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speeding[Open to all.]
You stand barefoot in a metal hallway. Doors line the walls, heavily locked, secured with the latest technology. Not even iron bars offer a glimpse inside the cells.
They are cells. This is a prison. The stark metal walls and floor, the uninviting lines of the architecture, built to be sturdy, built to keep things in. It can’t be anything but a prison. Maximum security. The metal is cold beneath your feet as you walk. There’s metal at your wrists, holding them together in front of you--not handcuffs. A manacle with a magnetic lock, not the easiest thing to get out of.
You walk along, your clothes are as grey as the walls, as uniform. The guards on either side of you are faceless. Maybe they’re not human. They could be mandroids. It’s hard to say, they stare straight forward--why not? There’s nothing to the sides to look around at. You look forward too, the regular patches of fluorescent light illuminating the hall between intervals of dimness.
The door you stop in front of is the same as the rest. The room beyond looks like a hospital, with bleach white beds and surgical equipment and bare metal counters. The guards shove you into a chair, strap you down. You’d struggle, but in that way of dreams it’s like being caught in molasses, your body doesn’t obey.
The mandroids--or whatever--leave. You’re alone a while, listening to echoes and the buzz of the electric lights and the noises--far off, muffled--of the facility working around you. Serious men in glasses and white lab coats with serious looking nametags, ID cards, cluster in. One of them swabs your arm, greets you cheerfully. “Good morning, Tommy. We have a lot to do today.” there’s a prick as he injects you with something, and the world drops out beneath you.
“Wake up.” Cross is shaking your arm, face concerned, and you start. You’re both in Adstringendum, the bombed out city is hauntingly reminiscent of another city you knew once. “Good.” Cross looks haggard and worried, he hands you a canteen, you drink, mouth feeling like cotton wool. “We haven’t heard from Gene’s unit. Bastet’s scouting ahead to see what happened, but she’s missed her check in.”
You look around. You’re huddled in the remains of a building, together with half a dozen refugees. Ghost, Lea, Gai, Apple, a few others. Some are conspicuously absent. In the way of dreams people who should be gone are here--and people who should be here, somehow, you know they’re dead. You remember seeing them fall, faces stricken, shocked, bloodied. Stoneface, Edgeworth--they were protecting Apple. Juliet fell in a blaze of glory. Chase, and Ran wouldn’t leave her and she...
“Dash!” Cross’s voice is strained, snapping you back to the present. Your leg hurts, you realize it’s broken, shattered maybe, it happened in the fighting somewhere. Seven patched it up, but she had a lot of people to patch up, she couldn’t do miracles.
Without your speed, you’re useless in the fight. Just another civilian to protect. Just another piece of baggage.
“I’m going after her.” Cross pats your shoulder, reassuringly, or he thinks it is. “Keep an eye on people here.”
“I should be the one...”
“You can’t.” Not with your leg like that. “I’ll be fine. I’m a weapon.”
You’ll be a weapon of liberty for the greatest nation in history.
Before you can say anything a mask slips over his face and he’s ghosting out the door. You’re left, lame and in pain, to listen to the sounds of fighting outside. There’s an explosion, and when the smoke clears the rest of the people in the house are scattered, dead, half buried or worse in the rubble that was the opposite wall. You can’t even get to your feet before you’re seized, can’t quite make out the face of the enemy before you black out again.
War is hell.
“Well done, Tommy.” That unctuous voice. You’re in a different hospital room. You’re not quite sure what’s different, it looks identical. Maybe a different bland, generic painting on the wall. “You’ll be a great asset to us. I hope you can see that.”
You slur something. It might be an epitaph, or it could be a laugh, it comes out garbled either way. The world blacks out again.
“Hey kiddo.” Bastet lounges on the couch, nudging your shoulder with her foot. “You really got out of it there.”
“Did Cross find you?” Are the first words out of your mouth.
Bastet’s expression sobers. “Dash. He’s been gone for years.”
You feel dazed, start to protest. “He went looking for you and Gene... In the city.”
She shakes her head. “That was a decade ago. You’re dreaming about the past.” She sits up and you realize she’s missing an arm. She leans over to ruffle your hair. “We lost. Remember?”
And suddenly you do. The tree is as it’s been forever. Charming on the outside. Evil. Maddening. Cruel. You lost. And a lot of good people died, Gene's unit--Bellflower, Target, Crimson. Most of them didn’t come back. They were the lucky ones. Bastet never got her arm back, never regained her speed. You haven’t been able to walk without crutches, you’ve been crippled, you and a few of the other survivors. Bell, Fred, Spike...
Forced to watch the same unending cycle of death and torment and loss. Again and again. Helpless and voiceless as puppets. You’re close to screaming when a touch on your shoulder brings you to the present. Staring at a hospital ceiling, strapped to a gurney.
Young Avengers don't kill. Codename's voice in your head.
“We’re making progress, Tommy.” The doctor says, as if that’s a good thing. “Now this may hurt a bit but it’s for the greater good.”
All you can remember after that is screaming.
[Reactions or offlines welcome! I would have waited until the second event but I'll be out of town by then so, I apologize for the spam.]
You stand barefoot in a metal hallway. Doors line the walls, heavily locked, secured with the latest technology. Not even iron bars offer a glimpse inside the cells.
They are cells. This is a prison. The stark metal walls and floor, the uninviting lines of the architecture, built to be sturdy, built to keep things in. It can’t be anything but a prison. Maximum security. The metal is cold beneath your feet as you walk. There’s metal at your wrists, holding them together in front of you--not handcuffs. A manacle with a magnetic lock, not the easiest thing to get out of.
You walk along, your clothes are as grey as the walls, as uniform. The guards on either side of you are faceless. Maybe they’re not human. They could be mandroids. It’s hard to say, they stare straight forward--why not? There’s nothing to the sides to look around at. You look forward too, the regular patches of fluorescent light illuminating the hall between intervals of dimness.
The door you stop in front of is the same as the rest. The room beyond looks like a hospital, with bleach white beds and surgical equipment and bare metal counters. The guards shove you into a chair, strap you down. You’d struggle, but in that way of dreams it’s like being caught in molasses, your body doesn’t obey.
The mandroids--or whatever--leave. You’re alone a while, listening to echoes and the buzz of the electric lights and the noises--far off, muffled--of the facility working around you. Serious men in glasses and white lab coats with serious looking nametags, ID cards, cluster in. One of them swabs your arm, greets you cheerfully. “Good morning, Tommy. We have a lot to do today.” there’s a prick as he injects you with something, and the world drops out beneath you.
“Wake up.” Cross is shaking your arm, face concerned, and you start. You’re both in Adstringendum, the bombed out city is hauntingly reminiscent of another city you knew once. “Good.” Cross looks haggard and worried, he hands you a canteen, you drink, mouth feeling like cotton wool. “We haven’t heard from Gene’s unit. Bastet’s scouting ahead to see what happened, but she’s missed her check in.”
You look around. You’re huddled in the remains of a building, together with half a dozen refugees. Ghost, Lea, Gai, Apple, a few others. Some are conspicuously absent. In the way of dreams people who should be gone are here--and people who should be here, somehow, you know they’re dead. You remember seeing them fall, faces stricken, shocked, bloodied. Stoneface, Edgeworth--they were protecting Apple. Juliet fell in a blaze of glory. Chase, and Ran wouldn’t leave her and she...
“Dash!” Cross’s voice is strained, snapping you back to the present. Your leg hurts, you realize it’s broken, shattered maybe, it happened in the fighting somewhere. Seven patched it up, but she had a lot of people to patch up, she couldn’t do miracles.
Without your speed, you’re useless in the fight. Just another civilian to protect. Just another piece of baggage.
“I’m going after her.” Cross pats your shoulder, reassuringly, or he thinks it is. “Keep an eye on people here.”
“I should be the one...”
“You can’t.” Not with your leg like that. “I’ll be fine. I’m a weapon.”
You’ll be a weapon of liberty for the greatest nation in history.
Before you can say anything a mask slips over his face and he’s ghosting out the door. You’re left, lame and in pain, to listen to the sounds of fighting outside. There’s an explosion, and when the smoke clears the rest of the people in the house are scattered, dead, half buried or worse in the rubble that was the opposite wall. You can’t even get to your feet before you’re seized, can’t quite make out the face of the enemy before you black out again.
War is hell.
“Well done, Tommy.” That unctuous voice. You’re in a different hospital room. You’re not quite sure what’s different, it looks identical. Maybe a different bland, generic painting on the wall. “You’ll be a great asset to us. I hope you can see that.”
You slur something. It might be an epitaph, or it could be a laugh, it comes out garbled either way. The world blacks out again.
“Hey kiddo.” Bastet lounges on the couch, nudging your shoulder with her foot. “You really got out of it there.”
“Did Cross find you?” Are the first words out of your mouth.
Bastet’s expression sobers. “Dash. He’s been gone for years.”
You feel dazed, start to protest. “He went looking for you and Gene... In the city.”
She shakes her head. “That was a decade ago. You’re dreaming about the past.” She sits up and you realize she’s missing an arm. She leans over to ruffle your hair. “We lost. Remember?”
And suddenly you do. The tree is as it’s been forever. Charming on the outside. Evil. Maddening. Cruel. You lost. And a lot of good people died, Gene's unit--Bellflower, Target, Crimson. Most of them didn’t come back. They were the lucky ones. Bastet never got her arm back, never regained her speed. You haven’t been able to walk without crutches, you’ve been crippled, you and a few of the other survivors. Bell, Fred, Spike...
Forced to watch the same unending cycle of death and torment and loss. Again and again. Helpless and voiceless as puppets. You’re close to screaming when a touch on your shoulder brings you to the present. Staring at a hospital ceiling, strapped to a gurney.
Young Avengers don't kill. Codename's voice in your head.
“We’re making progress, Tommy.” The doctor says, as if that’s a good thing. “Now this may hurt a bit but it’s for the greater good.”
All you can remember after that is screaming.
[Reactions or offlines welcome! I would have waited until the second event but I'll be out of town by then so, I apologize for the spam.]
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-04-15 02:31 am (UTC)She hates the idea of prison. Hates it so much, beyond the limits of what might be normal given her past. And then to follow it with the rest...she has to choke back the desire to scream, as the end of the dream repeats itself in her mind. Who was Tommy? Who was that person? She could recognize the others-Bastet and Cross, but Tommy remained unknown.
Throwing off the cover and turning over, she pulled the pillow close, humming and trying to lull herself back to sleep. It wasn't going to be easy.]
4/13
Date: 2011-04-16 09:55 pm (UTC)Tommy. Was that his real name? Quite possibly. Those doctors, in the hospitals... they were the ones who called him that. Not Cross. Not Bastet.
Fred shivered again. That dream had been... bad. Parts of it had seemed so real... Gene's death, Juliet's...
Fred curled up, shivering again, drawing the blanket up around her. Normally, cold wasn't an issue for her, but this cold seemed to be coming from inside herself.
She lay there for a long, long time, just staring into the darkness. Waiting for the dawn.]
no subject
Date: 2011-04-18 12:16 am (UTC)[No one is experimenting on her. She still has both arms, both legs.]
[Kisuke's still alive. He's right here, he's fine. Lyle...it takes a bit, but she eventually finds his reiatsu. Dash--Tommy--is fine. Cross is fine.]
[Everyone's alive.]
[Still that dream of the future had been so bleak, so unnerving. Even if it hadn't been real, it serves to strengthen her resolve all the same.]
[She was tired of being a plaything. There had to be a way out of this place. Ten years...she'd be as insane as Spade by that point.]
[At least she's not alone tonight; Kisuke's warmth at her back and the weight of his arm over her help immeasurably. Still, it's a long time before she manages to fall back asleep.]