life is hard and then you die
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Jun 25, 2016 17:05:54 GMT
Post by Comic on Jun 25, 2016 17:05:54 GMT
[attr="class","ttop"] I'm gonna fight 'em off COULDNT HOLD ME BACK They're gonna rip it off Taking their time right behind my back And I'm talkin' to myself at night Because I can't forget Back and forth through my mind Behind a cigarette [attr="class","oone"] [attr="class","tbbody"] his unease in infectious. she wonders how much control they've had on him, especially now that someone who can't drive that particular vehicle of destruction had no idea what she's doing. marisa feels her stomach knot, tying itself together in dread. she is decidedly uncomfortable around someone who can only follow orders. it reminds her too much of herself. marisa has no desire to lead. no desire to be a leader. she works for people like that; takes pay in cash from them. guard this, watch that, escort them, protect them. easy orders, easy money, even if the jobs can be... morally grey. she's gotten good at ignoring it. "what did they do to you" escapes her lips, very quietly. shaking off her solemn expression. Marisa settles for leaning back as far as possible, melding as much of her body to the futon, head now resting over the edge of the back. her hair has fallen about, a mess of red. "can you... are you able to rest? eat?" she hesitates. "getting some sleep sounds like an order you might not... be able to do..."MADE BY VEL OF GS + WW |
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Jun 28, 2016 11:34:07 GMT
Post by aegis on Jun 28, 2016 11:34:07 GMT
Her first question triggers memory like an unfolding fan. He remembers the chair, the knife, the scalpel. The electric hum. He doesn't know why these things happened--mission failed?--but he suddenly knows that they did. His own screams ring in his ears, his own pleas for mercy, for God, for death, for a name that means nothing to him: Anna, Anna, Anna. The name turns over itself in his head. Whatever it is, he doesn't know.
He doesn't care. He can't care.
"There is no stasis container here," he says slowly. She should know this. He has slept on longer missions before when it was required, but he was not briefed that this would be anything more than a short excursion. "We lack the proper means to secure me. This is a poorly equipped and indefensible safe house. We should return to the base I was briefed at this morning. I can be stored and you will be safe."
His face is drawn and tight with strain, as if he'd been fighting instead of speaking. No, he'd look more comfortable if he were fighting. He cannot remember the last time he was asked to speak so much to a handler, or to anyone--and unlike the majority of his life, he's starting to actually have some context to frame this moment in.
Comic
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life is hard and then you die
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Post by Comic on Jul 1, 2016 2:16:32 GMT
[attr="class","ttop"] I'm gonna fight 'em off COULDNT HOLD ME BACK They're gonna rip it off Taking their time right behind my back And I'm talkin' to myself at night Because I can't forget Back and forth through my mind Behind a cigarette [attr="class","oone"] [attr="class","tbbody"]she has to send him back. this thought eats at her, gnawing teeth at her veins, convulsing her heart and stealing her breath. he is aware of the fact that this isn't right, she isn't... whatever owns it. she has to send him back to that nightmare realm that she has no way to quantify, qualify, only knowing that what sits before her might as well be something she can pity just as much as fear. she is acting on fear and impulses now. she has no idea how to comfort someone, let alone this man. she reaches out and, gingerly, like one would a fire, a mauling dog, she puts her hand on his shoulder for a moment, to try and feel him, to feel whatever it is under there, for just a single moment of human contact. marisa retracts, pulls it back, and in the same moment smashes the can of soda into the wall. a defiant anger that fades as quickly as it came, she lets out a horrid sigh. "you need to go back without me. can you do that? and never mention what happened here?" she cannot bear to look at him. only her hair hides her face from him. MADE BY VEL OF GS + WW |
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Post by aegis on Jul 1, 2016 7:29:02 GMT
He doesn't tense or relax under her touch. He doesn't react at all. A gun doesn't care when you hold it. He just waits patiently for what comes next. It never does. She pulls away from him.
The soda can smashes into the wall with abrupt violence. He doesn't flinch.
There is something wrong with his handler. This thought does not dismay him. He circles it in his mind like he might circle a target.
His handler is the arbitrator of life and death, right and wrong, as much as those concepts can mean anything to him.
"They will wipe me," he reminds her. "This is not crucial to the mission debrief."
Comic
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life is hard and then you die
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Post by Comic on Jul 3, 2016 3:56:04 GMT
[attr="class","ttop"] I'm gonna fight 'em off COULDNT HOLD ME BACK They're gonna rip it off Taking their time right behind my back And I'm talkin' to myself at night Because I can't forget Back and forth through my mind Behind a cigarette [attr="class","oone"] [attr="class","tbbody"]comic seethes, silent, as the soda stains into the carpet. she is burning at her core, at her stomach, her heart, her veins. her eyes feel like fire; she feels the wetness forming, feels it go away as she shoves it all back inside. she caps the bottle of emotions and takes in a long, shuddering breath. "alright. you will be debriefed by someone else. you... you can't mention me. this place. at all. its... top secret. you'll... be wiped of all of it, anyways." she is sickened by it, sickened she feels like a puppet to the whole situation. she has no choices to make, and it disgusts her, fills her with vitriol and hatred that she must play right into all of it like some kind of staged thing, some mess of a situation. she wants to give him some option, to not send him away, but it is her life that is in the hands of something far bigger than what she knows. she never wants to know. "leave. go to your... rendezvous point. make no contacts. no killing. just... you have to leave." she is finding it difficult to speak. marisa cannot look at him anymore. she cannot see anything but the fear that consumed her ability to cry, and her growing self-loathing at how weak she is. MADE BY VEL OF GS + WW |
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Post by aegis on Jul 4, 2016 9:04:35 GMT
He follows orders. He leaves quickly and quietly, without further fanfare. Not that he ever had very much fanfare to begin with.
When he arrives at the Spectre outpost, they debrief him. He does not reveal his handler's irrational, ill-advised safehouse, but he can't stop the images and memories that bubble up within him. He asks why did you have me kill him?
He hasn't asked a question like that in decades. They send a telepath through his mind before the chair, making sure she locks everything up tight, but she stops in his mind after the empath scrambled his brain, certain she's found the root of the problem. Evil makes you sloppy. Complacency makes you sloppy.
You should never forget what's on the other end of the leash, but it's an easy mistake to make.
The last thought, if you can call it that, he has before the ice takes him is a swirling flash of red hair. It's long gone by the time they take him out next.
/thread end
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