that was just the hail of chrome raining across the floor. His head felt like it was splitting in two, stars bursting behind his eyes. His precious scalpel had slipped out from his fingers, but he couldn’t damn tell what way was even up, much less locate the stupid thing and make for another dash and slash. He heard the doctor near, felt the hand pat him on the head as he moved around. Aingeru vocalized his frustration with another growl, looking up and reaching for the doc’s ankle, but finding it just out of his reach. He grimaced, clutching his head and rolling onto his back, not particularly caring about the dart gun pointed at him or whatever rufiecolada Bradley had loaded it with. He glared up at the doc, or at least tried. His vision continued to warp, stretching and pulling and melting and dancing with little lights of color and shape. He wanted to lay his head back, so very badly, close his eyes and make the room stop spinning. And remain unconscious with old, wrinkled and creepy. Either way, Aingeru realized he was fucked. Might as well stay up and see what shit got thrown at him.

“Going to sedate me again?...” he grimaced, clenching his jaw as the headache persisted. Gaining a semblance of control, he managed a grin. “Can’t get a date otherwise?”

Can’t even haul your ass off the floor and still baiting the guy with the gun? There had to be a clinical term for the telepath’s stubbornness. Or just stupidity. Every word coming out of his mouth was driving another nail into the coffin. Tenacious little bastard.

The good doctor, however, had his own means of retaliation. Attention went back to the tank, though Aingeru didn’t turn his head to look, partly because he didn’t care or want to know, and partly because if he made any sudden moves he was going to either be shot or puke on the medical bay floor, and then probably get shot for it. Luck just wasn’t on his side. Having no choice, he listened to the doctor’s ramble, glaring at him hatefully, then uncertainly, then… wait, what?

“A… clone?” he repeated. Aingeru finally regarded the vat, the humanoid figure inside the unknown fluids. But it was so misshapen, deformed. It looked nothing like him.

His addled mind was slow to process the information, one step behind the researcher’s revelations, but slowly, the blood transfusions and biopsies and physicals and skin samples began to tie into one another. He’d figured they were conducting some mutant genome mapping, something cold and scientific, but ultimately abstract and benign. The procedures hurt, Bradley not exactly taking precautions with the telepath who had harbored a steadily growing hatred of the man. But this… this went beyond anything Aingeru had previously suspected.

His genes? His biological identity? Made that abomination?
His brother? Oh, he had one, once, but he’d passed on with the rest of his family. He was the last of the bloodline.

And he was now sharing it… with that?

Aingeru was not a religious man, not for many, many years, but the concept of the blasphemous, the unholy, wasn’t forgotten. The idea made him sick, though there wasn’t much a difference compared with how he felt before. The Turk pulled himself from the floor partially, propped on one arm, gaze fixed on the vat in an increasingly disbelieving trance. Bradley rambled on about his contribution to science, basically masturbating with his self-aplomb. Aingeru vaguely tuned him out, staring at his clone, a horrific representation of himself. He couldn’t help but picture his actual brother in there, the same as he was almost a decade ago when he last saw him, suspended in that vile mucous and opened up and placed on display as a scientific anomaly, bits of brain matter floating in his pen with shards of jagged skull, viewing this simultaneously with the creation he was responsible for inside.

“What… the fuck did you do?” he choked out, but the sentiment was interrupted by the shriek of alarms. It gave the inmate a start, pulling him away from the precipice of a breakdown. The sirens were outside of the med bay doors, but it did little to lessen the volume or help his headache. Any other time, he would have taken advantage of the confusion and gone for Bradley a second time. But getting shot with a tranq was not on his to-do list. He settled with standing, slowly pulling himself to his feet with the help of a stationary supply cabinet, holding his hand out opened and palm out towards the doctor. No sudden moves. Of course.

“Okay… you are the staff here. What’s happening?” Aingeru asked. Surely, the federal employee would have an idea. Outside, heavy footsteps could be heard, more like a stampede, as well as shouts. It grew more chaotic by the second, punctuated by automatic gunfire. Aingeru looked past the doctor at the door, then back at the tank. Surely, he'd died and gone straight to Hell. There was no other explanation.

Alarms are never a good thing. They normally mean something bad is going on. And James wasn't in the mood for more bad. He walked over to his desk and pressed an intercom switch. Which patched him into the main guard booth. Which quickly told him the jail has gone to hell in a hand basket. Not those exact words but that was the basic idea of the message. He groaned and turned towards his subject. Pressing a few buttons on a key pad to drain the tank that had his creation in it. He was not losing all that hard work. It might not have been a final product but it was a step towards it. After he did that he turned his focus back to Aingeru.

“Well looks like your friends have had enough of being here and are busting their way out. So I suppose that leaves you with a unique choice doesn't it. Play nice and I can help you join them. Or keep up your tough guy act and stay here.”

He smirked as he waved a key card at him that would remove the null cuffs from him. Not like Aingeru could focus enough to mess with his head with all the drugs that were in system so there was no real threat to James. And James figured he had his newest toy to clear a path out for them. A rampaging ugly monster tends to make for a lovely bull dozer and distraction. The choice was all his and James folded his arms waiting for him to make a choice.

This was turning out to be a pretty shitty day, even by Aingeru’s standards. Doped up enough to knock out a bull rhino, finding out he’d spawned Frankenstein, caught in the middle of a prison-wide breakout with his pants down (well, not literally, thank fuck). His luck was almost pitiful. Bradley was feeling magnanimous, giving the Turk an option that was utterly unthinkable since he’d been hauled into this slaughterhouse. It was a complete one-eighty compared to the treatment the doctor had been giving him since his research started, and Aingeru doubted the scientist had suddenly developed a sense of moral ethics, unless it was just a tumor pressing into his skull. It was all about demonstrating power, a disproportionate imbalance of resources and possibilities and options that let Bradley walk the halls with a security clearance pass, powered and unharassed, while Aingeru shared a cell with a man-rat and had his brain scraped at with a biopsy probe by a monkey with a doctorate degree. Aingeru understood that, but it didn’t make him any more accepting or less hostile. Actually, it pissed him off even further.

“Now you want to help me? Fuck you!” he shouted, along with a string of creatively conjugated foreign curses, the dart gun pointed at him the only thing keeping him from strangling him. Even then, the idea sounded reasonable. “The second this cuff goes off, what do you think will happen?” Aingeru laughed, sitting dizzily back against a table. “You do not understand at all. But I would not expect you to, anyway. Fucked up as I am, that is only physical. Up here,” he continued, raising a hand and tapping his temple with a finger, “nothing changes.”

Of course, the threats didn’t mean anything without the cuff gone. But like most people pressed into a desperate situation, Aingeru found the need to run his mouth and spout threats. His pride was the only thing he had under his name anymore. He wouldn’t be accepting handouts anytime soon, much less grovel for them. Besides, he highly doubted the card did anything. It was the sort of mindfuck Bradley’s kind would stoop to, like offering a thirsty man in the desert a canteen full of sand and piss. The doctor fiddled with his equipment, and attention veered back to that tank. The fluids inside drained with a slurping rush into mechanically opened grates on the base of the cylindrical enclosure, yellow gelatinous fluids clinging to the glass walls in a thick layer of mucous. Aingeru felt his stomach twist unpleasantly.

“If you think… you stand a chance with any of the prisoners, well, be my guest.” Outside, chaos grew, terrified screams leaking through the reinforced doors.

James chuckled. This one had spunk even in the face of all of this. He moved around his lab a bit nor saying a word. He was not going to be bullied when he had all the cards in his hands. He picked up a small PDA like device and tapped the screen a few times as the beast in the tank sputtered a bit and his eyes flickered open. It groaned softly as it came to life it's distorted face looking around the lab at the two men as it pulled it's hulking mess of a body out of the tube. James smiled rather proud it was working as well as it was. It stood still waiting for it's orders like a good little lab rat. Satisfied with it he turned back to Aingeru.

“I have him to clear a path for me and create any distractions needed to get out of her. And besides If I lock this lab down none of your friends will be coming this way. Who really wants to break in to the med bay when they could break into freedom? And on a higher note. I told you when we first met I am just like you a mutant and a prisoner here. I have no love for these people. So I am merely offering you a chance. You leave with me and your brother there and I flip your cuffs off when outside and poof you never have to see me again. Or we can sit here and sip coffee and talk about the weather.”

He took a seat in his desk chair as he waited for Aingeru to make up his mind. James was in a win win situation so all the faith and trust sat in the lap of Aingeru. Either he could trust the good doctor or he could not. The choice was his.

Freedom. Right. The freedom to plummet a few hundred feet through the air and fall fuck knows where. The doctor seemed to have all his bases covered, all hinging on that testtube freak. Aingeru couldn't bear to look at it, especially as it began gaining consciousness. Instead, he focused on the doctor, sitting so nonchalantly at his desk like the entire prison wasn't falling apart and repeated the offer, all nice and slow as though he were talking to someone mentally handicapped. Asshole. Aingeru scowled openly at him.

His other option was to stay. Hobble around the medbay and maybe throw up whatever cocktail of hallucinogens and psychopomps that made it into his digestive system. And wait for the prison security to get its shit together and haul him back to his little cell like nothing had ever happened. Walking out into that chaos wasn't very promising either. The only sane option was to follow Bradley out, let his little Frankenstein monster do all the work and not fall behind. Rot in here or die out there. Not a very good set of choices there.

Aingeru held up a hand, a waiting gesture towards the doctor as he tipped towards the wall of shelves and cabinets towards a chrome sink. He took a few deep breaths, then pitched forward as he vomited. Relief was almost immediate. His head still felt ready to burst, but at least his stomach wasn't giving him grief. Rinsing out his mouth with tap water and washing his hands, he spoke.

"Fine. Get moving now before shit gets any worse out there."

James smiled at the man. He may have been a brute but at least he wasn't a complete idiot. He walked over towards his creation and smiled at the mass of jelly and skin. And punched a few buttons into his key pad which caused the small control collar around the things neck to flash green.

“Aingeru Jr. You will find two bad men outside the door. They need to be dealt with for us. Get to it.”

The creature flexed its arms and moved. Dragging its arms along the floor like an ape or some sort as it walked. A small trail of yellow slime in it's wake. The smell of which was not the nicest thing in the world. James made a note to work on that. As the door swooshed open the two guards spun and looked a bit scared at the monster as it reached it's long slime ridden hands out smothering the guards. They hacked and choked as the slime dripped off the monster down there throats and there bodies were chucked to the side. James smiled and turned to his new found “friend” a smirk on his face.

“You little brother is rather useful despite his look no?”

He made an after you motion so he could take up the rear. He was not going to give this man his back. He knew better then to turn around and give Aingeru the chance to kill him like he wanted to so badly.

Spitting a last few bits of bile and that lunch's gruel onto the clinic floor, Aingeru looked to the ground at the fetid gelatinous wake his test tube creation left and trying not to step in it. Whatever parts of his genome used to make that thing, they sure as hell hadn't worked, but Aingeru tried not to linger on that. Instead, he took the doctor's cue to move forward, giving him the finger as he moved out to the halls behind his lab-made relative.
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