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Post by Iconoclast on Jun 2, 2012 3:05:59 GMT -5
(I apologise for this. I have a terrible tendency to jump into writing without really planning what I'm going to say, and then a few days later, after I've had a chance to think of it, I come up with something I like better. Luckily no one had replied to my other post, so this hopefully won't mess anyone up. Anyways, here goes...for the second time.)
I'd always been an outcast, but when Better Living Industries rose to power, spreading their message of a "perfect" image in a "perfect" world, I became hunted. For a while my parents managed to hide me, saying that I'd died in the Helium Wars, a stray bullet in the back of the head, but they found me in the end. To this day I don't know what happened to my mother, and the last time I saw my father he was on his knees with a gun aimed between his eyes. They forced me to watch as they pulled the trigger. Now I'm a prisoner, confined to the labs. I haven't seen the sun for longer than I care to think about.
I suppose I should explain. I was born with both male and female sex organs. I'm what most people call a hermaphrodite, but I believe the correct term is Intersex. Either way, in the eyes of BLI, I was a monstrosity, something that should be made an example of, and later destroyed. They tortured me, as if that could somehow change the way I'd been born, and they said that "my kind" shouldn't be allowed to live among normal citizens. I can't count the times they pushed me to the edge of death only to bring me back and start all over. The last straw came with they finally did the unspeakable. I can't even speak of it to this day, but I will never be the same. When I finally recovered I knew I had to leave. They had degraded me in the worst way, and if I didn't get out of there I knew I would die. Not by their hand, but by lack of will to live. I would fade away, but the thought of escape kept me going.
(TBC. I wanted to finish it tonight, but I'm about to fall asleep.)
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Post by Volume Virus on Jun 2, 2012 13:13:20 GMT -5
((I'm sorry no one replied, it's been a slow month, what with everyone having finals on various weeks and half our players moving home from college. But welcome! You're already taking risks that no one has taken yet and it's your first post. For that you are wonderful. *Internet five*))
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Post by Iconoclast on Jun 8, 2012 1:57:48 GMT -5
(It's all good, I definitely understand. The big reason I rewrote this is because I decided on better things to say than in the first post, lol. And thanks  ) |
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Post by Iconoclast on Jun 8, 2012 3:15:22 GMT -5
(Continued. Sorry it's late, but I wanted to read through some old threads to see where I could fit my storyline. I've decided that, since Icon is trying to escape, I needed a storyline that would allow him to do so, so I thought I would tie it in with an oldie, the one where Ghost ransacks BLI to try and save her sister. I figured that would give Icon a good chance to get out. I know it's a big time jump, but I'll make it work...somehow.)
I was losing hope of ever escaping, day in and day out guarded by scientists with glazed over eyes. They didn't touch me anymore, except for the daily injection of drugs to keep me numb, didn't try to experiment; all they did was watch over me to make sure I couldn't escape while they worked on their new victims. I guess they figured they'd done all they could to make me normal. I almost wish they would continue so I could let go and die. Finally though, a chance came and I mustered the will to grab it.
It was late morning when the explosion rocked a section of the building near mine. I didn't know where exactly, or why, nor did I care. All I knew is that the scientists abandoned the room at top speed as though their life depended on it. Looking back, I guess it did in a way. The first thing I did was try to get myself off the hospital cot I was on. I had to lean on the wall for support, but slowly I made my way forward, looking for a weapon. The only things I found were scalpels, and though I knew they would do nothing against rayguns I grabbed a couple anyway. As I was leaving I heard a weak voice call over to me from a bed against the far wall. On wobbly feet I made my way over.
Please...I can't live like this. End it for me, please. I just...I just want to be free.
It was their newest toy, a young girl who had, for reasons unknowns to me, been targeted as "unfit". Something about psychic abilities, though I had my doubts. Either way, everyday they pumped her full of drugs and wheeled her off to the electroshock room. I'd been in there a total of three times and I didn't know how she was even still alive, or why. She was no use to them, or anyone, anymore.
Please...
It was the least I could do. I was getting out, and she had to stay. I couldn't leave her like that. I told her to hold on, and made my wobbly way over to the medicine cabinet. Inside I found what I was looking for: a lethal dose of drugs that would put her out of her misery. I grabbed the syringe and made my way back. I jabbed the needle into her arm, not having the coordination to find a vein, but she didn't seem to care. The last thing I saw before turning to exit the room was the smile on her face as she faded into freedom.
The halls were empty when I walked out, but I could see the smoke and hear the commotion down the hall. Keeping my back to the wall, I inched my way in the direction I hoped was the exit. Out of the smoke a girl ran towards me and I shrank back, gripping both scalpels. She bolted past without even a look in my direction, and when I finally made it to the main lobby I understood why. She was surrounded by Dracs, slaughtering each and every one of them. As the last one dropped at her feet, another figure emerged. This was an Exterminator, and from their conversation I gathered that they had known each other. I watched, transfixed, as their fight began, as the Killjoy took down the Exterminator and ran, never looking back. Slowly I came back to myself and realized I was running out of time if I wanted to escape. Moving again, I stopped to take a gun from one of the Dracs, then followed the route the Killjoy had taken.
I could barely see when I pushed open the door. After being kept inside for so long the sun was blinding and scorching. I gasp, choking on the smoke filled air, and stumbled away from the building, making it as far as an alley only a few feet away. Culture shock and the adrenaline crash made me collapse, and I lost conciousness for an undetermined amount of time.
It was still light when I came too, but the sun was lower in the sky, not quite so cruel. I crawled forward on my hands and knees, getting to the entrance of the alley and looking out, making sure there was no one around who would drag me back to the tower. I was in luck. The street was empty except for a blank-eyed civilian man walking along the sidewalk and almost at my alley. I tripped him as he passed, and used the barrel of the gun to knock him out. Stripping him of his clothes, I discarded mine and put his on, having to roll up the sleeves and pantlegs, and cinch the belt as tight as it would go. I also searched his bags, hoping for food. Again I was lucky. He had just been shopping and the bags were full of food and drinks, along with some painkillers and a pill form of the drug they'd been injecting me with while I was their prisoner. I took what I could carry and left, heading for the outskirts of the city.
When I got there I found an abandoned building that suited my needs, and barricaded the door. I ate a little food, but my stomach rejected it, and I had to drag myself away from the puddle of vomit. I could feel the withdrawal starting - I recognized the symptoms from the times they had used it as a form of torture - and I desperately broke open the bottle of pills. I swallowed one with a bit of water, then let the darkness consume me for the night. My dreams were more like nightmares, and I awoke frightened and disorientated, the itch for the drugs crawling under my skin again.
So it went for weeks, with me only venturing outside to accost civilians to get more pills. Slowly I began to be able to eat, but all I really cared about were the drugs. A small part of me, the rational part, told me that I needed to stop, cut down, wean myself off if I wanted to truly escape, but the itch always won. And so it continued for weeks that faded to months.
(TBC)
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Post by Iconoclast on Jun 11, 2012 0:58:08 GMT -5
(Note: I'm jumping a few months or so, to join up with the main timeline. If my tense changes, that's why. Hopefully I can keep it consistent, and feel free to point out any painful mistakes. Also, the text will be pink what Icon talks. Hopefully that's ok instead of having asterisks at the beginning and end of action/description paragraphs.)
My food is running dangerously low, as are my pills, but I can't bring myself to care. Exhaustion, sickness, and constant fear rule my world now, and the only thing stopping me from crawling back to the Tower is the feeling that I won't make it, and the memories of what I went through while imprisoned there.
Finally I rouse myself enough to drag my sorry ass to the door so I could scavenge what I need to survive. What I saw makes my heart drop. Coming down is a Drac. In all my time hiding out I'd never seen one in my little part of the city. Terror grips me, freezes me to the ground, crouched in the doorway like some sort of dirty, feral animal. And I suppose that's all I really was by that point. He draws closer and closer until he is only a few feet away from me. All my instincts are screaming at me to run but I can't move a single muscle. All I can do was whimper pathetically as he approaches and stops in front of me.
What do you think you're doing out here?
I can't even answer as he raises his gun.
What do you think you're doing out here?
I...
He just stares me down, eyes hidden behind his mask. The anger comes back, giving me a burst of energy that I didn't think was possible for me any more. I show him broken though, and I'm still terrified. Citizens I can take out with the advantage of surprise; Dracs are a whole different story. Maybe if I was in better shape, had more food, wasn't so dependant on the drugs, had a gun that still worked - mine had run out of charge long ago - maybe then I would have a chance, but not like this. Whatever way I looked at it, it was a death sentence. The anger gave me something to hold onto though.
I...I just want some pills. Just a few. Please. Just...I just need a few.
Not likely.
Please. I'll do anything. Just a few. Please...
I shuffle forward on my knees under the pretence of begging; although I really do want those pills I want the radio on his belt more.
What is your name, citizen?
The question surprises me, and it hits hard that I can't even remember who I am.
I...I don't remember. Please, just give me some pills. Just a few.
I'm afraid I'm going to have to bring you in.
No! Please! Don't make me go back there! Just...just give me some pills and pretend you never saw me. I'm not hurting anyone, I swear!
You're coming with me.
His finger tightens on the trigger and I throw myself to the ground in desperation, rolling through the door and slamming it behind me. I force myself to my feet and stumble as fast as I can across the room. My vision blacks out momentarily, and I fall, only to force myself back up as I hear the door break in. There's a window almost in my reach, and I crawl towards it, using the wall to hold myself up. It had lost its glass long ago, so all I have to do is haul myself up and through, to land on the ground on the other side. I land on my shoulder, painfully, and lay there stunned for a few seconds before rolling onto my stomach and pushing myself to my feet. I can barely stand, let alone move forward, so I use the rough walls of buildings to support myself. I'm pretty sure the only reason I'm able to do any of this is due to the adrenaline coursing through me. When it finally wore off I would crash hard. I needed to get to safety before that happened.
I can hear the Drac not far behind me, but up ahead I see a building with its fire escape rusty but still there. I almost cry in relief. I know it will be dangerous getting up, but once I have a height advantage I might be able to take him down, or at least knock him out long enough that I can get his radio. It doesn't work out that way though. Before I can even reach the fire escape a shot rings out and all goes quiet behind me. I spin around to see the Drac on the ground, a pool of blood seeping into the ground around him. I look around, waiting for the next shot to hit me, but nothing happens, nor do I see anyone. Slowly, I approach the body and pull the radio off his belt. I pocket it, then root through his pockets, hoping for drugs. I find nothing, and I can feel the itch starting again as the adrenaline runs out. My breathing grows faster, and I try to calm myself, taking the radio out of my pocket and fiddling with the dials, trying to find more than just static. Finally I give up and just push the talk button, hoping that someone friendly will here me. Then, as the last of the adrenaline drains from my body, I fall sideways in the middle of the street, by the dead Drac, and slip into darkness.
(Icon's transmission will be on Return to Sender)
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Post by Iconoclast on Jun 13, 2012 0:57:34 GMT -5
When I came to I was still in the street, next to the dead Drac. My first instinct is to run, but that is before the pain kicks in, the craving itch following soon after. I force myself to sit up, and the world spins around me. The little bit of food left in my stomach comes back up, bringing tears to my eyes. Slowly, the world comes back into focus and I push myself to my hands and knees to crawl to shelter. The nearest building can barely be called a building, but it will have to do. Dragging myself through the doorway, I collapse just inside, weak with hunger and burning with the beginnings of withdrawal. I feel myself dripping with sweat, but I am so cold that I can't stop shivering, shaking and twitching on the ground. I scratch at my arms and legs, trying to get to the itch, but nothing soothes it. Not even seeing the blood registers the pain, and the last thing I see before I once again drift into unconsciousness is the gashes I had made.
So it went for an unknown number of hours until I was barely hanging on. Help couldn't come soon enough.
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Post by Alexander Ludovico on Jun 15, 2012 15:04:23 GMT -5
*Walking up the street with Volume, I nod towards the figure lying on the ground* Another body, it looks like. Amazing how many seem to go unnoticed.
*I jog forward, glancing back once to make sure Volume is following. It's a drac on the pavement, and I crouch down next to him.* No pulse, no heat. Been here for a while, poor fellow. *I pull the man's mask up and close his eyes, then pocket his ID card so I can report his death.* I bet your friend is nearby. You /are/ here to find a killjoy, right?
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Post by Volume Virus on Jun 15, 2012 15:20:23 GMT -5
(continued from pg. 7 of "Return to Sender".)\
Two, actually. I wouldn't call this one a friend, though. Just a person in need. *I hear a soft noise, sort of like a groan, coming from inside a nearby building. I quickly duck inside, unaware if my companion knows I'm doing so or not. There's someone on the ground dressed in grimy white clothes, covered in (ugh) dried blood and vomit. I can't tell in the dark whether this person is male or female, but he or she seems to be unarmed. A civilian, then.* Pardon me, Vico, but I might need a bit of help in here.
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Post by Alexander Ludovico on Jun 15, 2012 15:37:56 GMT -5
*Leaving the draculoid where he is, I walk over to the doorway and wrinkle my nose at the sight of the person inside.* Yes, they certainly need rescuing of one sort or another.
*I step closer and nudge the person's foot with my own, their slight movement enough to confirm that they're in better shape than the man outside - in one sense, at least. My prescription rattles quietly in its bottle when I push my jacket back and put a hand on my radio* Do you want me to call for medics?
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Post by Volume Virus on Jun 15, 2012 15:47:08 GMT -5
No. I think this is who I was looking for. *I scan the person quickly.* No gun, I think, but there's a radio right there. Probably the person who called me, but maybe not the shooter, somehow. Maybe he or she had a partner. Regardless, I was only asked to pick up one. *I kneel in the biggest clean spot next to the person and put my hand on their forehead, trying not to gag. Slight fever, sweating....* Do you have a semi-professional opinion on what's going on here? I haven't seen many sick people out in the Zones, what with the nonexistant state of our medical care.
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Post by Alexander Ludovico on Jun 15, 2012 16:38:16 GMT -5
Hm. *I don't answer, undecided as to how helpful I want to be. I could call for a medic anyway, and get them picked up that way, but the killjoy doesn't look like she's going anywhere right away and I don't want to give her a reason to bolt. The unknown person's symptoms are pretty clear, though, and I can't come up with a good reason not to go ahead and tell Volume. I crouch down next to him-or-her, pointing out various things* The sweating, the fast breathing, the self-inflicted injuries. I can't judge their mental state for obvious reasons, but I'd bet carbons they're going through withdrawal. More serious than I've seen before, but the signs are there.
*I'm very conscious of my mood stabilizing pills, now. Mixing prescriptions is never a good idea so I don't want to offer any, but I'm not sure how the person might react to my having them*
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Post by Volume Virus on Jun 15, 2012 17:45:18 GMT -5
Ah. You see? I wouldn't have known. I've only had one friend need to get off the pills before, and not only was it a very long time ago, but she also just sort of weaned herself off them little by little. I don't know what cold-turkey withdrawal looks like...well, didn't. Poor kid. *I brush his or her hair out of his or her face. It's weird not knowing what gender the androgynous kid is. I'll have to ask later, but decide to go with "he" for now for no real reason.* He'd probably be more comfortable with you people, as much as I hate to lose another comrade to the drugs. Then again, I don't exactly know what this guy has been through. Would you care to cut a deal? If he or she wakes up in the next few days and says that he or she doesn't want to be in the city, you let him or her go.
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Post by Alexander Ludovico on Jun 26, 2012 14:56:39 GMT -5
*I shake my head* I'm not in a position to cut deals. For all I know, this person is an escaped criminal.
*I stand up, taking a step back so I'm between the killjoy and the doorway. My training is kicking in, now; we've been here too long, and I need to call it in. Besides being plain bad business practice, it's not safe for the civilians, if I let a known killjoy come and go as she pleases. It sets a bad precedent. I consider drawing the raygun, but shy away from it and put a hand in my pocket instead, wrapping my cord loosely around two fingers.*
If you want the kid to live, you need to let us take him to the hospital. And for that matter, you could probably use a trip to the Tower too. Turns out my curiosity isn't quite broad enough to let you go.
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Post by Volume Virus on Jun 26, 2012 15:27:12 GMT -5
*I reach into my backpack for my good knife. I don't mind Vico; actually, I think he's pretty cool for a city dweller. But if he's going to try to take me in, I'm going to have to fight him, probably to the death. That's going to suck.* If I'm going to the Tower, it is on my own terms, and I don't particularly feel up to it right now. I have someone that I need to get back to. Maybe tomorrow. *I start backing out of the warehouse, keeping my eyes on Vico the whole time. He's almost definitely going to try something.* Fine. You can take this kid with you. But I have done nothing to your city today.
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Post by Alexander Ludovico on Jun 26, 2012 15:57:57 GMT -5
*I match her pace, moving at an angle so she's somewhat penned in. The knife is an interesting choice; either it's her preferred weapon, or it means she's not skilled in hand to hand and a knife makes her feel dangerous. I vaguely remember being told as a child that if my house was broken into I should never threaten the intruder with a knife because they're more likely to take it and use it against you than they would be with, say, a gun.*
So I should grant you a pardon because you haven't killed anyone in the past twenty four hours? That doesn't make much sense to me. *My cord's in my hands now, and I casually knot it into a modified slipknot*
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)
Yes, I'm still running - sort of. But it is lonely out here. Haven't seen anyone else for a while.
//