[ QUOTE ]
Maniacal, evil laughter sloughed from his body, and into the air like a toxin, and stayed there until long after the guards had beaten its progenitor into unconsciousness.
[/ QUOTE ]
Kirke cocked an eyebrow at the little scene.
Great, he thought to himself. One of THOSE types.
As much as he hated it, Dr. Greene was getting unnerved. This place, labyrinthine and monolithic, was like some twisted psychologist's image of hell. A place designed to break him, a place designed to kill his hope.
He attempted to make his way towards the young archon, but was viciously kicked down by one of the guards. Another one slammed the handle of the shockstick across his back. "Stay in line, " screamed the guard, over the maniacal cackling in the background. The train of prisoners was haulted as the guards roughly dragged Julius up to his feet. Before they resumed marching, he said to Michael, "You're pretty clever, boy, but you weren't clever enough to keep yourself out of here. Are you clever enough to keep your imbecile philosophy to yourself while you're in here?"
A guard flicked his tazer menacingly at Dr. Greene, and the march continued.
[ QUOTE ]
As much as he hated it, Dr. Greene was getting unnerved. This place, labyrinthine and monolithic, was like some twisted psychologist's image of hell. A place designed to break him, a place designed to kill his hope.
He attempted to make his way towards the young archon, but was viciously kicked down by one of the guards. Another one slammed the handle of the shockstick across his back. "Stay in line, " screamed the guard, over the maniacal cackling in the background. The train of prisoners was haulted as the guards roughly dragged Julius up to his feet. Before they resumed marching, he said to Michael, "You're pretty clever, boy, but you weren't clever enough to keep yourself out of here. Are you clever enough to keep your imbecile philosophy to yourself while you're in here?"
A guard flicked his tazer menacingly at Dr. Greene, and the march continued.
[/ QUOTE ]
The tour was a long one, and there were several purposes behind it.
The first, of course, was to break the hope of the new prisoners. The Zig was a relentlessly dull and gray place, a series of squat, ugly buildings, bars and guards everywhere. Security measures abounded. No point in even trying to get away.
The second was a combination for the guards, and the older prisoners. It was a morale boost for the guards to be able to strut more successes, more criminals off the streets, and share in the afterglow of someone else's victory. For the older prisoners it was to reinforce the hopelessness of their situation: the guards, triumphant, had caught more of those that might have been their comrades.
For the security systems, it was a continuation of the registration process. The chips embedded in the jumpsuits registered with scanners placed at various points, as the computer systems verified prisoner data.
In spite of the bleak prospects of the future, though, Penny almost seemed to be gaining hope, instead of losing it. This was due to a simple internal phenomenon: the after-effects she had experienced in the flier were wearing off. Though her memory still had large holes, she felt as if she was waking up, as if peviously-disconnected synapses had linked back up again. She felt awake.
And, to her own surprise, she found she knew quite a lot about the Zig. She was fairly certain she had not been here before; but somewhere she must have seen the blueprints for the building. She could vividly recall the blueprints, in blue and white lines, and was pleased that the places on the tour corresponded to the diagram that she recalled. Most things were exactly the same ("Cafeteria," "Gymnasium,") though other things were presented in an alarmingly different fashion than diagram labels, ("Arena" not "Stadium," "Pit" not "Depleted Uranium Holding Tanks and Reprocessing Facility.")
The tour helped to jog her memory somewhat. She soon became interested in the security doors, which were opened by a code the guards entered into keypads. The guards got the codes from small calculators they carried on their belts. It occured to her, after they had gone through several of these, that she was familiar with the algorythym which ran them, and that held her interest for several minutes. The final result of the calculations would be a ten digit number, and she thought that, given time, she would be able to work out the results.
It didn't occur to her to think of this in terms of escape. Rather, it was an interesting exercise in mathematics. Though the sequence of ten numbers would take weeks if not months to work out, the first digit wasn't that difficult. "Seven," she muttered to herself at length, as they stopped in front of yet another security door. She looked hopefully to see if she could tell what number the guard was punching in, though he had already admonished them not to try memorizing the codes, as "they change every time."
But he was too far away, and besides it was hard to see around the Brit, who was directly in front of her, and large enough to block her view. She was marginally disappointed not to be able to check her theory.
The tour ended at several large holding-pen sort of cells. These, Penny knew, were temporary, where they would be housed overnight until their permanent cell placements, work details, and individual security measures could be worked out.
Here they were sorted into several groups. Penny was shoved into a cell with the Brit, several young men who looked suspiciously like they had previously belonged to the Fifth Column, the two rather skeletal fellows including the Giggler...
Well, no, she hastily stopped herself. That was something she would have to be careful of. Names were one of the things which would easily be lost in the Zig - and it was important to keep them. An element of resistance, useless resistance perhaps, but something. She would not surrender her identity as easily as that.
So, she looked around the room and methodically corrected herself. She had been placed with Michael Helsinger, Marcus Kirke, Keith Smith, Dr. Julius Greene, and Harelequin Fear, along with a few others ... hm. Hadn't he given a different name earlier? She couldn't recall, and was annoyed with herself for that.
The holding pens were within sight of some of the other cell blocks, which housed some of the older prisoners. The guards left at last - this area seemed to be patrolled rather than guarded outright - and they began hooting and shouting, several of them calling out what sounded like bets. That didn't sound promising either.
She looked around at the holding cell where they would be spending the night. There weren't enough bunks for everyone, and Penny didn't have the desire to fight for one: she would likely sleep on the floor. Would the guards come for the fight? Probably not, unless there were actual casualties. Though she didn't expect to be hurt - the body armor was ridiculously good stuff - it was a depressing thought nonetheless.
"Er - Doctor Greene?" She said to Greene, who was standing nearby. "What philosophy?" The guard had mentioned it specifically, and she was curious.
Dr. Greene nodded at Michael Helsinger. "That one, over there, he calls himself an archon." He turned towards Penny, and added, "Do you know what that means? He serves the council. A fascist at best, and likely a nazi."
A snort of derision escapes Dr. Greene as he continues, "If he antagonizes everyone here the way his comrades are prone to doing, then he is going to have a very unpleasant, and possibly very short stay in this establishment."
Doctor Greene, is it? Michael leaned against a bunk as two other young men moved up to his sides. Its funny how some kinds of prejudice are supposedly healthy and others are simply wrong. I suppose it all depends on what side youre on. You see, Im a human, what are you, doctor?
Michael shook the hands of the two young men on either side of him. If you think for one second that there arent others of my kind here, youre entirely mistaken. My guess is our numbers rival all the street gangs combined. So if you want spit on me, and call me a Nazi, thats fine. If you want to lecture me about how to survive here, go ahead. Ive survived much worse places than here, and I know how to survive here. You have to have friends.
Michael moved away from the bunk and offered it to Penny with his hands. You can choose for yourself, girl, put your trust in this one here whos obviously out for himself, or trust in people who will fanatically defend you to the death, living and dying by the code of a soldier. You can have my bunk, we will see to it that no one will disturb you.
To the doctor he smiled and said, yes, I wasnt clever enough to avoid capture. Had I not been alone, I could have done just that. My crazy philosophy is that I am pro human. If you cant get on board, just try and stay out of my way.
Dr. Greene stared coldly at Michael, "I think that every point you have stated for yourself is a point I would make against you and yours. I only hope that I make it out of this cell before the beatings start."
He proceeds to climb up onto a bunk, and lies down. "It has been a long day, and I am going to take my rest."
[ QUOTE ]
"Do you know what that means? He serves the council. A fascist at best, and likely a nazi."
[/ QUOTE ]
"So he has a different reason for killing people," Kirke interjected in monotone, sitting down on one of the bunks and leaning back against the wall. "We all got one of those. His is genetics, mine's money.... what's your's Doc?" His one good eye flicked back and forth between the two men, occasionally dancing across the other members of the cell.
In the LMOUSVEV base, present time...
Toy Dispenser was sitting at the main conference table, legs propped up on a chair he had dragged over to him. He was using one of the laptops built into the table to check various internet accounts and the news when the double door leading into the room slid open, revealing Brutish Ghoul.
The brute flopped down in the chair across from Toy and noisily slurped at his Fruit Loops. Fairly used to Ghoul wandering around base eating cereal when he wasn't out somewhere, Toy ignored the noise and concentrated on his work. He was a bit startled when Ghoul asked him a question.
"Hey Toy, you worked as a guard back in tha Zig, right?"
Toy looked up from his work, his head titled a bit to one side as he looked at Ghoul.
"Yeah, they had me working as the automated defense mainframe while I interacted with the prisoners and such."
"What was it like on the other side of the door?" Ghoul asked inbetween slurps.
"Well, it was-...." Toy started and then trailed off as he searched the beginnings of his memory for information on the Zig. "...odd. Most of my active memory before my awakening seems to have been deleted."
"Oh well," Ghoul said with his mouth full. "No' tha' imporan' really."
Still eating, Ghoul got back up and walked out of the conference room, the doors sliding silently shut behind him. His concentration broken for now, Toy leaned back in his chair and tried to reconstruct his memories from the time he was still a slave.
*************************************************
The Mastermind Droid Control Prototype Mark 2 stalked down the hallways of the Zig, it's entourage of four prison-modified battle drones trailing along behind like a pack of faithful dogs. The prototype had just finished quelling a disruption between several Trolls and several other Council and its pulse rifle was still warm from when it had been forced to shoot the ringleaders through their legs.
The two gang members had all been placed in solitary for a day and the ringleaders sent to the hospital for treatment before their stint in the Pit. The prototype was thus satisfied with the outcome and with the valuable data it had collected on prisoner interactions and the effects of Superadine withdrawal on Troll pain tolerance.
But now the remote cameras were reporting a new batch of prisoners coming in, most of them 'independant' criminals rather than the gang bangers who were most prevalent. The prototype highlighted the names and numbers of the new batch and determined their location to be Holding Cell 3. Now would be a very good oppertunity to observe these criminals before they had been broken into the prison system.
The prototype's entrance into the holding cell area was rather unremarkable, as was its very state of being. Painted in a flat gray primer coat, the same color as its attendant drones, the prototype looked very unthreatening even if one included the pulse rifle cradled in both hands.
"Heh heh," chuckled one of the guards stationed near the holding cell. "Gray's here. Looks like you poor [censored] are marked."
The prototype glanced at the guard who had spoken, recognizing the nickname the prison guards had bestowed upon it. Ignoring this comment as it had all the others, the prototype stopped several feet from the large cell and surveyed the prisoners within. Its four drones spread out, one sticking by the prototype while the other three moved to each of the other walls. By linking with their systems, the prototype could see the prisoners from four different directions, making sure nothing would hide them.
Since first contact protocals dictated that the prototype wait for an initial reaction before interacting with the new prisoners, it stood silently and watched.
OOC: Hope this is allowed. Always wanted to give Toy's story before he became Toy.
Statesman said let there be heroes, and there were heroes.
Lord Recluse said let there be villains, and there were villains.
NCsoft said let there be nothing, and there was nothing.
[ QUOTE ]
"So he has a different reason for killing people," Kirke interjected in monotone, sitting down on one of the bunks and leaning back against the wall. "We all got one of those. His is genetics, mine's money.... what's your's Doc?" His one good eye flicked back and forth between the two men, occasionally dancing across the other members of the cell.
[/ QUOTE ]
Michael shook his head. "Amazing that you all seem to know so little about what you seem to know so much about. It isn't Genetics, for the sake of genetics. It's about a community we can be proud of. A world worth living in. A world where there's no need for monsters. A world where there's even no need for guns and violence. It's called a community. And even here, in this low frills country club, you'll all find yourselves part of a community. The only question will be, can you trust them?" Michael turned toward the cell door. "Looks like the interrogation droid is here." He clapped his hands once in mock excitement. "Who has secrets?"
[ QUOTE ]
"A world where there's even no need for guns and violence. "
[/ QUOTE ]
"If you have people, yer gonna have violence, kid," Kirke muttered absently, eyeing the machine outside their cell. "What's with the tin-man," he asked the guard.
Dr. Greene got down out of the bunk and stared at the door. He remarked absently, "You are a fool, Archon, yet you are not as insane as I thought... and I never aimed to kill anyone..."
The doctor took a few steps back away from the door.
The prisoners were placed into a temporary cell used for holding large groups as they were processed. Harlequin looked down upon them, and couldn't restrain a slight grin. This was the first time any of them would have encountered 'Grey'. Heh. It sould be a doozy. He stared out at the faces of the new inmates, and imagined their feelings. That one, he was scared [censored]. The girl, she was confused, intrigued, contemplating. And those men? Defensive, angry, righteous. He could tell. He could- tell? But... the guards had injected him, powers didn't work... had he built an immunity? It didn't matter. He had access to his powers, again. Admittedly, it was weak, as the drug wasn't out of his system, but next time they came to inject him, he would be strong enough. He would break them. He would be free.
"Welcome to the Ziggursky Maximum Security Prison," said the prototype in its standard monotone. "Depending on the severity of your delusions, your stay here may last as little as one year or as long as your entire natural life. Upon returning to an acceptable state of mind, you shall be released back into society. However, research into your files indicates that only a few of you shall be exiting via the main door. The remainder shall most likely perish in some fashion and be cremated and buried on location.
"My designation is Mastermind Droid Control Prototype Mark 2. You shall refer to me as such until it has been deemed that you may address me by a shorter form. As I am here to test my functionalities in a wide variety of circumstances, I have been giving full dispensation to injure troublesome prisoners in any way of my choosing, provided that you remain alive afterward. In extreme cases I am fully authorized to kill you. However, the other guards will not hesitate to shoot to kill if I am not around.
"Since some of you are currently in Ziggursky for the first time, I shall be accompanying your group to most areas for the first week."
The prototype finally stopped speaking and looked around at the newbies.
"I am glad to see that I was not interupted. In this case, I shall be pleased to answer any questions you might have regarding your stay here."
In the background, one of the guards facepalmed and slipped a couple of bills to the guard next to him. Apparently they had been betting on whether or not this batch would be quiet for the whole speech.
Statesman said let there be heroes, and there were heroes.
Lord Recluse said let there be villains, and there were villains.
NCsoft said let there be nothing, and there was nothing.
Blind simply grinned at the drone, having heard this quite a few times now.
He chanced a glance at Penny, watching her reaction to the proceedings. He wanted to know if the hunch he had gotten on the flier was a falsity, or if he was onto something.
Personally, he wished he was right. He hadn't had enough action in recent days, and he was getting bored.
OOC: Hope you don't mind me adding a new character in here.
"Yeah I got a question. When do I get my shades back?"
Travis Rogers, AKA :Twilit Pistols stepped out of the corner of the room and walked out. He appeared to be 25 at most, was abut 6'5" and muscled. He had black hair slicked back in a sort of "fury" style with a small black goatee. Behind him were 3 thugs, 2 seemingly young, fresh to the crime scene, and one a bit more experienced.
He could feel everyone's eyes on him, the room was silent.
"Right.....I'll go back to the corner now."
[ QUOTE ]
"Welcome to the Ziggursky Maximum Security Prison," said the prototype in its standard monotone. "Depending on the severity of your delusions, your stay here may last as little as one year or as long as your entire natural life. Upon returning to an acceptable state of mind, you shall be released back into society. However, research into your files indicates that only a few of you shall be exiting via the main door. The remainder shall most likely perish in some fashion and be cremated and buried on location.
"My designation is Mastermind Droid Control Prototype Mark 2. You shall refer to me as such until it has been deemed that you may address me by a shorter form. As I am here to test my functionalities in a wide variety of circumstances, I have been giving full dispensation to injure troublesome prisoners in any way of my choosing, provided that you remain alive afterward. In extreme cases I am fully authorized to kill you. However, the other guards will not hesitate to shoot to kill if I am not around.
"Since some of you are currently in Ziggursky for the first time, I shall be accompanying your group to most areas for the first week."
The prototype finally stopped speaking and looked around at the newbies.
"I am glad to see that I was not interupted. In this case, I shall be pleased to answer any questions you might have regarding your stay here."
In the background, one of the guards facepalmed and slipped a couple of bills to the guard next to him. Apparently they had been betting on whether or not this batch would be quiet for the whole speech.
[/ QUOTE ]
Penny's file, on the Zig computers, was two pages long. The first page held mostly biographical data: height, weight, gender, color of hair. The second page held a single word: CLASSIFIED.
And no one at the Zig had the power to open the file, from the Warden on down. The Warden did get an extra line, directing him to apply in person to Paragon City intelligence for any declassification request, and that was all. No length of sentence was mentioned. No charges. No trial. Her "caution" level, (which was an absolute requirement for all prisoners and one of the only accessible non-biological pieces of data in her file,) was one more commonly given to far more dangerous things, such as Rikti attack drones - this, in spite of the fact that the "Known Powers" field flatly stated, "None."
She didn't seem afraid of the small hovering drones, leaning forwards to examine one more closely. There was at least one reason why such courage was partially justified - the body armor. The file on her body armor was far more extensive than the file on Penny herself.
It was so good, in fact, that it was unlikely that the Mark 2 would be able to hurt her, at least not without expending some concentrated efforts to do so. Anything capable of getting past the body armor would probable kill her outright. The lesser armament on the small contingent of floating drones had no chance at all.
She had been a techie. Her former profession, along with everything else, was classified, but it was apparant from her question. "Query, Mastermind Droid Control Prototype Mark 2: upon what protocols are psychological conductions evaluated: are you using the Jung-Feingold or the Grayson models?"
The question revealed extensive knowledge of the judicial system, extensive enough to be aware of the sometimes-bitter divide among Paragon City psychological workers on how to evaluate paranormals. Jung-Feingold was in more common, particularly for those with greater power levels: but Grayson had gained some significant ground in the last few years and was considered a more appropriate model for non-paranormals.
She paused. "And how does one qualify to get one's glasses back?"
She had good reason to ask. Among the notes in her file were the results of her eye exam: her vision was extremely poor. Had her "caution" level not been so high, her glasses would already have been returned.
Come to think of it, her "caution" level seemed excessive, now that she was available for direct observation. Extremely excessive.
The trolling began. Quite a bit quicker than normal. Seemed to start with the cells closest to the sequestering block.
"Psst..." one inmate hissed to the dark door, "Psst! You in there, Doc? You in there?"
A shoe bounced off the heavy door, and was reeled away by a long piece of old floss.
"Yeah, you're in there, Doc... I want you to listen... Listen real good. We're gonna get a hold of ya... We ain't gonna go easy on ya. It's gonna be rough... It's gonna be hard..."
By the time it got back to Shadowshock, the various hauntings and "fish-calls" had reached even more vulgar proportions. Even his own cellmate got into it.
"You hear me little darlin'?" he shouted over the blacks calling for the blood of the various white prisoners, "I know you can hear me! I know some of the ladies you'll be meetin' darlin'! They gonna think you sweeeeet...."
"Shut it," Shadowshock rounded and barked at him, "I thought you bet on the professor."
"Ooh..." the big man grinned back, "So's that why you pegged her? You gettin' sweet or somethin'?"
Shadowshock glared back darkly.
"You is, ain't ya? You is sweet on that girl..."
He stepped closer.
"Big Bad Blue... All tough and unbreakable... But I think I've found-"
Shadowshock reached out and caught his cellmate in a headlock.
"Listen, Chuck. I've had it up to here with your mouth. Your voice... Is unpleasant. You're grammar? Exceptionally poor. I hear you say 'You is' one more time, I'm snapping your neck. Got me?"
"Yeah, good luck with that..."
Chuck lifted Shadowshock into the air and slammed him against the concrete floor. They rolled around there a few moments before they realized the guards were shutting up the prisoners and their door was open. Guards rushed in and they found themselves getting tazed and pulled apart.
"Calm down, now calm down!" one of the guards shouted, "Slade! Grimm! Calm down!"
The two large men stared each other down, hate burning holes into each other.
"You ain't got no powers no more, freak!"
Shadowshock lunged at Slade, but was restrained by guards again. Another couple of zaps fom the tazer batons, and he lied still. Slade chuckled down at him.
"Take him to solitary," the guard ordered, the trolling dying down as various guards made their presence known, "Maybe a day in the hole will make him more amenable to his next cellmate..."
"Haha... yeah..." Slade spat on Shadowshock's face.
A baton broke over his forehead.
"Augh!"
"Take him to the Panthers..." the guard ordered, "They want someone to play with... Give them the biggest redneck we've got."
"Ugh... no..."
"You made your bed, boy. Lie in it."
Shadowshock was paraded by the sequestering cells. He could hear things were still fairly decent in there. No screaming, no yelling, no gibbering. That was normal. No bonuses this time.
Trolling worked better when the inmates were exposed... Nothing but bars with open air between inmates. You could see how poorly you matched up when compared to them.
Sometimes... Sometimes you didn't break. The past few groups... Everybody broke. But Shadowshock recognized the one called Blind. The guy was a legend. It wasn't likely he'd impart his wisdom... But something was definitely about to happen.
"It would be funny," he groaned as the solitary confinement cell door closed on his prone form, "It would make me laugh..."
My Stories
Look at that. A full-grown woman pulling off pigtails. Her crazy is off the charts.
Twilit paced around a small part of the room before heading towards the girl in the armour.
"Hey girl, Penny was it? You would'nt happen to have any dice in that suit of yours would ya? Say, why do you get to keep your armour...suit....thing anyways?"
[ QUOTE ]
Another couple of zaps fom the tazer batons, and he lied still. Slade chuckled down at him.
"Take him to solitary," the guard ordered, the trolling dying down as various guards made their presence known, "Maybe a day in the hole will make him more amenable to his next cellmate..."
[/ QUOTE ]
"Yeesh, almost feel sorry for him.....Almost."
[ QUOTE ]
Twilit paced around a small part of the room before heading towards the girl in the armour.
"Hey girl, Penny was it? You would'nt happen to have any dice in that suit of yours would ya? Say, why do you get to keep your armour...suit....thing anyways?"
[/ QUOTE ]
"Oh - er - " Penny looked mildly alarmed at being addressed, as she always did. "It's damaged - it doesn't come off any more - the seam got fused and now it's one piece..." she brushed nervously at her arms. "I mean - anything that would get it off would be fatal - and that would require the death penalty and that's complicated..." She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "I suppose they think it's easier to assume that I'll die here, and then they will just pull it from the incenerator... afterwards."
For the first time her face gave a brief hint that she might once have been something more than a simple techie. She was troubled, but she showed none of the signs of terror that a completely untrained civilian might have displayed.
His first question, it seemed, had caught her attention last. "Er... dice? Like, gaming dice? No, no dice... why?" She seemed genuinely perplexed as to why he would want such a thing in such a place.
"And another question," Dr. Greene continued, ignoring the chatter around him, "Are the interrogations going to be held in private? If not, then I suppose I should remind you of who I am."
((And once more, my resistance fails me! Curse, you Khell! 
M'kay, I might as well pick up where I left off then... 
))
Footsteps.
The heavy kind.
Characteristic of PPD Hard Suits.
Which was exactly the source - two of them, in fact.
Together with a duo of typical-looking prison guards, the armored suits formed a sort of escort.
The one being escorted, however, didn't seem worthy of such attention.
Tall and slim was the man, the former almost ridiculously so, towering at well over two point five meters, which created a slim appearance, even from a build somewhere between athletic and average.
Then again, his size wasn't what generally caught people's attention around here. There were true monsters imprisoned at the Ziggurat.
His clothes.
He wasn't wearing a prison uniform.
Adorned in dark crimson robes of the martial arts, the cloth being remarkably simple, yet still laced with a secondary hue that resembled dull gold, the tall man's face was half-obscured by a large bamboo coolie, hiding his eyes in the same manner as a Tsoo Sorcerer.
Tsoo, however, the man was not. Sakai Tamaki would confirm this to anyone. Still, the robes, along with the simple black cloth intricately wrapped around the man's arms and legs, indicated there was something quite unusual about this prisoner.
What was true and what was not was a matter of who you talked to. Everyone seemed to have a different story to tell.
Truth, however, was hard to find.
The cause of this burial of information - even harder.
Some time ago, a murder had occurred at the Zig. At least, that's what people said. The investigation had classified it as a suicide - a depraved man at the end of his rope.
The man's name had been Raiken. He'd been the head doctor of the prison, at least officially. Truly, he had been a madman, and a sadistic one at that, abusing the prisoners for his own dark and twisted gains in the torture chamber hed called his 'investigative research area'.
Few spoke of the horrors that had transpired in that room. Fewer had come out alive. And even fewer had made it out in one piece.
Until the day the cruel doctor had met an equally cruel end - though some still said it hadn't been cruel enough, both guard and prisoner alike. Raiken had called no one friend, and had the rules not protected the guards from his depraved machinations, few doubted the Zig's staff would have been subject to the mad doctor's scalpel as well.
He'd been found in his lab, torn to pieces. Blood had been spattered on floors, walls, and even the ceiling, not to mention over most of the equipment. In his hands, clutched in the grip of necrosis, had been the implements of the massacre - a butcher knife and a bone saw.
It wasn't hard to make out where those had been used on his flayed body.
His eyes had stared wide-open into space, an expression of blank horror, as if he'd seen something incomprehensible just before he'd done the deed.
But the only other person in the room at the time had been a prisoner.
A prisoner with not a single 'power'.
Ryuu Hotaka.
Though covered in the doctor's blood (as half the room had been), he'd not only been strapped to an examination table at the time, but no fingerprints or other residue had been on the utensils used to do Raiken in.
Hotaka himself had been cooperative, if brief, with his testament. What he'd spoken, however, had been locked away in the files of the prison.
Suicide - that's what all the facts had pointed to. That's what all evidence had yielded, not a single speck of dust countering the conclusion. Everything added up.
But tell that to a crowd of prisoners terrorized by such a man. Tell that to a staff of guards who harbored just about equal feelings for him.
Ryuu Hotaka had killed Raiken - that was the unofficial word, though no proof existed.
But in a place like this, rumors were strong, and fear was even stronger. Hotaka was feared, even though his behavior had never been that of a 'villain'.
But if he could do what he did to Raiken...what could he do to others?
"Step in." the man in the Hard Suit to Hotaka's right stated, not harshly, but also not politely, as the cell door opened. Most of the guards nowadays treated him like an object - something neutral, something you neither wanted to be too close to nor have it hold any interest in you.
Hotaka ducked a bit as he entered the cell, so as to not collide with the doorframe, and then the escort shut the heavy door behind him once more, departing after they were satisfied things were secure.
From their large holding block, the new arrivals had been able to get a good view of most of the scene. Even now, the small viewport in the heavy door allowed some sight of Hotaka.
He'd turned to face the door.
And now was just standing there in utter silence...
"If I had Force powers, vacuum or not my cape/clothes/hair would always be blowing in the Dramatic Wind." - Tenzhi
Characters
OOC: The drones that follow around Grey are like the standard mastermind battle drones. The little skeletal guys with the lasers and maces.
BIC: The prototype tilted its head and looked at Penny, ignoring the other questioners as they had neglected to address their questions specifically to the prototype.
"I use a blank template model impressed with general codes of conduct and extensive knowledge of laws. A human conducts interrogations and personnal conferences, so I am not privy to which style of psychological evaluation that they use," the prototype said to Penny. "In regards to eye wear or any confiscated items: They shall not be returned until your successful rehabilitation. If eyewear is required for normal operations, then a new set shall be procured for you. Since Prisoner 834207 does not have a medical reason listed in his file, he shall not recieve new sunglasses."
"Yo, smart guy," grunted the guard at the door to Dr. Greene. "A little hint. You want the bot to talk to ya, you gotta address it by name. It really likes the name Grey, by the way."
When Penny had looked at the battle drone, it had stared right back at her with all five of its glowing red photoreceptors. The drone's left arm flexed slightly, revealing congealed blood stuck on the end of its mace-hand.
The drone situated behind Twilight Pistol took one step back and raised its right arm. Currently the laser was set to stun only and it would fire given the slightest order from the prototype.
Finally, while it had been talking, the prototype was persuing several lines of inquiry regarding the rescricted data in Penny's file. It needed to know as much relevent data as possible. The less surprises, the better.
Statesman said let there be heroes, and there were heroes.
Lord Recluse said let there be villains, and there were villains.
NCsoft said let there be nothing, and there was nothing.
[ QUOTE ]
The prototype tilted its head and looked at Penny, ignoring the other questioners as they had neglected to address their questions specifically to the prototype.
"I use a blank template model impressed with general codes of conduct and extensive knowledge of laws. A human conducts interrogations and personnal conferences, so I am not privy to which style of psychological evaluation that they use," the prototype said to Penny. "In regards to eye wear or any confiscated items: They shall not be returned until your successful rehabilitation. If eyewear is required for normal operations, then a new set shall be procured for you. Since Prisoner 834207 does not have a medical reason listed in his file, he shall not recieve new sunglasses."
"Yo, smart guy," grunted the guard at the door to Dr. Greene. "A little hint. You want the bot to talk to ya, you gotta address it by name. It really likes the name Grey, by the way."
When Penny had looked at the battle drone, it had stared right back at her with all five of its glowing red photoreceptors. The drone's left arm flexed slightly, revealing congealed blood stuck on the end of its mace-hand.
The drone situated behind Twilight Pistol took one step back and raised its right arm. Currently the laser was set to stun only and it would fire given the slightest order from the prototype.
Finally, while it had been talking, the prototype was persuing several lines of inquiry regarding the rescricted data in Penny's file. It needed to know as much relevent data as possible. The less surprises, the better.
[/ QUOTE ]
A human interrogator might easily have become suspicious at Penny's "file" - if it could be called such. Those few bits and pieces which were not out-and-out classified were so heavily redacted as to make them completely useless.
Officially, Penny had no birthplace. No education. No previous life at all, as if she had simply materialized on the dock where flier 723A had made its journey to the Zig.
Nor did it seem she had had a trial. While Article 14A was mentioned, (it was required for the system to permit incarceration,) there was no mention of anything else. Article 14A allowed sentencing by a panel of judges rather than a jury of peers: but no judges were listed. No time, date, or place for the required hearing. There was so little listed about judicial participation that there was some reason to question whether the Paragon Justice Department had been involved at all.
Penny's file had been constructed - there was no other word for it - to send her here and keep her here for the rest of her natural life. Everything not relevant to that singular goal had been buried so deeply that no trace of it remained.
And it seemed that someone (who? Their name, like everything else in the computer, was classified) intended Penny to have a hard time. CLASSIFIED (the proper noun which appeared in place of the standard authority sign-in) had specifically scheduled her for interrogation this evening with the Mark 2. This was in spite of the note on the medical section of her file which read, "Successful induction of amnesia." Who had induced it? CLASSIFIED. For what purpose had it been required? CLASSIFIED.
It was ridiculous to schedule such a prisoner for an interrogation session with the Mark 2, as it was extremely unlikely that the prisoner would be able to produce satisfactory answers to questions, even if they were cooperative. But there it was - CLASSIFIED either wanted to check the thoroughness of his/her work, was hoping that the prisoner would earn severe punishments right off the bat, or both.
Another entry had been added for the morning: Penny was also scheduled for an Arena match. That entry had been made since she came to the Zig, and was made not by CLASSIFIED, but rather by CO 4157862.
The entry was not surprising. Correctional Officer 4157862, sometimes known as "Gears" by his fellow officers, was a great lover of robotic combat. It was largely due to his influence that the current interrogation bots had been added to the Zig in the first place. He was keenly interested in the Mark 2 prototype, was nosy enough to keep constant tabs on its activities, and had the authority to schedule such things as arena matches. He had probably figured that anyone worthy of specialized attention from the Mark 2 was worthy of specialized attention in his favorite killing grounds.
Given all known variables, Penny's chances of emerging victorious from the match were very low. The addition of glasses to correct her poor eyesight would enhance them significantly. Standard protocols, however, would normally take several weeks to produce such an item. The Mark 2 could override these protocols and produce them himself, if he chose to do so. He could also choose to make the prisoner's life extremely unpleasant.
There was a lot going on, and though it was unlikely that the prisoner was seeing much of it, she seemed to be doing well at hiding this. One prisoner was dragged off to solitary; another soon took his place. The other prisoners around had fallen mostly silent.
"Query, Mastermind Droid Control Prototype Mark 2:" It was an interesting phenomenon that Penny seemed perfectly comfortable in talking to him. It suggested cooperation on her part, but also suggested a background or familiarity in robotics or AI technology.
Did such a background exist? CLASSIFIED.
"Do you answer to the nickname 'Gray,' and if so, by which name do you prefer to be addressed?"
This type of courtesy was an uncommon thing in the Zig. While it could have been put down to simple naivete, the extensive robotics background seemed to be the more likely explanation. After all, it was easier to cooperate with an interrogation 'Droid - or with any robot, for that matter - if one understood the general parameters under which it operated.
[ QUOTE ]
They shall not be returned until your successful rehabilitation. If eyewear is required for normal operations, then a new set shall be procured for you. Since Prisoner 834207 does not have a medical reason listed in his file, he shall not recieve new sunglasses."
[/ QUOTE ]
"Aw now that's just cold..."
Twilit looked at Penny when she asked the question to the Big-Robot-In-Charge with a raised eyebrow. He walked closer to her and asked in a whisper "Why you bein' so nice to that heap of metal anyways?"
"I really hope it didn't hear that..." He thought to himself after.
((Yeah, I'm curious. I'll bite.))
A white mask covered and otherwise featureless head. Skin was like shadows from a 30s flick, blacker than things around it, but not really a color. The mask, though covered the front half of the head, with but three holes. Two eyes, and a slot where a nose would have been, had there been a nose. Instead, it was a piece of black cloth covering nothingness. Same story for the eyes, the simply didnt exist. Overall, the head might have rated a three on the Costume-o-meter. But for the markings. Red spirals, some crimson, some magenta, some mahogany, most sanguine. The spirals were simple, but elegant, beginning slightly behind where the right eye-slit terminated, and sweeping underneath it, down along the cheek, and finally up to the top of the jaw, and following it down to the chin. The markings made the mask appear something more. Something magical. And the distracted viewers from looking to closely at the eye- and nose-slits, where trace amounts of darkness slowly drifted out, and then swiftly dissipated, under assault by the light.
The mask was part of the head. The head was part of the body, and a baggy orange jumpsuit couldnt hide the amount of power this body was used to containing. Slender, but tightly muscled arms of the same, inky-toneless skin shaped delicate, firm hands, demonized by rigid claws where fingers should have been. The jumpsuit legs hid well, but couldnt fully conceal, wrapped, dull black boots. The shape of buckles could barely be distinguished at the upper ankle and the lower calf.
Of course, none of this would have been visible of the man was where he wanted to be, in the Darkness, living with the shadows once more, feeding on the mortals as he so pleased, and, occasionally, assisting the dear Widow, the dark, deliciously evil wraith who fed on life as much as he did. But he couldnt. He had been captured, somehow. Manticore had shot him with some arrow that emitted light, and then it was the work of a moment for Statesman to knock him out. Hed awoken in this chamber, lights reflecting from every direction, no shadows to hide in, no shadows to create. And, theyd injected him with some drug; he couldnt feel the life around him any more. It was terrifying. It was horrible. Worst of all, though, was the window. He could see out, and watch the happenings of the world around him, see all the shadows, but not touch them.
And so, he did as the window suggested. He watched. Pining for the shadows, dreaming of the vengeance he was going to wreak on the puny mortals surrounding him. Watching the new-comers, feeling their fear, or perhaps simply imagining it. And then, he saw her. She was new, wearing some sort of armor, or other, she looked entirely out of place. But she wasnt. He could see it on her, without any power left, he could see it on her. Arachnos had touched her. Things were happening now.
For the first time since he had been captured, and despite not having a mouth,
Harlequin Fear smiled. And then, he threw back his head, and he laughed.
Maniacal, evil laughter sloughed from his body, and into the air like a toxin, and stayed there until long after the guards had beaten its progenitor into unconsciousness.
Things were happening.