Ashford Asylum (STARTS Staff LSUs welcome)

[Mystic_clown]

You have no idea what’s going on, or why you’re here. All you know is that now you’re being thrown into a small cell and the steel door is being locked behind you. There isn’t much except a small cot, a toilet and a sink. It’s dark and dank and lit by only a small bulb.

A number of emotions are flowing through you, whether it’s anger, fear, confusion, sadness or a combination of the four. A number of questions flash through your mind. Where are you? What are you doing here?

Well, well, well. Another new inmate huh?

You look around, wondering where the voice came from.

Relax, I’m speaking to you through telepathy. I’m in the cell on the end, you may have seen it. He extra bolted up one.

You remember seeing it for a moment before you were thrown in your cell.

“Where am I?” you ask.

You’re at Ashford Asylum. In other words, the middle of nowhere! And in case you’re wondering what you’re doing here, well, obviously, you’re not exactly ‘normal’. You’ve got some ‘unnatural’ ability and the ‘good people’ here have found out.

“What do they want with me?”

What they want with everyone else here. To poke, prod and overall experiment on you.

You get a bit depressed by this. You’re nothing more then someone’s little guinea pig now.

“So I’m stuck in this cell forever?”

They let us out now and again, for exercise and such. They don’t have to worry about us escaping. I think we’re in the middle of the arctic or something, plus, they’ve got a small army…and Siege.

Siege? You wonder who, or what that is. You then here a harmonica being played. You discover it’s being played through the air ducts.

“Who?” you wonder to yourself.

That would be Scarecrow, another inmate, like us.

Scarecrow? You wonder who this guy is.

I’m afraid I’ve gotta cut this little talk short. They’ll be coming soon. If you want to learn anything else, me, Scarecrow and Nosferatu have all the answers.

Nosferatu? First Scarecrow now Nosferatu. Who were those guys. Furthermore, who was talking to you.

“Wait! Who are you?”

Silence for a few moments.

Just call me Spectre.

File Uploaded…[Ashford Asylum]

Established in 1999 by one Nathaniel Ashford as a base for genetic research. It was established after numerous reports of human beings displaying abnormal genetic activity. These normally manifest itself as some sort of ‘super power’. Ashford Asylum’s function is to round up these individuals and study them to determine which genes are behind this and what uses they have.

In order to protect the staff, subjects are kept under tight surveillance. Thankfully, the location and highly trained security prevent escape by any of the subjects.

File Uploaded…[Notable Subjects]

Subject Number: 471N0 (Spectre)
This young German male has displayed mental abilities similar to those described as telepathy and telekinesis. His real name and history have been wiped from the records by request. What’s behind his abilities is still being studied. He has been given neural suppression drugs to prevent him from using his more powerful abilities. He seems to have formed a friendship with subjects T73S8 and P2X81, who address him as ‘Spectre’. (TAKEN)

[CLOOR=green]Subject Number: T73S8 (Scarecrow)
A man described as a ‘medium’. Able to communicate and harness almost supernatural entities. Extensive testing is required to find what exactly these entities are. He somehow managed to smuggle in a harmonica, although we’ve found no need to confiscate it. His name and history have been erased from the records on request. He’s made a friendship with subjects 471N0 and P2X81, who address him as ‘Scarecrow’.

Subject Number: P2X81 (Nosferatu)
This large man possesses almost superhuman strength and rapid healing ability. The structure of his skin cells makes his skin also puts it on par with tough level in terms of durability. While tests prove there are no throat or vocal abnormalities, he never speaks and has been classified as a mute. He’s made friends with subjects 471N0 and T73S8, who address him as ‘Nosferatu’. He appears to how resentment towards subject Y46S9.

Subject Number: Y46S9 (Siege)
Subject displays characteristics similar to subject P2X81. However, his simple thinking patterns, speech and obedience have given him a position as an enforcer here at the asylum. He has been fitted with an experimental weapon called “Gospel” making him the most powerful in terms of raw destructive power. He’s disliked by the other subjects, most likely for his employment with us. He however displays a fierce resentment towards subject P2X81[/COLOR]

Sign up form:

Name: Whether it be real or an alias
Subject Number: (only for subjects)
Age:
Gender:
Subject or staff:
Appearance:
Personality:
Weapon: For staff only. Only exception is Siege.
Power: Subjects only. Be creative
History: optional, yet recommended.
Relations: optional
Other:

Here’s mine

Name: Spectre
Subject Number: 471N0
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Subject or staff: Subject
Appearance: Standing at about 5’56’’ with a lean build. His hair is a pale gray, and falls just roughly past his head. His eyes are a piercing gold and has a pale complexion. While his face, the only bit of skin shown, appears flawless, the rest of his body is riddled with scars from countless experiments.

For clothing, Spectre mainly wear black leather with numerous belts, buckles and zippers. Enough said.
Personality: Normally quiet and soft spoken. Specters full of advise for the newer inmates and is usually one to come to in need of help. Despite his soft spoken nature, he’s quite witty and overall ready to stand up to those who wrong him and his friends (even though it’s pretty pointless).
Weapon: none
Power: Telepathy and telekinesis
History: history has been erased from files (later revealed)
Relations: friends with Scarecrow and Nosferatu. Like to speak to Poltergeist.
Other: He’s German.

Spectre
-------------------------------------------
The pale young man sat cross legged on the floor of his cell, his eyes closed and his face expressionless. By the look of things, people might think he’s meditating, or maybe sleeping, but in reality…

”What did they do to you this time?”

They just drew a bit of blood and took another tissue sample. Nothing too serious.

The staff haven’t seemed to have caught on to the fact that despite the drugs they slipped him, Spectre still had the ability to communicate telepathically, even if it was to an extent. It was using this ability that he frequently had mental conversations with Scarecrow, Nosferatu or Poltergeist.

”You think they’d have enough by now. I bet they’re just throwing them away so they can keep tormenting us.”

They can do a lot worse then take samples Scarecrow. You know that.

There was a pause. A tinge of guilt went through the psychic. He shouldn’t have brought it up.

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…

“No, it’s alright. We’ve all been through this. Damn I hate this place!”

We all do.

Scarecrow mentally sighed.

”But there’s no way out. We’re in the middle of nowhere, and with all the drugs they feed us, there’s no way we can fight off the guards.”

Spectre was silent for a moment before…

I think I may have an idea. It needs a bit of work though.

“You do? Well, let’s hear it!”

Just then, Spectre heard the doors open and footsteps in the corridor.

They’re coming for us now. I’ll tell you then.

[Crystal Tears]

Name: Sakura but everyone usually calls her Cross.
Subject Number: X0001

Age: 16

Gender: Female

Subject or staff: Subject

Appearance: Cross (See why she's called Cross?) Ignore the wings and crown thing in her hair...

Personality: Usually she acts a bit unstable, she doesn't trust easily and will often scream and attack if someone gets into her 'bubble'; which is basically to her to close for comfort. She tends to ramble on about pointless things, and will always talk about things that never happened. Though, there are moment where she is completely normal, but that’s only after someone’s finally gotten her to focus.

Weapon: N/A

Power: Guardian- Cross can turn into a white tiger like creature like black dragon wings, and two long protruding horns coming from its head. It's a horribly painful experience, and Cross can't control herself when in the form. It only comes when she is extremely scared; however, a chip embedded into her left shoulder prevents her from changing unless the 'boss' says so.

History: Sakura had always been different, when she was little, she wouldn't hang around with other children, she would go and hang around with a particular white cat she named "Gemini". Her parents worried about her, because she would speak to the cat like it could understand.
When she reached 13, she only got worse, she began to exhibit odd behaviour, and she would hiss and snarl at anyone who would get to close. And while she was a rather chubby child when she was young, her body began to loose weight at an incredible rate. All the while, she would hang around with Gemini. On her 14th birthday, she lost the ability to focus; she would laugh at sad things, and cry when something wonderful happened. Soon enough she locked herself in her room, and barely ever ate.
It was when she was 15 that it finally happened: her father had been yelling, and her mind snapped. Her body morphed into the tiger creature. It’s when she was human again, that she saw her father horribly murdered and her mother hiding behind strange men.

Relations: Er... Friends with Lost, Reed, Cameron, and... knows Ryoss.

Other: It takes a lot to get her to focus; usually she'll have to stare at it for a while before she even makes a comment on it. That usually requires people holding her head towards the thing. And she’s always had a thing for animals, especially cats.

+Cross+

[font=Arial Narrow][color=lilac]Laughter… A sort of sick laughter emulated throughout her small little cell as her body quivered, and tossed back in forth. Her face pressed up against the concrete wall whilst she laughed. Her lower lip quivering as she drowned out her laughter with light sobbing. She wasn’t happy, nor was she sad. In fact, she wasn’t really anything, just another case of insanity; trapped in a small cell that made her case even worse. The Cell was in her bubble… She hated when things were in her bubble…

But she began to laugh again, as she placed her hands over her ears; trying to drown out the echoing of her own voice, she found something hysterical, but what it was, was a mystery to her and everyone else.

“The bed is more comfy…” She snorted, bursting into full blown laughter again when she looked at the simple contraption only inches away from the corner she was quivering in. “But its so far away..” Her voice was light and happy, but tears poured down her slightly redden cheeks as she banged her head against the wall just once.

Her name was Cross, and she made is quite apparent; as she wrote it in her own blood all over her cell walls, along with many actual Crosses, though, everyone doubt if she new the significance of them. They’d be right in their assumption; they were nothing but a reminder of the name everyone had placed on her.

Her eyes quickly shot over to the direction of noise, it was a door closing, not a cell door, but the white doors that lead to this part of the facility. She smirked smugly before her eyes focused on the ceiling of her cell.

“Have you been a bad girl Cross?” She asked herself, mocking the usual tone of her torturers. She smiled again, shaking her head. Staring at her simple bed, she frowned. “What a simple thing…” Her foot flung out, slamming into the metal frame of her ‘nest’ that made a loud clanking echo throughout the hallways. “He he… Broken bones!”

She giggled, scurrying quickly over to the other corner when one of the guards came to her cell, looking in at her. She whimpered, tears again went streaming down her cheeks when the man looked at her, his eyes were full of hate towards her, but as wandered away, she smiled.

“A butterfly with no wings!” She exclaimed the world around her, remaining in the corner, while her body twitched and tossed. “… Isn’t very pretty at all…”

[Ghost]

Name: His real name is John, but is referred to as Torch
Subject Number: NAV117
Age: 24
Gender:Male
Subject or staff: Subject
Appearance: John is very much like a stick, he is 6'5" and only 150 pounds. He looks a bit older then he is, with fading black hair. This was caused by an alcohol addiction which he slowly overcame by joining the Navy. He looks somewhat like James Marsden (Cyclops from the X-Men Movies)
Personality: John is very lonely, having barely ever talken to a human being other then his commanding officer and his parents. He will avoid contact with anyone, with the lone exception of people he has to talk to. He started to act like this ever since he was young.
Weapon: N/A
Power: Pyrokinesis- He has the power to create fire and control fire, even using the fire as a shield around himself. When he gets extremely angry he can even set off explosions with his powers. Yet, while being in the asylum, He has had powerful mental drugs that are placed in him while getting shots and while eating food. This makes it so that his powers are dampened, only allowing him to create small flares, which even when controlled can not grow into much. Also, has a extreme weakness to water.
History: It all started when John was 18 years old. His parents lived in a beautiful in San Diego, California, when one day, the house just seemed to explode for no reason with him and his parents in it. John's parents were instantly killed by the explosion, but for some reason, he instantly lit on fire, his whole body in flames. But for some reason, he sat there burning, but he could not feel the pain of the fire. His clothes instantly burned away, leaving him laying there in the middle of a fire. Eventaully tne Firefighters pulled him out, but when they started to get rid of the fire by putting it out with water, He went into such a fit of pain that he fainted within seconds. When he awakened again in the hospital, it was deemed a miracle that he got out alive, and he was soon sent back out.
But when he was out, all he could think about was his parents, and he turned to alcohol, which was bought by his uncle, who was also an alcoholic. He went on with this for nearly 2 years, until he was 20 years old, when he decided that he wanted to join the Navy and become a fighter pilot. He was accepted into the Navy as a F18 pilot, and quickly became one of the best aviators around.
But when he was 23, on a mission to Iraq, his F18, being pursued by Iraqi planes, crashed in the Sahara Desert. The plane exploded, once again lighting him on fire, and he went out on a journey, trying to find civilization, and when he did, he killed them all with his abilites. He was finally stopped in Cairo, Egypt, and shipped off to Ashford Asylum. John has no memory of his history, other then that he was a fighter pilot.
Relations: If anyone wants, just say so. don't really know how he would have any relations though.....
Other: Nope


John/Torch
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sitting in the corner of his small cell, Johnathan Cross, referred to as Torch by most staff, continued to punch the hard concrete wall. His knuckles were already bleeding, leaving a stream of crimson blood to roll down into his palms and to continue down his arms and his chest. To Torch, the blood felt refreshing to run down his body. He remembered the killings in Egypt, the burnt bodies, the severed limbs and heads, the streams of blood hitting the sand...

The wall also red, stained with the blood of Torch's knuckles. He continued to continously punching the wall until finally, nearly fifteen minutes later, he ran out of energy and stopped. He missed the satisfaction of tearing a body into two with his bare hands, putting his hands on someones face and watching the skin melt away...

It was all Torch was able to remember. Nothing else. Not who he used to be, Not even his own god damned name, his family, anything that happened. Just killing in Egypt. Nothing else. Exploding buildings, sending nomadic villages in to hellfire, watching burning flesh bubble and turn black...

He didn't even remember how he became like this. How did it happen? Did toxic waste fall on him? Did some freak drug thing him into this? Why the hell did this happen to him? WHY?

In an angered frustration he threw himself against the wall as hard as he could, feeling satisfaction as he heard a crack. He felt no pain, only bitter anger and regret for what this god damned thing had made him do. All the men and children he killed... He remembered how one man how fought valianty against him, being able to hit him with a knife in the stomach. He remembered the satisfaction of ripping out his throat, seeing his hands clutch his neck and the crimson blood flowing to the ground. He had enjoyed gutting his wife and child.

God Damn it he needed to stop thinking like this. He then started to smash his head against the concrete wall, when all of the sudden he heard the unlocking of the door, and two bulky guards walked in, one holding a bucket of ice water.

"Alright buddy, time for your blood sample," One said, holding a medium sized syringe. The other guard grinned with satisfaction as he threw the water at Torch, Sending him into a flurry of pain. He screamed in agony as he felt as if the water was peeling off his skin, tearing him apart. The Same guard came and held one arm down while the other took the blood sample. They slowly left the room and re-locked the door.

Torch mentally noted that as soon as he got out he would gut them and their families.

[kawaiispinel]

Name: Cameron, AKA Seraphim

Subject Number: AA777

Age: 18

Gender: Female

Subject or staff: Subject

Appearance: Standing at about 4'11, Cameron/Seraphim isn't extremely tall, but she's well-muscled which shows that her strength is not be judged by her size. She has a girlish face with high cheekbones that give her an air of "cuteness" that transcends traditional beauty. Her hair is light blonde, reaching to her waist and always pulled back in a thick braid held up by a white band. Her eyes have been known to change color depending on which of her powers she's using or is "feeling" at the moment. She dresses in a white strapless empire-waisted shirt, the hem of which extends past her waistline with a pair of slim-fitting white pants that lace up all the way to the thighs and white leather boots. A pair of white, fingerless gloves that extend all the way to her elbow accentuate the look. (Her "obsession" with the color white earned her the nickname "Seraphim" because of the angelic look.) She also wears four metal bands- one on each wrist and ankle.

Personality: Cameron or Seraphim is very maternal towards everyone in Ashford, and tries her very best to look out for everyone. She's very outspoken and will often speak out against mistreatment of any of her fellow subjects. She has a penchant for having a big mouth, which gets her into a lot of trouble, but she has no qualms about standing up for the "little guy" so to speak either way. She's very strong-willed and has a "you can't take me" attitude towards the staff, so no matter how much she's poked and prodded, they can't really bring her down. She's fun and easy to get along with for the most part. She doesn't harp on the past and keeps her mind firmly focused on the now, although she does have a lot of high hopes for the future.

Power: She has control over the four elements: Earth, Wind, Water, and Fire (of course ^_~). Each element corresponds to a certain aspect of her personality and the more she's feeling that particular aspect when she uses a certain power, the more powerful the element is. (Example: Water corresponds to depression so if she uses her powers to manipulate water while depressed , it's twice as powerful then if she used it any other time.) Her eyes also change color depending on her mood and which element she's "feeling."

Her power can only manipulate the elements, however, so she can't create them under any circumstance, which is why it's so easy for the staff at Ashford to keep her powers in check as long as they keep her away from anything that involves any of the elements. Just in case, however, they have placed four metal bands on her, each color coded to represent an element. Not only do these keep her from using her elemental powers against them, but they also keep her from using more than one at a time. All they have to do is remove a single band and she's able to use the element that the band represented.

The following is a little chart with the mood and eye (and band) color that corresponds to each of Seraphim's elements:

Fire- Anger/Rage- Red
Water- Depression/Sadness- Sapphire Blue
Wind- Happiness/Joy- White (band)/Ice Blue (Eyes) (Note: This is Seraphim's "patron" element, so to speak. It's the one she's most connected to and thus her most powerful.)
Earth- Determination (Emotions dealing with "strength" essentially)- Green

History: Cameron (or Seraphim) grew up as the only daughter to an extremely wealthy New York family. For as long as she could remember she held aspirations of being a dancer and was trained in the finest schools as soon as she was old enough to take lessons. However, once she hit puberty her powers began to develop and try as she might she couldn't control them for a long time. She eventually had to give up her passion as her family tried desperately to find a way to "cure" her. During these futile attempts, she came to understand, respect, and love her powers. This, however, didn't go unnoticed by her family who became increasingly worried about her.

That, however, is all she knows of her past. She has no memory of anything else aside from the day she arrived at the Asylum, although she tries hard not to think about what happened in that time. Since her memory was never erased, the staff believed she simply blocked out the obviously painful memories.

Relations: Lost and Cross are her sort of "adopted little sisters."

Other: Think Kristin Chenoweth with Idina Menzel's attitude (if that means anything to you, of course ^^;; ), and you've got Cameron/Seraphim.

~*Cameron/Seraphim*~

~Dancing through life, skimming the surface, gliding where turf is smooth...~

I've been trying to remember the motions to an old dance routine for the longest time. You have a lot of time on your hands when you're stuck in a cell, occasionally getting blood drawn or other odd experiments inflicted upon you, so it's probably best to keep busy.

You wouldn't really want to go mad, now would you, Cammie?

Cammie is no more, however, and Cameron is even less so. It's all Seraphim now. That's what they call me. They think it's cute. "Look, she's all in white. And look at her number 'AA777.' So angelic! We'll call the little missie Seraphim. Ha ha!"

It's like naming a dog to them. That's why so many of us have nicknames. We're their pets. No... We're like their cattle. Pets are treated better than we are.

Laughter. My first instinct is to look beyond the bars of my cell to the cell across from mine where Lost is imprisoned. She's quiet now, fiddling with a lock of her white-blonde hair, singing softly, so that only leaves...

Yes, I can tell now. It's from the cell beside Lost's. I strained to peer out of my bars so I could see into that cell. Cross's cell.

She's having one of her fits again...

I've tried talking her out of her fits once before, but it never does much good. In my time here I'd sort of adopted her and Lost as my little sisters. The two girls had similar problems but completely different powers that more than likely warranted those problems. I couldn't help being completely taken by them even if they were insane, however. They reminded me of the young girls in the dance classes I used to teach.

A door slammed. I sighed heavily, expecting the worst again. They arrive just like clockwork, and once they've come and gone the mood here is always so intense. That's when Cross and Lost are at their worst and no amount of soothing words can bring them back to their senses. It's not just them, though. No, it's everyone.

The screaming doesn't die down for several hours. It's hard to concentrate on anything in that time.

It's this time that I hate the most.

I saw one of the men stop at Cross's cell and I wrinkled my nose as I heard her whimpering at the sight of him. My eyes bored into his skull, daring him to turn around and face me rather than picking on poor girls like her. Much to my surprise he turned around her and moved to my cell as if answering my threat.

"Hello, Seraphim," he smiled. "Sticking your nose where it doesn't belong again, are you?" He reached a hand between the bars and grabbed a hold of my braid so quickly that I couldn't stop him. With one swift motion he dragged me to the ground by my hair, forcing my back to him. He released my hair and my scalp tingled in pain and a few tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away. I refused to ever let these psychos see me cry. I had to be strong.

"Let's see," he said, taking my wrists. He'd mastered the art of dealing with me without letting me out ever since I'd uppercutted him into the wall in a futile attempt to escape. The aftermath was a moment I don't care to relive or even think about, but ever since this one man- I didn't even know his name, really, as if I really care- has had it in for me. "The bands are still fuctioning I see. We may have to put you on some depressants though if that attitude of yours doesn't improve. I see those red eyes, and I know what they mean."

That's their answer to everything- drugs. Uppers and downers. Just like high school. Even in the snootiest private schools had their drug problems, but I had never been a part of that scene.

Now look at me... I'm almost the poster child for the crap. Uppers when they want to test my abilities, downers when they want to "adjust my attitude."

I was barely aware that he'd drawn blood from me, but after awhile one gets used to it, even someone as afraid of needles as me. He moved on after that, which puzzled me. He'd gone easy on me this time. I assumed he was having an off day or something.

I stood up and settled myself on my cot, tapping out a beat with my boot on the cold stone floor.

And cue the screaming...

[Shizo]

Mmmm...Wicked...

Name: Shan Shayna
Subject Number: LO571
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Subject or staff: Subject
Appearance: Click. Thin, fine brown hair that hangs down to the middle of his back. Hazel eyes that just seem to be a muddy mixture of brown and green. He stands around 6'2" and has a quiet, impassive expression on his face most of the time, though he is subject to rather abrupt mood swings. His skin has a deep tan, and his slim build borders on emancipation. He often wears a t-shirt under a thin, unbutton flannel and blue jeans with sneakers, but no socks. He also has a gold ring on his right ring finger.
Personality: He's amiable and altruistic, though he seems to have a hard time getting close to people. He really does prefer being with people, but being with others pains him because of his powers. He tries not to become good friends with anyone since the emotions of those he cares for affect him twice as much. He's also subject to mood swings for obvious reasons.
Power: Empath (the ability to read the emotions of others; empathy to the extreme)
This isn't a power he can use at will. It's on all the time, so he can sense others within a rather wide radius (the actual radius is unknown, but it's probably no more than a quarter mile) The emotions of others aren't only felt by him, they affect him like they're his own emotions. Actually, he's been going slightly insane by being surrounded by lots of other people and having their emotions jumble together in his mind, and he seems to experience them more stongly than the source. He does have some safeguards, though. If the emotions become too strong, he passes out, and will only revive when the stimulus decreases or leaves entirely (this is extreme situations, like being in the presense of a violent homicide or suicide).
History: He's the only child of a homemaker mother and a pencil-pusher father. His father and mother never had the best relationship, with his mother constantly verbally abusing his dad and this abuse affecting Shan as if they were physical blows. When he was seventeen, his father committed suicide and the moment he turned eighteen, Shan left home, though his mother never severely yelled at him the way she did to his father. He's been doing various odd jobs and living in some fairly crappy apartments, hiding his ability to sense the emotions of others as best he could. This doesn't mean he won't use his empathetic abilities to his own advantage. Using his abilities, he can now almost guess what others are thinking by their emotions. He honestly can't tell you how he was captured. We'll just say he was very out of it at the time.
Relations: He enjoys spending time with Dr. Lathe, due to her warm, mild personality. Besides that, 'twould be open.
Other: Enjoys sketching, and is a slight drug addict. (Mmmmm, drugs....) This came about because depressants lessen his powers.

Welcome to where time stands still. No one leaves and no one will...

Shan Shayna
***************
There was laughter down the hall. It wasn't a pleasant sort of laughter. It was the laugh of someone who was completely unable to control their irrational mirth, a mirth that was present even if that person wasn't happy. It was Cross, most likely. Cross would have these sort of 'fits' where she seemed to lose control over herself. Unfortunately for Shan, he understood that feeling all too well.

But today, he didn't know exactly how the girl called Cross was feeling, nor any of the others in this place. He laid on his stomach, his face buried into the pillow on his cot. His shirt was a bundled cloth on the floor, so he could feel the cool air on his back. He turned his head toward the wall to breathe, and there was a slight grin on his face. His head swam in a slow, muddled cloud, and he was only slightly aware of his surroundings. Not that there was a lot to his surroundings. He had been here...a month?...two?...and he had learned the layout of his cell - there was no other real word for it - on the first day. He didn't know many people. He didn't even have a nickname like all the other 'inmates' seemed to. His given name was all anyone ever called him: "Shan." It had been that way at home, at school, in Chicago, and now here, wherever 'here' really was. Not that he cared much at the moment.

Yes, they had tested him today, didn't they? Testing Shan still seemed to be a problem for them, the researchers or scientists or torturers, if you will. The 'power' Shan possessed, the reason he had been taken here, wasn't something that could be seen. There was no external indications other than what Shan shared. They probably would have given up on testing him if it weren't for the few perks of his 'gift,' such as the fact that they couldn't lie to him. They had spent several hours seeing if they could make Shan slip up, but lying was ridiculously easy to spot. The emotion of deception was too unique for anyone to block effectively. So they tested him, usually with verbal quizzing, CAT scans, and blood samples, though some days...

Then, when all that was finished, then they would drug him. Other inmates complained about how the staff used drugs to control and test them, but it was a blessing to Shan. He hated how easily classical conditioning worked on him, but worked it did. "Obey us and do as you're told," they said, "Obey and we'll give you the drugs; we'll give you that chemical sanctuary so you can be yourself, even if it's only a day." He'd obey most of the time, they'd do what they wanted, then he could relax in his cell and listen to the screams and laughters of the others without laughing and screaming with all of them. He'd rest in that blissful, half-lost state until whatever drugs they used would begin to wear off. Before the pains of withdrawl could set in and he was exposed to the emotions of everyone, they'd test him again. Although sometimes...Shan looked down at the bandage on his right hand...sometimes they'd be a bit late. Whether that was on purpose or not, Shan never knew.

He fought when he could, but fighting the staff too much meant he didn't receive any drugs. Shan hated withdrawl, but he hated being sober more. The staff at first tried to cure his addiction, but quickly discovered that having the mental problems of everyone in this 'institute' in one person wasn't worth it. "Better to drug him," they thought. "We'll dry him out to test him. Besides, this way he's in our control."

The grin faded, and a few tears dotted the pillow. He hated it. Hated it, hated it, hated it, hated it. He wished he could strike out in earnest, but to say he didn't want any more drugs...he might as well say he no longer desired air.

[kalad1]

Name: Dennis Fairbrooks Alexander "Alchemist"
Subject number: SR388
Age:21
Gender: Male
Subject or Staff: Subject
Appearancetanding at a tall six foot, he is of a medium build. He has straw colored hair pulled back in a ponytail, and crystal blue eyes. He wears brown pants and a grey shirt with a brown trenchcoat, as well as his wrists are nearly perpetually shackled together, for safety reasons.
Personality: To most people, Dennis is a nice enough guy, usually rather easygoing. However, he harbors a near psychotic hatred of the facility, and will do whatever it takes to eventually succeed in escaping, even if it means being very patient.
Weapon: Not Applicable
Power: Chemical and Physical restructuring. Dennis can alter an object's physical shape and chemical composition just by touching it, however, this does not effect lead.
History: Dennis' life, up until he was nabbed ten years ago, wasn't very exciting, being a well cared for rich kid. Since his imprisonment, he has hardened, becoming slightly less trustful and in general has grown more and more determined to escape, even if it means killing the staff that get in his way. About four years ago, he managed to make a break for it, and was captured before fully escaping the Asylum. Ever since, there's been a watchful eye kept on him.
Relations: Most people know of him, as he makes a point of meeting newcomers and finding out what they can do, though few people are full fledged friends. (feel free to PM me if you want to try to be a full friend.)
Other:



Dennis Fairbrooks Alexander "Alchemist"
__________________________________________________ ____________________
I sighed, sitting there on my bed, staring at my shackles, shaking my head, I'd been here far too long, all because I could do something that shouldn't have been possible, something 'Paranormal'. I shook my head, wondering just how much the world had changed while I was trapped in this abysmal complex, and how everyone I'd known had changed as well.

Like Johnny, and his computers, or Sarah and her pets, where are they now?

But, it didn't matter, not yet at least. Getting out would take patience, build up comraderie with the appropriate people, fellow subjects, a couple guards here and there, and once the time's right, shatter the bonds that held us all here. But that time wasn't now.

I laid back onto the bed some when I heard a slight rapping on the door, and I looked up, noticing a guard at the door.

"Rise and Shine, Alchemist, it's time to check those shackles of yours again." he stated, motioning me forward to the Slot they'd put in the door. I walked forward and held them up for him to look at, and he nodded, commenting, "Sorry about this, it's just my job, y'know."

I sighed, replying, "Yeah, I know, You kill a guy by rearranging the molecules in a guy's head, and they don't want to let you out much, even if it WAS during a moment of extreme stress. Don't worry, I don't hold it against YOU, I hold it against THEM."

He nodded in full understanding, the guard was one of those that felt cooped up, creeped out about the job they'd gotten themselves into. One of those that could be used to help in case of an uprising.

"Well, everything seems in order here, gotta go to the next task." He stated wearily as he walked off.

I turned back to my bed, and laid down, using my well practiced skill at ignoring the ravings and rantings of the less stable inhabitants, getting too involved in others could disrupt my chance...

[Ace64]

Name: Jack. Alias- "Walker"
Subject Number: 44812
Age: Mid 20's? even he doesn't know.
Gender:Male
Subject or staff: Subject
Appearance: Tall, with dark brown skin, black hair and brown eyes. His eyes in particular are arresting...they have a strange look in them, as if this person has seen things that still haunt him. Also, you're quite confident that you've never seen him before in your life....but for some reason, he seems familiar to you. He is wearing dark blue slacks that just brush against the ground, and appear to be weather-stained. A baggy black shirt with the sleeves cut off hangs to him, sharing the bedraggled look of his pants. Dusty grey boots cover his feet.
Personality: Walker is contemplative, never reckless. He has a 'take things as they come' kind of attitude- he never seems surprised. Even waking up in this cell didn't shake him too much. His calm, cool-headedness isn't an act, he is simply the type of person who approaches life without any expectations. Around other people, he can appear to be strange, interrupting other with strange phrases that at first glance, appear to make no sense. However, he doesn't speak without reason- he just chooses not to speak directly. His roundabout way of speech is a product of his lifestyle and experiences, rather than his own nature.
Weapon: None.
Power: Hard to determine. The best Ashford attendants can determine, is that he walks, and as he walks, he travels much further than you or I. Several people across the United States could swear that they have seen him somewhere, or passed him by, but he always left by the next day. If you took a poll in China, you would get the same results. In his own words: "There are other worlds than these." Walker seems to be able to walk to different...what? dimensions? planets? worlds? It is a gradual effect, one that he either has complete control over or none at all. One thing is for sure: his power requires vision to work, because he must see where he is going in order to travel. For this reason, he has been blind-folded and his legs chained before he was placed in his cell, in order to keep him from...walking away.
History: He believes he was born near the coast, because he remembers the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, but he can't pin down a location. Apparently, he was treated well by his parents, who loved him, even if they were a bit confused by their son's behavior. Then one day he just....walked away. Miraculously, he wasn't abducted, run over, or killed in the first week, month,year. Nor did he show any signs of homesickness. As long as he kept walking and seeing new places, he left those feelings behind, like the dust from his boots. He worked odd jobs when he felt the need to stay in a place. When people felt hospitable, he had a warm bed to sleep in. When they didn't, he made do but getting a room in a hotel, or sleeping near a public place. He doesn't know how many years he's been walking- last week or last year, it's all the same to him. Ask him who the current President is, and he might respond with an oldie, like Kennedy....or someone you've never heard of, like Smith(?). He appears to be old and young at once...perhaps because he has out-walked Time.
Relations:None, but open. Again, he wouldn't remember.
Other: Walker has an impeccable sense of direction, even in places he's never been before. In his words, he's been there somewhere, or else he wouldn't be here now.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everything was dark.

It took him a few moments to realize he was awake. Have I been blinded? He wondered, his thoughts feeling muddy. No- some soft material had been stretched tight across his eyes and fastened securely behind his head. A blindfold. Automatically he reached to pull it off, but his hands refused to move. They were bound at his sides, and though he couldn't tell the means, he could smell the coppery scent of metal. Hesitantly, he tested his legs, though he could already guess the answer. They wouldn't move either.

Maybe I'm paralyzed from the neck down he thought dreamily. He cast his mind back, trying to remember the night before. He remembered waking up in a field and looking up into the night sky. The stars were bright, though he couldn't see any constellations he recognized- the Great Bear was oddly absent, though Orion's Belt was there. No Little Dipper, but he could see Polaris. Strange. He had nodded off into sleep and then...

And then...here. But where was here? When was here?

Somewhere, maybe a few feet away or a few miles away, he could hear the sounds of laughter. A dull pounding, steady and incessant, off to his right. A relentless tapping to his left, knocking out a phantom beat he couldn't recognize. He tried to speak, but found that his throat was too dry. Struck speechless.Well, I'm sure there are those who could say it's an improvement.

A door opened, bringing with it a gust of cool air that tickled his brow. Then, heavy footsteps. A voice.

"You awake, Traveling Man?" Jack couldn't speak, but he wiggled his fingers in response. He flinched as a pair of hands fiddled with something at the side of his head. Then, his vision returned abruptly as the blindfold was removed, blinking rapidly in the dim light. He was lying on his back, his legs and hands secured firmly with a pair of manacles. As he watched, the guard inserted a key into the lock and opened the cuffs.

With a more dangerous convict, the act might have been fatal. But Jack, disoriented and numb, was in no position to take advantage of the situation. The guard threw a canteen at him, liquid sloshing hollowly inside and winked. "No telling, or I get the belt. Get me?"

Dumb, Jack nodded. He had no idea what the man was talking about, but he some means of quelling the burn in his throat. First things first. The guard walked to the door, pulling out his key again.

"Doc reckons you can stretch your legs a bit, as long as you don't see. That means darkness. Wouldn't want you walking off, right?" the guard chuckled to himself, closing the door with a slam and leaving him in total darkness. Jack drank the water greedily, staring into blackness. Then, satisfied, he licked his lips.

"My name is Jack, not 'Walker.'" he said into the dark.

Somewhere close by, someone farted in response. Jack sighed. Where am I now?

[Drusilla]

Name: Poltergeist
Subject Number: DP136
Age: Assumed to be early twenties
Gender: Female
Subject or staff: Subject
Appearance: She's tall, about six feet, and very thin with an extreme pale complexion that has an almost greyish cast to it. Her eyes and haircolor tend to change sporratically, though it's not known if she can control when and what colors. Currently, she has pure white hair and blue-grey eyes, which emphasize her unnatural skin coloring. She wears denim cut-offs and black t-shirts most of the time with black boots that cover her ankles; she prefers to be as non-descript as possible.
Personality: Spontanious doesn't even begin to cover it; most label her insane and leave it at that. She hardly ever reveals anything about herself, though it's mostly because she doesn't even know. She'll spend days in her cell silent, then will randomly start screaming wordlessly. When in a calmer state, she can be very polite and civilized, but in the blink of an eye she'll change to someone else entirely.
Power: Changable appearance; limited psychokinesis; can pass through solid objects but it takes a lot of concentration due to constant supervision of staff and mind weakening drugs.
History: She can't really remember anything; she knows that she had a semi normal life at some point, but isn't completely sure where she's from or when her abilities began to manifest. She describes her memories as lost in thick mist; she can see shapes and sillouhettes, but no details.
Relations: Not really, but she likes to 'talk' with Spectre in hopes that, maybe by using German, she'll remember some of her past. No luck as of yet, though.
Other: Sie kann Deutsch sprechen.



[color=silver]Poltergeist
Damaged

Another day. Whoopdeedo. In an attempt to break up the monotony of the week so far, I found myself standing on my head with my feet bracing against the wall and my face towards the door. The door was a bit more interesting than the other walls, at least... People were constantly walking by, mostly attendants taking routine blood samples back to the labs. Somewhere nearby a guard was sitting, as usual, and every five minutes or so he'd walk past me to see what I was doing. Evidently, they thought of me as a trouble maker. Couldn't figure why, though... I mean, me, cause trouble?! What an idea! Especially today, when I was mostly dry (as dry as it was safe to have me) so they could... whatsitcalled. Test, research, torture, observe... it was all the same shit to me. Whatever.

The screaming was starting to get on my nerves, though. In my not-so-humble oppinion, Cross and Lost should just get over it and adjust. It was the only reason that I screamed. Well, almost the only reason. Sometimes, I just felt like it. They were just weird. I yelled out some obsceneties at Cross that echoed through the cell block. Didn't do any good, though, only got me yelled at by my guard. Asshole.

I closed my eyes and went to my inner sanctuary; a "place" in my mind that allowed me to block everything else out. It was about the only power I was left with in here, outside of changing my hair and stuff. Whoo-hoo, look at me, I can change the color of my hair as many times as I want and not fry it! I don't need colored contacts, I'm just so cool! Bah... I was bored. Wish the attendants would hurry up and take me to my labrat session all ready.

After what seemed like forever, I heard the jingle of keys as someone unlocked my door. Without opening my eyes, I said, "It's about time you monkeys got here. You want blood? Take it from this." I proudly offered them my middle finger.

Someone reached out to grab me and haul me to my feet. My eyes shot open and I growled, "I wouldn't do that, if I were you..."

My usual guard placed a hand on the new man's shoulder; he absolutely screamed newbie. "You don't want to touch her any more than you have to. We lost a good man a few weeks ago to her..."

The kid looked at the other guard. "What happened?"

"She impaled him on the door."

The young guard looked confused. "But... it's a door. It's not even sharp, anyway."

"Kid, she made him pass through the door and left him there. Right through his major organs... Not pretty at all."

The newbie blanched and stared at me. I smiled innocently and, kicking my legs against the wall, tumbled backwards and landed on my feet. I straightened and resumed my smile. "Let's go, shall we?"

It was the usual set up. A table with about five different solid elemental compound samples was set up with a chair for me. They would have me see how fast I could phase my hand through each sample, if I could. There had been some that I couldn't, but I suspected that they repeated things in case the drugs lingered during a session and tarnished the results. Across the lab, I could see Spectre undergoing some kind of test.

"Hey there, Doc, enjoying your evening? Or is it afternoon? Or even morning? Not that it matters... Let's get to the matter at hand. Haha, get it, matter at hand? ...OK, I'll shut up..."

[Mystic_clown]

Spectre
-----------------------------------
Another, yet rather pointless experiment. They knew that I could communicate telepathically, but they wanted to see to what extent I could could communicate. Now they were trying to see if I could communicate mentally with animals, in htis case, a cat.

It was completely pointless. Unless you knew how to speak cat, telepathic or not, you still can't understand them. They just don't understand english.

I looked over to the other side of the lab and spotted Poltregiest, doing another of her phasing experiments.

He dort.

Poltergiest gave a brief glance in my direction.

"He."

So wie war dein Tag?

"Das selbe wie irgendein anderer Tag."

Nicht viel Aufregung herum ist hier dort?

"Nicht es sei denn du otrcher zählst und schmerzt. "

Spectre could see a look of sadness cross over Poltregiest's face.

"Ich hasse diesen Platz. "

Alle wir.

There was silence between the two.

Poltergiest?

"Yeah?"

Htink I kann ich ein Weise outta hier haben.

Spectre could hear her mentally gasping.

"Du? Was ist es? Erklären mir!"

ich erkläre dir, wenn sie uns für das Mittagessen ausführen.


For htose who don't speak German, here's the translated conversation:

-Hey there.
-Hey
-So, how was your day.
-The same as any other day.
-Not much excitement here is there?
-Not unless you count torture and pain.
-I hate this place.
-We all do.
-Poltergiest?
-Yeah?
-I think I hav a plan to get outta here.
-You do? What is it? Tell me!
-I'll tell you when they brings is out for lunch.

[Samchu]

woot! first staff postie! and yay! someone else who knows what Wicked is!

Ryoss
~~~~~

The walls brimmed once again with the sounds of laughter and screaming. It was almost like an unholy theme for the place, something you always seemed to hear when you stepped foot inside. I grabbed my uniform from my locker, shivering slightly at the prospect of carrying out another day in this shit hole; or as I liked to call it: Hell. I slipped my baton into its case and reported to my superior for the day’s tasks. Someday, when I was older, they’d let me have a gun. But I didn’t want it.

“Sir.” I offered the traditional ‘inferior to superior’ salute as I was required but it made me sick. He was a twisted man; one of those who tormented those here for his own disgusting amusement. Soon enough, I would be his boss and then we’d start seeing some changes.

“Ryoss. You got drug rounds today.” He rolled a thick steel trolley towards me. “They all got boxes with names on so you can’t make a mistake. They’re crazy enough without you screwing up their meds.”

I ground my teeth angrily behind my lips. He didn’t understand. They were never crazy in the first place, it was this place that made them crazy. The constant prodding and poking and testing, that’s what was pushing them over the edge. The drugs were just a safety line, that last little piece of wire that stopped them from falling. Unless ‘they’ decided that they wanted them to.

Without a word I took the trolley and headed down the nearest corridor. The laughter and screaming faded behind me as I left the cells behind. Normally I’d just take the damn things and dispose of them but there were two who needed it: Shan and the other one. It was so quiet that all I could hear was the thumping of my feet on the solid floor and the ringing of my breaths in my ears.

The heavy door loomed before me in the dim light. Another of Ashford's secrets. Even the patients themselves didn’t know about this one.

I took the container of drugs from the trolley and slid open the shaft the door. The room was dark, defined only by the outlines of the bed and toilet. Inhaling deeply I shot my arm through the shaft hole and dropped the box of pills. Then I felt it. It was bony thin and deathly cold. It gripped onto my wrist with such force that my shoulder smacked the frame of the shaft. I pushed my feet against the door but couldn’t pry myself loose. Something sharp pierced my skin and I cried out in pain, trying desperately to free my arm.

My arm throbbed with fire. On the other side of this door something was literally trying to bite my arm off and I was helpless to stop it. Fumbling for my keys as shaky hand managed to claw the key into the lock and unlock it. With a defiant kick I pushed the door inwards, hitting the patient behind it with such force that it was knocked cleanly to the middle of the room, taking a chunk of my arm with it.

My face tingling with sweat. I pulled my arm from its prison and shut and locked the door. Teeth marks dotted my pale skin and blood seeped from the hole in my lower arm. I strapped my shirt round the wound with my belt and ran with the trolley all the way to the asylum’s medical lab.

I didn’t hear anything the nurse said. My mind was too busy trying to contemplate the series of events that had just progressed before me. It wasn’t the first time this had happened but it was the worst. If I had more guts, maybe I’d find the courage to stop going down there.

“There. You keep that arm well rested okay and visit me every few hours so I can check it.”

I nodded silently, thankful that the asylum’s location required it to have its own hospital on-sight. For the use of staff and security personnel only of course. My arm heavily strapped and bandaged, I dropped the last drug delivery off at Shan's cell and disposed of the rest. The laughs and screams were still very much a common commotion and I decided it was time to try and calm Cross out of her latest fit. Besides, I needed cheering up and she always put me in a good mood.

I traced the usual steps to her door and opened the cell. I saw her instantly, curled in the corner in her fit of hysterics. I closed the door and she stared at me over her arms, giggling darkly. “I was bad…”

I looked across the blood-stained walls. “Yes, you were. But I don’t care.”

She stood up and hopped round the room as I watched her. She stopped a short way away and stared at my damaged arm. “Those doomed to die, you cannot save them. There is no hope for those who have no hope in themselves.” Her voice was calm, stern, and sane. An unusual grin crossed her face and she bounced off, laughing and muttering about butterflies.

I waited until she crossed past me again and wrapped my arms across her waist gently, pulling her close so I could plant a kiss on her forehead. “Someday, I’m gonna get you out of here…” I promised, “…Sakura.”

[Crazy Elf Boy]

OK here it goes

Name: Steven "Ghost"
Subject Number: KX7R4
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Subject or Staff: Subject
Appearence: He is about 5' 6' medium build and his skin is a milky white from lack of sunlight. His eyes are a deep green, his hair is short and a very dark black. Steven wears a black and grey long sleeve shirt with tiny holes and long dark brown pants.
Personality: Steven is the type of person that keeps his feelings away from everyone and is not very talkative. He also keeps emotions bottled and release them on the person unfortunate enough to push him over the edge.
Weapon: N/A
Power: Shapeshift, Steven can alter the structure of his DNA to resemble anyone living thing he wants. The drawback of the power is he cannot change the colour of his eyes.
History: The only thing that Steven can remember about life outside the asylum is playing in a park with a dog, he was then kidnapped and taken to Ashford's. He has remained here ever since.
Relationships: Good friends with Blinky
Other: ?


Ghost
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I sat on the hard cold bed in the corner of my cell. I could hear screams coming from down the hallway, it seemed that Cross was having another of her fits. I clasped my hands over my ears and hummed a bit to drown out the noise. I hate loud noises but in a place like Ashford's they are a normal occurrence. A guard came along his baton trailing on the bars creating a clanging noise, he stopped and turned towards me.

"Still you Ghost" he said in a sarcastic manner, and then he continued on his round.

I knew that it wasn't the last insult I would hear for the night. Why do they think I am such a big threat, so what if I can change my appearence I can't help it. I also knew that they would take me to complete one of their twisted experiments.

A loud screech awoke from my drifting thoughts, two guards rushed in a held me down put my hands behind my back. One of the scientists came in behind them holding a syringe, he stabbed it in my arm and then pushed releasing the drugs into my blood. My world went dark as I drifted of to unconsciousness.

"That should keep him out for a while" laughed one of the guards.

When I awoke I was sitting in a cold white room sitting on a steel chair. In front on me there was a small cat, behind it was a giant mirror. I knew they were watching me through it, their presence was disturbing.

"Ok do your thing Ghost, or you won't get any food" demanded a muffled voice.

That's all they thought of us like animals trained to do special tricks, rewarding us with food. This was inhumane, I knew what I had to do. I concentrated for a while, I felt my skin ripple, my hands started to form small paws. My body grew smaller, fur sprouted from my skin. Soon it was complete I was an exact copy of the cat in front of me, with one difference the colour of my eyes was a brilliant green compared to the cats dull grey.

A guard rushed through the door, scooped me up and put me in a cat carrier. Through the tight wire of the cage another syringe poked through piercing my skin, I started to feel drowsy again. Damnit I thought to myself, I knew I shouldn't have trusted him.

I felt the carrier move, where were they taking me. The carrier was thrown into a cell, though it wasn't mine. Was this my new cell?, the drugs kicked in and fell to the bottom on the carrier asleep.

[-/Deathborn/-]

Name: Setzer Maringber (5th Incarnation)
Subject Number: BW236801
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Subject or staff: Subject

Appearance: Since he changes whenever he's about to die, I'll describe his current incarnation: about 5'4'', brown eyes, black messy hair that looks like a comb has never touched his head, usually wears a black t-shirt under a black leather overcoat. He wears tattered black jeans. He is sometimes known to wear sunglasses when sleeping.
Personality: His current incarnation is a little more optimistic, considering he has all the knowledge and memories of his previous incarnations, all 4 of them. He sometimes gets a little carried away, he is prone to making sarcastic comments and sometimes rude ones at random. He's very clever when it comes to de-generating relationships and alliances, with 6 words or more/less. Generally an odd guy.

Weapon: None.

Power: Regeneration, but instead of healing, it changes all his physical features (and mental) entirely. He is fully healed from all kinds of sickness, regardless of what the sickness is. The downside is that he can't do much for 15 hours. He basically has to stay asleep or inactive for that long before he is fully regenerated. During this time, he may breathe out some of the energy which forms a gaseous orange cloud that goes straight into the sky. If he is forced to be active at all during these 15 hours, he will probably faint, prolonging his need to stay asleep. This means to not expect him to be fatally injured in a fight, regenerate, then have a comeback. That simply can't happen without him being knocked out for a day or two.

History: Born in a family that actually worked in Ashford Asylum. He was always brought up to be a guard, no mercy to the subjects. He was 10 when he was taken to the Asylum to have his DNA checked to make sure he was 'clean'. The doctors found no anomalies. It seemed he was as human as you get. When he was 13, he was badly injured during an experiment gone awry. It was his first day as a guard-in-training. He was shot in the arm, leg, and slightly in the skull. In the medical room, the doctors picked up a buildup of power in his body. Then he regenerated from the 1st to the 2nd. The Asylum immediately took him in. They started doing all sorts of experiments on him. They found little or nothing. Then they tried to get him to regenerate again, by exposing him to lethal radiation. He regenerated from the 2nd to the 3rd incarnation. Every time, his physical appearance changed, and his mental capacity increased every time. Going to the 3rd to the 4th happened when the scientists forced him without injuring him. Going from the 4th to the current 5th incarnation will occur after he's thrown in a cell after being injected with a potent form of a lethal disease. (That will be as soon as the RPG starts...)
Relations: None.

Other: He has been in the Asylum for two years. His family no longer even notices him. He's quite intelligent. Unfortunately, he doesn't have the chance to use it. He's Russian, too.
Don't worry- Daleks won't suddenly appear from nowhere or anything. Neither will the Cybermen, or ghosts that turn into Cybermen...yeah. Hope it's not -too- far-fetched.

(Setzer Maringber-4th=5th)
I had just been thrown into my cell for the umpteenth time. This time, things started getting hot. All I remembered was a sharp pain. A needle of sorts. They injected loads of some sort of potent disease into me. Not much time was left.
I noticed a camera in the corner. They wanted to see me regenerate. They were no doubt scanning me, and they would without a doubt find nothing...

"Huh...buildup of power in the blood stream..." A scientist pondering while looking at a wall of TVs, all showing different scans of the camera. The scientists had been trying everything. They would take anything they found out of me.
"So this will be the fifth regeneration..."

I could only feel sweat, heat, and some unknown building power. I was in a corner, scrunched up, shivering from a fever. I knew that within a few minutes, I would either die or regenerate again. Someone in the opposite cell was staring. It was at that exact moment that a burst of energy went off at my ankles. I sprang up, clinging to the walls as if I was trying to climb it. I turned around, and my palms were emanating a weird orange glow. The power was still building. I started wondering, of all things, about my family. They didn't consider me one of their own, and some odd things started popping into my head, like a vacation to Russia. Moscow to be exact. It was planned, but then I regenerated from 1st to 2nd. All my memories of previous incarnations started pouring into consiousness. My brain overloaded and everything happened at once.

Un-measurable ammounts of power screamed out of my being, and it felt like I was in the middle of a raging fire. The orange energy bursted from my mouth, and seemed to come out of my jacket sleeves, as well. All I could feel was a sudden blackness.
It felt like hours. Features of my body changed quickly.

Suddenly, it all came back. The energy stopped flowing. I gasped a breath.
And my new personality emerged.
So where was I...oh yeah! I'm the 5th. Go me! I thought.
------------

[Dr.McNinja]

Name: Arsenal

Subject Number: (only for subjects)

Age: 26

Gender: Male

Subject or staff: Staff

Appearance: Arsenal's body is generally covered in a large white cloak which he wears around his body, clasped at the neck, sternum, and waist with small silver chains. On the back of the cloak is an emboidered pair of wings in black thread. He wears the hood of the cloak up or down as he feels like it. Under his cloak he sports a sleeveless red tunic lined in black with similarly colored trousers and boots. His hair is short and somewhat spikey and is colored a sort of blonde/white. His deep green eyes are set off by his short beard and moustache that he keeps impecably trimmed. His well muscled arms seems to have thin bands of metal wrapped around them seemingly at random though their true purpose is revealed quickly in battle. See attached picture for his facial features.

Personality: Extremely brooding, Arsenal is one of the few staff members that still sees the subjects as people and thusly he is torn in his duty. He understands the benefit of what the facility is attempting to do, the experiments that could benefit humanity as a whole (at least that is what he is told) but he is deeply troubled by the conditions that the subjects are put under. This had led to Arsenal putting a level of distance between him and the other staffers and he had been known to sit quietly in a break room or stand alone in the hallways simply thinking troubling matters over and over in his mind. When his quiet nature is broken through however he can be quite amicable.

Weapon: MWS (Multiple Weapons System). Arsenal's arms, and other parts of his body, have been replaced with an advanced form of concealed weaponry. The bands that seem to wrap around his arms are actually the seams in the system that break apart to reveal one of the several weapons that Arsenal possess. Known, or rumored, weapons present in the system are small sub-machine guns, sharp blades that extend over the hands, tranquilzier dart systems, a neural net in his left arm, and small grenades fired from his right arm with multiple functions. It is also known that his left eye has been replaced by a small computer that helps with targeting and operating the MWS. Other weapons are a possibility but as of yet have not been revealed.

Power: Subjects only. Be creative

History: Arsenal was part of an experimental test group for the MWS when he was ninteen . As it was, the addition of the computer needed to operate the system caused irreparable psychosis in all of the subjects save for Arsenal. It was later decided that inoperable brain damage Arsenal had recieved during a teenaged car crash, formerly thought unimportant to normal brain function, was acting as a "buffer" between the maddening effects of the computer and Arsenal's psyche. Unable to replicate the brain damage, despite multiple fatal attempts to other subjects, the MWS project was trashed. Arsenal however was reassigned multiple times as a security specialist until he finally made his way to Ashford Asylum where he has worked for four years. His life before the MWS project was typical, he was raised in a middle-class family and joined the military when he was unable to come up with the money for college. His parents are both alive and he stays in contact with them, and his brother, though they do not know about the MWS that was installed in him (Classified Information).

Relations: Parents (Alive), Brother (Fighter Pilot), Subjects (is on somewhat friendly terms with many of them despite his role as a security specialist. Distrusts Seige)

Other: Has a tiny black cat that usually rides around on his shoulder (despite regulations) whom he talks to as a confidant (some attribute it to the brain damage).

Arsenal

The sharp sound of booted footsteps echoed down the corridor, ringing in the ears of the subjects seqeuested in their small cells. A flash of white past the openings of their doors was the only hint the subjects recieved of who was passing by. Relief filled the minds of many of them, the Live Weapon didn't hand out drugs, didn't do any tests...

Let them find what it is they're looking for...then they can shut this hellhole down and let these people go...

Arsenal sighed to himself as he passed cell after cell, seeing the frightened gaze of those within as they feared the coming of yet another drugging or test. He hated their looks of hopelessness. A soft "mreow" shifted his attention from the wretched creatures he had been forced to help create. A ghost of a smile flittered across Arsenal's face as he responded to his cat's comment, "No Ares, I'm not on assignment. Just stretching my legs."

The suspicious look he earned for that comment made Aresenal chuckle. Nonetheless he ignored the inquisitive mreowing of his companion and continued his march through the cells. As he walked, he seemed to flex his hands almost compulsivly, soft whirring noises acompanying each motion. A sudden end to the noise was brought as Arsenal's march brought him to his destination. His cloak fluttered for a moment, its inertia taking a moment to be diminshed by the quick stop. He stood in front of a cell, like any other, seeming to gather his thoughts for a moment before speaking, "You want out of here don't you?"

Silence greeted him.

"Yeah...I know, everyone here does. If only it were possible..."


(Feel free to jump in)

[kawaiispinel]

~*Cameron/Seraphim*~

~Dancing through life, skimming the surface, gliding where turf is smooth~

My solitude was disrupted by someone stopping at my cell. At first I assumed it was another one of them, come to take me in for my daily experiments.

But it wasn't.

I'd seen this one around a time or two. He was the one the subjects called the Live Weapon.. Arsenal, I believe was what he was actually called. An intriguing one, he was. He oftened talked to his cat, which made him out to be just as insane as some of us were.

Perhaps that's why it made him easy to trust.

"You want out of here don't you?"

I sat frozen in silence, still pinned to my bed by my own volition. My thoughts were turning over and over in my head like some sort of psychotic ballet. Want out? Of course! It was all I ever wanted.

I stared down at my bands as he continued. "Yeah...I know, everyone here does. If only it were possible..."

"If only," I repeated. I stood up and walked towards the cell door. "Nothing ever gets done on 'if only's.'"

"I don't suppose you have a plan?" He said, his face devoid of any emotion.

"No," I replied flatly. I placed a hand on one of the bars and sighed. "I've tried though."

"Many have," he mused. "And they all fail."

"One day, someone won't," I murmered. "I can only hope they're nice enough to save everyone and not just themselves." I looked up at him, eyes narrowed. "I don't suppose you're trying to get into my head like all the others, are you? Trying to see just how rebellious I really am?"

"No," he said dryly. "I wouldn't dream of it."

I wasn't certain I believed him, but a part of me felt compelled to trust him anyway. I watched him move along the rows, occasionally stopping to talk to another one of us- probably discussing the same matters he'd discussed with me.

We need more people like him around here...

"Seraphim!"

I swore. Mr. Nice Guy (*Sarcasm*) had returned. His crocodile smile filling his face as he stopped in front of my cell.

"How about a few tests before lunch, angel?"

It sounded like a question, but it most certainly wasn't.

He wants me to scream like they all do eventually. He likes to hear them scream, the sadistic bastard...

But I won't scream... I'll never scream...

[Heald]

Name: Treize
Subject Number: T54YX0
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Subject or staff: Subject
Appearance: Alex is a blonde kid, only 5' 4" and is quite scrawny. He never smiles much and no one has heard his laugh in years. He has bright blue eyes and an unblemished appearance. However, his transformation into Loki changes his appeance completely. While his face remains somewhat the same, his hair becomes black with red streaks, his eyes turn red and his teeth look more menacing. He grows slightly but his muscles also grow.
Personality: Alex is timid, shy and for this he often gets bullied. He is not a coward, but just lacks bravery or courage. He never shows negative emotions, or if he does, they are very brief, for unleashing these emotions will unleash Loki, a loud, crude, rowd and obnoxious demon who has little regard for anyone or anything.
Power: His subconscious hides two others, one which has been unlocked. The subject's birth name is Alex, but the entity is nicknamed Treize for simplicity. One of his subconscious personalities is called Loki, who can be best described as anarchic and demonic. He has enhanced strength, speed, agility and is incredibly violent and unpredictable. Loki changes Alex's appearance and personality completely but is only triggered by anger, stress, hate or other negative emotions. The second subconscious personality has yet to be revealed.
History: Alex was a normal country boy who was picked on by his brothers and his school mates for his small stature and timidness. He longed to have a protector who would make the bad people go away and this is where Loki came in. Alex had learned from his bullies that hate, prejudice and pain were the only paths to power, and so Loki was all the negative emotions Alex had experienced personified. During his teenage years, Loki manifested himself and took over Alex's body. He started fires, killed bullies and wounded others. With vengeance sought, Alex took control again. He realised he must keep control of his emotions but knew he was now a wanted man. He went on the run, but has so far failed to control his emotions, allowing Loki to take control time and time again. He was tranquilised once at night by Ashford officials and taken to the Asylum.
Relations: No significant family to speak of
Other: Nope.

---

Alex

I was still under the effects of the drugs I was administered, although my consciousness and sight was returning. As I woke up, I discovered I was in a straitjacket of sorts. I could barely remember how I got here, but I knew before I had been brought here I was on the run. My surroundings were becoming more coherent. I was in a cell, and sat on a bed. I was deciding to make sense of the situation - somehow they had finally managed to subdue Loki, which is good for me, but now I'm being incarcerated for Loki's misdeeds. I decided not to struggle against my bonds - my emotions must remain under control and I needed to think straight. Just thinking about Loki's existence brought his demonic voice into my head.
You called?
Loki hissed in my head. I tried to focus my thoughts on seemingly random things, such as bicycles, ice cream, African tree lizards and wireless modems. To fill my head with nonsense would rid my mind of him.

Suddenly another voice came into my head.
Hello, new inmate.
I looked around. No one was in hear. I looked up to see if there was a tannoy but no. The voice spoke again.
Do not be alarmed. I am a telepath named Spectre. You are only the latest of several inmates they have recently brought here.
Okay, this guy was reading my thoughts. Thanks to Loki, I don't trust voices in my head, so I'll be cautious in case this is some kind of trick. I began thinking,
"Okay, so where am I? Jail?"
Much worse. You in some kind of experimental facility. You must possess some kind of power, or ability that sets you out from others.
"I have a curse, but I'd rather not talk about him."
Now, now Alex, is that anyway to talk about your best friend in the world?
What the...
"It's getting too crowded in here!" I yelled out loud and realised my speech began to become more demonic. I was losing control. I began breathing heavily and ran over to the sink, using my limited mobility to splash water in my face. I fell onto my bed and my face buried into my pillow, I began sobbing softly.

[Ghost]

My guys all lonely... :'-( lol j/k

John/Torch
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damn it was cold in this cell. So god damned cold. The guards had come in and sprayed the water on him, and instantly he felt immense pain. It hurt so much that it was almost unbearable. He felt as if his skin was melting away, every single piece of him was being ripped into two. He almost couldn't believe how much it was hurting. He thought he was invincible, could never be hurt, but here, they had sent him into a flurry of pain with a bucket of water.

Slowly, the pain started to melt away,but he could still feel the sting of water.God damned water. How could he of let this happen? How?

He slowly stood up and went over his small, perfectly white bed. He tried to wipe his hands off on the sheets, but the blood had already dried on his knuckles. He silently cursed to himself, and layed himself down on the bed. He tried to think of how he had got here, how they could have captured him. But then again, it was somewhat obvious. He had a weakness to water, so obviously all they had to o was spray him. Yet... If it was that easy , how come they hadn't stopped him earlier?

His thoughts were interrupted.

"Alright, Johnathan Cross," He heard the unlocking of his door, and the footsteps of two guards coming into his room.

"Time for another blood sample I suppose?" He said weakly, rolling off of the bed and on to the floor. He looked up at the two staff. Both were hugely bulked, and very tall, nearly 6'7'". These men were massive.

"No no no, you already got your blood tested today, didn't you?" He asked.

"Yes, I did. So what are you going to do to me now?" John asked sarcastically.

"We've got some tests to run," He said, and swiftly punched John in the face. He felt his fist connect with his cheek, nearly crushing his jaw, and sending his head flying the other way. He felt blood rush out and he spit it out. He felt dizzy as he stood back up and wiped the blood off his face, and then was quickly kicked hard in the scrotum with the guards steel toed boot. John quickly fell down to the floor, and spit out a bit more blood. He felt the two guards grab his arms and start to drag him out of his cell. He groaned as he was dragged across the floor. What were they going to do?

He slowly lost the power to stay awake and blacked out.

[Bulbasaur4]

Name: Some have nicked her, "Lost" but those who don't know her well just call her Zia.
Subject Number: ZIA04 (the workers often call her, "Zia" due to her number)
Age: Unknown: 13 - 16 ??
Gender: Female
Subject or staff: Subject
Appearance: She has a small and rather graceful build, although she looks a bit delicate at first glance. Her skin is milky pale and her eyes are a daunting almost light silver-like blue, reminding many of an 'icy' color. Her hair is thick and wavy, reaching about slightly past her neckline and being a rich white blonde in color with a few strawberry blonde streaks. Upon her body she wears simplistic and baggy black pants with silver-threaded hem work. These pants have a silky composition to them and often waver and flow swiftly with every movement that she makes. Upon her top she wears a tight, long-sleeved black top that hugs to her body and exposes her abdomen a bit. However, the black top has several cuts and rips in it so to look slightly slashed. She usually wears no shoes, but if she is forced to then they are mere flip-flops or sandals. Upon her neck is a silver collar that almost seems so tight that it never moves and often flexes against her muscles.
Personality: Zia or Lost is quite complicated. At times she is perfectly coherent and can seem extremely intelligent. Almost insanely intelligent... like she knows far too much for a girl of her age (or appearance of age). She can seem level-headed and is quite the listener and bringer of advice. Yet... she has another side as well. She, and often within a few days of meeting her or less, is insane to say the least. She can revert into an extremely childish mode in which she refers to herself in third person and clings onto things like a child. She often needs a great deal of support or comfort and if not given... she will cry and wail and throw a tantrum. She also states things that don't make sense or starts to sing in a rather eerie voice.
Weapon: N/A
Power: Emotional Energies (There is no true definition of her powers.) It seems that various amounts of unexplained things happen around her when her emotions change. They have been any where from smelling a faint aroma of lilacs when she is happy, to having light bulbs explode or metal bars bend slightly in rage or extreme anger. Because of this, they often keep an array of chemical depressants near her... although they must carefully monitor how much they give her because too much of it causes more ill affects.
History: Zia has no apparent history that anyone is familiar with. It seems that if she had a history... it was wiped out a long time ago. Zia has a bit of recollection of this past, although she usually never talks about it... and if she does, it usually comes with a huge wave of emotion. Her parents were in league with the Asylum, having worked there... but ironically enough, their own daughter showed signs of power. Unable to deal with the fact that their daughter was like that... they submitted her into their own sort of 'asylum'- in their basement. They didn't want her placed in the real asylum, but they were curious and wanted to know why their daughter was the way she was. Yet, their tests were horrific and certainly unparental-like... and eventually they viewed her as a mere tool or subject than as a daughter. One night however they pushed her too far... and her emotional outburst was so great that she managed to kill her parents. How? Well... eventually she'll reveal that, but for now that is top secret. ^_~ Needless to say, people found her... calls were made... and bam. She was put in the asylum.
Relations: Friends with Cross- two insane peas in a pod. Seraphim is like a mother to Lost, and often tries to control her emotions better like Seraphim does. She knows a lot of people and it is pretty hard not to know her… most likely because she occasionally makes a lot of noises. She seems to be creepy in the fact that she can communicate with Loki on some odd level.
Other: She has a phobia or extreme fear of the color pink.

[size=5]

ZIA04

[color=royalblue]
.: Lost | F :.


ZIA04 was slumped against a wall, lowering her head so that her beacon-like hair of whitish blonde hovered over her face. Her shoulders seemed to sag low as she let her hands simply sprawl themselves, palms up, upon the floor. Her knees were bent at odd angles and it almost seemed as if she had passed out or perhaps had died. However, the room she was in was brightly illuminated with brilliant pale lights and it caused her black, slightly torn pieces of clothing to stand out against her pale flesh and the room. The room itself was not your typical ‘asylum’ styled room. It was dank and wet… made out of cement and containing pipe covers everywhere. If it weren’t for the bright lights… it most likely would have seemed like the most depressing cell that one would have imagined.
“Zia dear… stop pretending.” A cold voice seemed to stretch upon the air, filled with nothing but a sickly sarcastic means. The man stood tall and broad shouldered with thick black hair and a vulture-like profile. His beady eyes stared at Zia like a hungry wolf, a smirk plastered upon his face while he seemed to wait. Next to him were two other men, both of them armed with some sort of weapon and they seemed a bit anxious.
“Sir, she is usually drugged. This is a typical reaction of-“
“No.” The man retorted. “She was not drugged this morning on my orders. I wanted to see if she wanted to be a good girl.” The man lowered himself to the floor although he kept a good distance away from Zia.
“Zia dear… are you going to be a good girl for daddy?”

Suddenly, Zia’s head jerked upwards and snapped back so violently that it caused the two men to jump back. Two white-blue eyes seemed to shoot venom with her glare, staring straight from beneath a few loose hair strands. Suddenly Zia shot upwards, standing upon two of her feet and she assumed a normal human stance. She was not very tall… but some thing about her was eerie- some thing that surrounded her always seemed to demand a certain amount of respect… or perhaps fear. The men swiftly pointed their guns at her but the man stood up and shook his head.
“Do not shoot.” He then took a step towards Zia, smirking still. Reaching out he touched her face, tilting her chin upwards so that he could look into her fierce glaring eyes. “So Zia, are you going to be a good girl? Are you going to work for daddy?”
Zia did not answer, instead she remained silent but she continued to stare at him. She did not blink nor did she move… she just continued to stare that same fierce glare. This perturbed the man and he frowned, suddenly withdrawing his hand and slapping the girl across the face.
“Zia, I spoke to you! Speak for daddy!”
Zia did not speak.
Another slap.
“Speak! Daddy com-”

Suddenly one of the lights began to flicker with a strange and uneven hum. Zia began to breath deeply as her chest rose and fell more audibly as she suddenly looked down and away from the man. Her fists clenched as she spoke- her voice cool and yet containing an eerie childish rebellion.
“You are not my daddy.”
“I am your new dad.”
More lights began to flicker as she clenched her fists more, scrunching her eyes closed.
“I have no daddy!”
“Zia, yes you do. I am you father and you will work-“
“I HAVE NO DADDY!”

Suddenly the other two men gave a shout as the lights above exploded in a brilliant display of glass, plastic and wires. The whole room seemed to shake slightly as the pipes began to tremble. One particularly large pipe began to groan loudly as the screws began to loosen and swirl outwards. A few smaller pipes began to bend and pop as steam seemed to hiss, and the man who had slapped Zia turned to the other two men.
“Okay… hit her with the depressant.”
Nodding, they rose their guns and one of them fired upon her. Zia bit her lip absently as she felt the needle pluck into her stomach, but her eyes remained open as she continued to clench her fists as tears of rage dripped down her face. The large pipe had lost a few screws and now was starting to enlarge, until suddenly it burst right above one of the two men with the guns. Boiling hot water and steam fell upon his body and he screamed in agony- dropping his gun and screaming still. Sizzling sounds entered the air as the other man moved away and yelled in horror and fright. Swiftly loading his gun, he fired upon Zia again but this time the dart was filled with anesthetic. Zia felt a soft prickling upon her chest and she gave a little cry before slowly dropping to the floor after a few seconds. They gave no care as to how much was loaded in the particular anesthetic dart.

The room however had been done in for the time being. The lights were gone, the room was dark and the only light was the light from the open door. “Always keep doors open with Zia”- that was a highly recommended move when transporting her. The man who had called himself ‘daddy’ shook his head and calmly walked out of the room.
“Take her back.”
“Sir… what about him?” The man shakily said, almost unbelieving that he did not seem to care about his boiled partner.
“I said take her back. Leave him.”
Slowly but baffled, he nodded. Walking to the girl he warily picked up her unconscious body, throwing Zia over his shoulder. He slowly walked past the crumpled and crying man… although his breaths and sobs were slowly becoming slower and his body was entirely mutilated by burns. Refusing to look, the man continued to walk.


Slowly, the man walked through the long corridor filled with cells. He went by many familiar cells… ones that he knew the names to those whom they belonged. It was eerie… and although he knew that most perhaps could not see him, he felt that most could. He felt that they all knew he was there… and that he held Zia. Perhaps they had heard the yells and screams? Or perhaps… there was another factor… some thing one couldn’t place.
Gulping back his fear, he neared Zia’s cell and he opened it and swiftly plopped her upon the floor. Zia looked so innocent now… and perhaps a bit sad in her crumpled, knocked out position. Still, after the horrific scene… the man had a hard time believing any innocence. He swiftly shut the door and then practically ran out of the corridor, shutting the door behind him.



[ woot ]

[Dr.McNinja]

Arsenal

Arsenal stood quietly at the end of the row of cells, leaning against one of the sterile metal walls that seemed so fitting in such a horrible place. He didn't want to be here anymore, he didn't want to see the sights that he was forced to watch each and every day. He didn't want to go off in pursuit of escaped subjects....he didn't want to kill any more innocent kids. But he kept doing it...because what they were studying here was for the benefit of all humanity.

Is it?

Arsenal's head snapped up from the resting position it had fallen in, a suspicious eye flitting towards Ares who seemed to shrug slightly.

So they aren't part of that humanity eh?

Standing erect so quickly that the hood of his cloak fell sullenly from his head, Arsenal's eyes narrowed, "I don't like my mind being invaded Spectre."

Oh no, this isn't Spectre...this is something far more personal. Something you haven't listened too for a long time...

The sound of footsteps again echoed across the hall. The girl he had been talking to was being escorted by one of the staff members, a certain Dr. Weslian who was known for his...unique...tests. They were quickly approaching him, the girl...Seraphim was what the others called her...obviously drugged up enough so she wasn't resisting.

Think for a second nimrod, if they finally break the code that makes these people like they are, who's going to benefit? The military, the ones with the guns. You want your little bro to be sprouting tentacles so he can fly better? You want them to do to him what they did to you with machines?

"....no."

Great, now you figure out what you really feel. Jesus Christ, why do I even stick around? Now listen up, these guys -can- do something good for the world, but not the way they're doing it. You'd best find a way to change what you're helping them do around here.


"helped them do.............dammit."

Yeah, nice to know you're catching on. Hey, you want to start by making sure this guy doesn't kill that girl accidently?

An arm raised, a finger pointed. There was a sharp whirring as a small port on the tip of the finger opened, followed by the subtle tugging as the nanorazor wire began to spool out. As the good Doctor and his ward neared the sullen guard, Arsenal subtly flicked his finger laterally. Without warning the Doctor stopped, a stunned look on his face. Seraphim, drugged into compliance, couldn't stop before running into the man's back. Before comprehension could strike, a strong arm grabbed her own and tugged her back down the lane of cells until she found herself back in her cell once again. A soft voice spoke to her, "You were never taken from your cell, the Doctor never came. Remember that when you wake up...and don't think I'm helping you escape, you try and I'll stop you as quick as I stopped him."

Far down the hallway, a faint halo of red appeared around the Doctor's neck, a horrible squishing noise announcing the falling of his head to the ground. Arsenal turned and looked, he'd need to clean that up before moving on.

Well......you didn't -have- to kill him....but it guess that works. Might want to restrain yourself in the future somewhat....kinda still need their help

Arsenal muttered, much to Ares' confusion. The cat didn't like it when his master became so confusing. Arsenal didn't like it when his conscious gave him such an attitude.

[Darkmaster Kagemusha]

Name: Dr. Emma Lathe
Subject Number: N/A
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Subject or staff: Staff
Appearance: Emma stands at approximately 5'8" tall, and is relatively thin, but not nearly so much as to look like a model. She does have a gently curving figure, brought out, somewhat, by the waist-hugging t-shirts she likes to wear, though she always wears baggy cargo pants.. Her shoulder length dark brown hair has an unnatural patch of white just to the right of the part in her hair, near her hairline, that grows out into a streak that she gave up trying to dye years ago. She keeps her bangs grown out and because she wears her hair parted, her bright green eyes and elegant face are easily seen. She is not beautiful in the way most people would see, but she is still fairly attractive, despite the wavy scar across her left cheek.
Personality: She tends to be caring and motherly, but to those she dislikes she is quite cold toward unless it is in the interest of her job to act otherwise.
Weapon: Steyr M-40: http://world.guns.ru/handguns/steyr_m-1a_1.jpg
Power: N/A
History: Emma grew up with no mother and a drunken father, so she preferred to spend most of her time locked up in her room studying and reading. She did very well in school, but ran into trouble at home, especially the night she came home late because she'd been invited to study with some of her friends. Her father threw a fit about her being disrespectful, and he cut a long, wavy line across her left cheek with his pocket knife, saying that if she ever did something like that again, he'd make her mouth open at the ears. At that point in her life, she still had high school to get through, so she did as she was told and graduated valedictorian, and with a full scholarship, which she used to earn a degree in psychology, and worked her way through school to a doctorate before she was hired on at Ashford as the Head Psychologist and Counsellor.
Relations: She tries to be friendly with everyone, and enjoys spending time with Shan, though she doesn't like subject KJ666, "Blinky"
Other: N/A

Dr. Emma Lathe
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sighed as I left my office. The entire facility was dreary and dismal, but for some reason, my office seemed the worst. Maybe it was because I was forced to spend so much time in it, or that I had to deal with so many irritating staff members, or perhaps it was the fact that they had given me a lab coat, which I used to decorate the coat rack by the door. Why would you give a lab coat to a psychologist? I could never figure it out, nor could I figure out what on earth these people were trying to accomplish by locking up anyone who wasn't normal. It seemed sick, and that's not even including the beatings and painful experiments. I knew Shan was a drug addict, which made the experiments all the worse for him, because he needed the drugs to stay sane, but his dependency was becoming quite alarming. That, in fact, was what I left my office to do--to talk to Shan. I had to do my weekly evaluations soon anyway, and it would give me a chance to unwind before getting into my full-swing psychological mindset to deal with people like Cross and Lost, and the mental strength to deal with those like Spectre and Poltergeist. Shan was not only someone I enjoyed talking to--which is rare, especially when it comes to men--but he gets me warmed up for the rest of the crew--subjects and pets, as many of the scientists called them. I quite disliked the way Ashford was run, but it wasn't time yet for my little coup, since I preferred cunning over violence. I would have to bide my time, but in the meantime, I had arrived at the door of Shan's cell, not even realizing I had travelled so far, and knocked on the bars. I preferred to be polite, even in such circumstances. "Shan, dear," I said gently, "are you available?" I realized that he was likely heavily drugged, but I was hoping he would be coherent enough to speak with me. A short time had passed in silence, and I was beginning to worry, but he finally answered.

"Come on in, Doctor. You have the key, afterall..." he said. His voice seemed a bit drawn and sad, but with the hard edge of anger that let me know that he was most definitely not in the best of moods. That was alright, I suppose, though it would not be the best time to deal with his addiction. It would be much more interesting and valuable to find out what he was thinking, and perhaps what the others were thinking, if he knew. I felt bad about asking him about the others because I didn't want to violate their trust, but in the same respect, I hold doctor/patient confidentiality over the heads of my superiors so as to keep any plots and thoughts of violence out of the ears of those who would do harm to them. I opened the door to Shan's cell and stepped inside. A guard nearby made a move to supervise me--obviously a new guy--but I waved him off and showed him my badge.

"So," I said softly, sitting down on the edge of Shan's cot. "what's on your mind?"

[Ghost]

John/Torch
~~~~~~~~~~

Slowly, things were starting to come back to John. After taking a small beating from that security guard, he was just starting to stir. He could finally feel on his back the cold steel floor, see the harsh light coming into his eyes, feel the hot temperature in the room... He slowly started to rise to his feet, still spinning from the beating he took earlier.

"Ah, Mr.Cross, it seems that you have finally awoken..." A metallic voice came from nowhere. John looked around the room, but all he could see was the cold steel walls. There was nothing... Just a small steel room. "As you may of been informed earlier, we want to do some tests on you. You see.. We want to see how far it takes to...Start you up. So for this job, we brought in one of our bulkiest stafff, Ryan Wright.

From behind him, he heard the hiss of pure oxygen leaving the room, and a man stepping into the room. The same man who had caused him to faint. His grey piercing eyes stared at him, and he gave him a devlish smile, cracking his knuckles.

"We have told this man he can do whatever he wants to you... As long as he doesn't kill you. But one missing subject wouldn't hurt us, now would it?" The voice said.

"Well well well, time for me to beat the hell outta you. I'm going to enjoy this." He smirked, and walked over to him. In defense, Torch swung his fist, connecting with the guards head. His head snapped backwards, and when it turned back around, a small flow of blood was going down his chin. "Your going to regret that bitch," He said, and swung back at Torch. He connected with his face, sending him a few feet back. The guard shoved him back against the wall, and swung again, hitting him in the stomach. He pounded him five more times, before whipping him to the other sided of the room. Torch could feel the taste of blood in his mouth.

"How does it feel, you stupid son of-" He was cut off as Torch kicked him in the stomach, sending him back a bit. Torch slowly got back to his feet, but was kicked back into the wall with a ferocious kick to the stomach.

John felt nearly no pain as the guard beat on him in the corner. He felt his temper rising though. His blood was boiling, he felt as if he wanted to rip the guard in half. A fresh stream of blood was running down his black t-shirt. He slowly felt his skin start to boil. The guard stopped for a minute to take a rest, walking back and wiping the blood from his fists on his shirt.

Turning around, the guard noticed something wrong about him. He seemed ore different, and he slowly walked up to him. He looked straight into his eyes, and finally noticing it, he started to slowly back up.

His eyes were dark red. Something was wrong. He had to get out-

Torch suddenly lit on fire, his whole body lit on flames. His piercing red eyes stared at him, with only one word written on them: Death.

Nearly five minutes later, all that remained of Ryan Wright was a charred corpse. Torch had never felt so much power in his life. If he wanted to, he could break out of this god damned asylum right now.

But his party was ruined. Nearly ten guards rushed into the room, all armed with fire extingusher and buckets and buckets of ice cold water. He felt the burn as he was extingushed, once again he felt as if his skin was melting off. He took one last look at the charred body, and feel to blackness.
---------

Waking up again, he finally sat back at home, in his small cell. The bloodied wall was there, the small cot, the sink which he would never use, the concrete floor... He went over to his corner and curled up, thinking of all of the gruesome deaths he had given.

[Crystal Tears]

+Cross+
[font=Arial Narrow]
Anger, she was angry now. Her face became one of pouting and she stepped away from the staff member. She was fuming; she didn't want to leave, or maybe she did. But not without her family, how dare he try to take her away from them.

She laughed, looking at him. "I don't even know you." Continuing to giggle, she let her legs give out so she land on the floor near the back of the cell. "You can't take me away with bringing my wings along." She pointed to the cell next to hers, and then to the Angels cell.

Turning away from everyone she faced the corner, running her two fingers gently down her own wrist as she tried to get some grasp on reality. She cringed, laughing softly to herself as things began entering her mind, memories of people, their names, her friends, and her family...

Glancing back at the staff member, Cross-raised an eyebrow. "Ryoss..." She then looked over at her older sister. "Cameron..." Finally, her eyes settle on the wall separating her from her other sister. "Lost..." Other names floated into her mind as well. Like Reed, she remembered him, wasn't his cell close by? She glanced around her small little world... She couldn't remember.

Then Sakura popped into her mind, which was the name he had called her. Crossn laughed in such a way she could've run shivers down the coldest mans spine. She scampered over to her bed, and lay there, facing towards the wall.

"Sakura is dead." She huffed, angered by the thought of even being called that. "She died along with her daddy, only Cross now." A cruel giggle emitted from her mouth as she touched the cell wall. "I don't know Ryoss, maybe Sakura did."

Who was she talking to? Her own mind doubted that he was even there, she wanted to be with her sisters, light hearted and free, forgetting how insane she was for a moment of peace in her mind. Cross flipped around on her bed, closing her eyes for a moment. Before opening them up to see Ryoss again.
A sick smile grew on her face as she stood up, hands placed behind her back, she walked over to the man, eyes tinkling with deception.

"You want to help me escape...?" Cross question, seeing the nervousness in Ryoss's face. She gently placed her hand behind his head, resting it upon his neck. "Then get me my wings..." She took his hand, surprisingly soft for someone like him, as he looked... Unforgiving. Lightly brushing his index over her shoulder. He could feel it, the chip that bound her into insanity.

"They said you couldn't change willingly..."

Cross's lower lip quivered, eyes twitching she locked her gaze with Ryoss's, she felt her eyes change. No doubt they were white, just plain out white. With this aura of godliness around them, she stared at Ryoss.

"You want to play..." She threatened, not even thinking of what she was doing, her hand had made its way around to the front of his neck, and then she grasped. Easily lifting him off of his feet. "Then play... Say you care about me... He... But you only want a good fuck. I swear to whatever figure you pray to at night you come near her.. Me, and I'll kill you faster then a rabid dog tears apart a rabbit."

A sharp pain in her back made Cross dropped the staff member, turning around enraged she saw a figure. Unsure of whom it was, she blindly attacked, only to be hit quickly, and easily in her stomach. The white eyed girl collapsed onto the floor, gripping her aching torso.

"You know better then to taunt the psychotic ones." The man joked, she realized the voice, it was that man, one of the staff member's friends, cruel, just like him... Playing games with her mind, but never letting her win, not once.

"You didn't have to-"

Cross whimpered, her mind once again becoming jumbled with thoughts, but the pain still remained, and even as the cell door closed, so did the memory. She soon burst into tears, covering her head as she whipped the blanket off of the highly uncomfortable bed, and snuggled into her corner.

"Come on Ryoss. We've got rounds to do..."

A heavy sigh emitted from the tricky one, she snarled, glancing across the hallway to see the angel slumped, after the man with the kitten had put her there. She smiled; carefully scooting over to her bars, she looked at her sister.

"Sister! Sister!" Cross whispered, giggling as her sister seemed a bit out of it. "Sister! You look a bit sick." she found this hilarious, covering her mouth to drown her laughing. "Remember to smile! World always gets lighter when you smile!"

Hearing voices, and footsteps, Cross scurried back to her corner, trembling as she wrapped the blanket around her again. Her mind attempted to focus on something, ANYTHING to make her world a bit saner.

Sadly... It wasn't working...

[Ace64]

Jack "Walker"
----------------------

The water was cool, and he sipped it slowly in the dark, like a child nursing a bottle. Perhaps he was reverting back to his youth in order to cope with such a strange situation. Dimly, he wondered if sucking his thumb would improve his outlook on things.

The water had a secondary effect- it woke up his stomach, which suddenly seemed- incredibly- empty.He knew he had ate before he had went to sleep, but he didn't really know how long he had been out. Damn.

Just as he was placing the half-empty water skin beneath his mattress, a voice spoke, scaring the shit out of him. Not outward, but inward.

A new inmate, hmm?

"Who's there?" he whispered hoarsely into the darkness. First darkness and guards, now voices in his head? It was too much. He could hear the nervous tremble in his normally tranquil tone.

Relax, I’m speaking to you through telepathy. I’m in the cell on the end, you may have seen it.

Telepathy? Just what kind of place is this?

You’re at Ashford Asylum. In other words, the middle of nowhere! And in case you’re wondering what you’re doing here, well, obviously, you’re not exactly ‘normal’. You’ve got some ‘unnatural’ ability and the ‘good people’ here have found out.

I’m afraid I’ve gotta cut this little talk short. They’ll be coming soon. If you want to learn anything else, me, Scarecrow and Nosferatu have all the answers.

And then the voice is gone. At least, he thinks so. It's kind of hard to tell when a disembodied voice is 'done.' Maybe it could close a door or announce its presence, maybe a ring a non-existent doorbell...
Lord, I'm rambling. But it was to be expected, wasn't it? What if the voice was never there at all, but merely a figment of his imagination?

"No way," Jack muttered, grinning ruefully to himself. Even his subconscious would never have created such stupid names as Nosferatu and Scarecrow. That was kid stuff. But the alternative meant...

For the second time, he wondered just what kind of place this Asylum was. He wasn't insane, was he? Do madmen ponder their madness? Do they ever stop and think, "Hey, maybe the man in front of isn't really there? Maybe the looks on their faces aren't jealousy, but bewilderment?"

The door opened again, blinding him and saving him from another trip down Ramble Road. A burly looking man walked in, holding a baton and wearing no expression at all. "Walker? Let's take a walk."

His tone indicated that he wasn't looking for trouble, and the baton indicated that he was more than ready to handle it if it should come. His stomach prevented him from doing much fighting,anyway. "Fine."

The guard took the blindfold from the ground. It was black, and oddly shiny along the edges. "Blindfold first."

Jack sighed. Wonderful.

[Drusilla]

Poltergeist
I knew that life wouldn't be the same after that fateful day...

"Hey, the names aren't really that stupid... are they?" I asked Walker.

"Poltergeist, sei ruhig, bitte!" Spectre repremanded me. OK, so I was nosey, big deal.

"Sorry, kiddo... going back to my corner, boss..."

I was back in my cell, bored as always... why didn't they have crossword books or newspapers or something for us?

"Heute ist sehr langweilig, mein Freund..." I grumbled to Spectre. He was faintly amused, but didn't respond. Mentally, I shrugged. No one was being any fun today...

Someone was coming down the corridor. I walked over to the door and rattled it a bit. "Oi, stewardess, can I have a newspaper?" I asked rather loudly.


Translations, auf Englisch

Sei ruhig, bitte- Be quiet, please.

Heute is sehr langweilig, mein Freund- Today is very boring, my friend.

(Just for fun) Alle meine Socken sind voll mit Kaese- All of my socks are full of cheese.

[Shizo]

Shan Shayna
****************
There was knocking at the cell door. Someone was striking the bars, allowing them to ring. Then a voice called through those same bars. "Shan, dear, are you available?"

It had been a few hours since his 'treatment,' but Shan was still fairly out of it. The dosage of drug they gave him was far more than he ever got at his previous home, to use the term loosely. It was necessary, of course, considering whom he lived in close proximity with: several insane, unstable, or rightly enraged inmates and sadistic members of the staff who made them that way. Still, it took him several moments to connect the knocking, the request, and the voice's owner.

"Come on in, Doctor. You have the key, after all..." He said, reaching down to pick up and put on his discarded shirt. He couldn't remember why he took it off in the first place. Maybe he had been hot? He got his shirt over his head just as Dr. Lathe walked in and shut the cell door behind her. She looked up and gave a small smile that stretched the scar on her left cheek. Shan gave a sideways grin back. He knew that her smile was sincere, though he couldn't sense it. It was one of the reasons he enjoyed talking to her: she meant the emotions she showed, at least for him. Of course, he only knew this from the times they spoke when he was clean, which he certainly wasn't now. He moved over so she could sit on his cot.

"So," She said in a quiet tone as she sat down, "what's on your mind?"

Shan shrugged, putting on a carefree expression. "Nothin' much at the moment, to tell you the truth. That one guy...Ryoss? That guy gave me my meds today, I think. Not that I trust my memory right now, mind you." His voice came out as a sort of slow drawl, with longer than usual pauses between sentences.

Her green eyes glanced slightly to the side before centering on Shan again. "I'm not looking to talk about your drugs today, Shan. We don't need to. I was hoping to just talk, find out what you're thinking."

"Yeah, well...I can't really think of much else to talk about, to tell the truth." He shifted his legs so he was sitting cross-legged on the cot. "If you haven't noticed, this place is pretty boring inbetween tests. The food certainly isn't that great, not that I was eatin' well before." She needed no clarification on what was meant by 'before.' 'Before' meant "after leaving home and prior to coming here," the little period of Shan's life he considered his own. "And not many of the other people stuck in here talk with me. I can't really tell, but I don't think they like me that much."

"Why?" Dr. Lathe asked simply. In Shan's opinion, she was a good psychologist. She allowed him to rant without inserting her own opinion prematurely. She just prompted at certain intervals.

"If you haven't noticed," Shan said, standing up to slowly pace the short length of his cell, "I'm a bit more compliant than the others, and the staff leaves me alone, for the most part. I'm suspecting that last one is 'cause it's not a lot of fun tryin' to harass me when I'm high, not to mention they can't get a good excuse as to why they're doing it. Still, I think the others see that and kinda misinterpret the scenario. Like I said, this is just opinion. I've never been around them sober so I can't really tell, but I worry that they think I'm too close to the staff, no offense. Like, maybe they're worried about sharing things with me 'cause they're worried about me passin' it along, like I was..."

"Another Siege," She finished, flicking a bit of white hair that had fallen from that odd streak out of her eye.

Shan nodded. "Yeah. I mean, I'm not, not that I need to tell you but...I worry about it sometimes." Shan gave a weak laugh. "Y'know, I never worried about that stuff before in my life. Even before, I didn't keep myself as drugged up as you people do. Not 'you' as in you, just 'you' in general. I could use my powers a bit, just not more than 'What's the general feeling of the guy in front of me?'"

Dr. Lathe tapped her pencil on the clipboard, which remained blank. She hadn't written a thing down so far. "Should I recommend the dose be lowered?" she asked.

"Hell no," Shan said. "As loco as my friends before were, that nothing compared to-" He shuddered involuntarily, his stomach lurching as if he had missed a step in the dark. "-the psychos in here. That's the big issue. I need all those drugs."

"What was that?" Dr. Lathe asked, focusing sharply on Shan.

"What?" Shan asked, stopping to think a moment. "Oh? The shaking? That's nothing, don't worry about it."

"You've done it before," Dr. Lathe said. "Why?"

"...It's nothin'," Shan said, no longer focusing on enunciating his words. "I do it a lot, an' it doesn't hurt me or anythin' and..." He refused to look her in the eye.

"Shan," Dr. Lathe said with concern, "I really do want to know. You might not think I can tell, but it does bother you immensely. I've gotten to know you too well for you to hide it easily." She smiled. "You don't need to be an empath to be empathetic."

Shan scuffed a foot against the cement floor, either thinking whether to speak or translating his thoughts into words. He sighed. "Um...don't tell anyone?" he asked more than said.

"I swear I won't," she said.

Shan was satisfied with that. "Well, um...I can still sense some things right now...Y’know, emotions…"

"As intoxicated as you are?" She cut in with disbelief.

"Yeah, but it's only really strong stuff," Shan quickly amended, or as quickly as he could. "Most everythin' else, like how Cross was actin' earlier? I'm numb to that. But...um...basically the shakin’ means..." Shan trailed off, staring at the wall. Dr. Lathe waited for him to find the correct words. "Basically it means somebody was killed."

Dr. Lathe was quiet for a moment. "Killed?"

"Well, murdered, really...I think. Or someone killed themselves. I'm kinda sensitive to murders and suicides." Shan shrugged. "Dunno why."

"You can tell if..." Dr. Lathe let her sentence fade.

"Yeah. I mean, it doesn't happ’n often. I can't feel every death, just the delib'rate ones." Shan looked back at the psychologist. "Like I said. Don't tell anyone?"

[Captn_BooZe]

Sign-up form
Name: Bowza "Blinky"
Subject No.: KJ 666
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Subject or Staff: Subject
Appearance: Stands about 4'3" with a small build. His hair is a smooth jet black, his eyes glow a milky white and his lips are tinted with a light shade of blue. He wears ragged leather gloves with the fingers cut off. Around his waist is a leather belt with numerous pockets for storing items. He wears long pants with lots of pockets.
Personality: Bowza is a very boisterous character, yells and screams at whoever he wants and will always put his 2 cents into a conversation. If he has something to say , he will say it . If someone has is talkin behind his back about him and they wont say anything to him he will confront them, if they don't tell him whats matter he will get pissed off. Bowza has a very short fuse and can often blow steam.
Weapon: N/A
Ability: Teleportation - can teleport himself and 3 others only a distance of 50m.
History: Bowza was formally a thief before he was caught and transferred to Ashfords. He was renowned for his thieving abilities and hired for many heists around the globe.
Relationships: Good friends with "Ghost"
Other:

BOWZA "Blinky"
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

................. I awoke and there i am alone sittin there on this bed, a small cell, i thought it was a jail cell so i decided id just teleporte out, " Here it goes" ........... "What the", a small braclet was around my rist it read, " Anti-teleportin braclet for subject KJ 666"

"Dammit," i thought to myself. i stared around a toilet and a cot. Thats great a 1 star. I'm the best robber in the world i deserve better than this a crappy toilet and a small bed. My tummy rumbled, I yelled outta my cell, "Oi, when we gonna get some food."

A small voice from down the hall said, " When you get tested".

"What the hell", i screamed.

Then a voice came into my head a started to explain everything.

"Ohhhhhhh", i thought to myself.

I sat on my huge cot and just laid back and thought, what would they test me form, im just a simple everyday person that has some hidden power that i can just go flick flick and i can be in and out of a bank so what. I got up walked to the wall and started to bang my head against the wall, harder and harder i hit not thinking about the pain and the gussing blood from my head, i lay down lossing blood every sec. O well at least i will be out of this hell hole. A guard walked by looked into my cell and yelled, " This one's tryin to suicide, someone help". he opened my cell and picked my up, before i blanked out i looked in the cell beside me a a small man sobbering on his bed........

[Samchu]

HEH, realised I hadn't put in Ryoss' sign-up. My bad.

Name: Ryoss Arc
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Subject or staff: Staff
Appearance: About 6'4 in height, Ryoss is relatively thin in comparison to some of the other staff but he is quick and agile, thus the reason why he was hired in the first place. He's upper body is broad and he has a lot of upper arm strength though not so much lower arm. He wears a lot of black, as part of his work can involve him doing things he his less than proud of and blood is hell to get off light colours. Ryoss has spikey blonde hair which is cut short because his bosses ordered it and stormy grey eyes. He has scars on his face and neck as well as his chest but is still considered very attractive.
Personality: Ryoss is really a nice guy and he resents the job he has to do, unfortunately for him its the only position he can get that provides him with enough money. He dislikes the way patients in the asylum are treated and hopes that someday his position within it can be used to make their lives a little better somehow. He tends to sneak things in to them whilst he's on patrol as he is given access to all the 'cells' in order to inspect the patients. Although his preference of Cross is well known, the reason is kept secret.
Weapon: He only gets a baton, he's not good with guns.
History: Raised by his mother his whole life, he took the job when she got sick because nothing else paid enough for him to cover her medical bills. He resents how people are treated and hopes to one day change it.
Relations: He is secretly involved with Cross. He is one of the very few people so actually witness her sane and it has drawn him to her ever since. Despite that the relationship is two-way, Cross' mental state often complicates things between them and he usually ends up on the bad end. because of his closeness to Cross he is also on somewhat good terms with her friend Zia (Lost).
Other: nope

Ryoss
~~~~~

I sighed as I rubbed the front of my neck thoughtfully. I would have to get everyone out if I wanted her to come with me wouldn’t I? Lost…Cameron…they wouldn’t be enough would they? But how was I meant to get them out? One I could probably manage but I’m looking at at least three. How am I supposed to handle that?

“You’re lucky I showed up when I did. She might have killed you.”

“She wouldn’t have killed me,” I replied thickly, “and you didn’t have to hurt her.”

He grabbed the collar of my shirt, pulling my face close to his. “Listen here brat-boy, we’re here to make sure they don’t get out and that’s it. I don’t know what you think you’re gonna accomplish with that fucked up little animal but it ent gonna happen.” He released his grip on my shirt. “Watch yourself boy,” he growled as he stormed off.

Looking back at Cross’ cell I sighed again. “She only thinks I want to hurt her…How will I ever prove otherwise to her?” I paced the hall, thinking deeply. She wanted that chip out right? Well I could that but…they’d know it was me and I couldn’t jeopardise my position here – not without ensuring that everyone was gonna get out safely. I knocked my head against the wall and sighed. “I’m so screwed…”

Defeated, I knew it was time for me to retreat back to my unholy tasks. I had to do rounds again now that the drug run had been ‘completed’. God it was so depressing. Visit each cell in turn and check the…how had doctors put it?…condition of the subject. I shuddered. They didn’t have a clue, didn’t know how hard it was to live with pain and torment. I looked down at my arm. I knew…

"Oi, stewardess, can I have a newspaper?”

I looked up, grinning to myself slightly. Insanity managed to breed some of the world’s more…interesting…characters it seemed and she was certainly no exception to this. I pulled my ring of keys from my belt and unlocked the door before pushing my way inside.

“Bored poltergeist?” I asked calmly. It wasn’t intended to be taunting in anyway, I hated the jerk-offs that did that.

“…yes.”

I unbuttoned the top button of my shirt and reached into my inside pocket. “Newspaper right?” I grabbed the folder sheets of paper and tossed them to her. “Don’t let no one see it.”

She frowned, gripping the paper uneasily in her hands. “What do you want Ryoss?”

I shrugged. “Rounds are boring and we haven’t talked in a while.”

“I have nothing to say to the likes of you.”

“Well isn’t that nice. I’d forgotten about that sparkling personality of yours.”

We stared at each other silently. “What happened to your arm?”

“Someone tried to eat it this morning,” I replied honestly, cringing at the memory.

“Cross?”

“She wishes.”

“Probably.”

I smirked. “You still talking to Spectre?”

“Perhaps. Why do you want to know?”

“He usually has good ideas on how to escape…”

“I haven’t heard anything,” she told me sternly.

“Didn’t think so. Shame. Well I’ll be going off then, unless you’ll be wanting anything else to go with that paper of yours?”

[Mystic_clown]

Spectre
----------------------------------------------
The telepathic felt like throwing up. After the experiment, those bastard scientists drugged him to prevent him from going psychic on their asses. The drug was supposed to cause pain whenever he used his mind beyond normal limits, such as using his powers.

However, the drug was to strong. His head hurt whenever he did ANYTHING involving his brain, whether it be thinking or even moving. The gray haired teen was now lying on his back in his cell, trying to stop himself from throwing up.

He hated this place. Even though he was normally calm with this place, he hated this place with a passion. It was the drugs that were preventing him from using his mind to wrip the door off its hinges and beating people to death with it.

Then there was him. The one responsible for him being here. The one who turned his life into a living hell. The very thought of him made him snarl with rage. He swore that the first thing he did when he got out of this cell, was to make him suffer as much as he made him.

But that's if his plan worked. Although he was still working on it, he had the first part worked out.

Hopefully it would work...

It had to work...

He could hear the sounds of footsteps. They were coming again.

Time for lunch...if one can call it that...

[Crazy Elf Boy]

----------------------------------
Ghost
----------------------------------

I woke up in a daze, sweat was dripping down my face. Was it all a dream, did they really betray me. I looked around they cell only to see the cat carrier with the door pryed open. A million questions rushed through my head, did I open the cage? If not who did? Why did they betray me?. I lifted my self off the bed, I felt a sharp rush of pain in my left shoulder. I tilted my head towards it there was a scar across it, what was the scar from.

An unfamiliar sound caught my attention, it was emnating from my scar.

Oh No I thought to myself, No they didn't. I forced the new scar open only to find a small microchipembedded into my skin. Damnit they put a tracer on me, I knew this day would come. I slouched back onto my bed, a slight flow of blood trickled onto the sheets.

From the cell across from mine I heard a strange noise, I walked to the front of my cell only to see Spectre sitting in his cell vomiting. Poor guy what did they do to him this time, drug overdose, bad food, what ever it was he was in really bad shape.

A flurry of footsteps was heard as the guards brang out the questionable piles of goo that they called food. They came to each cell and placed it through a slot, I walked over and collected mine. I brang the plate back to the bed,I sat down and put the plate down beside me and picked up a piece of meat. I took a bite of the meat and laid back.

Once again I was alone, I was always alone....................

[Bulbasaur4]

[font=impact][size=4]ZIA04

.: Lost | F :.

[color=royalblue]The unconcious veil that had overswept Lost's eyes slowly began to fade away, creating senses again that she could feel. Slowly her eyes quivered and then she opened their brilliant white-blue orbs, seeing the floor upon a side profile. She slowly felt her chest breath outwards as she felt the cold cement floor against her face and against her hands and feet. She was in a laying position upon the floor... her face against it, and she couldn't remember why she was in this position.
Slowly she rose upwards, pushing herself into a sitting position as she glanced about her cell. It was normal looking... with nothing but a small and tainted bed. She was given nothing else... nothing else that she could perhaps use in an emotional rage. Lost rose up onto her feet and slowly she walked towards her door. Placing her hands upon the door, she peered through the one small slit-like window that was within her door. She could faintly see the hallway outside... see more doors belonging to more patients.

"Where did I go?" Lost said softly, closing her eyes and trying to remember. As she did this though, she turned her head towards one of the walls upon her right. She could hear crying... and some muffled noises of dispair. Frowning slightly, she began to feel sad for whoever it was upon her right. She slowly walked towards the wall and placed her hands upon it, pressing her face against the wall.
"Little voices shant be sad... the rain can only pour when there is no shine." She said to the wall.
"Little birds like to sing, and oh shall I be a bird? A pretty little birdie with lovely wings of ebony that shall form a flock with thee and bring thy freedom! Mine eyes can see the blazing light that drizzles from the blanket of melonchaly that drapes over us all. The blazing light! The blazing light! Fly birdies fly!"

Lost then emitted a soft giggle-like smile, although she was not as prone to giggling as Cross was. She simply then smiled, but her smile was cut off as she jerked her head towards the door. Slowly it opened, and a man whom she did not recognize swiftly threw a box into the room and then shut the door violently. Tilting her head to the side, Lost walked to the box and simply plopped right down next to it. A slightly vile odor came from the box, but the box was no bigger than the base of half of a birthday card. She opened the top gently to see a slightly green paste inside mixed with flecks of orange, darker greens and whites. She withdrew a sigh... knowing what was in the paste that was supposed to be her 'lunch'.
"No swings today my dearies... no swings today..." Lost suddenly cooed, taking the box and kicking it away. However, as she kicked the box... suddenly a flash of memory came to her.

The voice of that man... lights exploding... the pipe... the screaming man...
Lost's eyes suddenly widened slightly, as the image of the burning and boiling man entered her mind. A slight realization came to her... and with that realization came another sweeping emotion of grief.

Lost suddenly opened her mouth and let out a loud scream of disbelief and despair.

Collapsing to her knees, suddenly Lost wrapped her arms around herself and began to rock back and forth. She pressed her chin against herself, tears flooding her eyes as she began to sob uncontrollably.
"Lost hates the smell of the bubbling mess.... the bubbling mess... Lost wanted none... wants none..."
As she continued to sob and rock back and forth, suddenly the air around her room began to grow damp. The dampness was quite severe... causing it to almost seem as if it were misting as beads of water began to form upon the walls.


[ Lost's emotional effect will appear in the rooms near her as well. ^_~ ]

[kawaiispinel]

~*Cameron/Seraphim*~

~Didn't I see this movie with McMurphy and the nurse? That hospital was heavy, but this cookoo's nest is worst.~

Samantha was at it again. She got a thrill picking on the Scholarship girls at our dance academy- the ones who couldn't get in on Momsy and Daddy's money alone. She didn't care that they were just as talented as she was, if not moreso... No, all she cared about was bringing them down because they had less money than she had.

She made me sick...

It was worse than ever today. Carrie, her favorite victim, was nearly in tears as Samantha berated her repeatedly about everything while bragging about how her father owned half of New York or something like that.

I clenched my fists at my sides. I don't stand for such things, and I couldn't just stand by like the other girls and watch her get away with such vicious torment. I'd called her on her actions on several occasions, but it never did any good.

I casually glanced at the long mirrors that extended all around the practice room and nearly gasped when I realized that my eyes had changed from their normal ice blue to a dark shade of crimsion. I didn't have time to think about that, however, because Samantha had just said something that made her little snobby friends laugh hysterically, while Carrie burst into tears and started to run. I stopped her, wrapping my arms around her to comfort the younger girl, my now-red eyes glaring maliciously at Samantha.

"Oh my God!" One of the girls screamed. "Her eyes!"

The flourescent lights above the girls suddenly popped setting off sparks that rained down on the girls. They squealed and ran to avoid being showered by the tiny pinpricks of flame, throwing horrified glances over their shoulders at me.

I rubbed my head, finally coming out of my daze. Those drugs they'd given me had packed a wollop, indeed. Not to mention, they'd made me remember, something I rarely had any notion to do since I'd found myself in this place one month ago. I pondered over the memory.. It had been the first time my powers had manifested themselves.

No... No, it hadn't. Fire didn't come first. I stared at the white band that nearly blended into the fabric of my gloves. Wind came first.

Wind is discreet. Nothing about me changes when I use Wind. My eyes stay the same color and it's fully in tune with my normal personality. Despite my mind screaming at me to avoid looking towards the past, I recalled the night I discovered my power over Wind. It wasn't like Fire, at all. No one suspected I was different when I used Wind.

It had been the night of a dance recital. I had been the understudy for one of the older girls and she had twisted her ankle, so I had to go on for her. I felt sorry for the girl, but she gave me her blessing. I was filled with such joy that I danced that night like I'd never danced before... Like I was dancing on the wind and air. Looking back now, I realize that it had all been because of my powers.

It was the one good thing they'd ever done for me.

Lunch arrived and I was a little bit sad that the nausea had subsided so I'd have a reason not to eat their inadequate definition of food. They get testy when you don't eat, and have a tendency to shove it down your throat if you refuse. I'd seen it done... Not to me thankfully.

I settled myself near the bars of my cell so I could keep an eye on Cross and Lost, who seemed to be locked in a conversation of some sorts. Those two were the perfect pair if there ever was one.

I smiled and went back to my lunch, attempting to eat the foul-smelling gunk. My mind focusing intently upon the other side of my cell, my thoughts anywhere but on the food I was eating so I wouldn't have to think about how bad it tasted.

"No more filet mignon and caviar for you, angel." I recalled that's one of the food-bringers had said my first day here. It had ticked me off severely. I hated caviar for one thing, and I was just as much a hamburger girl as the next teenager... Although my size often disproves that.

A scream rocked the area and I jumped to my feet, sending my lunch falling to the ground uselessly. I gripped the bars of my cell just in time to see Lost on her knees, rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped around herself, tears flooding her eyes.

"Lost hates the smell of the bubbling mess.... the bubbling mess... Lost wanted none... wants none..." She sobbed. I couldn't tell if it was another one of her nonsense phrases or something more pertinent, but judging by the way she was acting, I felt it had to be the latter.

"Lost..." I whispered.

I suddenly realized that my cell was becoming very damp and misty and I figured Lost to be the cause of that, as both her cell, Cross's cell, and any cell close by were suffering the same fate.

I slumped back to the ground, allowing the dampness to form beads like perspiration on my bare shoulders. I pulled my knees to my chest and hugged them there. "We have to get out of here," I muttered.

I didn't know how much longer I could stay sane in this conditions...

[Heald]

Alex

As I continued sobbing on my pillow, the room began to feel...different. My senses began feeling more heavy and I looked around to see mist filling the room. I began to panic. What was happening? I sniffed to see if it was poisonous...it wasn't. But some gases can be scentless but toxic...isn't carbon monoxide poisonous but doesn't smell? Fear and panic filled my mind. I didn't care about him, now I just wanted to escape. I felt rage build in my arms and rip free from my bonds. I yelled and my body began to change...

---

Loki

Finally! I'm free from the boy and his wretched suppression! I began to survey my surroundings for myself. This cell is pretty advanced and heavy - this is no ordinary sheriff's overnight cell I've landed myself in. I leapt over to the door and tried to punch it, with some pain and only making a small dent. Heavy armoured too...gonna need some more force. I leapt backwards against the wall behind me and walljumped towards the door, kicking the crack between the door and the wall. The door dented and the wall cracked. Ten more wall-kicks or so should have me free. A voice began speaking again.
I wouldn't do that if I were you...
"Shut up fool! Get out of my head before I find your cell and shut you up personally!"
The door was beginning to break. Then I'll make my escape.

[Bulbasaur4]

[font=impact][size=4][b]ZIA04

.: Lost | F :.

[color=royalblue]

Lost continued to sob silently as she felt her body quiver all over, before she slowly rose her head and looked back to the wall upon her right. She could hear a bunch of shuffling around... until suddenly she sniffled and wiped her sleeve against her eyes and rose back to her feet. The dampness around the room seised to continue, although the dampness remained and would remain until time had passed for it to evaporate naturally.

Going back to the wall she pressed her face against the cool and wet surface, hearing the man that she had heard before. Some thing was happening... and suddenly she withdrew a sharp breath as she sensed that some thing had changed. That man was still in there... but she didn't sense him. For some reason she felt some thing different in there...
"THUMP"
"THUMP"
She heard a loud thumping noise next door, and her room shook slightly from it. She suddenly let a soft smile spread across her teary face as she took her fist and suddenly mirrored the thump by smashing it against the wall. Her hand bounced violently off the wall as she did it, but she repeatedly bashed her fist against the wall to mirror the thumping she heard in the room. Silence followed after her last thump... and she took a step back.
"Little birdie hears the angry wolf howling... " She said slightly, staring at the wall. She closed her eyes once again and spoke, " Little birdie wants to help set the wolf free."
She then reopened her eyes and without so much as a thought, she bashed her own body into the right wall. Her fragile frame easily ricocheted back from the wall, causing her to fall to the floor. Dizzied slightly, Lost stood back up and seemed to be unphased (mentally) from her seemingly insane attempt to bash her own body against the wall.
"Birdies need to fly... wolf needs to run... free free free... " She said in a rather eerie sing-songy chant, a chant that was a common haunting trait of Lost's little one-line songs. She bashed herself into the wall again, this time falling to the floor a bit more violently so that it took her a little bit longer for her to rise to her feet again. A small bruise was upon her cheek, but she merely smiled as she sensed the presense in the right room.
"... Loki..." She said suddenly, not really knowing herself why she had said it.



[ Kick it in moootion... woot. ^_^ ]

[Ghost]

John/Torch
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Why, oh why do I have to be here now?John thought as he sat in his corner, thinking of all of the things he had done to people over the years. Right now, he could be out of his cell, just a normal man, trying to control his powers, in his supposed Home, San Diego. But theytook him. He wanted to tear the founder of this place into pieces. Why had they built this place. Couldn't they just leave him alone?

The insane people here didn't help either. Sitting next to his cell door, he listened to these people ramble about random things.Some of the people like were fine but others, would just talk about nothing. Espically two inmates, but Torch was not very sure of anyones names. Lost and Cross were their names, were they not? He shook off the thought and sat their cradling himself.

Until ofcourse, the air became damp with water. Water started to bead on the walls, and on his arms, face and neck, causing him to cringe in pain as the water burned his skin. Muttering to himself, he took a look in the mirror above his sink. It was covered with plasitc, of course, so the inmates couldnt kill themselves with the shards of glass.

His face was pretty beat up, with dried blood below his lower lip and running down his chin, and continuing down his neck until it reached the neck of his shirt. He assumed that it went farther down, but he didn't feel like looking. His face also had cuts and dried blood everywhere; John could of almost swore that he could still taste the blood in his mouth.

When all of the sudden, he heard a thump from across the room, coming from another cell. THUMP. He looked, trying to see what was happening, but he could see nothing. All he could hear was the thump against the wall, and the...clang of metal.

Someone was trying to break out.

[Ace64]

Perfect timing, Heald...
Name: Siege
Subject Number: Y46S9
Age: 31
Gender:Male
Subject or staff: Staff
Appearance: 6'2'' with blue eyes like hard diamonds and cropped with a shock of blond hair, Siege is an imposing figure to say the least. He is infamous throughout the facility for his cruelty and the experimental weapon grafted to his right arm. He is regarded with a mix of fear, hatred and apprehension by nearly everyone in the Asylum.His face is unblemished, his build massive- in order to support the weapon he holds. Siege prefers to wear sleeveless black shirt and camoflauge pants. A curious belt holding small steel canisters hangs from his waist.
Personality: Siege isn't evil, but he does have a mean streak. He's friends with no one, but most of the guards follow his orders out of fear, or because they enjoy being mean as he does. In situations where most guards would use tranquilizers, Siege prefers to use the blunt end of his weapon, Gospel. For no reason at all, he may order that the inmates' food or drugs be withheld for another hour, just for the hell of it.He is crude and brutal, and delights in ironic humor above all else.
Weapon: Gospel- a massive gold crucifix, with the muzzle bulging from the top of the cross. It is not actually constructed from gold, it only appears to be. In actuality, it is composed of several different experimental alloys, making it resistant to rust and crafted to prevent jamming. Cleverly hidden latches on either arm of the cross reveal hollows, where ammunition can be placed.The weapon's function is a marvel in itself. It's common knowledge that Gospel never runs out of ammo. The truth is, the cannon's bullets are linked to Siege's blood. When fired, Gospel's slug appears bright crimson, like jellied candy. Upon impact, the slug explodes, mixing blood with several chemicals stored in the slug's casing. Not only is the slug powerful enough to rip through bones and tendons, the explosion from the shot is enough to punch a hole through steel. However, overuse of the weapon leads first to faintness, loss of vision, and eventually death. Recently, Siege has discovered that by injecting himself with the blood of the inmates at Ashford Asylum, the quality of his slug changes dramatically. For example, a "Torch shot" creates a napalm effect, while a "Poltergeist shot" causes his slug to fade away in mid-air. In addition to a firearm, Gospel can also be used as a club.
Power: Heightened strength and advanced healing.
History: The son of Nathaniel Ashford, and the first subject of the scientist's tests. His childhood was horrific, and he grew up hating his father, until he discovered the Bible. The promise of divine vengeance upon the wicked intrigued him, and ironically inspired the design of his weapon. Obviously, Siege was a selective reader, because quotes of 'mercy' and 'kindness' affect him not. He would never think of himself as one of the wicked, but neither does he believe he is an angel. He is a product of his environment.
Relations: Dislikes Nosferatu. Ignores Arsenal, preferring neither to order him around or bully him. However, he is keeping a close eye on him.
Other:?

Siege

Something was happening. The repeated CRASH from down the hall confirmed it. Siege stood up from the wooden chair he had been lazing in, and the mumbling guards around him stilled, looking at him expectantly. Siege eyed two of the larger guards. Trusties. Good men who didn't cry off from what had to be done. He nodded to them, and the nodded back. As one, the guards rose and followed him out of the door.

The lunatics were howling, screaming, crying, all around him, wailing in their cells. As he passed by them in their cells, a few shrunk back, remembering past beatings. A few of the more defiant ones leered and lunged at him, their filthy hands flailing at him from the bars. Grinning, he dealt their fingers a hard SLAP with Gospel, and they withdrew.

At last they came to the source of the sound. In this cell, a bizarre, scrawny looking kid with black hair was kicking steadily at the cell, causing it to shake with each movement. One of the guards murmured behind him in worry. Siege stared at the boy for a moment, who hadn't looked up at their arrival. It was like they didn't exist.

"Who's this?" he asked the guards behind, his voice as melodious as granite.

"I don't recognize him," one of the guards replied, a man named Dawson. "I could swear there was a blond short kid in this cell before..."

"Never mind," Seige said, a slow grin appearing on his face. New fish. Time to break im' in. "Open the door, before he breaks it."

Dawson obeyed, pulling a key-ring from his belt. After a moment of consideration, he slid the key into the lock and opened the door.With astounding agility and a cry of rage, the black-haired boy sprang from his position at the wall to the door. If another second passed, the boy would have been out of his cage and down the hall, hooting like mad. Not that there was anywhere to go.

One more second...if Siege had not been there.

Gospel flew out, clouting the boy's skull with the steady sure SLAM of steel. The blow dazed the boy, his eyes crossing, and he staggered. Siege slammed a fist into the boy's gut, pushing the air out of his lungs with a WHOOSH, then dealt a hard backhand blow with Gospel to the boy's nose. Stunned, the lunatic flew back into his cell, his nose bleeding. Strangely, his nose wasn't broken.

"Powers," Siege muttered in distaste. He turned to the guards. "Tranq him up. This one's a problem."

As the men hurried to follow his orders, Siege turned to head back to the lounge. Such troublesome people they were getting...they would have to keep an eye on this one. Perhaps he ought to check the file on this one.

In the next cell over, a little girl was bashing herself against the cell bars, similiar to the boy next to her. However, unlike the boy, she was doing nothing but hurting herself against the steel. All the while, she was singing an eerie song about wolves or birds or sommat. Rather annoying.

"Stop it, girl," Siege ordered, but the lunatic didn't seem to see him. Instead she just slammed her body into the bars a bit harder, before falling back to the ground.On top of that, her cell was strangely...misty. Was there a breeze or something? Regardless, the scientists wouldn't be happy if they saw bruises all over an inmate- at least, bruises Siege hadn't put there first..

As the lunatic rushed for the bars again, Siege swiftly placed the muzzle of Gospel, allowing it to protrude through the iron bars. CLANG! Like a bird flying into a window, the little girl charged directly into the gun, her forehead rebounding against the muzzle with a flat slap. She fell to the ground, murmuring incoherently. A bright red mark had appeared on the girl's forehead. Siege smiled and walked on. Two problems, taken care of.

EDIT: Forgot Lost. Heh.

[Bulbasaur4]

I'm sorry for posting so much... I promise I'll stop a bit. I just couldn't resist with Ace's post... 'cuz Heald and I were talking. mwha... lol. Hope you don't mind Ace. ^^; Just thought this would make Seige think more... mwhaha.

[font=impact][size=4]ZIA04

.: Lost | F :.

[color=royalblue]

Lost continued to slam her body into the wall as she heard the one inside thrashing against the door. However, upon the fifth time she laid upon the floor a bit longer... closing her eyes and listening to the noise of the figure within the right cell thrashing against the door. However, Lost heard another noise... the sound of loud footsteps. It didn't take Lost much time to figure out who the footsteps belonged too... for she could easily tell they belonged to that of Seige.

Seige had never really dealt much with Lost- in fact, he never had. The reason being was her powers weren't some thing that directly related to him 'watching' over her. Her emotional rages occured usually during testing... in which Seige wasn't invited to. Perhaps it was because that wasn't the reason they kept him around, or perhaps they feared that his weapon would be harmed despite its crafted perfection. When he had walked by her cell upon other times, his glance would only be met by her white-blue gaze that was filled with on recognition, no hate... nothing but the glance of a small little girl locked up in a cage. Yet, she knew the sound of his footsteps... she knew who he was. She heard the others talk about him... and due to their talks, she often called him "Silence". He often brought it whether anyone wanted it or not.
"... Loki... Silence..." Lost said softly, shakily getting to her feet as she pressed her face to the outside wall so she could see outside. She felt fear rise up within her... for she knew that the one making the loud thumping noises next to her was going to be met by Seige. She had seen it happen several times and some times the outcome was not pretty but deadly. Lost gave a soft whimper as she furrowed her brow, gazing strongly at Seige and silently wishing she could will him to go away. Will him to turn away... but she watched him order the opening of the door of the one to the right of her own cell. She was hoping some thing out of the ordinary would happen- that perhaps the prisoner would break out, bash Seige away and escape.

Yet no such thing happened...

Instead, Lost gave out a cry of dismay as she watched Seige bash the black-haired figure several times and eventually force him back into his cell. Calmly... so calmly Seige seemed to brush off the encounter and he began to head back. Anger gripped Lost as she watched Seige walk away, his golden weapon shinning in the eerie lights down the hallway. Narrowing her eyes and feeling anger whell up within her, she clenched her fists and simply stared at Seige's weapon. It was always the weapon that did everything... and without it, Seige was nothing. Lost wasn't sure why she was so angry this time... she had seen him do the same thing to so many others and it never had triggered any reaction. However this time... this time was different. Of course, normally she was drugged on depressants... but she had not taken her pills yet due to her day of being 'unconcious'. Growling slightly, Lost felt her temperature rise slightly as she stared at his glittering weapon.
"Goldy goldy goldy..." She said with a gutteral growl.

And slightly... oh ever so slightly, one of the latches upon Seige's weapon seemed to slowly bend. Only a small bend- a bend that would happen to a key if you were to pull it a direction when it was still inside a lock. It of course was only a small bend and it was of course, only a little latch. A small, insignificant moan was given off by the bending of the latch by the unforgiving metal... but as soon as it was done, Lost turned away and went back to the right wall. Her anger was still bubbling within her but she had now focused upon the staggered breathing and anger of the one to her right.
"The lone wolf can be knocked down... but birdies know they come quickly back... come quickly back..."

[Dr.McNinja]

Arsenal

(Alrighty, since it looks like Bulbasaur didn't see the edit before she posted I guess I'll work of her post since it's the latest)

Go ahead, let him do whatever the hell he wants.

"Shut up, I can't be that overt."

Arsenal whispered to himself from his position on the wall down the hall from Seige. He had heard the young girl trying to break free from her prison and had set off to subdue her, didn't want them breaking free from the drugs enough to use their powers afterall. He had arrived just as Seige had made his move and had leaned against the wall as the guard had performed his duty, brutally knocking down the youth that had been kicking his door. Wincing at the sharp ring the metal floor gave off as the youth crashed to the ground, Arsenal muttered softly to calm a distressed Ares. The cat had seen his master subdue subjects dozens of time, but never in such a brutally efficient manner. Suddenly something caught Arsenal's eye, one of them at least. The guard calmly moved to look in on the small boy that lay senseless on the floor, a bruise already forming on her forehead. Arsenal began to flex his hands again as he spoke, "They go through enough already, did you really need to use that much force?"

Seige stopped and turned his head a bit, "Does it matter."

Arsenal didn't reply. Seige shrugged his massive shoulders and moved on, leaving the man behind to continue staring into the cell.

Just going to let him walk away?

Arsenal sighed, "He's a living example of all there is to hate about this place...he'll be one of the last to go, after I break down the lower levels. Then maybe this facility can accomplish something."

Well at least you're using your head now

Turning from the boy's cell, Arsenal took a few quick steps until he stood in front of ZIA04's cell. His computer systems had picked up the force that had affected Seige's weapon, despite the fact that the force's effect was so small that Siege probably hadn't even noticed. Due to the systems of his MWS however, Arsenal had more capabilities to sense such small disruptions. Mentally shutting off his computer's notificaton as to a possible weakness in Seige's weapon, Arsenal gazed down at the softly murmering girl. Removing the hood of his cloak, he revealed his face to the girl before speaking, calm eyes gazing from the neatly bearded face, "Calm down there little one, you're not going to get out of here by smashing yourself against the walls and making dents in people's weapons. If you keep doing so I'm going to have to put you to sleep like your friend over there, something I'd rather not have to do. I don't believe I've ever met you, you are?"

[Crystal Tears]

[font=Arial Narrow]+Cross+

‘Focus…’

It was a breakthrough! As Cross bit her lip ever so slightly her mind was beginning to settle upon something. Random thoughts here and there through her completely off, but none the less, she could focus.

Cross stared at her food; they always used to feed her, shoving it down her throat. Maybe she had gotten better, if they were letting her feed herself. But the food, it wasn’t even food. Cross’s eye twitched in annoyance; how could they feed us this disgusting excuse for food? It looked more like rejected toothpaste.
Angered by the sight of her food, Cross slid her tray across the floor, refusing to eat it.

Cross looked up, gazing across the hallway at the angel… Struggling to stay in this state of mind, she whimpered. Cautiously, she moved up towards the bars again. She didn’t dare do anything considered bad, as the giant man with the gun was here, wandering the halls. Cross kept the blanket near her.

“Sister…” Cross said, but failed to gain her attention. “… Cameron!”

That seemed to do it, curiously, and rather shocked, her sister looked up from her state. Cross smiled; her mind free from anything that would be considered insane. She waved slightly to her sister.

“Don’t be sad.” She smiled. “If you’re sad, then they’ve broken you!” Cross grinned. “Freedom is closer then you think it is.” She must’ve thought Cross was babbling on, but she wasn’t. “You’re just in a cocoon; soon enough, you’ll have your wings and will fly again.”

Putting her hands together; Cross formed a butterfly and showed her friend from across the hall.

[Ace64]

Yeah, should've waited a bit longer before posting. Ah well, it all works out. What a delightful enforcer Seige is! Everyone loves him : P

Jack "Walker"
=========

Their tests were based on what he did best- walk.

He was hooked to a machine and placed on a treadmill, then told to walk. The machine monitored many different things- heartrate, pulse, blood count, white cell count, blood pressure- mundane things, and there were other measurements he didn't recognize. The treadmill had no dials whatsoever. Jack looked around. He was in a white room, perfectly innocent save for the mirror at the far end of the room. He couldn't see through it, but he knew he was being watched.

The machine started of its own accord, and he walked. And walked. And walked. He knew what they were waiting for- they wanted to see if his power would activate, if he could walk... beyond this world, beyond others. But it didn't work like that. Treadmills rolled, he walked, but he was going nowhere. They made him walk for a half-hour before taking him back to his cell.

He was a little afraid of where he would go- if he did walk. This place was bad enough...but in other worlds, it could be even worse. Better to walk after he had found a way to escape.

He was hustled back down the halls, without a blindfold this time. They had grown confident that he either couldn't or wouldn't escape- the blindfold no longer mattered. Finally, he got a look at his surroundings. Lines of cells filled the corridor, each soul a little different from the last, but all- definitely- insane. He wasn't mad, just different. Right?

A powerfully-built man with a large cross on his arm passed him by without a glance. A smaller guard watched him pass with a look of controlled disgust. Jack noted it, remembering the man's face- it might help him later. Then he was back in his cell, facing an appetizing meal of brown and green slop. Jack looked at it, shrugged, and began to eat with the spoon provided. He had tasted far worse in his travels, and he would need his strength.

[Bulbasaur4]

[color=royalblue]
^^; We can easily put them together! Wee!

[size=4][font=impact]ZIA04

.: Lost | F :.

[color=royalblue]

Lost had stood next to the wall, hearing no more signs from the cell to her right. She silently wondered who it was next to her... and why he had suddenly changed. She deemed him as the wolf, unknowingly. Turning her head... she let her body slide down the wall until she was slumped upon the wall. She heard another man come... a hooded man with a cat perched upon him. He swiftly let his hood fall backwards so that his face was shown to her. Normally Lost would pretend to not hear him... like she did to any guard that approached. However, her eyes turned to look at him from beneath her tendrils of blonde hair. Some thing about him made her think of him differently. His face was not crafted from the sickly smiles that the others had... but it seemed to emit a different vibe. It was some thing that Lost had not encountered for what seemed like forever. Then the man spoke to her... told her that she shouldn't bash herself into the walls because he didn't want to put her to sleep. He also mentioned about how she had damaged (if you could call a bent latch that) weapons. Slowly, like a shaky child who had just learned to crawl... Lost let her pale hands stretch out in front of her. She then slowly crawled over to the bars, looking upwards at him from her crawled position.
" The wolf will eat the silence some day..." She said with a whisper, looking over to her right at seemingly nothing. " This birdie will fly with him some day."
The man seemed confused slightly, but Lost suddenly snapped her head back to look at him rather violently.
"The ones who hurt me... the ones who have kept me here call me Zia." She said quietly, but then she seemed to narrow her eyes and gaze at him deeper. "But you're not like them, are you?" She then gave a nod as if she had already determined it. "Panther slinks in the shadows... waiting to find what it tries to find.." She smiled at this, giving a soft giggle. "Birdie will fly with you too."


[ Eventually everyone will find their own nickname.. XD although they might not realize it, she basically gives everyone a different nickname than their own. ]

[Ghost]

Woohoo... My own nickname. Don't know anything that would go with John though...

John/Torch
~~~~~~~~~~~

Lunch time, John thought, as the guards rounded, throwing boxes inside of rooms. He despised this food, and he had only been here less then a week. His arms, neck and head still burned from the water droplets that were in the air, and he had to frequently wipe off his face. It got him to thinking, who the hell could be doing this?

He got up and moved over to his cot, and threw the spoon and box on it. He took one last look at himself, finally recognizing that the people had given him a new pair of clothes. Well, wasn't that nice of them?, he thought,and sat down on the cot. The cot was hard, and was definately not comfortable to sit on, but it was a step up from the floor.

Opening up the box, a foul odor came out, greeting him. How did the inmates think they could eat this crap? He took his spoon and dug into the box,and found that it was quite hard. He felt like throwing up, but he knew that if he didn't eat it, they would come and force feed it too him.

So he ate it. The entire thing. He couldn't believe how horrible it tasted, and he felt that almost certainly he throw up. But he did it, and know all he had to do was wait for dinner to come so the same thing could happen again.

But for now, he walked back over to the front of the cell, and stared outside. Everything was normal again. He could hear the murmurings of Lost and Cross and various other inmates, and the thumping had stopped. He stared outside his cell and thought how the hell he was going to get our of this place.