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Facility

Facility

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You've never heard of it. You never will. That is, unless you're starting to show something... special. Then it will be all you know. (Open and accepting)

1,632 readers have visited Facility since The(Doctor)Horrible created it.

NobodiesHiiro, and UltimAkimbo are listed as curators, giving them final say over any conflict & the ability to clean up mistakes.

Introduction

The Facility. A place unknown to any map or newscast. Once admitted, patients do not emerge again. In the eyes of the staff, that's for the best. The world simply isn't ready for people like those inhabiting cell after cell after cell through the seemingly endless halls. They aren't even ready for themselves. Not yet.

The Facility has eyes everywhere. They know when someone begins to show special powers, sometimes before the future patient even knows. Granted, in the beginning, it's impossible to hide. No one can control when or how their powers manifest. It could happen day, night, any age, any place. One thing that never changes, however, is the fact that it can't be controlled in the beginning.

So the Facility steps in. The Powered can run as fast as they want. The record for evasion is 20 hours.

No questions are answered. No explanation given. One moment, a budding Powered is trying to discover what's happening. The next, they're in a cell specifically outfitted in a way that will keep them contained among rows of others. They're the new inmates of a sterile, dark, sadistic asylum. Sedatives are given out of "kindness" to help with the pain and confusion. Perhaps it's just a side effect that it helps keep the inmates more docile while experiments are run.

In another wing, Receivers are kept in similar arrangements. People far more regular than the Powered, but with something that will hopefully make them more receptive to serums derived from the tissue of the Powered. Empaths, O-neg blood, et cetera. Anything that would help them hopefully take on the traits of the Powered by unnatural means. No tests have been successful so far.

Welcome to the Facility. It's home now. Learn to enjoy it.

And should you care for your own well being, don't bite the hand that feeds you...

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TO BE KNOWN

Embossed into a wall of each cell is a list of rules. These are also broadcast each "morning" over loudspeakers hidden in the shadows hanging under the tall roof.

Welcome to the Facility.

All inmates are reminded that you must be wearing the scrubs provided to you and demonstrate good hygiene. This includes daily showers, disinfection, clothing changes, and compliance with staff requests.

All inmates are reminded that acting up is not tolerated under any circumstances.

All inmates are reminded that good behaviour is rewarded.

All inmates are reminded that sedation is not optional, nor can it be given by request.

Welcome to the Facility.


Cells are arranged in long rows consisting of one hundred a line. The first two numbers in an ID is the row number. Odds are for males, evens for females. Row 11 faces row 12, row 13 faces row 14, et cetera. The last two numbers are the cell's placement in that row. For example, cells 1111 and 1211 are directly across from one another. Unless a Powered requires it for the safety of everyone in the Facility, cells are not soundproof. They can be communicated across unless preventative measures are taken. All cells are adaptive. Visibility is a privilege. All cells are able to be moved by a large crane hidden in the shadows over everyone's heads, almost like an elaborate warehouse. The facility is invariably painted bright white and is very very well lit under the level of the lights. Again, this can change depending on the needs of an inmate's keeping.

Meals are given twice daily, sedation by various means whenever the previous dose is half an hour from running out. The most common method is a gas vent in the ceiling. Some Powered require tranq shots or some other method. Unless otherwise required, each cell has a simple cot, sink, shower spigot, and powdered disinfectant dispersal system. Emergency methods are in place for every inmate.

Any polymers used are clear, tintable, and able to be manipulated in a variety of ways. They are insanely resilient, nearly impossible for even a Powered to go through. Any other materials are treated to be more than strong enough to handle what it will receive from any side.

Matthew Wilson has been assigned ID number 2120. His cell is constructed of polymers, currently fully tinted. It's kept colder than most, but not unbearably so. New inmate. Emergency measure: A sudden drop in temperature to below freezing and water vapour dispersal.

Roald Hartford has been assigned ID number 2121. His cell is constructed of polymers, currently fully tinted. It's just large enough to keep any large forms he may shift into contained, if uncomfortably so and to the damage of all interior features. New inmate. Emergency measure: gas grenades of varying strengths depending on the size of his form.

Wayland Smith has been assigned ID number 1337. His cell is constructed of non-flammable, conductive polymers, currently fully untinted. Below the floor is a matrix which is able to send up electricity. 4 year inmate. Emergency measure: Activate said matrix and keep active until cell is able to be moved away.

Persephone Nyx has been assigned ID number 1441. Her cell is constructed of Gypsum boards with Rockwood insulation. Only one side is constructed of polymers, currently fully untinted, and upon any sort of heating up the cell will begin to take on water. All items inside are flame retardant, scrubs included. A thin film of water is kept on the floor. 3 year inmate. Emergency measure: Flood cell.

Cassandra Hall has been assigned ID number 1434. Her cell is constructed of polymers, currently at half tint in front, untinted on top, and full tint elsewhere, and has a thin film of water on the floor. 2 year inmate.Emergency measure: One shot gas grenade, flood cell.

Zilla Levina has been assigned ID number 2218. Her cell is constructed of insulation coated by conductive polymers, currently fully tinted, through which a pulsing current runs through. New inmate. Emergency measure: Tazer, gas grenade.

Valen King has been assigned ID number 1926. His cell is constructed of polymers, currently fully tinted, and is, of course, well lit. Currently under severe torture for equally severe disobedience: held in a greenhouse under mocking eyes, camera, happy gas, floodlights, tickling, and the burning sun with no food and nearly impossibly accessible water. His plight will be broadcast on occasion as warning to the other patients. 1 year inmate. Emergency measure: Severe increase in light, gas grenade.

Thomas Mullen has been assigned ID number 1942. His cell is constructed of polymers which are still tinted due to his initial disobedience and the time spent chasing him down. To keep him from meditating, short, sharp electrical pulses are occasionally administered by an anklet he is required to wear. Unlike most Powered, which will break down to the grasp of insanity soon enough, his process is being sped up by random spans of complete darkness and harsh, warbling screeching. Eventual visual and auditory damage will ensue from this. He is currently three and a half days into one of these phases. 6 month inmate. Emergency measure: gas grenade.


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Thank you for your interest in The Facility! Let's lay down a few ground rules:

1) No godmodding. Writers decide the actions of their characters and theirs alone. This includes character injury and death. Discussing things OOC is a good way to make sure no one's feelings are hurt.

2) No overpowering. Yes, there are some strong characters in here, but everyone has weaknesses. No one is all powerful.

3) If there's a problem OOC, take it up with me (The(Doctor)Horrible) so that things can be kept running smoothly.

4) PROPER ENGLISH, PLEASE. Occasional spelling and grammatical errors are acceptable, but let's keep it literate.

5) Be courteous, please.

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Character Skeleton, the more detail given, the more likely you are to be received. Your character can start in the free world just before exhibiting traits, as a fresh inmate, experienced inmate, rookie staff member, etc.

Name:
Aliases:
Age:
Gender:
Face Claim (no anime, please, and include any changes to the face claim's features necessary):
Extra physical info:
Power (in detail, this includes what their best containment method is) OR Receiving trait (empath, O-neg blood, etc, multiple are great) OR Staff Position (for more info, talk to me):
Personality:
Biography:
Likes (at least 3):
Dislikes (at least 3):
Strengths (at least 2):
Weaknesses (at least 2):
Fears (at least 1):

Toggle Rules

The GM of this roleplay hasn't created any rules! You can do whatever you like!

The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 10 authors

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Valen "The Shade" King
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#, as written by Asper
Valen, still strapped to the table, was forced to experience the full pain of the sun's light. He thought of how he wished to eliminate such a weakness, but what could he do. He was Darkness, the ever present force that awaited on the edges of space, he was the Shadows under beds, and the Night that provided cover for predators. Light would always be his enemy, but one day, all light will fade. All there will ever be in the end is darkness, the inescapable truth, the truth that made him superior; that gave him greatness!

Valen lied there in agonizing pain, his body taking such great trauma, and even his psyche screaming for mercy. Yet deep in the core of his being, his true thoughts whirled around, making sense of dark knowledge. The reoccurring dream he was plagued with had finally become clear, it was his conscious, and The Black Door, was none other then the source of his power: The Shadow Plane.

He theorized that the opening of the First Seal was due to his limits being expanded, before he showed only small control over the Darkness, only truly using it when he had allowed his hatred to take control. Yet now, everything was different, such power can only be wielded through understanding. The breaking of the First Seal gifted him with a small amount of that understanding, as well as gifting him with new senses. Valen could see through the darkness around him, but it honestly couldn't be called seeing. It reminded him of a bats method for seeing, using noise that bounces off of physical obstacles, giving the bat an understand of the shape and distance. It was like this but entirely different, he saw through his shadow, though it was weak and feeble, it let him see every bit of the room. In this dark sight no light existed, there were no intricate details and shades, it was merely the shapes and the indents of everything in the room.

Valen was in no way separate from his body though, he was just gifted with a new perspective. He still felt the pain of the burning light, his shadow even felt its own pain, it had gained properties from the Plane of Shadow. Taking on a bit of his subconscious, while still remaining a part of his active thoughts and control. It was still weak though, it would need time to grow more powerful, but that was all Valen had now, Time.

For now Valen had no option of doing anything else, except taking his torture and hopefully not wasting any of his time. However long he would be in here, it would be hell, yet if he survives it, his revenge will only be so much closer.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Scruffy Tommings
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Scruffy wiped her tears away. “We are not weak,” she told herself and the voices in her head. She started humming, a song she remembered from the boy that bullied her in the first family. He always hummed and sung the song as he laid in bed. They shared a room, she laid on the upper bed, he in the lower. He would keep singing until late at night, keeping her awake until she managed to fall asleep because she was too tired to stay awake. This song haunted her until this day, still. Something about it made her to remember it at all times. She felt strong, humming this song, comfortable and less alone. As the voices in her head continued blaming her for everything that happened, she kept on humming.

In the mean while, she observed her cell for any mistakes that could lead to her escape from this place. She had escaped before, the orphanage. Not many had managed to do that, she had, ended up in the best place she had ever been. And now she was stuck again, as if she was an animal. Scruffy was far from that. And she was not going to let her be treated like that.

She sighed and looked at the wall. She couldn’t figure it out. Why was she here? She had never been an actual threat to someone, and now she was kept as if she was one of the most dangerous people on Earth. She didn’t understand. Everything she knew is that it was because she vanished in the shadows of a home, and her caretaker took her to the police officer where she was handed over to the Facility.

She tested the wall with a knock. She started knocking on it harder and harder, just simply testing it. She wanted to get out, leave this place, never return again. Return to the forests in Austria. 'Let me out,' she thought. 'I'm going insane!'

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Roald Hartford Character Portrait: Nova Swann
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#, as written by Jynxii
Image





Gingerly she pulled her gloves off and nodded Mark, the lab assistant who was helping her today. He was new, and he looked nervous. "Don't be scared," she said gently, offering him a small smile. "I'm not going to hurt you, I just need to get a reading... if I can. Pass me the watch, please." She held out her hand, her palm facing up to receive the watch. Foolishly, Mark placed the watch into her hand- making contact with her skin. Instantly, Nova was paralyzed. Images of what mark had seen recently flashed across her mind, causing her body to tense and freeze. Outside of her, Mark was panicking, staring at the girl as her eyes rolled into the back of her head and vibrated violently.

Images flashed by quickly, some of them on repeat. One. Two..Three. Four. Five. Blood slowly began to ooze from her left nostril, causing Mark to freak out and run from the room for some help. By the time he made it back to the room, Nova was slipping on her gloves once more. "The subject is terrified of spiders, Mark. Make sure you write that down. Oh, and, next time.. Just putting it on the table will do... Are you alright?" Mark stared at her in horror, as if she had murdered a kitten in front of him. She smiled softly. This was the reaction she expected from people when witnessing her powers for the first time. It was completely normal- after all, it was her initial reaction the first time she saw a Powered too. With her gloves securely over her hands, she gently gave Mark's shoulder a pat as she left the room.

"Nova!" The call from down the hall caused her to stop and turn in the direction of the feminine voice. It was Merl, a dark haired woman in her mid forties. "I just got through with Mark, I was headed--" "Yes, yes, that's wonderful. Listen, we need you to go down to cell block G and tell Miranda that 2342 has been relocated." Nova crossed her arms over the black of her tank top and glared at the older woman. "Please, Nova?" With a sigh, Nova dropped her arms beside her jean shorts and nodded. "Fine," she huffed, "but you owe me one, Merl." "You're a life saver!" Nova shook her head, waving the words away as she walked past the woman to head toward the cell block.

There was quite the commotion going on in block G this day, as the Powered chatted among themselves or thrashed in their confined spaces. Nova walked quickly and quietly through their ranks, keeping her head down in case any of them had their walls revealed. As she was walking, the sound of a voice caught her attention. "..want ta go home, I dunna-- I'm no' ready ta die..." Nova frowned and walked toward the voice, looking into the cell. The man looked completely petrified. With a sigh, Nova swiped her ID card against the panel on the side of his cell, causing the glass to clear on his side and allowed a view of the short pale girl standing on the outside of his cell. Nova gently put her hand to the glass and gave him a kind smile. "You're not going to die." With that, she swiped her card again and would fade out of his sight as the glass would mist over once again. Within minutes she could hear him yelp from the pain of a shock sent to his room. When would they learn to stop resisting?

She stood back and looked into his cell, aware that it was once again a mirror to him. She watched him for a moment longer before jogging the rest of the way down the hall, trying to ignore the sight inside some of the other cell blocks. When she reached the end, she found Miranda and relayed the message. With her mission complete, Nova turned to go back to her room but once again was stopped. "Nova," Miranda said, batting her eyes in a I-Need-Something-From-You kind of way. "What now?" Her tone was one of amusement. "We need you to go up to the observation deck." "Of course you do," Nova replied with a smile- not bothering to hide her amusement. "Trust me, you don't want to miss this."




Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: SETTING Character Portrait: Wayland "Brimstone" Smith Character Portrait: Cassandra Hall
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The sound of pneumatic clamps locking on the side of a cell was what woke him. Senses coming on line in a surge of adrenalin as he noted that, no, it was not his cell being prepared for movement.

“What?” He muttered, hearing Cassandra crying, but not registering why, the question on his lips. Before stopping, hearing the sound of footsteps coming up the hall, orderlies. Where are you going? He thought, watching the two men in white coats closely, eyes widening in surprise when they stopped in front of cell 1434, Cassandra's cell.

“This one 1434.” One of the men said, clipboard in hard, checking it going down the list, this one, this one, this one. Like we weren't even people. Like we didn't have names, families, jobs, children, LIVES, that we had been living. He could hear the crane whirring, preparing to move the cell.

'I won't let anyone hurt you.'

His words from earlier tasted of bile in his throat, they had been said with sincerity, with the belief that he could actually prevent them from hurting her, or punishing her if they wanted. He could hear Cassandra crying, begging for them not to take her, pleading, apologizing.

“Damn it.” He grit out through clenched teeth, realizing he'd moved without realizing, that he was already standing, already against the polymer pane separating him from them, forehead pressed against the glass, nails scratching along the surface of the wall making a screeching noise as the steel talons tried for purchase against the polymer. Smoke and superheated air pouring from his mouth with every breath, and in this lighting his eyes glowed with an unholy amber light. He knew he couldn't force his way out, but maybe...

“Take me instead!” He'd yelled it before even registering his own words, slamming his forehead into the wall, he could hear the mechanical hiss above him signifying the activation of his sedatives, could taste them on every breath. This time he didn't feign weakness, didn't play the game that had become almost second nature. He stood strong repeating his words from before even as a loud 'Boom' issued forth from Cassandra's cell.

“Take me instead!” This time he yelled it to the monitors in his roof, getting a jolt from the floor for his trouble. He growled low in his throat, a noise not so much like an animal, as it was similar to the roar of a diesel engine coming to life. The two men in the hall were now looking at him like he was crazy, fear clear in their eyes, and in their body language.

Maybe he was crazy, he knew what they would do to him if they did let him take her place, but he'd promised. Had given that women his word, so he'd begged.

“Please, she wasn't even supposed to be taken. She'd only gotten a warning before, take me, do whatever you want with me, just leave her alone, make an example of me I don't care,” He stopped there to stare into the camera again. “I'll come quietly, I'll walk right up to the table and let you strap me down no struggle, I won't make a noise. So please, take me instead.”

Time seemed to stop for a second in his mind. Like the world was holding it's breath just for him, and then the whirring of the crane started back up. He drew breath to begin screaming anew, when the familiar clank of hydraulic locks engaging drew his eyes to Cassandra's cell, sitting back where it belonged. Another set disengaging moments later, his cell was being prepped to move, there might have been an announcement over the speakers, but he didn't hear it, couldn't acknowledge it. He was happy, god he was happy that he would be tortured. By his own request no less. He wanted to laugh.

Raising his eyes to the monitor a familiar smile on his face he replied the same way he always did to the feeder. “Much obliged.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Valen "The Shade" King
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#, as written by Asper
Valen awoke to stinging pain, more then usual, his new shadow sight was still underdeveloped, and he could only make out the dark silhouettes of people in the room. "Patient #1926 has recieved more damage then previously estimated, within a day of full exposure to the sun." There was a great sensation of pain on his arm, like one was tearing off his skin, "He has begun showing signs of Mid-dermal burns, sunlight appears to have the same effect as fire on a human. It is estimated at this point that in three days, he will have Full-thickness burns, scarring is certain and he will likely need medical aid to survive." Valen's heart skipped a beat, had his pain only just begun? Would he survive? The physician chuckled under his breath, "If he survives, he will be of no threat to The Facility, a good example don't you think?" another voice, "Yes, Si-" the physician cut in, "Increase the dosage as well, can't have him calling upon that hatred."

The hissing of gas was followed by there voices, as they exited the cell. The experimental gas begin crumbling away at his will, his control over the muscles in his face began to fall apart as a painful grin spread from cheek-to-cheek. Though Valen tried all he could, he could not hold in the short burst of muffled laughter. The mask did not allow his jaw to open to produce such sounds effectively, it only brought more discomfort to him.

Valen would not cry for help though, he could not, death seemed better, then admitting his weakness... All the while, he would still hear the snide comments of staff members, apathetic to his suffering. When all this was over, when they had finally had their fun, he would teach them of the pain he felt now.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Thomas Mullen
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#, as written by TushoKa
I was saved. The entire world population was in danger. Out of 6 billion people I had been chosen. Locked up in a box for my own safety. By now the rest of the population had died of some weird disease or alien invasion. Whatever they died of it must have hurt a lot. And to top it all, the other last person alive is sacrificing himself to bring Tom his food and antidotes every single day.

It would be better if this was true, not perfect, but better. Tom knew that it wasn't true though and he had some very good reasons for this. Firstly there is no such thing as the other last man, there can only be one last man. Secondly, if it were true it would be best to tell Tom about the disaster that had happened. And even if it wasn't, there was no reason to not even have a book or a deck of cards in this place. If he had a deck of cards he could play poker with all his cell mates. The fourth reason was this anklet, no reason at all to shock the last man on Earth. And the last reason, certainly not the least important, why was the food he got so damned awful. It was dull as a starter, then an excellent main course of bland with a scrumptious salad of tasteless on the side. And the dessert was a splendid, simplified neutral in taste.

Feeling tired and bullied Tom got down on his knees in the middle of his cell, brought his shaking hands together and folded them in front of his chest. As a 14 year old, after another bad foster parent, he had sworn never to take this position again.

Well I've never prayed,
But tonight I'm on my knees, yeah


With a trembling voice he continued softly.

I need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me, yeah.
I let the melody shine, let it cleanse my mind, I feel free now.
But the airwaves are clean and there's nobody singing to me now.


Weak of body and heavy in emotions he fell to the floor. After these 6 heavy months there appeared to be no tears left,Who was there to cry for in any case, nobody had ever cried for him. His eyes closed and as he fell asleep on the floor the music continued in his head.

No change, I can't change, I can't change, I can't change,
But I'm here in my mould, I am here in my mould.
And I'm a million different people from one day to the next
I can't change my mould, no, no, no, no, no

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Matthew "Stretch" Wilson Character Portrait: Roald Hartford Character Portrait: SETTING Character Portrait: Persephone Nyx Character Portrait: Wayland "Brimstone" Smith Character Portrait: Cassandra Hall Character Portrait: Valen "The Shade" King Character Portrait: Thomas Mullen
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Valen King's torment is about to worsen. With the higher dose holding, the cameras click on to show the red, cracked skin of Valen in the sun. The image shows only due to shaded lenses. Between the intense sunlight and floodlight beneath (to ensure no shadow), it's somewhat difficult to see, but clear enough. The angle shown is one of his hips up, a focus in one corner of the screen being the masked and shaved head of the inmate. His wrists are shackled far above his head on the slim table, exposing tender sides, shivering from the giggles he's wracked with on occasion from between clenched teeth. For the first time in several hours of torment, a spritz of water is put into the mask, just so the others can see him struggle for it. The staff laugh and jeer from the sides, but their faces and voices don't carry to the cameras. They're centered on the maddening chuckles of the inmate. This plays in every cell, the audio over the loudspeakers.

A man comes into the room, midnight hair resembling his before it was shaved, wearing a surgical mask and one glove covered in slim tassels. He stands over the inmate for a moment before barely upping the dosage of happy gas. He then sets to work. The tassels on the glove are gently skimmed over Valen's sides, forcing his traumatized skin to ripple with the spasms of muscles underneath. At first, it's not much, but after so much pain with lack of touch, the tickles quickly increase in severity. They flicker over cracks in his flesh, spreading the sensation while he has no chance to defend himself from it. His desperate squirms are for naught except to cause the splits to set about bleeding and discharging pus in various areas over his body. The areas around the shackles are hit particularly hard, where he may have hope to press the tickles away (quickly crushed by the true lack of movement he's allowed). He has no choice but to writhe as the glove trails inch by maddening inch from hip to underarm.

All the while, the happy gas courses through his system. Chuckles before spread to insane laughter, cutting off oxygen and furthering his need to thrash about. He bleeds harder. He's defenseless. His sides, belly, inner legs, the bottoms of his feet are all tickled without mercy. Halfway through, he receives another spritz of blessed water. It will be impossible to catch with his distraction. His lips will be unable to close around it before it evaporates. A shame, seeing as how he just lost a load of the precious fluid onto the table. The scientist glances at the inmate's soaked through briefs and directs a camera to show the spreading puddle running down his shivering legs. He laughs something about a "filthy beast, unable to control his own bladder and happy to piss on himself" before continuing. Oxygen becomes a luxury. One he can't afford. It suddenly becomes very apparent how slim his chances are of survival for the next few minutes.

The laughter increases in its maddening severity as the inmate desperately bucks against his bonds. He can hardly move, and all it manages to do is cause him far further damage. Blood runs freely about his bonds, trickling down his sides and joints, about the mask on his face and the straps cutting into his traumatised skin. His scalp is hardly distinguishable as such from the burns streaking down it, same as his face. Tears and discharge mix with blood as Valen's scarred lips begin to pale under the sunburn beginning to blacken them. He's suffocating. The laughter is now far between, though his body still shows the signs of it. The brief moments he can laugh in are choked through with mirthful pleads for mercy. They're indistinguishable through his tightened jaw and the choking guffaws.

He fights harder, gripped with natural panic as he realises he's dying. The harder he struggles for air, the more of the gas he sucks in. Soon he makes no sound at all, though his lips are peeled back in a fierce grin. Dying, but overjoyed on top of terror. That sort of conflict would tear apart anyone's mind. Everything is tensed, bleeding, and raw. No more air is entering his system. The scientist notices the silence under the tears of amusement from the staff. Many are doubled over or patting others on the back. The inmate's skin twitches and quivers, overstimulated, and now without the oxygen needed. Hell, it needs more than usual with the excruciating torment it's been subjected to. With a hiss of irritation, he lowers the dose to where it was before. Were it not for the locks he would have cracked open the mask for a split second. Instead, he improvises. Taking off the glove, he gingerly soaks it through with the inmate's urine, walks around the table and presses it to Valen's face. It's still warm, and the acid only causes further bleeding, but after a few slaps to the eyes and scalp with it, breath begins to return. Disappointed that he can't logically continue, the man leaves. The cameras continue to roll, focused on the three liquids running down the inmate's face and his insane smile. One minute later, they click off.

Let this serve as a warning: Do not bite the hand that feeds you. 1926 is less than one day into its punishment. It has earned three. If it dies, it's its own fault for disobeying. We only want the best for you, but we will not hesitate to bring order to this environment. That being said...

Thomas Mullen's cell returns to normal light as the wailing fades away. He is given a small cup of extra food for good behaviour during this time.

Matthew Wilson's cell warms a few degrees.

Cassandra Hall's cell returns to full clarity in the front as if nothing happened. However, the front of her cell now displays her ID in large block letters.


...

Scruffy Tommings's cell increases in brightness by 50% with a 20% increase in sedatives.

Zilla Levina's cell is treated the same way.


... good behaviour is rewarded. Disobedience is punished.

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The crane dropped off Wayland Smith's cell somewhere far different than expected. Instead of the transition station, the cube, now tinted on his side so that he may not see the entire facility or the route taken, is brought to a large room with a regular metal table with six chairs around it. The table is obviously not one for examinations. As soon as the inmate's room was set securely on the ground, the walls cleared to reveal the space. Several minutes passed before a door on the far side opened and a tall man wearing an immaculate suit entered. He had blond hair which was short everywhere but a strip just off the center. A curtain of it hung straight over one eye, rippling with each paced step of his Oxfords. His hands were clasped behind his back, gloved and firm. He was obviously very at ease.

Slowly, he made his way to the table and slid into a chair. His elbows rested on the table and his fingers folded before his lips. He sat there for nearly ten minutes, simply inspecting the inmate before him, before he finally spoke.

"What's your name, Thirteen-Thirty-Seven? Or do you remember it?" His voice was soft, soothing, almost like a tenor lullaby. His head tilted amiably, shifting the hair away from one bright blue eye. "Unless of course you'd rather I use that address."

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Character Portrait: Matthew "Stretch" Wilson Character Portrait: Roald Hartford Character Portrait: Valen "The Shade" King
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A wolf. Or a big dog.

If Roald weren't in such excruciating pain he would have laughed.

Matthew... That's almost as ridiculous as being elastic, he tried to say with some mirth, but yet again some sort of undulating whine drowned him out. His tongue felt so heavy, anyway, likely wouldn't have been distinguishable from garbled gibberish. It was as if he were still on fire, but those flames were slowly being put out. This bloke honestly believed that he was some sort of superhero... Was he really in an asylum? He wasn't crazy, he knew he wasn't, and what sort of asylum had polymer walls and tormented screams? Not to mention no doors.

His train of thought was cut off by the loudspeaker and a source of hazy light at the top of his vision (still skewed, somehow). He could barely make out the top of a picture. Some sort of video. The gray mass was shifting in time with the little giggles drilling through his ears. God, why was everything so loud?

But it only got worse. The picture shifted to where he could see some of what was actually happening. He heard everything, sharp and distorted as it was with the whine of electric whirring hammering his eardrums. Horror didn't begin to describe what coursed through him. Coupled with the pain, the terror, and the attack on his mind from that nagging voice to his right, Roald finally drifted into blissful darkness.

Thank you...

Setting

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Character Portrait: SETTING Character Portrait: Wayland "Brimstone" Smith Character Portrait: Corso Asange Hart
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Wayland stood tall, back rigidly straight, head held high, feet set firmly shoulder width apart, knees slightly bent, hands loosely held at his sides, staring straight ahead, a look of firm unflinching resolve, and acceptance on his face.

He could see nothing before him however. The tint of his walls was such that now he was in a black cube, headed to be tortured. It should have been a maddening experience, but he felt nothing, content in the knowledge that he had just won a small victory. It did not matter how small.

The only warning before the images began playing was a split second of agonized giggling, before the torturous scene was played. The very walls acting as massive flat screens. He caught sight of the inmate splayed across the table for only an instant seeing his burned skin, and shaved head, before he closed his eyes calmly. He could still hear it, could hear the words of the torturer, and the maddening laughter of the inmate, but he didn't watch it. Shut his eyes to that insanity, remaining in the exact spot, with the exact posture as before, features a mask of cold calm. The look of a man ready to face the same kind of fate.

Do not bite the hand that feeds you. He'd heard the phrase a hundred, hundred times since being imprisoned here. It was like something you'd tell an animal, a dumb beast.

They declared they just want the best for us, but then called us it, declaring that anything that happens to us is our own fault. It made him sick, made him want to rage, to thrash around his cage, allow his power to run free, but he didn't, wouldn't, do anything like that and they might change their minds and take Cassandra as well.

There ain't no getting off this train I'm on. He thought grimly.

He could feel the crane slow, his cell being lowered to the ground. The speakers and video cutting out as his cell came to a full rest. He opened his eyes to the sight of a room that he did not expect. There was a table, it's molecular structure coming into his head on an instinctual level, he saw it's construction, and the heat that tempered it, stainless steel high quality. The chairs too.

The only indication that he was surprised being a tiny narrowing of his eyes, he never moved from his position, using his peripheral vision to take in the entirety of the room. He examined the new sight, the first new site in years for several minutes before the door on the far side of the room opened admitting a man he had never seen before.

Confident, well dressed, immaculately groomed, he was sure of his standing, sure that he had all the power, and in this situation he'd be right. It made Brimstone want to growl.

The man slowly walked up to the table, settling himself casual as you please into one of the chairs steepling his hands in front of his mouth and observing him.

Wayland's eyes had locked on to him the minute he'd walked into the room, analyzed everything about him exactly as he did everything else, weighing how he could be used, or if he could be at all. He however would not be the first to talk. He would show these people no weakness. So they remained like that for several minutes before the man finally spoke.

“What's your name, Thirteen-Thirty-seven? Or do you remember it? He was a soft spoken man, surprisingly, voice a soothing tenor. It set Brimstone's teeth on edge. “Unless of course you'd rather I use that address.”

As if you don't already know, he thought furiously. I didn't throw it away, you lot tried to steal it. He couldn't not reply, so he spoke calmly, but firmly never changing his standing position. His voice raspy from little use, with a underlying rumble like a large engine.

“My name is, Wayland Smith.”

Setting

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Character Portrait: Wayland "Brimstone" Smith Character Portrait: Corso Asange Hart
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"Wayland Smith..."

The man seemed to ponder this for a while, sorting it away into various folders in his head. Rather interesting name. American. Hardly as interesting as the man before him, though. He kept his head tilted as a curious smile touched the corners of his mouth. "Tell me, Wayland Smith, how would you like to be addressed, any nicknames, Mr. Smith, just Wayland?" He'd wanted to be near this one for a long while, but never had the opportunity. He was just so well behaved. A nice little metal man. Without cause, he wasn't likely to pull a cell out. Simply wasn't orthodox. Besides, he would hate to send the wrong message. Good behaviour leading to being moved? Heavens, no.

Completely at ease, the man shifted his fingers into a single clasped fist to rest his pale chin upon. He was a stark contrast to the singeing man outside the Facility. Hardly looked like he received any sun at all. All in all, he looked beautiful. All smooth lines and grace, blemish free. Yet the true beauty in this room was the anomaly of Wayland Smith.

"How did it happen?" the man asked softly. Genuine curiosity peered through his smooth voice. "I know a great many things about you, but that was never found."

Setting

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Character Portrait: Wayland "Brimstone" Smith Character Portrait: Corso Asange Hart
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“Wayland Smith...” It bothered him for some reason. He couldn't place his finger on it, but there was something up with the mans voice. It made his ears ring somewhat to hear it. Not the ringing most people hear, but a low metallic ring like a bell, and he didn't know why. It was disconcerting.

“Tell me, Wayland Smith, how would you like to be addressed, any nicknames, Mr. Smith, just Wayland?” Wayland appeared to ponder the question seriously for a second, but his mind was a storm of thought. Why am I not being tortured? Who is this man? Where am I? Question after question piled up, he however let none of this show on his face. He remained still as a statue, face set in rigid lines.

The man casually rested his chin on a single clenched fist. What did what he called him matter anyway? He wondered. Eyes narrowing ever so slightly, He couldn't figure out this ones game. Everyone to this point has been simple, low level grunts. This man, the way he's dressed, I bet you're right up at the top aren't you? He thought to himself.

“How did it happen?” He asked, in that same melodic voice that Wayland was growing to despise, his ears ringing with every syllable. “I know a great many things about you, but that was never found.” Oh, I see your game, I'm just an interesting little mystery to you aren't I? You'd just loved to figure us all out. Wayland grinned ever so slightly showing his teeth, and ignoring the question for the moment.

“Just Wayland is fine.” He rumbled out, relaxing his own posture into something less formal, but no less rigid in its bearing. “As for nicknames, some of the other prisoners seem to be fond of Brimstone.”

He let that hang in the air for a second, as he scratched his cheek, acting as if in thought again, but really watching the mans reactions, after a moment he replied.

“Honestly,” He started. Staring off into space for a second, lost in thought. Remembering the night he became like this. All he could remember was the soul searing agony of his Granny's death, and then the smell of ash, and flame before he passed out. He frowned as he recalled something, the pain was very much real. It had felt as if his whole body was on fire, then his senses were overwhelmed by ash, and smoke, and he woke in the facility. “I've no idea how I came to be like this, just born luck I suppose.” He tried, but couldn't keep from adding the last part to his sentence.

He'd always been comfortable around flames, temperatures that would make others uncomfortably warm rarely made him sweat. He was born with a higher than average core temperature as well, but he'd never thought anything of it, never considered why he loved metallurgy so much, or why he was so good at it. Curious.

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Character Portrait: Cassandra Hall
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Cassandra Hall
"I miss the sky, the rain, the sun...I miss it all."






Image
Waking up after a detonation was one of the most painful experiences Cassandra had ever endured. The torturous games that the men in lab coats played made no comparison, not to say they weren't painful because they were, but as soon as the plasmatic liquid that was left behind after the explosion started to reform her brain the pain started. White hot, excruciating fire that burned her over and over again. Cells, tissues, and organs started to group back together molecule by molecule. Muscles stretched and strained over regrowing bones, joints connecting with small pops and snaps. The reformation process felt like hours to Andy, but in all reality it only took a few minutes.

She was able to start moving before her body was completed, gritting her teeth through the pain as she sat up, watching in fascinated awe as small collections of the plasma rolled across the floor, up her foot, leg, and stomach to patch the skin on her cheek, another piece wrapping around the bone of a finger. Gasping, sweaty, and exhausted the woman sat in the corner of the cell walls, eyes fluttering close, naked skin rising with goosebumps against the chilled air. Cassandra pulled her knee to her chest, eyes flicking open to squint against the lights as the tint on the walls fades away. Looking across the hall she was ready to tell Brimstone that the labs weren't mad at her anymore, that they would be okay. But emptiness met her eyes, heart dropping in her chest, stomach knotting in sickness as she shook her head slowly. "No, no, no, no...this is all my fault." Cassandra whispered.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Scruffy Tommings
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Scruffy groaned as the light became a lot brighter. She sighed and gave up, quietly curling up on the ground. She had hardly moved the last few days and not eaten a lot either. She didn’t think it was worth to eat, she was going to die in this place anyways. The only thing she wanted was to make it as quick as possible. In the mean while, she would try to keep herself up and sane, though she already knew she was far from being sane. She knew it because of the voices in her head that kept telling her to die, kill someone or try to escape. They kept singing and humming in a strange and creepy way and there was nothing she could do about it.

‘‘Why can’t I die right now, right here? No one cares about me,’’ she whispered quietly to herself. Scruffy shivered and tried to find the reason why she was breathing, still. She missed school, she missed her ‘friends’. She missed certain teachers. She missed the police officer. How could he do that to her?

‘‘And what about dad? Where’s he and why did he drop me off by the orphanage? Wasn’t I good enough…’’ Tears started streaming down her face again as she remembered every horrible thing said to her, done to her. Her head was throbbing worse and she felt sick, as if she was about to throw up. She wasn’t used to being exposed to these circumstances. Scruffy felt no hope, and for a fifteen-year-old kid, that’s something horrible.

She had never felt this miserable and useless before, as if she just didn’t belong in this place whatsoever. Dying was the best option for now. Then, at least, she would be in peace and nothing would be able to hurt her anymore. No one would hurt her anymore. ‘My heart can be cold, but the hearts of people around me are colder than mine will ever be…’

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Character Portrait: Zilla Levina
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As the video was played throughout the cells, the torture of the man they could all see enough to induce nightmares for weeks on end, Zilla felt like screaming. She curled up tightly covering her ears and closing her eyes, praying for the video to vanish, for it not to be true.

Whilst she could no longer see the image it was burned into her mind, the twisted grin on the prisoners face only making the image that more scary. She could see his burnt, bubbling and bleeding skin even with her eyes shut. She couldn't block out the sound of his laughter, clearly involuntary and making his torture so much worse. No matter what she did Zilla couldn't block it all out, she would never forget the sight and it would plague her mind forever.

Fear coursed through her system fueling her darkness, fueling the monster within her. She was powerless to stop it as the room around her brightened and the increasing sedatives numbed her further. This was a blessing and a curse though.

Whilst her mind was numbed of clear thoughts and her body of feeling, it only gave her less control over the darkness. It was almost as if she was handing her body over to its control. She could feel it clawing at her skin frantically trying to take over, to take control, to make her destroy all around her. But it was stopped, the light to bright it was trapped inside, clawing at her skin so close to breaking free.

Zilla's body was wracked with pain, the sedatives barely making a dent as it clawed. It was far more painful than the darkness taking over, she could feel it clawing, feeling its will to be free. With it forcibly trapped it only brought her increasing pain, her skin felt as though it was being slashed with a million razors, her mind burned caught in conflict between herself and the darkness. It was as though her two self's were fighting each-other in an endless battle. Neither could win, the darkness to strong for her true mind to keep control but the darkness unable to do anything more than force the other down and hold it there.

Tears started to stream down her cheeks, she begged for freedom, afraid of the darkness but wanting the pain to stop. She tried to shout her please but couldn't summon her voice. The conflict almost trapping her into the state of nothing more than an empty shell on the outside. Her body trembling and the tears leaving damp trails down her skin, unable to move from her current position, unable to shout, to speak, to even think.

If only it would stop, if only it would end, if only.....

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Character Portrait: Raider Stills
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Raymond "Raider" Stills
"Stay back!"






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Raider couldn't even stretch his wings all the way out, he could unfurl them half way until they pressed against the glass. The muscles in his shoulders ached all the time and the air always felt stuffy. There was nothing really special about his cell, he had no powers to get through it, though his carbon reinforced bones made him stronger than any human man it wasn't enough to help him out of his cell. The man hadn't been able to fly for what seemed like ages, it really wore down his morale, not being able to completely stretch would make anyone crazy. The cart carrying food had already passed his cell, delivering his meal and meds. Raider had eaten with complaints, setting his tray on the floor in front of the door slot, going back to lay on his bed. He couldn't lay on his back without causing stress to his wings so instead he lay on his stomach with a sigh, eyes closing.

Was he even considered a Powered? The only thing special about him was the single avian chromosome that had given him hollow, carbon reinforced bone structures; air sacs under his lungs, and of course the fourteen foot wings that were folded tight against his back. He couldn't control things with his mind or melt steel down in a molten state, no, he was being kept here as an odd little pet. A bird in a cage, how pathetic, he should've been free right now, flying the skies like the aerial predator he was.

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Character Portrait: Thomas Mullen
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#, as written by TushoKa
While still laying on the floor the sound of soft, but uncontrollable giggling sent shivers down Tom's spine. Coming to his senses he could see a light in his room, it seemed to be a television screen. Since he hadn't seen light in days, he was not able to focus his eyes on the screen just yet. Hearing the giggling Tom was sure there would be nothing funny to see, it sounded off. Hearing the giggling continue, Tom got the strong feeling that he was lucky he couldn't watch the screen, and even luckier he wasn't the one giggling. Tom forced himself to continue listening, the least he could do for the person being tortured was to stay strong. The punished person had probably defied the Facility in some way and if his torture would make people more obedient, it would not honour him in the right way. Tom sat back on his knees and squinted his eyes to try and see the TV screen. When he could almost see what was being done to the unlucky prisoner, he could hear that an announcement was coming.

Let this serve as a warning: Do not bite the hand that feeds you. 1926 is less than one day into its punishment. It has earned three. If it dies, it's its own fault for disobeying. We only want the best for you, but we will not hesitate to bring order to this environment. That being said...

As the words end, the light in Tom's cell finally came on after what must have been about 4 days. As the wailing faded away as well, Tom could not help to feel relieved. The lights had never been out this long yet and Tom dreaded the day that the lights would never go back on. Seeing what was coming Tom backed up to the wall that was furthest from the door. The door opened and more food was placed on the floor. Tom did not get a good look at the person bringing the food, but he knew for sure it was not the same guard as earlier today and he didn't hear the sound of a cart this time. The door closed and Tom moved closer to see if they brought him some more grey goo. To his surprise he recognised different kinds of vegetable and even a small piece of meat. Without realising what he did the words escaped his mouth: Thank you....

He picked up the food and moved toward his bed.

... good behaviour is rewarded. Disobedience is punished.

As Tom attacked the food he thought about the words that came over the announcer. Do not bind the hand that feeds you. This seemed to be the motto of the Facility. Kind of the 'Arbeit macht frei' that the Nazi's used for the concentration camps. The motto was ridiculous. If the Facility hadn't locked him up he would have been able to get his own food. He hadn't done a bad job on the stock market, he would be able to live his life without hurting anyone. You can hardly consider me dangerous.

1926 was the number of the prisoner that was being tortured. Tom had been called 1942 by the guards, this must mean that he had a cell close to Tom. Tom half expected that he would have heard something, if it was so bad that it deserved this treatment. He blamed it on the wailing that his cell was still exposed to at the time the disobedience must have happened. What does that mean for me? Would he ever see this prisoner? Or any other for that matter.

The announcement had stated that this was only day one of three of the punishment.If it dies, it's its own fault for disobeying. Tom thought about that. No dipshit, it is not. It would definitely be the fault of the Facility. He hadn't locked himself up in something that was not even worth of being named 'cell'. It was not more then a box. And they were stored away as storage in that box. Although this place had unscrewed a few things in Tom's head, he was sure that he would always remember that his imprisonment and all bearings that came with it was the Facility's fault.

We only want the best for you was the last thing of importance that Tom would put up for questioning. If that was true he again would not be in a box, more in a penthouse in Miami beach. Surfing during the day and partying at night. Surfing, he missed it. He always caught the best waves since he could see them coming before anyone else. Tom's mind went to a better place while finishing his plate. I don't even know if I will ever see the sky again, let alone the ocean.

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Character Portrait: Zilla Levina
11 sightings Zilla Levina played by nekomenace
Once outgoing and happy, Now silent and secretive.
Character Portrait: Persephone Nyx
5 sightings Persephone Nyx played by ApocalypticGirl
"Just close your eyes, the sun is going down. You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now..."
Character Portrait: Cassandra Hall
21 sightings Cassandra Hall played by Paintpoint
"I miss the sky, the rain, the sun...I miss it all."

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View All » Add Character » 20 Characters to follow in this universe

Character Portrait: Matthew "Stretch" Wilson
Character Portrait: Roald Hartford
Character Portrait: SETTING
Character Portrait: Wayland "Brimstone" Smith
Character Portrait: Valen "The Shade" King
Character Portrait: Thomas Mullen
Character Portrait: Scruffy Tommings
Character Portrait: Nova Swann
Character Portrait: Corso Asange Hart

Newest

Character Portrait: Corso Asange Hart
Corso Asange Hart

The hand that feeds you.

Character Portrait: Nova Swann
Nova Swann

"I don't have a choice either."

Character Portrait: Thomas Mullen
Thomas Mullen

Who knows what the future holds?

Character Portrait: Valen "The Shade" King
Valen "The Shade" King

"Life is nothing but a futile spark, struggling against the darkness but ultimately doomed to failure. I represent the darkness that lies at the end of all. So how can you expect to stop me?"

Character Portrait: Wayland "Brimstone" Smith
Wayland "Brimstone" Smith

Captive, imprisoned, but watchful, and waiting.

Character Portrait: SETTING
SETTING

Setting of the story

Character Portrait: Roald Hartford
Roald Hartford

A once regular man with a once promising future.

Character Portrait: Matthew "Stretch" Wilson
Matthew "Stretch" Wilson

An all-around good guy, if a little silly at times. He has a dark side, though, and when it awakens...

Trending

Character Portrait: Thomas Mullen
Thomas Mullen

Who knows what the future holds?

Character Portrait: SETTING
SETTING

Setting of the story

Character Portrait: Nova Swann
Nova Swann

"I don't have a choice either."

Character Portrait: Roald Hartford
Roald Hartford

A once regular man with a once promising future.

Character Portrait: Corso Asange Hart
Corso Asange Hart

The hand that feeds you.

Character Portrait: Valen "The Shade" King
Valen "The Shade" King

"Life is nothing but a futile spark, struggling against the darkness but ultimately doomed to failure. I represent the darkness that lies at the end of all. So how can you expect to stop me?"

Character Portrait: Matthew "Stretch" Wilson
Matthew "Stretch" Wilson

An all-around good guy, if a little silly at times. He has a dark side, though, and when it awakens...

Character Portrait: Wayland "Brimstone" Smith
Wayland "Brimstone" Smith

Captive, imprisoned, but watchful, and waiting.

Most Followed

Character Portrait: Nova Swann
Nova Swann

"I don't have a choice either."

Character Portrait: SETTING
SETTING

Setting of the story

Character Portrait: Matthew "Stretch" Wilson
Matthew "Stretch" Wilson

An all-around good guy, if a little silly at times. He has a dark side, though, and when it awakens...

Character Portrait: Valen "The Shade" King
Valen "The Shade" King

"Life is nothing but a futile spark, struggling against the darkness but ultimately doomed to failure. I represent the darkness that lies at the end of all. So how can you expect to stop me?"

Character Portrait: Corso Asange Hart
Corso Asange Hart

The hand that feeds you.

Character Portrait: Roald Hartford
Roald Hartford

A once regular man with a once promising future.

Character Portrait: Wayland "Brimstone" Smith
Wayland "Brimstone" Smith

Captive, imprisoned, but watchful, and waiting.

Character Portrait: Thomas Mullen
Thomas Mullen

Who knows what the future holds?


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