Description
Mutant Character sheet
[I'll draw one later]
Name: Subject 51
Nickname: Hieronymus
Age: 43
Gender: Male
Born: Half born
room: Floor 4, room 2.
Kind/Race: Demon
Power: Burning things on touch.
Power description: Enough said. It will only burn skin, though, and he cannot heat up metal or plastic or anything through it. The burning sensation with spread from wherever he is touching, blistering and damaging skin. It's not deadly.
Weakness: 51 isn't fit or healthy. He's scrawny and weak, his ribs protruding, cheeks sunken in. He's prone to halting whatever he's doing and going into a huge diatribe about Hell and sinners as well, which gives a chance to go and attack him. Despite his rants being vitriolic, he's rarely courageous enough to defend himself or others, and Mephistopheles normally takes over for this. However, the demon doesn't enjoy combat that much, and prefers to try to persuade his foes to submit. All this talking makes it easy to hurt him. 51 is missing one hand from a failed experiment to see if he could grow it back. Hieronymus is scared of Mephistopheles and tends to give in to whatever he suggests.
Strong points: He can be quite convincing at times, and is certainly tenacious. Once he has grasp of someone with intent to burn, it's hard to make him let go. He can run fast. He seems to be rather hard to kill, as well, even in times where he's tried to kill himself, he can't seem to succeed!
Personality: 51 is a very angry man, full of vitriol, bile and hatred. He detests others, and his attitude is very holier than thou. He believes that through his demon, he's better than others and that they will all be tortured in hell, if it indeed exists. Prone to fits of rage in which is lists the ways everyone will be tortured, people tend to keep away from him. He's often agitated and paces his cell, wailing.
Despite his hatred, he's cowardly and scared of others, and will cry out and become terrified when the guards come anywhere near him. However, if people say they'll 'repent', he'll calm himself significantly and talk like a normal person with him. As normal as you can expect, anyway. His imagination is highly fertile, and it's easy to plant an idea in his head and scare him. He's unsure what to make of the other demons, and tends to keep away from them.
Fears: Being hurt, Mephistopheles, sometimes other people even coming near him, being told he's being manipulated and will be tortured in hell.
Background story: 51 was a normal man once upon a time. Simply a metal worker, his skinny body was once sinewy and pretty solid. He lived in the same town he grew up in and had a few friends and a generally happy life. However, he suffered fainting attacks from time to time. After passing out cold at work and waking in hospital with burns on his torso from collapsing upon his tools, he was told he'd be sent to a different hospital for treatment. It was a lie; MUH took him and aged 31, the poor man suffered dreadful experimentation by those interested in the supernatural.
Although never a religious man, 51 ended with a 'demon' calling himself Mephistopheles inside of him. From pain, he slowly began to lose his mind. Mephistopheles, content he had the man's soul, was no part in that. Rather, 51 began to become defensive and sure he was 'special'. And so he is today. Several experiments have been done on him, and he's terrified of the guards.
Other: They call him Hieronymus because his descriptions are reminiscient of Hieronymus Bosch's paintings of the damned being tormented in hell. He has made a shiv and hidden it in his mattress, but is too scared to use it. He's positive that the workers at MUH are men and women of the cloth trying to make him turn to god. He's scared of what Mephistopheles would do if he did indeed become religious.
Demon name: Mephistopheles (not the one sometimes protrayed as Satan, but rather the demon)
Demon appearance: Mephistopheles is tall and slim with long arms that end in long claws. His face is like a hyena skull but with glowing red eyes set in the sockets with black pupils. His legs and feet are human, and he has a long, whiplike tail. When he speaks like this, the jaw of his skull drops open and the words spill out. There are nails protuding all the way from the crown of his skull down his back, which look infected in places. As if corresponding to these, one can see nailheads all the way up his stomach, chest and throat.
Demon power description:
- He can disguise himself and change his appearance to whatever he wants, within reason. He couldn't, for example, turn into a 1000ft tall monster or an ant. He could, however, appear as a pigeon, a human, a scruffy little dog, etc.
- Any wounds he leaves with his claws feel like they're burning afterwards. They will swell and become infected if not treated relatively quickly. Despite this, he'd rather use and manipulate people.
So begins...
-Lack-
Lack's clammy skin and flesh fingers clasped his new found gun, the mechanics in his left arm staying tense and ready to aim and fire. Despite how the girl had calmed down, both of them, he was still wary and could tell he'd still have trouble with his stutter if he tried to carry on talking with them. The way 84 'apologised' and spoke to him annoyed him more than anything - he was new, how was he meant to know anything about this? More than that, he'd be willing to listen and try and sort things out for these mutants! For a second, he decided maybe to step into the role of the angry monster scientist if everyone was so ready to believe that, but with his nobler reason, he deemed it childish.
"H-ho-how am I meant to know that? I'm new here! W-was I yelling? No. You're being a uh, a uh, a brat," he stammered. "Y-you know, I got chew... chewed up by someone like you, bu-but I don't yell and kill and m-maim everyone!"
He didn't raise his voice very much, and seemed more upset than angry. He was irate, yes, but more offended. Guilt about his job was swimming in his head as it used to when he was younger and first started. 'This job'll be great for you,' they said. 'Plenty of opportunity, great workmates, compliant subjects,' they said. Well isn't that a great big pile of bullshit if I ever heard one he thought bitterly, still glaring away. Of course, he could only glare with one eye and so it came out wonky and slightly comical.
"Ch-chaos? Chaos? P-p-people are dying! I-its a b-bit more than just cha-chaos! And I d-d-don't damn kn-know, I'm a fucking newbie here!"
-51-
There was a terrible wail and sob from down the hall where Mitch currently was. Two guards were dragging a skinny middle-aged man who was curling up on himself and flailing weakly down a hall. Seemed like 51 had gotten out and gone for a wander in the hectic struggle. Poor 51 wasn't all that dangerous, and spent most of his time screaming at other people about how they'd end in hell. The man cried out and screamed something uncomprehensible, completely going limp rather than struggling. He curled in a ball and covered his head, whimpering pathetically.
"Don't touch me!" he screeched when the guards went to grab him again.
Before they could take his arms by force and drag him along, he wriggled into a corner and cried hopelessly, shaking his head over and over.
Mitch had only zipped up the first bag when he heard someone behind him. Some guy was culred up in a ball in the corner. Mitch walked over to the two Elites. "I'll handle him. Why don't you two help clean up over there?" Mitch pointed to where the other guards were. They had heard the mutant, but most were more focused on the task at hand. The two guards grunted, as if to say "Back the hell off and go back to your corpses." when they walked over to the other guards to help clean up. They weren't getting anywhere, and Mitch had just been promoted, why not?
Mitch crouched down until he was level with the mutant. "Calm down, OK? What's your name? Not your number, your name."
Staring wildly, 51 looked up at the young man and tried to receed further into the corner, screeching. He rubbed the stump of his right wrist against his cheek and pulled at his hair with his other hand, doubling over again. There was the sound of joints popping at first, and then the man's skinny body shook uncontrollably as his arms seemed to lengthen and end in huge, curved claws. It seemed like Mephistopheles had used the man's fear as a gap to surface. For a second, darkness seemed to shroud the man's body and when it ended, two red eyes stared into Mitch's from the sockets of a hyena's skull with the pointed parts of nails pointing proudly through its crown. Head tilted, it seemed to grin. The jaw hung open, lax.
"They call him Hieronymus. I, however, am perfectly calm. Poor Hieronymus is frightened he'll be hurt, but we both know I'd prevent that," a hollow-sounding voice rumbled from nowhere in particular. "My name is Mephistopheles. Charmed to meet you."
The voice was strange, nearly a purr. The jaw slammed shut with a dry clack.
Confused and anxious, Lack watched the girl seem to argue with herself after Lazarus snapped at her. He liked the tall man - he seemed to be the only other person concerned about the levels of security and the attitudes of the mutants here at MUH. They both seemed to be irritable about the mutants killing everyone as well, which was always good. Best to be annoyed when your co-workers start falling. He still stayed kind of behind the man, wary of the two female mutants, moreso the younger one. At least he could communicate with the young woman whereas the girl had been speaking gobbeldygook and getting angry with him when he just tried to help her. When the older girl - Ria - seemed to turn normal and introduce herself, he relaxed a little.
"N-nice to meet you, Ria. I'm D-Dr. L-Lack."
Just as he was introducing himself to the girl, he noticed a beat up looking little boy and guard come out from an elevator. First his face filled with concern for the child, and then his bristled, angry that the guards were allowed to hit such young children. However, his sympathy drained away a little when he saw the guard fall to the ground and gasp for air after the boy seemed to mutter a word. Seeing the guard was conscious, he quickly made the short jog over and checked on him, his airway and heartbeat.
"Are you okay? What the hell was that about?" he asked, glancing back over to the now normal-looking girl and Lazarus with a questioning expression.
Maybe they could offer an answer. Did Ria know the boy? Had the kid even been beaten by the guard; was that just from an accident? Had the guard simply been defending himself? Or was that guard just an asshole who enjoyed kicking the shit out of children? He helped the man to sit up and glowered at the back of the little boy, no matter how young he was. His head was starting to ache from the pain of his now-quarter ear, but he ignored it as best he could for now. There were more pressing issues.
-Mephistopheles/51-
The hyena-skulled demon watched as the gun was pointed at its 'head' and sighed a little, shaking his head.
"I was being perfectly courteous, and you had to bring weaponry into the matter, hm? Why don't you put that down, and we can have a talk. Does my form displease you? I can look like many things which you may be more used to."
However, the creature stood. It was taller than 51, who was around 5'10. The demon stood around a foot taller, but somehow looked willowier rather than all skin and bones. He steadily watched the young guard.
"Lower the gun and I'll respect your wish. Call it a sign of good will. And I won't come within touching distance, although it's my claws that should worry you."
Once more, the skull snapped shut. The monster wasn't wearing the clothes 51 had been - rather it wore what looked like a lightweight leather armour decorated with small trinkets such as teeth and little gemstones. It stretched and appeared to yawn, then grumbled something to itself, cooing softly.
"You're frightening poor Hieronymus," he said.
The demon got into the elevator with an inhuman fluidity that was difficult to describe. The bare soles of his feet padded against the floor, and he slowly leant back against the wall of the lift and turned into a beautiful woman with long, curly brown hair. Her eyes, however, were a bright, almost acidic, yellow. She pushed her hair back over her tanned shoulders and watched the guard in the same unmoving way the skull had.
"Do I have to go to the gathering area? It's so dull to be surrounded by people like that. I'd rather be surrounded by people like you," it said with a sly smile. "We were only going to see what all the ruckus was about downstairs. You wouldn't let me get hurt, would you?"
The woman's body language and expressions all seemed artificial, and almost bored in a way, as if the demon underneath was playing a game. Of course he was, he was a demon. Tempting sins was just a game.
"Hieronymus doesn't want to go there either."
Bored, it turned back to how it had looked before and sat cross-legged on the floor, staring up at Mitch with those baleful eyes.
With a sigh, Mephistopheles curled his tail around him and hugged his knees, still watching Mitch. The red eyes still burnt away in his skull, and he seemed to be muttering to himseld without opening the jaws. Calming Hieronymus, perhaps. Honestly, the demon cared for his human host. Hieronymus amused him, and he liked how terrified the man was of him. He could never hurt the human, of course, but Hieronymus seemed positive he would, could and wanted to. He suddenly stopped his muttering and rested his chin upon his knees. The creature perked when it saw Mitch press the button, and stood.
"We're going to investigate? Just what I hoped for. I'll keep an eye on you, but you promise to have my back. I don't enjoy the prospect of injury. It'll mean I might have to find a new host body, and this one is comfy and poor Hieronymus is very agreeable."
The beast seemed fidgety now, trotting back and forth in the small elevator, tail whisking.
"I'll warn you, though; just because I am able to fight doesn't mean I'm powerful... in that respect, at least," it explained. "I like you, Mr. Guard, taking me on a small adventure. I was ever so bored."
Mephistopheles sounded naturally dry, so it was hard to tell if it was exaggerating or being sarcastic. It seemed sincere, at least.
As Mitch threw himself into the battle, Mephistopheles hung back. For a demon, he surprisingly lacked blood lust, it seemed. However, when a bullet ricocheted off of the thick metal elevator wall above his skull-head, he yipped and hopped out, claws at the ready. The figure - however tall - was hunched over in some pathetic attempt to avoid being shot. Intelligent he might have been, but in no way was the creature a powerful demon. He attempted to skulk around the edges of the room and look non-confrontational, but the effort was obviously pointless when another demon mutant sprang at him.
With a terrified wailing screech, he sunk his long, hooked claws into her throat and tore it out, nervily skipping back and looking left and right. With a speed matching its lithe, athletic form, the beast bounded over to Mitch and ducked beside him, under the cover of the thick door. Shuddering so hard the jaw clacked, he looked over at the young guard.
"I wasn't expecting this much hoo-hah," it said in that strange dry, almost sarcastic voice. "Oh dear. I nearly got torn to shreds, I think."
It let out a small moan as an explosion went off near by, covering its head with its hands.
"This was a bad idea, a very bad idea; please can we go back? I'm very sorry. We can go back to the gathering area, and I'll sit there and be quiet, I promise!"
When the battle wore down, the demon happily let himself get taken back to the gathering area, chattering eleven to the dozen and trembling badly. Hieronymus seemed content to stay hidden and let his demon be the 'pilot' for now. It peered at the other mutants with the glowing eyes from its hyena skull head and waited for the others to introduce themselves. He could see any like himself in the room, but didn't mind particularly, unless the other mutants would be scared of him, of course.
Mepistopheles watched everyone else from where he sat in the corner, chin on his knees. He scratted lightly at one of the infected holes where nails poked through his neck and whined, bored. At least he wasn't being attacked this time, though. Hieronymus had seemed to given up hope of coming back for the time being, especially with all these new people around - the human felt dazed and confused, it seemed. The demon wasn't much happier, tail whisking on the floor. He flicked it back to curl around his bare feet before it got damp from a girl who seemed to be leaking.
He lifted his head so the bone jaw could hang open and his voice come out. The strange, glowing eyes deep in the hyena skull's eyesockets focused on the new girl and the boy who went to meet her. He felt left out, to be truthful, being the oldest one there. Hieronymus was middle aged, and he himself was no spring chicken any more. He waited for the girl to greet all of them, but grumbled when no such thing happened.
"Hello. Not talking to the lesser beings, then, are we?" it sighed, back to being sarcastic and jaded-sounding, despite the fear it displayed earlier.
Stretching, the demon clicked his neck and stood up, hunched over.
"Sorry, sorry, I'm not in the best of moods. Charmed to meet you, I'm sure."
It offered a long, spindly arm with hooked claws topping each finger for a shake. As always, it was hard to tell if it was being sarcastic or serious.
"Mind the claws, or you'll get a nasty infection and that would be a shame."
Elizabeth looked around the room her brothers book against her chest. So many new mutants to meet. Her eyes stopped when they came across a hyena looking demon. Elizabeth skipped over to him and bent over her black hair falling over her shoulders. "Hi there! Nice to meet you!" she said with an innocent smile and sitting down next to him. "That infection looks nasty...has no one offered to help?" she asked with her childish charm.
The creature peered down at the little girl and awkwardly patted her shoulder (trying his best not to cut her) before shaking hands with the young man. His jaw still hung open so that he could speak, and his tail whisked against the ground. It took him a moment to register that the girl was talking about the infected sores around the nails seemingly hammered through his body, but he shook his head. He'd had them as long as he could remember. Besides, the occasional pus weeping from one added to the 'scary' appearance of him. His skin was devoid of hair and was mottled grey and a disgusting unhealthy shade of pink. Veins ran criss-cross close to the surface and the tendons on his human feet stood out, making them look withered and scrawny. Where the nails poked through, it was an angrier red with odd patches of yellow where pus collected under the surface.
"I'm sure I've seen scarier," he said with a barking laugh, going to coil back on his chair again. "They call myself and my host 51. My host is known as Hieronymus to others, and my name is Mephistopheles. It's not my true name, I don't think, but I read it in a book and it seemed good enough."
-Lack-
After the ruckus had died down, Lack went to clean his ear off, sick of the thudding in his head from the pain. He was sick of everything all over, really, and was in an utterly foul mood. Harangued and plagued half to death by screaming mutants dragged down hallways by idiot guards, he managed to find an empty medical room to fix himself up in. His chewed-up ear had never looked good in the first place, but now it was just the lobe and tragus peering awkwardly into the world. Muttering to himself and scowling, he carefully cleaned the dried blood off. The wound had sealed but looked awful and Lack fought the urge to grab a scalpel and cut the rest off just to be done with it. He'd have to build a custom 'ear' and see if any of his co-workers would be able to fit it. The operation was relatively complicated but commonplace for biomechanical surgeons. Lack wasn't sure if he trusted any of the people here to drill into his head, though.
Head resting in his mechanical hand, he yanked his notepad and pen from his bag and began making a list. The man's handwriting was an atrocious scrawl, but it seemed as if he could read it. Each punctuation mark, each dot on every 'i' or 'j' was stabbed into the paper with vehemence as he sorted what he'd write about in his letter. He had listed most everything, but wasn't sure if it was all. Maybe Lazarus would know - he'd been working here longer than Lack, after all. Still scowling, he stood up and searched for the man. Knocking on the security room door, he poked his head around to see if he was there.
"No thank you. They've been like that as long as I remember," Meph said to the little girl, not used to communicating with people so very young. He wasn't sure if he'd get into trouble if he did heal them up anyway because that was how they had always been and he assumed that'd annoy certain powerful demons if they were fixed. He really didn't need those on his ass. His lazy half-existance was fine as it was. He curled further into his seat, sighing and listening to the woman, Sheelin. Corrupted by wrath, it seemed. Boring boring boring. The demon enjoyed playing with more insidious sins; sloth, pride and lust in particular.
"But you are humans," he pointed out. "Just ones with powers and sometimes wonky genes."
He wound his arms around his knees, the trinkets on his bizarre clothes clicking as he shifted.
"I borrow a human's body, but that doesn't make Hieronymus a demon. In answer to your question, yes. When necessary. I'm not a vengeful demon who wants to lay waste to mankind. My mission is corruption. Hieronymus has never killed. I doubt he could even at a push. You should channel your anger into something productive, or you'll end up like my poor host body. All bitter and twisted with no mind of your own, simply spitting and lashing out at people. Or maybe you're already like that, uhuhuh."
As he was a demon, the beast enjoyed thinking about morals. He wasn't resentful of being pinned to this body in the name of science; rather, he used it as a tool for learning. Before now, he'd had little contact with humans of any sort, normal or mutated.
The ruined lips of Lazarus didn't really bother Lack. He was curious, as always, but before he was entirely fixed up, he had a hole in one of his cheeks where you could see his teeth, and he could poke his tongue through if he wanted to bother people. Fortunately for him, it had been fixed up with a piece of flesh grown from stem-cells and then a simple skin graft. The whole thing had gone rather pear-shaped, however, and so barely just stuck out amonst the thick scar-tissue where fangs had pulled back skin and rended flesh. He felt sympathetic, and wondered if anyone had even tried grafts.
"Hey, I suppose now would be a bad time to want to ask questions, huh?" he said with his usual wonky, creepy grin. "I'm compiling a list of failings for my letter and wondered if you had any I could add in."
He paused, thinking for a second.
"I also wondered if you wanted me to do anything about those claws? I could make them retractable, if you wanted. I'd have to order in the correct pieces, or buy them from my old workplace, though. But I'll come back later, if you want."
The assault rifle he'd stolen from the dead man earlier was slung across his back. There had been attempts to get him to put it down, but the man had refused. He was incredibly stubborn and had threatened to go and buy something even more powerful and come back with it tomorrow morning if they didn't leave him be and have something to keep himself safe with. Of course, itd be useless against mutants, but hell if he cared. It was big, powerful and looked the part.
He peered out the door again and glanced towards the infirmary. He should really be helping out there. Doubtless lots of men and women could use his scientific expertise to help them out. But for now, he was busy. He looked back in.
-Meph-
"Funny, you said 'human insects' earlier. Is that a term of endearment? Hahah."
His voice sounded infuriatingly mocking even when making simple remarks, and it was hard to remember he didn't do it on purpose for a lot of people. Sometimes it was purposeful - he enjoyed winding people up even though he'd generally flee when threatened, or climb up a wall and refuse to come down until the threat had been dealt with. To the guards and scientists, the demon was unusually complaint, which often earnt suspicion. He meant nothing by it, however. He was simply as curious about them, and himself, as they were. Cutting of Hieronymus' hand had come a bit too close, though, and Meph loathed the scientist that ruined his host body. He often felt as if his own right hand shouldn't be there, and he knew that poor 51 had terrible phantom limb syndrome. Once, his 'hand' had managed to get 'stuck' in a painful position for weeks on end, and it took much bothering of doctors before it was sorted out with a short dose of mirror therapy.
