| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Your transfer to Belle Reve went smoother than expected, though decided to transfer you here now was still a mystery no one had bothered to explain. Your powers were notable, but Ultra-Max seemed a bit like overkill, especially now. The trip itself was disappointingly unremarkable, in that there were no hang ups, and no disruptions. Worst of all, no one had tried to free you. Maybe secrecy was really that good, and no one had heard in time to mobilize. Maybe security was just that tight, and whatever forces they'd brought hadn't been up to the task. Or just maybe, maybe there was no one around who thought it worth the trouble to bust you out.
So far, the place seemed far from the Beautiful Dream the name promised. Built well before the start of the century, the facility was mostly aging, though still well regarded as far as security was concerned. A big concrete slab for the most part, the whole thing looked worn, drab, and uncomfortably well fortified. Everyone knew the standard line that the walls here were so thick that even Superman couldn't have broken through them by main force. Rumour had it that they'd invited him in order to put that theory to the test. Rumour also said he'd surprised them, as Super-man was apt to do, but that true to intention, he hadn't been able to break through the walls. Not everyone would recognize the telltale signs, but having been around the block a few times, it happens you noticed that the place isn't just built with containment of those inside in mind. Metal shutters on the corners likely conceal turrets, and squarish metal constructs on the roof that could transform into anti-aircraft emplacements, with only a little imagination, were starting to convince you that rescue from the outside was unlikely. 50 years of operation, and despite numerous attempts, a few riots, and one full scale takeover by the prisoners, official word was that no one had even managed an escape. Not without inside help at least, and it seemed the official record doesn't count it when a corrupt warden lets a prisoner out on extended passes.
While most of the prison was old, worn, dingy, and otherwise rather disgusting. However, as you are being led to your new home, through enumerable check points (19 actually), several security scans (6), and waiting endless amounts of time alone in a bland succession of waypoint holding rooms (4 of them, for what must have been around 7 hours in total), you were led past one run down cellblock after another until reaching a newly renovated section of the complex. At that point you were officially signed into Detention Block AA23.
The one plus was that the unit was officially co-ed. Ever since the supreme court decided to hear Quinn vs. Lance a decade back, and had determined that sexual congress with consenting partners was indeed a basic human right, the prison system had been scrambling to catch up. It wasn't long before segregating prisoners by sex/gender was ruled unconstitutional. Of course, the massive list of number of safety concerns that came along with implementing this particular decision, not to mention the significant shift in infrastructure that would be required meant that the prisons had applied for, and been granted, numerous stays; not to mention the ongoing and lengthy appeals on the part of the state. Most prisoners were pretty convinced they'd never actually see the day when woman stepped onto a male block.
However, it appeared that Belle-Reve had been busy, and incorporated a new style of unit into their ever present renovation projects to create an area that was compatible with the new version of the law; if it was upheld of course. The place was top of the line too, no sloppy guard stations or observation posts; just enough built in cameras and one way mirrors to make big brother cream in his pants. No guards were visible in the unit, but could apparently appear from access portals in virtually every room.
It was all explained in the reception briefing, as much of it as you could pay attention to anyway. Apparently, this unit didn't just rely entirely on the inhibitor collars that everyone wore, but actually had some sort of inhibitor field that permeated the whole area. Both also allowed for the guards to instantly disable an inmate, should any restricted behaviours be observed or detected. That included contact with other prisoners, unfortunately. Sex might be theoretically legal now, but according to the briefing, it sounded like the paperwork required, not to mention the mandatory counselling to ensure consent had not been coerced, might work together to kill a bit of the mood.
The unit was described as a pilot project, and lucky old you must have been selected as one of the first Guinea Pigs. Lucky you. The unit was small, and had accommodations for 20. It had a television and viewing area, a small yard, that while covered with a presumably impregnable transparent barrier, did get natural sunlight at certain hours of the day, as well as a small kitchen. Cooking was listed among the numerous mandatory chores. Seems The Man had decided to give rehabilitation a try, and communal living was the order of the day.
Private rooms, the opposite gender, and at least a shot at decent chow, depending on who was cooking. Things were looking up. Time to meet the other lab-rats.
Lance cracks to whoever's listening.
"Guess they decided if so much of the country was going to be in jail, they might as well make us comfortable, eh?
|
The Dunwich Horror (or simply "Horror" as the guards referred to him) was mostly kep under permanent inhibitor field. Horror didn't really resent this, and it gave him time to commune with his inner personality, atrocious as it was. He was mostly allowed back to consciousness three times a day to work as kitchen staff, an activity that he had come to enjoy. His six pairs of arms allowed him to keep multiple intricate dishes cooking and un-burned, with more dishes mixed, stirred, shaken, or in some state of prepare, and he liked to think that a good deal of the improvment of the jail chow was because of his efforts.
He had no illusions about rescue. The only party that would want an Elder Spawn would be the party that summoned it, and LexCorp would never risk the bad press that would generate. That much was certain. Also, he had allowed himself to be captured. For whatever Protean rules of conduct governed Another Space, the Luthors simply hated failure. The stare that Kara had given him on that day made that clear. (Sometimes even -he- shuddered remembering the brief six seconds when she had unleashed the whole of powers upon him. For as much that she was nothing in comparison to Chaugnar Faugn, he still had no appetite to see her mad again!)
Oft times he would also be allowed to serve. Not always. In fact, not often at all. But today was a new day and they were trying something different, so he got to have some face-to-face time as his fellow prisoners populated the eating area, so he could great them in his own way.
He didn't understand why he wasn't let out more.
Roulette hated change. And yes, she thought of herself as Roulette. No one knew her name, and she didn't want any random psychics picking up on it.
Roulette hated change. She hated being moved to a new facility. She hated the jerks she had been put in here with. She had a clear and orderly mental routine that this place was clearly designed to disrupt. She like her small sterile cell and her processed, homogenized food paste. She certainly wasn't going to eat anything prepared by the weirdo who liked to work in the kitchen. He didn't seem to have much idea what to do with human food. In her time, she had eaten everything from foie gras to hakari (Icelandic fermented shark meat) to raw potatoes, depending on her circumstances at the time. But she really preferred simple, clean food. She was afraid that if she worked in the kitchen, she would feel it necessary to stab one of her fellow inmates, so she ate what she could get from the commissary and the occasional hard boiled egg.
AA23 seemed fairly secure, and she didn't yet have a plan to escape. But she wasn't worried. Something always worked out. She had never been held anywhere for very long. This place wouldn't last, either.
Heading through the cafeteria line, she asks, "Dunwich, do you have any whole kiwi remaining? I would prefer to prepare it myself. If not, one hard boiled egg if you have it."
"Patty or link sausage? I'll take the bacon if it's not patty. Hold the side of Hopelessness."
"...Riiight."
Kalden stretches his neck and attempts to work out a kink while responding to Lance.
"Ain't it frickin' grand? I bet for half the peoples here, this is the lap of friggin luxury." He pulls out the toothpick he picked up on his way into the mess hall from behind his ear and begins to chew on it, letting it dangle while he talks. "The name's Erik Kalden," he says with an emphasis that suggests that anyone listening might've heard the name before. "Peoples usually call me 'The Bastard'."
And why shouldn't they have heard of him? He was an accessory to one of the biggest heists outside of Wall Street in recent history.
Well, except for the fact that the mark was a LexCorp building, the target being highly secretive mechanized weapon blueprints that would've been sold for billions. No, it wasn't quite successful, and of course LexCorp blacked out any sort of media coverage related to it. How Erik could've possibly managed to live was still a mystery, though some in the know find it strange that his old gang seemed to have been killed off one by one.
His placement in AA23 wasn't quite by chance, to say the least.
"Damn baby, how's about we head down to the warden and fill out some forms of consent?" he quickly calls out to the woman who cut him in line. He doesn't dare touch her (he paid attention to that part of the video), but instead let's her have his spot, and takes in the view. He winks over at Lance, suggesting that he take a peek for himself. "God bless America."
Erik feigns throwing up when he sees The Dunwich Horror. He manages to choke out "Extra Links" between fake gags. "Yo, you don't make these yourself do ya? These ain't little facehuggers back from your dimension? This better come out the rear exit and not my chest is all I'm sayin, bud." Erik couldn't help but joke with The Horror. The being confused the hell out of him, but Kalden kind of felt sorry for the.... thing. He lived his life jumping around from one home to another, but at least he was in his own planet. He couldn't imagine being in a different galaxy or whatever all together. Pft, empathizing was for the heroes.
"Lance Harper. My master named me 'Gravewound'. Neither one liked me much apparently."
Seeing the monstrosity which has taken over the kitchen, John scratches cook off his list of possible prison jobs to keep busy.
"Uh, I'll have bacon. " and he grabs a couple hard boiled eggs and looks around for some toast. He then retires to a seat near a corner away from others.
John tries to be as nondescript as possible. Knowing he's soft as tissue paper compared to most of the inmates he's been around, he works very hard to avoid attention which might attract a beating.
|
|
The Dunwich Horror laughs as Eric pokes a jibe at him. It's a loud, disturbing thing. It's the sound of cold, uncaring, vastness of space strewn across the eternity of time, spiraling out into unknown natural phenomenon the likes of which humanity itself has not even the vaguest concept to so much as describe, least of all understand.
People should know these things. He enjoyed telling them.
Two squiggly tentacles put a small mountain of bacon on Kid Alchemy's tray without comment. Good kid.
John already understood the food safety regulations, so he just dug into the food anyway. It was just a matter of the limits of quality control.
Looks all kinds of messed up, but he can make good bacon. he thinks to himself as he savors the salty ambrosia.
Erik's grown used to The Horror's laugh, but it doesn't creep him out any less.
"Dunny, that's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me. I bet you're a natural Don Juan in the art of panty droppin' with lines like that. Yeah, a real lady killer, this guy." He takes a bite of the sausage link, savoring the slight maple flavor and hints of spices.
"Dun', my compliments to the chef! The guy did a great job hiding all the sh*t."
"With that many...limbs, I'm sure that's pretty on point, Erik. And he's got a heart of gold, if you can get past the constant yelling, morbid remarks, frightening tone and cadence of speech, and the fact that he's a massive blob of extradimensional crap," Jimmy pipes in from a few places in line behind the Bastard, his tone cheerful despite the phrasing. "By the by, you give me a yell if you want to grease the wheels on that consent form, Erik."
To his credit, he seems perfectly content to wait in the queue even though half of those in it work to cut in front of one another. On more than one occasion, he leans in to the inmate trying to "sneak" in front of him and murmurs a quiet, "Hey, guy, nice shoes. They look a little worn out, though, yeah? Maybe you're looking to get a few more in the way of amenities now that you're here? You just let old Jimmy know what you need and we'll see how we can help one another out." Naturally, he is careful to keep his voice low so that only those in the immediate area can make out his words.
Even though most of the others may not have been expecting rescue, Jimmy hides his dismay at a lack of one very well. It is fairly easy when one has had a hundred years to learn to hide their feelings. Even if the seven hours of screening and checkpoints had not helped the matter in the least. He had thought that, given his connections practically everywhere, at least someone would have come to make a token effort. But there was nothing. The thought made him crack a humorless smile that was only a few shades away from a grimace as he called out to the front of the line.
"I hope you haven't given away all the kiwi yet, Dunwich. Put a bowl aside for me for when I get up there, will ya?"
Roulette turns her head toward Eric as she moves toward a table, "Mr. Kalden, I've never needed anyone else's approval but my own. At least you appear to be mostly human. Besides, how would they punish us that would be worse than this? But please refrain from calling me baby."
She takes a seat, stubbing a toe on the leg of the table and curses under her breath. She thanks The Source that the suppression field can't inhibit her training, but hates how hard every day things are here.
"You must be new to the prison game if you're asking that."
"They could put us back in gen pop, that's already worse than this cushy appointment. Or solitary. Or a good old fashioned beating with a stun baton."
"Or hell, we 'resisted arrest'. Maybe we get shot. 'Oops, had no choice. It was him or me'."
"Lots of worse things than being somewhere with less people, decent food, and reasonably comfortable beds."
Erik scoffs at Roulette's comment. He takes a sausage link and holds it like one would a cigar. "Listen, if you think this is bad, try spending a few months locked up in the Congo. Trust me, the only luxury I had was the damn 'gift' that got me locked up in the first place. I was green as hell, one of my first jobs overseas even. At that young an age, you think you can scrap with the best of 'em and take on the world until you get your ass handed to ya by a 9 year old boy. It's a real travesty, kid soldiers and all, but damn did he get me good." Erik let's out a boisterous laugh as he mocks himself, pretending to cower in fear. "Back then, I thought I was just doin' it just to get by. Too scared to hurt someone. A little snot-nosed punk trying to eek out a livin', tryin' to make an omelet without crackin' a few eggs. You don't know fear until you're stranded, abandoned, south west of BFE Africa. Used as a tool by people you thought you could trust. Starved, beaten, and worse, all to entertain some sick freaks. Y'know, those kids came for me one night, younger Congolese boys. They tried comin at me to snuff me out like they were told to. Things changed though, like they had to." A faux puff of the sausage cigar and then a hearty bite. Erik's voice takes on a deeper, gravelly, serious tone. "If you think this is bad, , you ain't seen a thing."
The Bastard wolfs down the last few bites of his meal, and grins at Roulette. He flashes her his golden smile before he calls out to Deacon.
"D, give it a rest & come chill with your best bud Blasty. You know how much he loves all your wild ass stories."
A genuine fact. Erik loved Deacon's tales. They gave him the creeps, but in a good way.
"Hey, a guy's gotta make a living somehow. Leave the girl alone, it's probably her first day out of Solitary in a while," he replies with a wry smirk in Erik's direction. He takes his food from the Horror with a shark-like grin and a thank you for the kiwi, before sitting down with the Bastard. "The guards seem particularly straight-edge to you? Every time I try to talk to one, he won't look me in the eye."
If he is able to catch Lance or John's eye, he will wave them over and steal a chair from one of the nearby tables for them. "More the merrier," he explains.
John studiously avoids eye contact at all times since it has a way of setting off predators.
He will keep to himself in his corner eating his breakfast while just thinking.
"I make it a point not to talk to the guards."
Erik chuckles "Aight aight, she's off the hook for now." He smiles at Roulette again, this time less predatory and more amicable than before. His gold tooth cap glints perfectly. "My bad, lady. Just havin' a chuckle. This whole co-ed thing still blows my mind."
D, no one looks you in the eyes. Don't take it personal."
"Yeah, yeah, you know what I mean. Most of the time, they at least give me the time of day, y'know? I mean, hell, they're prison guards. It's not like they're raking in the dough. And everybody wants something," he frowns thoughtfully before shaking his head and moving to pop a few slices of kiwi in his mouth.
"You think this is crazy, imagine when the landmark decision to put male and female inmates in the same prison came down," Jimmy pipes up with a chuckle as he gestures across the table to Kalden. "Used to be that they couldn't be on the same property, much less the same detention block. Just wait; sooner or later they'll let us start rooming together. All a matter of time."
A soft voice carrying an Irish lilt comes from underneath table where the group sits.
"Guards don't talk. They like to watch. They touch with their eyes. Even in the feck'n dark."
For anyone who looks, Piper sits crossed legged in a partial cow face yoga pose, near the empty underside of the table, picking away at the metal structure with her fingernail. Her hands moving across the bottom of the table, squishing food in various patterns in an effort to recreate a stuffy painting by Pissaro. Her baggy dark eyes eventually break from their own little world to meet the nearest persons and she lifts a kiwi seed covered finger to her lips before whispering,
"No touching."
She then returns her wide eyes to her artistic efforts.
"Anybody know what the hippy did to be thrown in here?"
Kalden slams an elbow against the table, rattling loose bits of food off of The Edge's masterpiece. The guards start towards him, to which he throws his hands up in admittance and says "Damn bugs you got in here!"
He snickers mischievously and cracks his knuckles.
"Don't know, don't care, man. We're here and that's all that matters."
A soft chuckle slips from the immortal and he shakes his head at Kalden as he says, "Gonna get yourself shot if you keep pulling that. And I won't always be there to get in the way of the bullet." He then turns his gaze down to Piper. "You're probably right, but I try to make a point to get to know everybody I can. And speaking of which, you're a new face. I'm Jimmy, or Deacon if you're keen. How 'bout you?"
"Dunwich, I tell you at least three times a week that I can't die and yet you still preach this shit. What's the deal? Did Yogg'sothoth not hold you enough when you were a wee starspawn?" Jimmy pokes fun as he pops the last bit of kiwi into his mouth and hold out his tray for collection.
The sounds of scratching/squishing food from under the table ceases after the Sudden jolt. After a beat, Piper's small pale hand reaches up from underneath, her hand offered in greeting.
"Me name is Piper and I CAN bloody well die, so I in this place I try and keep as many eyes off me as I can help. I haven't been cooped up this long since I was a young lass."
Her fingers flex open expectantly, Palm up.
"More Bacon grease, please."
"If you're looking to keep a low profile, you're going about it the wrong way."
Jimmy reaches out to shake her hand firmly, but he frowns as it comes away sticky with all manner of food. To solve the problem, he claps Lance on the shoulder and nods to the man's tray that has likely collected a bit of bacon grease. "Nice meeting you, Piper. Let her have it then, kid. Not like you're using it."
Lance shrugs (away from Demoniac's hand) and hands Piper the tray.
As soon as her hand is free of Jimmy's grasp her hand moves to Lance and flexes her fingers open and closed.
" I wasn't the one who slamed the table. Less talk, more bacon."
When the tray is placed on it, she pulls it under the table, whispers a soft "Thank you." and the squishing resumes..
"God bless the person who puts a bullet through my thick ass skull. Hopefully they've got the peace of mind to stay as far back as possible when they do it, or else they won't be alive to brag about it."
Erik passes his tray too.
"Here, kid. There's some scraps on there for ya."
Jimmy settles for wiping his gunk covered hand across his jumpsuit's front with a grimace before looking across to Kalden. "Don't be so dramatic. Ask for trouble and you'll probably get it. But you wanted to hear a story, right?"
Piper gives an audible squeal as another tray of supplies are delivered to her. Taking it from the scruffy man, her brain makes a considerable but brief effort to decipher Kalden's contrarian actions.
He ruins my feck'n work...but gives me another shot to try again. Maybe he didn't do it to be a shite. Does he just want me to make it better than it was? Could he be...my muse?
She takes the tray from the side he's holding, briefly brushing his hand and giggling slightly before pulling it under. Returning to her work with a renewed vigor she almost doesn't hear Jimmy's question considers it open to the whole table.
"Does it have a sad ending?" , she asks quietly deep into her task."Those are the best kind of stories. "
Roulette does her best to avoid wrinkling her nose in distaste at the conversation, and at Piper's strange behavior.
"All of you are missing the point. There is no point here in avoiding notice, or bribing guards. We are not here as some sort of experiment. We are here because we are being treated like the Christmas Goose. Fatted for the harvest, as was the pig before he became that bacon."
Jimmy rolls his eyes and shakes his head as he glances across to Roulette. "Bet you're fun at parties. Sad story, huh? I can do that, I think. Let's see, any other requests?" He glances around at the rest of the group expectantly.
The loud rumbling voice apparently came from a massive newcomer, now shambling from his room. He appears to be entirely unclothed, and is merely wrapped in his prison issue blanket. He's nearly 8 feet tall, and built like a furry Greek god. Covered from head to toe in short fur, the man bears what is pretty much a completely normal looking tiger's head atop an otherwise humanoid frame. His head and fur are covered in the typical tiger pattern colouration of orange and white with black stripes, and his eyes are an intense sold orange. Like an animal, his irises seem to take up his entire eye, with no whites visible at all. Holes from several piercings that are presently absent are visible along the ears that twitch atop his head.
He shuffles into the room, and drops into one of the chairs fixed to the floor, which you would expect to squeal under his weight, but does not. With his height and muscle mass, the fellow must easily top around 400 lbs. He grabs the tray of bacon from Piper and upends it onto the table in front of him, tossing the tray back on the table forgotten.
Two more figures wander out of the cat-man's room; an unremarkable but attractive looking blonde woman, and a lithe looking young women of Asian descent.
The overhead intercom, silent until now, crackles to life, "Prisoner 1138-294; you are to remain fully dressed within the common area at all times. You have been warned before."
The Tiger-man grabs a handful of bacon, making as though he would be clawing it up, but where claws look like they might extend from his thick-stubby fingertips, metal caps protrude. Awkwardly pawing the meat into his hand, he lifts it up chewing all most the lot of what remains in one mouthful. Whatever is covering his claws, the massive teeth in his mouth bear no such restrictions.
"Prisoner 1138-294, remove yourself from the common area. You have 30 seconds."
The giant munches slowly on the bacon, slowly turning his eye from each one of the newcomers to the next. When he reaches Roulette, he winks.
The speaker kicks in with a digital voice saying, "10, 9, 8..."
The giant continues lazily munching his bacon until about the count of 5. Then he stands up, points at Dunwich saying, and wanders unhurriedly back to his room. The whole while, mechanical and electrical whooshing sounds can be heard from behind various walls. Pausing at the door so that the two ladies can enter in front of him, he makes eye contact with Roulette, and raises both eyebrows a few times suggestively. Finally, just as the counter hits zero, he slams his door, much harder than necessary. The counter switches off and a red security light on the ceiling switches back to green.
Lance snorts a laugh.
"He won't last long."
John gets wide eyed at the presence of such an obviously dangerous prisoner being in a general population. He kind of shrinks into himself and tries to act like he doesn't exist.
The Bastard snickers along with Lance and pitches the remainder of his beverage at the cat man's door.
"That's so frickin' disgusting, dude! You're a cat!"
"I assure you, Jimmy, that I have hosted far more delightful parties than you have ever attended. But I am not here to have fun. I am here to not be here any more, as soon as possible."
She takes all of the sexist attention calmly, willing to let her appearance distract those willing to be distracted.
"Take care with the Tiger. He is a little bit Bane, a little bit Wildcat, and a lot crazy."
"You say he's not gonna last long, but I think you mean they aren't," Jimmy comments as he nods after the pair of women that go with the cat-man during their retreat. "You know those sorts of animals have all kinds of awful barbs like a porcupine all over their..." He makes a lewd gesture accompanied by a wince at the thought of the sort of havoc that would wreak on a person's innards.
With a slight shiver of disgust, he shakes his head and glances back toward the door the trio left through. "Y'know, I wonder which of the three of them is gonna be the one to be hacking up hairballs all night."
A sense of clarity seems to momentarily sober Piper as she watches the Tyger-man and his companions depart. Ignoring the stolen tray, she winces at Jimmy's haunting info dump and it's disturbing implications. Her face scrunches up as his words seem to dislodge some kernel of poetry from deep within her drugged out mind.
"What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry? ,she asks the universe, slithering out from under the table uncertainly, before facing the strange group seated there.
"Well, there's two immortals here, ask them to put their hands up."
|
|
The Dunwich Horror, never one to face down from a challenge...or not see a challenge even when one isn't intended, looks over to the erstwhile Piper. His neck extends the dozen feet to over to where she sits, and he doth quote,
"One Impulse from a vernal wood
Will teach you more of Man
Of eternal Evil and Good
Than all the sages can."
His head retreats back to the rest of his body, and his dozen arms continues the labor of cleaning up the breakfast shift.
"To be fair," Jimmy points out in a conversational tone, "we don't know that Dunwich is immortal. Any more than we know you lot aren't, anyway. Have any of you died ever?" He glances around at the group expectantly, waiting to hear when the last time they died was.
"Can it, D. You've got us all beat on that, you don't gotta gloat."
"To be fair," Jimmy points out in a conversational tone, "we don't know that Dunwich is immortal. Any more than we know you lot aren't, anyway. Have any of you died ever?" He glances around at the group expectantly, waiting to hear when the last time they died was.
"I caught a bullet right through the heart a year back. Took me a week for the nanomachines to fix the damage. Guess technically I was dead. No heart or brain function."
"Still seem to age though."