| Welcome to Xmen Revolution. We hope you enjoy your visit. You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free. Join our community! If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| It is Not Adversity That Kills; (Known Skrull Captives) | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: May 28 2012, 12:31 AM (3,736 Views) | |
| Artie | May 28 2012, 12:31 AM Post #1 |
![]()
Holographic Projection
|
Prisoners of the Skrull, only post here AFTER you have been revealed to have been replaced IN GAME. Late May Sometime Day Presumably There really wasn't a night time here, though in the prison levels of Skrullos, there wasn't much light to be seen anyhow. The little boy who sat in the cell had once had bright pink skin and wide white eyes, but it had been over a year since he had seen the sun. So, his skin was faded from the garishness of strawberry bubble gum to the pastel tones of strawberry ice cream, and his white eyes were ringed with red circles deepening into purple bruises. Artie Maddicks had been taken from the tunnels by the skrulls over a year ago, and for nearly all that time, he had been kept in this metal cell in this weird out of phase world, by these monsters who told him that no one would ever look for him because no one even knew that he was gone. Sometimes, when the skrulls weren't around, Artie made a holographic representation of people he loved to keep him company. Sometimes it was Marrow. Sometimes it was Callisto. Sometimes it was Miss Rahne or Kitty. Sometimes it was Leech or his dad... when the nights were really really bad, it was his mother, but he hardly remembered what she looked like, so she was not as well defined as others. More than once, when he knew that they were going to do another of their weird experiments on him, he made holograms of Mr. Scott and Mr. Logan. They reminded him that being an X-Man meant being brave. But Artie was almost always scared. The experiments were bad, really. They didn't take too much blood or torture him. Sometimes they scraped his skin with dull stone like things and seemed happy to have skin cells. Sometimes they did things with measuring tools to study the size of his eyes, or how round his head was. They talked to him a lot about things in the world, and would sometimes say a word and make him show a picture of it. The words weren't anything he cared about, really. Helicarrier. Pope. Microscope. Different animals or people. They really seemed interested in his holograms, especially the hard light ones that had substance to them. Captain America's shield. Dinosaurs. Airplanes. Once even Thor's hammer, and they had been fascinated that when he lifted it, he could use a creation of light to dent a sheet of metal they set up. But usually, he just sat in his cell, and they fed him three times a day, so that was how he measured time. It had taken them a little while to understand he needed that much food. They didn't seem to eat much, and since there was no real night, maybe they didn't sleep either. Honestly he couldn't tell if the guards outside the prison level were switched out or not... they all looked alike to him. So, Artie sat. In silence. In captivity. And, he tried to be brave. But he was beginning to lose hope. |
![]() |
|
| Callisto | May 28 2012, 01:10 AM Post #2 |
|
Unregistered
|
Drip, Drip, Drip Pound! Pound! Pound! And so it went. The woman had tied a strip of cloth torn from the odd shirt they'd given her tied around her face, over her eyes. One had been almost too much to bear. Having two again now, that was almost maddening. Whatever they had done to get it back, she didn't know, but no matter how much she begged them to take it back they only smiled their dagger-grins and taunted her, flashing her face with migraine inducing light shows or blaring odd sounds in her sensitive ears. And the smell. The smell of this place, this whole place, had been enough to make her wretch for a month before she'd grown accustomed to it. She still wondered why. It had been late January when she'd gotten the new, when she'd heard about the terrors perpetrated by Sack and Marrow. It had been those terrors she'd set out to solve. She made it to Chicago, she remember that, remembered those bastards with the Cloaks butchering all of them. But after that? It had only been a few days, she hadn't even gotten out of Chicago city when that thing had come for her. It had been a fight, a hell of a fight, but in the end, bruised and battered from the rumble in the Chicago tunnel, she lost her grip, and here she was. Here in the dark, it wasn't so bad, her eyes. She still kept them covered when she could. It had been over a year now, she figured, and she'd become quite adept at seeing without seeing, depending on scent and sound moreso than sight. For even in the dimmest of bright places, it was like staring into the sun. She stumbled along now the corridor, bound. They kept her shackled. Solid stuff too. She was no Sunder but then she was strong beyond even human standards, whatever wrapped around her feet and wrists, it was damn sturdy. She felt one of them kick her in the back as she staggered towards her cell, fresh back from another round of scientific torture. Swinging her around, she was tossed then into her cell hitting the ground, her blindfolded face zeroing in on the overseer, despite the self deprivation of her vision. She smelled him here, every time they led her through. She smelled Artie, and every time, she felt that maternal anger build in her core. As the cell wall went up she said the same thing she always said. "One day, someone a lot like me is gonna kill your entire fuckin' species." The Overseer and his troops only grinned their knife-filled smiles before leaving her to rot once more. God help them if she ever got out. The prison block was dark. She made her home in the dark places. The prison block was hard. She made her living on hardship. |
|
|
| Tommy Shepard | May 31 2012, 01:22 PM Post #3 |
|
Unregistered
|
If there was one thing Tommy had ever been grateful to his brother for, as strange as it seemed, it was the way the boy stripped him of his powers.He was mad at first, fuming even. And why wouldn't he be? Since his mutation kicked in, it was that speed, those few steps ahead, that manic energy that defined him. His codename was Speed, for God's sake. But a few months ago, with everything falling out of whack, he was snatched up. The spell, or whatever you call it (Tommy never much cared for the whole magic thing) had kicked into high gear. He began skidding around the world, appearing in various places with an intense building sensation in his chest. They chased him, of course; Billy, Teddy, and Cassie. But it was to no avail. One of those skids, one of those blips and travels, landed him of the clutches of some really grody looking creatures. They seemed greasy and when they told him that he 'was going to be taken somewhere he would never return from', his response of "Do whatever you want. Just don't drip on me," seemed to confuse them. Maybe sarcasm was above this race, who knows. Since then, he had rotated cells. They didn't like the screams and taunts he was giving at first. And they absolutely hated the way those screams always devolved into inane but constant chatter with whoever was in a cell nearby. They kept moving him and, when they were not moving him, they were running tests. Turns out Billy didn't strip Tommy of his powers at all. If the greenies were right, that would mean killing him. What he did was more like flipping a switch. The greenies needed to flip it back if 'the doppleganger is to have every advantage.' So they did. They didn't know how to at first. It was basically a roulette game inside Tommy's cells, with pinballs of drugs and lasers bouncing from point to point. Finally, they hit a nerve and the energy that had been sitting in his chest, building up like bad indigestion, rerouted itself throughout Tommy's body. His speed was back, but was that a good thing? Back in the cell, they found a surly teenage speedster hard to deal with. As a result, they increased the density of the air in his room, thickening it enough to ground him down to a negotiable speed. He had to wear a mask as the air was too thick to actually breath, which also pretty much kept his chatter to a minimum, an added bonus. So he sat through minutes that felt like days and days that felt like months, wondering what was happening with the world below, what his 'doppleganger' was doing to mess up his life, and if anyone, anyone at all, would be able to tell the difference. |
|
|
| Doctor Strange | Jun 2 2012, 04:45 AM Post #4 |
![]()
Master of the Mystic Arts
|
He was losing himself even more now. Too long was he separated from his body, too long was he a formless spirit in the darkness. It was said amongst the airy creatures of the faint dimensions that he now walked that a man separated from his body for a mere twenty four hours would lose himself forever. He had been lost for years... was it years? No, it couldn't be. It couldn't be so long. "You won’t believe what you see right before your eyes," he whispered to himself, in a slightly mad singsong. "My magic’s sure to amaze and to tantalize. Now you see it- now you don’t. There’s magic in the air." How did he come to be here? What was he before this place? The pale shape of a man tried to focus his thoughts. Who was he? Who had he been? He was two when Donna was born... his sister... yes, he remembered her, and didn't remember a time without her. Donna... then Victor. Victor, he remembered coming, he was old enough then... His mother holding the baby in her arms. "Come and see your new brother... Don't you want to hold him..." The emptiness after those words. She said his name, what was his name. How old had he been? Old enough to know his name... old enough to know... He was nine then? Nine? "Come and see your new brother... Don't you want to hold him, Stephen?" "Stephen..." he whispered, "Yes, my name is Stephen." But what beyond that? Was there a beyond? Donna was dead now. Drowned. He put his hand to his throat and felt the phantom sensation of drowning... Victor... he was dead... how? Hit by a bus.... his parents... "Is everyone dead... am I dead?" What was this place? The warping wafting of the air, the colors too bright here, not bright enough there. The shifting of the landscape, the scatter of the trees that weren't trees and the rocks that weren't rocks. But his destination was the city ahead, a single building, not a city, but yes a city. A labyrinth constructed of something that was not constructed. "Omnipotent Octessence, guide me," he murmured, the mad man's words that he had used to focus the powers granted to him by the gem now lost, gifted by who, a man who took him in his charge when he was lost, lost and cold and dead. "The operation was a success, Doctor. Your patient wants to thank you." He scoffed, lighting a cigarette. "I can't be bothered. Just make sure he pays his bill." Who was that arrogant man... who was that... A screech of tires, the pain, the fear... his hands, his hands.... "Although your hands seem to be all right, the nerves have been severely damaged..." He made a sign with his hands now, marveling that he could see the world passing between them, through them... Stephen, his name was Stephen, and he had no strength to remember the last name... There was a sun in the sky, and it glowed like the yellow gem he had been given by an Ancient Man, who called him disciple. Where it came from no one knew, where it had been, what it could do. It did whatever it's owner needed, made him whatever he wanted to be. Magic. There was magic in the air. "Now you see it- now you don’t. There’s magic in the air... He had used the gem to give him powers to do good, to do what the world needed. There were those who could rewrite reality. Someone needed to be their guide. Someone needed to see that reality stayed intact through all the twisting and turning of its matter, and he had seen, inside the gem, that the world worked the way the neurons of the brain did. Each electrical impulse made each motion... each emotion... The world. He understood it the way he understood the mind. Passing through the walls of the city, he felt drawn to those who came from where he came from, even though he couldn't name that city... New Amsterdam? No.... that wasn't write but almost. His feet sank to the level of the floor, and he drew his energy into himself, forming as solid a figure as he could. "Vapors of Valtorr -- swirl 'round thy brow! May the Moon's Mists of Morpheus envelop thee now!" Dr. Stephen Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme, stood in the middle of the mists that would put to sleep all those who meant him ill, and he closed his eyes. "Guide me, Vishanti... your servant has so little time left." And, he began to walk through the prison level... Leaving a trail of slumbering skrulls behind him. |
| |
![]() |
|
| Wallflower | Jun 3 2012, 01:55 AM Post #5 |
|
Unregistered
|
How much time has passed? The last thing that Laurie Collins remembered of home - yes, compared to this hellish place, Utopia had been home - was heading out into the wilds to fetch something for herself to satiate a late-night craving while on the trek that Cyclops had put together. She never got her snack. She had been examining a batch of unfamiliar fruit when he, it, had caught her by surprise. A scaly hand covered her mouth from behind, silencing her scream; a strong arm wrapped around her waist, limiting her movement. She had been trapped. She tried flailing enough to get free, but these creatures, whatever they were, were too strong for her. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was another one... tall, dark, and most definitely not handsome. In fact, it was revolting. It's yellow eyes bore into her soul as it raised some kind of staff. Her mind racing with panic, she tried to release her pheromones, tried to get away, but it seemed that these things had known what precautions to take, for when she tried, they had no affect. Instead came a sharp pain to the side of her skull. The toxikinetic woke with a start on a hard, cold surface, a bright light directly above her almost blinding her. She tried to get up, to get away, but was strapped down by her ankles, wrists, torso, chest and neck. She thrashed, to no avail, only succeeding in bruising herself. God, she had a headache. Her vision temporarily blurred and her brain pounded. She closed her eyes to attempt relief, only to have them forced open again. Another pair... no, multiple pairs of those terrifying eyes stared down at her as they poked and prodded her with god knew what. Why hadn't her pheromones worked? She tried screaming, but nothing came out. Would it even help? Could anyone even hear her? Where the hell was she? The cell that she had been thrown into was no better than the laboratory, and Laurie took up residency in the back corner. Minutes ran into hours, hours into days, days into weeks. There were no clocks here, no sunlight, no way of telling the time of day. Only darkness. Darkness and dampness. Why was everything so damp? A shiver ran down her spine as she rubbed helplessly at her arms; the clothing that had been provided could hardly be called as such. She felt very much like a homeless person, and in this place, she was. No, she was a prisoner. A prisoner of what? War? Her usually bright blue eyes shut tightly, for the sixth time in what seemed like the past twenty minutes. It had become routine, for her to close her eyes and pretend this was all an awful dream. That she wasn't really wherever the hell she was, that she would wake up in her bed back at base. Sometimes, she could almost feel Josh's arms surrounding her. But every time she opened her eyes again, the reality of the situation hit her like a rock. There was no escaping this. She heard a deep, rough laugh and her eyes glared upwards at one of the guards who had decided to take a break from his rounds and instead, torment her. She said nothing. "You've been here a month and a half," commented the guard, a pleased look plastered on its mug. Again, no response. "Would you like to know why your power won't work?" No response. "Your ability is very impressive. But due to your unique talents, it was clear that acquiring you would be a... challenge. Those things, on your wrists," he nodded towards the tight, clunky bracelets secured to her wrists, "those shackles that you have tried in vain to remove so many times. They can sense your pheromones and immediately counter-act them, force them back into your biology. We had to take precautions... you understand. If we hadn't, you could have easily coerced us into letting you leave. And we can't have that." She didn't even acknowledge his presence as he spoke, but she listened, processed the information. A month and a half? And no one had found her? Were they even looking? No... they have to be looking. Unless... they don't know that I'm gone. She remembered hearing something in the laboratory about someone named Xia... and how she was faring in such a frail body. They must have been referring to hers. They don't even know... The reality of what that sentence meant sunk in, and Laurie's heart dropped into her stomach, nausea washing over her. How much longer would she have to stay here? It was clear that when she didn't respond after its speech, the Skrull guard's frustration grew. It was trying to taunt her, and all she did was stare at the ground, blonde hair draped around her features like curtains. When it became clear that she was not, and would not respond - she wasn't about to give these creatures that satisfaction - the guard moved on, no doubt to find someone else to harass. A loud bang echoed through the halls of the cold prison, a tell-tale sign that either someone new was entering the cell-block, or someone was being taken. Taken for more tests. Laurie had been for about seven tests since she had been imprisoned by the beasts. They had taken more blood than she thought she had in her body, hooked her up to more machines than she had ever seen before. They had even used shock technology, possibly to try and figure out what triggered the release of her pheromones. They had first attempted to simply make her feel certain emotions through dialogue, but when it became clear that she would not cooperate, they had turned to more drastic measures to retrieve their data; forcing pheromones out of her. What was even more maddening was that they continued to try and converse with her while doing so, expressing their interests in her ability, in her world - as if she had anything to say to those monsters. No, since she had arrived, Laurie had changed. She had been captured once before, but back then, she had hope of escape. True to form, she'd had hope for the first few weeks, but as more time passed, the more bleak the situation became. And with what she had just been told, what she had just realized... that no one even knew she was gone? Her spirits were darkened even further. If one who knew Laurie from home were to see her now, they wouldn't recognize her; her usual friendly smile replaced with a vague and uncooperative expression, eyes shadowed with purple, usually creamy and bright skin dulled by sheer lack of vitamin intake and sun exposure. They fed her regularly, but the food didn't contain the kind of nutrients that she was used to receiving. Her whole body was thrown off, and she often felt nauseous because of it. But, in spite of everything, she ate. Why did she eat? Because even though she had lost almost all hope, there was still a sliver; still an inkling of a chance, and that was just enough. It was enough for her to think that she would be able to return to base, to see and work with the X-Men again, to work even harder to become one. To see Nori and Josh again. To go home. Regardless of the situation, regardless of how helpless she felt, Laurie Collins refused to give up. There was a war coming. There had to be. And when it came, she would be as ready as she could be, as strong as she could be. Wallflower was not going down without a fight. |
|
|
| Plague | Jun 4 2012, 06:11 PM Post #6 |
|
Pathogenic Control
|
Since the green bastards had deemed it necessary to ruin her day and all the snail slow time that would follow, Plague had taken it upon herself to be wretched and annoying as all fuck. She rarely cooperated, caused a scene, threw out expletives at every given moment. There was a deadly disease at the mutant's beck and call at all hours, hiding in her fingertips, dancing on her lips, crawling at any exposed epidermal layer. Wise was the guard who kept his distance from the grey woman. Today's bought of irritation came in song form, as Plague roamed about her cell and sang (honestly, it was more akin to screaming) at the top of her lungs, deliberately botching the lyrics and alternating them to fit her ragematic mood. Her voice was shrill for the added nerve grating effect, not that she was naturally a very good singer to begin with, just tolerable. Plague stomped about her room and banged on the door in time to the beat of the drums in her head, as Reason to Believe looped on a mental track. The Morlock improved her own lyrics as her anger mounted, finding little release as she made the surface her own musical device. Her eyes constantly glared at her prison as she twirled and belted, "I've been waiting to kill you for long, to fuck up you Skrull bitches I want a reason to end you, it's so strong, and give you one good diseased kiss!" And so on and so forth, the lack of information of why and how, of what was going on outside and who else occupied these cells alongside her, only allowing the manic to fester. |
![]() |
|
| Flashpoint | Jun 4 2012, 06:43 PM Post #7 |
![]()
Thermokinesis
|
Glass... It felt like he was swallowing glass. He'd been thirsty for the past few hours. Not that it mattered. He'd been denied water and food for the past couple of days. Punishment for his most recent "unwillingness to cooperate". And even if he had been provided the usual dishes of food and water, he doubted that he could get his body to remove itself from it's slumped position on the floor against the far wall. It was kind of funny, really. During the torture sessions, they'd actually shove water down his throat as they beat him, trying to see if his thermokinetic abilities would evaporate or freeze it in his throat when and if he let his emotions take the reigns instead of maintaining his focus on preventing them from even surfacing. Every day since his capture at the hands of these green men, he'd made it a point to stay silent. He remembered it clearly. Just after he'd left the impromptu "Meeting" with his Brotherhood regarding the attacks on the X-Corp facility, he was walking back to his room. From behind him, he heard shouting in a familiar accent that told him that Pyro was on the rampage. He didn't care. And going back would probably have been just as equally pointless. If they weren't acting on the attack, then there was nothing to be discussed further. It was in that hallway that it happened. He remembered a familiar voice calling after him and turned, only to be met with a jarring sensation that made everything around him spin. And then he woke up here. It took a bit for him to realize that he wasn't being punished by the Brotherhood for his attitude. About as much time as it took for him to realize that his captors were deft shapeshifters, and his fellow inmates people from all walks of mutantkind. Some were X-Men, some were just children. Some were people who had nothing to do with any of the Brotherhood's concerns. But they were caught and tortured just the same as all. Cattle for their jailors' amusement. Upon that realization, Joshua had decided that silence was golden. They would come to his cell every few days or so, leading him to a room to ask him questions. Mostly about his abilities. He said nothing. For days, it continued. Out the door, to the room, on the table, in the straps, asked the questions... beaten. Then the days became weeks. Then the weeks became months... If these things wanted to kill him, they could have, and he would gladly have accepted it. He was certain he wouldn't be missed. He had no one in the Brotherhood whom he would ever call a "friend". He hadn't even considered it possible with his own icy demeanor. Here and there, he'd have a friendly conversation with another of his brethren and try to... "Open up"... but it was something he couldn't grasp knowing that the slightest shift in his mood could make the whole room hot as hell, or equally as cold. But he was alive. No matter how much the captors beat and deprived him, he was alive. Which meant they needed him alive for some reason. |
Avatar and Sig by Liquid Amnesia. Thank you!![]() She loves you... | |
![]() |
|
| Scatterbrain | Jun 4 2012, 07:59 PM Post #8 |
![]()
Synaptic Misfiring/Empathic Feeding
|
The ceiling was dark and unfamiliar. She laid there on her back for well over ten minutes, staring at it blankly as she waited and sang under her breath. "Tick... Tock... Goes the clock..." Waited for her senses to return to her. Waited for the new sensation of gravity to make sense. Waited until her mind picked up on those that she could feel just beyond the dank cell that she had woken up in. "Tick... Tock... Goes the clock..." The air was heavy with fear, despair, desperation, and a bracing touch of pain and venom. They were feelings she was well-acquainted with. Not her favorite meal, bitter and soggy, but they were so strong they overpowered her curiosity to get up and figure out where she was. Dizzy, she found a clear spot on the floor and soaked in it, letting it flow through her as she stretched. It was then she realized that she was actually lying on the ground. It was so cold... so hard... so different. Ground...? she wondered. It's the ground... why am I feeling ground? As she continued to feed, her mind began to regain it's clarity as it always did when she fed on enough strong emotions. And then she abruptly sat up, realizing she wasn't floating anymore. Not only that, but her hair limply fell about her shoulders in a color she hadn't seen in a long time. Blonde. Blonde... I was blonde a long time ago... before my mutation... She realized as she pulled the strands in front of her. And then it came back. Chasing Sonny, the confrontation with X-Factor, getting called to the "Council"... then... here. What did Calli mean when she said we were going to war? "Calli!?" She saw a door. Or at least, it looked like a door. She darted toward it. Or at least she tried to. As soon as she pushed against the floor with her arms, she collapsed. Her body had become so accustomed to floating that her muscles had long since become incapable of anything other than moving through the air when she wanted to touch something. Even moving the boulders in front of Anansi's garden relied more on her propulsion than anything else. But she sensed something familiar. A fierce and spicy determination, different from the one she was familiar with, but still there. A light and sweet sense of hope that she immediately recognized, even though it was diluted by fear and despair. Two familiar sensations beyond these walls that told her that in this dank prison, there were people that she knew. "Calli!? Artie!?" The guards outside began to chuckle. |
|
Avatar by Dean ~Is it compassion which drives you, or do you seek to recruit even the mad to your cause?~ ~Little creepy girl With her little creepy face Saying funny things that you have never heard~ | |
![]() |
|
| Fracture | Jun 4 2012, 09:24 PM Post #9 |
|
Unregistered
|
Emptiness A hole of nothing Distance Blood dripped from his swollen lip onto the dirty jeans that he was wearing. He had no idea how long he had been in this metal cage he only knew that he had lost his connection to the Earth. Lucian had raged for the first few days trying his hardest to find the Earth. Ever since the green skinned bastards had brought him here, he hadn't been able to feel his connection to Mother Earth. It had enraged the older man and fought them tooth and nail. Though as a consequence he would be beaten very hard. The older man seemed to be nothing but a mass of bruises and scabs. They would let him heal and then he would fight some more and then they would beat him again. Though the older man wasn't completely powerless against them. Yes they were faster and stronger, but Fracture had age and experience. He had managed to break ones arm before they beat him unconscious. As a result they had tossed him in a metal cage seemingly devoid of earth. He had only felt this empty in his life once, when his wife had died. The hole that resided in his soul and body was something completely new that he had never experienced. It had sent him raging for days banging his fists against the wall and yelling and trying to shake it. Whatever his cell was made of there was no pieces of Earth in it or even minerals. It was like something he had never even seen nothing of this world. They would feed him 3 times a day and he would yell at them every time the little slit in his door opened. Feeling the renewed anger rise in him he stood with a roar and slammed his fists against the wall. "LET ME OUT OF THIS BLASTED CAGE!" he roared in anger pounding the metal listening to it echo outwards "I WILL BURY YOU!" He could hear other people in the cells near him and they were all outraged. Thankfully they hadn't taken away his tremor sense, he was still able to feel and place where people were up to 80ft away. He knew that there were others and he knew that they had all been taken prisoner by whatever the hell these guys are. Losing the fighting urge again, he slumped against the metal wall running his hand over the cold, lifeless metal he was stuck in. The only thing that he could do is sit and wait and plan the death of these fucking green bastards once and for all. |
|
|
| Cloak | Jun 5 2012, 09:20 PM Post #10 |
![]()
Darkforce Manipulation
|
Days had begun to blur for Tyrone, he'd never been disconnected from Cloak for this long, and the more he was disconnected from his alter-ego the more his confidence was sapped away from him. Tyrone examined the cuffs that had been placed on his wrist while he was unconscious, he'd tried repeatedly to get them off, if only so he could disappear into one of the shadows of the cell that had become his new home. With his spine all but evaporated, Tyrone everything that the Skrull guards ordered him to, he wanted to fight back, he wanted to get home. But without his mutation to give him the strength he needed to fight he was powerless in this strange world. There were advantages to the null cuffs he was wearing though, the hunger that Tyrone had been living with for the past eight years. It was like he was finally full, and that he no longer needed the life force of living beings to continue to exist, he knew though that it was only temporary and that as soon as the cuffs came off his powers and the hunger would ultimately return to him. He knew that Rogue was here somewhere perhaps if he could get in contact with her, they might be able to find out who else was here, but for that he would need to find out what cell she was. For that he stood at his cell door trying to get a glimpse of any of the prisoners as they were moved to the testing rooms. |
[align=center] [/align]
| |
![]() |
|
| Callisto | Jun 5 2012, 09:47 PM Post #11 |
|
Unregistered
|
She sat there in the corner, shivering against the cool of her cell. There was so much wrong here. She wondered just how many others were here. Still, no matter how many, she had her own priorities. Why she was important enough to capture she didn't know, didn't care, but as the days, months, hell, maybe even years had gone by, she committed herself to getting out eventually. Just took time and patience, two things which, as of late, she'd had nothing but. But then something odd took over, a change in the air it seemed. Nothing she could rightly pick up on, no smell or sound or sight, but as she sat there, wrap around her eyes, she felt a change in something, a whisp in the breeze that betrayed something. There it was, she listened to it, that canting call. It was faint, far off, but it was getting closer. Her ear twitched. "Vapors of Valtorr -- swirl 'round thy brow! May the Moon's Mists of Morpheus envelop thee now!" Someone was coming, someone who wasn't a local. She grinned. Then a shadow came approaching down the hall, stopping at her door. It was that nasty ass guard. The one they called Jelk'ov. She called him Jackoff, but it fell on deaf ears. Skrulls had no bones for human humor. The field keeping her inside dropped. She watched him walk in with that long reaching collar, the loop on the end of the staff that would keep her at distance to avoid any more... dismemberings. They hadn't liked that. "Ready for another dose, huh, Ape? Heh." They wanted to fuck with her eyes again, do more of that sensory deprivation shit. Nuh-uh. Her hand gripped behind her back, that simple tool she'd been saving. "Come easy, little ape. Make it go quick if ya do, heh heh." "Why don't you shove your head up your ass, huh? See if it fits." He lunged at her with his lasso-stick and she moved her head, grabbing it and pulling herself up by it, rolling it along his neck until she had him in a lock. He punched back, with all that odd strength and she planted against the wall at her back, slid down as he looped the chord around her neck. "Grk!" She reached for the shiv but it was beyond her grasp. Behind that blindfold, she heard a slump, and lifting it, she looked over the huddled, snoring guard on the floor in front of her. Looking to the exit from her cell, an eyebrow crawled up her forehead as the strange mists began to roll aimlessly across the floor of the hallway. "Uhhh.... Kay." No alarms? She crawled to her feet, giving Jackoff a good kick to the jaw as she unlooped his tie from her neck and picked up her shiv. Thing wouldn't get her far... Moving to the edge of her cell she peaked around the doorway. Hazy, smokey whispes rolled here and there, drifting over sleeping bodies. "Huh... How about that." |
|
|
| Keniuchio Harada | Jun 5 2012, 09:50 PM Post #12 |
|
Unregistered
|
Harada sat cross legged on the bench within his cell silently, his own foolishness had brought him to this point so while Sage may have been the one to capture him. It was his own weakness that lead to him lowering his guard and allowing the supposed Black Queen to inject him with the anesthetic which lead to his imprisonment by these aliens. He wasn't going to sit here forever though, for the first days after his initial imprisonment, he had spent his time appearing like he had been meditating, but in actuality he had been watching, every guards action and the comings and goings of any and every prisoner that passed by his cell door. Whenever the Skrull guards came for him, he remained quiet and allowed them to take him wherever he needed to be taken, his trips out he tried to acquire as much information as possible. There was no escape plan though, Harada had no idea where he was, he had no idea who his captors were. Every cloud however has a silver lining they say, and Harada's was that he still had his powers. Now all he needed was to acquire an object, any object would do and Harada could turn it into a weapon and once armed he would be in a much better position for escaping. He was unaware of which of his allies were here, he knew the Black Queen would be here somewhere but he had no idea who else had been compromised in the. For now though his goal had to be his own safety, once he was out of his cell he could help any others that he finds along the way. |
|
|
| Mitchell | Jun 5 2012, 11:03 PM Post #13 |
|
Unregistered
|
Today's the day I escape, Mitch told himself as he opened his eyes to the same cell he'd been waking up to for... well, truthfully, he no longer had any idea how long he'd been in that cell. He'd tried to maintain some kind of calendar at first; they'd taught him that, when he was a soldier, that if he was captured the enemy would try to disorient him by depriving him of cues regarding the passage of time. He couldn't see the sun, couldn't tell whether it was day or night, and he had no idea what kind of schedule they were feeding him on, but he could at least count sleep-cycles; that would give him something to anchor on. Unfortunately, the walls of his cell were far too tough to scratching gouges in, and the unstable-molecule X-Guard uniform was too tough to tear, and that was basically all he had available to count with. At first he'd tried keeping count by scratching cuts into his arm with his own nails, but then one day -- the count had been forty or so, if he remembered correctly -- he'd gone a little squirrely and started gouging himself more seriously. He couldn't remember anymore why he'd done it; he thought it had something to do with an escape plan involving cutting a piece of himself off and tossing it through the cell door when they next came to feed him, but it didn't really make any sense. He wasn't sure if he would have bled to death or not, but his captors hadn't taken the chance, they'd knocked him out before he'd done too much damage. When he woke up he was still in his cell (or maybe a different cell; there was nothing in this one to distinguish it from any other) and his hands were healed. After that, there didn't seem much point in trying to keep count. He was pretty sure it had been months since then, rather than weeks or years, but it was hard to be certain. Today's the day I escape, he repeated, psyching himself up. Of course, he'd told himself that the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. And he would keep telling himself that, every day, until it was true. It was the first responsibility of every prisoner of war, they'd drilled that into his head as a Marine. Escape, obfuscate, damage the enemy as much as possible. And in the meantime, gather as much information as possible. Unfortunately, Mitch hadn't been too successful at any of those tasks. He'd tried to escape, of course. Eleven times: that count, at least, he could remember. He'd assaulted his guards a few times, too, with equal success, which was to say none at all. They were stronger and faster than he was, and the one time he'd actually gotten the upper hand on them they'd just flipped some switch and he'd passed out. The first time they'd left him alone with anything that resembled plumbing, he'd poured himself down the drain... but as far as he could tell, the plumbing here was a sealed system, and after a few minutes they'd yanked him back somehow. After that, the plumbing had all been sealed with a force-field that let everything through except Mitch. The doors, too, when they opened them to feed him, or pull him out for whatever it was they did to him during the gaps in his memory. Experimenting on his powers, he supposed; at least, when he woke up afterwards he was always in goo form, even if he'd been flesh and blood when taken. Once, he'd even woken up in three different pieces, kind of like when that Nimrod machine had cut him in half. He hadn't liked it, but he'd stayed that way for a while in the hopes that maybe one piece could escape while the others stayed behind to fool pursuit. The opportunity never came, though, and one day he woke up in one piece again. Still, he refused to give up. Today's the day I escape. These days he had to repeat it ten or twenty times before he started to believe it. Gathering information had been a little easier, but not much. The green-skinned humanoids who had imprisoned him were Skrulls, apparently, and they worshipped some kind of god or leader or something like that unimaginatively named Skrullos, and they seemed to think that the human race had taken over their planet, which made no sense to Mitch at all. And he wasn't the only prisoner, not by a long shot; he could hear and smell other humans. Or, well, mutants. Nobody familiar, so far, though every day he'd hoped to hear a voice he knew. Today's the day I escape. When a familiar voice finally came, it was like a bad joke. He could barely make it out, even in his full-goo form with the sensitive hearing, and when he did it didn't make any sense. What was a "vapor of valtorr" or a "mist of morpheus," anyway? The only Morpheus he knew was from the Matrix; he dimly remembered from high school that he was some kind of Greek mythological figure, had something to do with walking into Hell to get his girlfriend back, except he'd turned to look at her and she'd turned into a pillar of salt, or something. He was pretty sure he was getting a bunch of different stories mixed up, though. Anyway, none of that mattered; what mattered was he recognized the voice, the same supercilious voice that had shown up in Mutant Town while the Dome was still up. Is that what this was all about, then? Were these green scaly critters working for SHIELD, like the She-Hulk had been? Dammit, what was that guy's name? It was a funny name, he remembered that much, weird -- no, not weird. Though close. "STRANGE!" he shouted at what would have been the top of his lungs, if he'd had lungs in this form. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING TO US NOW, YOU SON OF A --" The question cut off when he heard a couple of thumps from outside, and peered through the observation slot to see a strange fog drifting through the hallway, and his guards lying slumped on the ground. Huh. Well, maybe Strange wasn't such a bad guy after all. "Never mind," he added hastily. "Just get this door open, willya?!?" "Today's the day," he told himself, believing it for the first time in a very long time. |
|
|
| Wallflower | Jun 5 2012, 11:59 PM Post #14 |
|
Unregistered
|
Back from a fresh round of tests. For whatever reason, the creeps had been more smug this time around, their horrendous reptilian faces plastered with smirks, sharp teeth bared as they grinned those pompous grins. Something was different. They knew something. The ones in the laboratory had long since given up on trying to speak with Laurie though, knowing no matter what they said, she would remain unresponsive; regardless of how badly she wanted to rip their heads off. As they reached her all-too-familiar prison block, a large scaly hand wrapped around her upper arm and all but flung her back into her cell. The weight of the shackles on her wrists shifted her balance, and she fell to the ground. As she did, however, a very faint whisper reached her ears. ”Vapors of Valtorr – swirl ‘round thy brow! May the Moon’s Mists of Morpheus envelope thee now!” Something was, indeed, different. She couldn’t hear the sound clearly, but the voice… it wasn’t like the voices of her captors. It was… human. Mutant. Don’t get carried away, Laurie. You’re probably just losing it and hearing things. As the blonde retreated back into the corner of her cell, the large doors slid open to reveal one of the larger guards – the very same guard that was in charge of removing and replacing her cuffs when necessary. She saw him the most – Jun’tril was his name, she remembered. He gave her an indiscernible look, and a tray of food was thrown in her general direction. She stared at it, a look of disgust taking over the vague expression that had become so familiar over the past month and a half. Their food was so gross. It’s time to eat, Laurie. Suck it up. Her stomach grumbled, and Laurie reluctantly crawled forward towards the tray, ready to pull it back into her corner when something hit her. She hadn't heard the door close yet. Slowly, her blue eyes shifted upwards from the tray of food to the door of her cell. Where the obstacle of Jun’tril had once stood was now an opening, his oversized green body having collapsed just outside. A strange mist slithered its way along the floor of the prison block hallway. What the… So she wasn’t crazy. Someone was here. Someone was helping her, helping everyone who had been captured. They had to be. For the first time since the first week of her captivity, Laurie felt hope swell within her. Whatever was going on, this was the first window of opportunity Laurie had seen in a month and a half. A small smile washed over her, but she tried not to get too excited. This could very well go ten different shades of screwed, but it was her only hope for the forseeable future. Slowly, the toxikinetic rose to her feet and peeked her head out of her cell, the sight before her causing her smile to grow, a small laugh escaping her lips. Every single guard was on the ground. Whether they were asleep, unconscious or dead, Laurie wasn’t sure, and she wasn’t certain that she cared. Quietly and quickly, the blonde side-stepped Jun’tril's massive body, and all too simply, she was out. Out of her cell, and no alarms were going off. It’s like Christmas. She was about to head down the hallway when a thought interrupted her. Okay genius. You’re out, but what the hell are you gonna do? Some of these things are nine times your size, they’re strong, and they’re warriors. You’re a tiny white chick with no use of her mutant power thanks to those gaudy black cuffs. What now? How did this even happen? It's time to think like an X-Man. Her conscience was absolutely right; she couldn't go about this the wrong way, like an immature child. She knew the threat that she was facing. She couldn't let her emotions drive her through this. They could help, but she needed to think clearly about her situation. Shifting into business-mode and steeling her resolve, Laurie took a moment to consider her next course of action when the small smile re-appeared on her face. Slowly, the blonde turned on her heels and knelt down beside Jun’tril, the guard she had seen put on and take off her cuffs more times than she could count. “I’m just gonna borrow this,” she said to the sleeping Skrull as she lifted his finger and traced it in a specific pattern on the cuffs that she recalled seeing over and over again. They couldn’t just use keys. That’d be too easy. It took a few tries to get right, but in less than a minute, the cuffs clicked open and fell from her wrists, instant relief washing over her. She could feel her power returning, the pheromones swirling within her, ready, itching to be released. “Thanks,” she said with a salute to the now snoring cucumber-face, and as she stood, her eyes caught something. Some kind of gun holstered on his hip, a weird gold thing unlike any kind of gun she’d ever seen before. Now, she wasn't naive. She knew that up against these freaks, her power alone may not be enough. What if they could null her again somehow? She'd be back to square one. Considering this knowledge, the blonde grabbed the gun from its holster and armed herself. Okay, so now you can use your power and you have a weird gun thingy you have no idea how to use. But where the hell are you even going? Do you have any idea how you’re getting out of here? This could be a trap. Her thoughts rained on her parade yet again as she stared down the hall of the prison cell, her gaze falling upon a large metal door. A door that could either hold her freedom, or her death behind it. This was the part of the situation that couldn't possibly be analyzed. The part that had to be acted upon, not thought about. Freedom, or death. One or the other, but there was only one way to find out which. She wished she could have given her mom, Josh and Nori - everyone she cared about - a proper goodbye should everything go sideways. Even though she couldn't, she hoped they'd know that she went down fighting. Laurie Collins wasn't a scared little girl anymore. This was it, this was what she had been waiting for, feeding herself for. This was her chance to go home. “… You only live once.” |
|
|
| Artie | Jun 6 2012, 12:23 AM Post #15 |
![]()
Holographic Projection
|
JP with Strange, Artie and Callisto Stephen Strange, his name was Stephen Strange... he repeated the name to himself, over and over as he walked, so that he wouldn't forget, so that he wouldn't lose himself to the mists. The time he had spent wearing the Reality Gem at his throat had done irreperable changes to him, the very act of using it irradiating his very cells with its power like a cancer, like a mutation. He was able to manipulate reality without the gem now, which was how he had survived this long without his physical body, but he was still losing himself. It was too much, too long, too hard... he had to remember, had to keep focused... He didn't notice as the skrulls, as they called themselves, fell to his mists. Strange was instead watching the life glow of those like himself, from the physical realm of existence, and he walked impassively through walls, through metal grids, even through the bodies of those who crumbled as he approached. The first of the prisoners loomed ahead, and Stephen Strange knelt before the small pink child huddled in the corner of the dark and dank. "Hello," he said, quietly, "My name is Stephen. I'm here to help you." Artie had been half asleep, dozing because there was nothing else to do here, when the mists curled up around him and something began to change in a place when there was never any change. His white eyes fluttered open at the sound of the voice and he slowly got to his feet. In his hand was a small sharpened piece of metal that had once been an eating utensil of some sort... He held it out in front of him and his hands trembled with exhaustion, with malnutrition and with fear... with mostly fear. She'd been hesitant to even move, Callisto. Her cell laid wide open. That guard had gone down with almost no fight. She hadn't even been the one to drop them. The chances ran high that this was some sort of trap, or even an experiment. These things loved screwing with her head, it was entirely possible this was all some bass-ackwards hallucination caused by this fog rolling along the floors. Still, not guts no glory. She stepped out, looking once more up and down the corridor, at the cells lining the halls, floors upon floors, catwalks and stairwells and... and silence. Callisto stepped out, pulling that rag from her eyes, one new, one old, both of them focused so accutely that she could see droplets of condensation dropping a dozen yards away. She could hear them like hammerfalls. Her face twisted with the pain of it all. Still she tropped through. Trooping was what she did, after all, and moving to a set of the guards she rolled it over, prying it's weapon from its hand and slinging it around her shoulder, its belt from it's waist, buckling it around her hips should she need any of the gear on it once she figured out what it all was. It was dark in here. They kept it dark. Maybe for the fear of it all. But the Skrull did not take into account that there was a thing that liked the dark, that would have it over the light. It's name was Callisto. She moved down along the corridor of cells, ignoring the other doors. She knew Artie was here, she could smell him. That was where she headed. Slow at first, wary of anything unforeseen as she shouldered the skrull weapon, which might have been a gun but really who the hell knew, she'd hit something with it if she had to. Artie looked up at the strangely dressed man with the strange name of Strange, and he tapped a finger against his face, before pointing questioningly at the man. The man didn't answer, which meant he wasn't incredibly smart in Artie's opinion, so he repeated the gesture. Light came into Strange's eyes and then he said, "You're asking if this is my real face. Yes, young man, this is my face. Can't you talk?" Artie jabbed out with his shank and shook his head. He took his makeshift blade and scratched into the wall of his cell. A-R-T-I-E.... He pointed back at his pink face and then tapped on the wall with his blade. Everyone was... sleeping. This was anti-climactic. She looked around as she stepped over dropped sentries like dog-litter on the ground. Checking every corner before she turned, she came to where the scent was the most focused, and turning her head she leaned lightly around the corner of the cell, looking inside. Bingo. "Artie!" She whispered hushed and hurriedly. There was someone inside there with him, faint but there, and as she stepped out in front of the containment field door she looked all up and down it. "The hell I get this open." She looked at the belt for something that looked like a key card or a key or anything. "Hold on bud, mama's comin'." She looked then to the console in the center of the field. It looked like a keyboard save that it was holographic. She moved to push a button, any button, and her hand popped right on through with a buzzing shock. "Motherfu..crap." She looked then down to a fallen Skrull guard, looked to his hand. "Aha..." Moments later she was working the pair of gloves on, which shifted to fit her hands. Tapping the keyboard, it barked at her in some strange language. "You kidding me?" Looking down at the sleeping guard, she eyed it before yawping loudly. "WHOAH!" He didn't stir, the console still barking its denial. "Good." She mumbled, shouldering her stolen weapon and blasting the consoles projector, the field dropping with a few sparking shorts. "I don't speak cabbage." Artie looked at the door at the sound of his name and he beamed a smile that was so wide and bright it almost glowed in this dark place. He nodded to Strange and ran to the door, knocking on it to let her know he heard her. He looked at Strange and around his head cartoon hearts bloomed up. Strange smiled, realizing that this was how the little mutant boy communicated. "That's someone you love, is it, Artie?" Nodding eagerly, Artie bounced on his toes as the hard light field that served as a cell door dropped. Then, he launched himself into the air with more energy that anyone could imagine he possessed after being captive for so long. Throwing himself into Callisto's arms, he clung to her like a spider monkey, and it would be some time before he let go. Strange smiled and step-glided out of the cell to witness the sight. Callisto hoisted the boy, cradling him in one arm before dropping the gun and letting it hang at her shoulder so she could wrap the other around him, pressing her forehead against his. Why the hell was he here? How many others? What good would a child do these things? Had they hurt him? A thousand questions went unanswered because she didn't have the time to ask them. "I'm here buddy, here for ya. We're gonna get outta here just you hold on to me and don't let go." She leveled a matronly kiss at his cheek and held him there before looking over his shoulder and to the apparation sharing the space with them. "Take it this is all you?" She asked, nodding at the sleeping sentries behind her. She'd never met Strange, never read much about him, surely never seen him. Plus, she'd been gone now for what? Years? She didn't know or care to think about it. "What's your play, Obi-Wan?" "Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme," he introduced with a sweep of his red cloak, "I'm a traveler, Callisto of the Morlocks," he said, plucking her name out of the air, with a shine of his eyes, "We are in between dimensions, in an out of phase world, and it's killing me, it's killing us all, but more terrifying perhaps is what is surely happening in the world that is our home. There are others here. Will you help me to free them and lead them to my ally who waits in the wilderness beyond? His name is Warpath and he is one of the X-Men, do you know of them?" Artie, clinging to Callisto, turned his head to listen to Strange and at the mention of the X-Men, he nodded eagerly. He knew them. Yeah, he know them. Her brow climbed up her forehead. "Sorceror... kay." She nodded assertively, looking around, expecting something to jump out at her. She'd reacquainted herself with a few less-than-legal substances on her trip away from New York and this was all starting to feel a lot like that one time she passed out talking to the snakes crawling out of a woven rug. "You real?" He brought up the X-Men then, though, specifically one by name. If there were X-Men here then things weren't going to go belly up so easy. "Yeah, yeah X-Men that's good mojo right there." She looked around. "But what about all the folks here, there's way to many to go lettin' em all out, it'd be chaos." "STRANGE! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING TO US NOW, YOU SON OF A --" Just then she realized it, the shouting for Strange. "Looks like we got a volunteer." Callisto hoisted the gun... sword... thing and looked between Strange and the outbound hall. "Comin' from this way." She trudged off, carrying her son in one arm and her weapon in the other. Strange cocked his head when he heard the shouts for his name and he smiled, "Oh, but Miss Callisto, chaos might be exactly what we want." Shifting again into his astral form, he floated ahead towards the sound of the voice. |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| Go to Next Page | |
| « Previous Topic · Skrull Plot Archives · Next Topic » |












[/align]

2:24 PM Jul 11