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Futuristic Project Ex

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Ms. Swanson was really nice. A true sportsman. The best employee the Pillars could have used as their welcoming committee—or perhaps she simply embodied the only kind of personality that could survive in their cutthroat company. It was saddening to imagine being part of that world. Isaac was much happier with the freedom his work gave him.

Humming, he traced the outline of a circle with his finger. The table’s surface was smooth—just like everything around them—beneath his touch. He watched as his nail left a tiny scratch behind.

“Only among the lowest? I was aiming for first from the bottom.” He snorted, leaning back in his chair as his eyes once more surveyed the meagrely picked volunteers. “But with this competition, no wonder.” His shoulders lifted, then sank. A casual shrug.

Most of the gathered people were the sort Isaac wouldn’t have looked at twice while walking past them on the street—and clearly, society didn’t either. Some of their appearances almost made him wrinkle his nose. Two with white hair, one in black. A crowd he’d hoped to escape when he left the clinic behind.

Regardless, what truly did capture his attention—pleasantly so—was his first-class seat in witnessing paper take flight right in front of his nose.

In that moment, his body paused. The closest state of rest he’d experienced since arriving here. Then his hand snapped out, reaching for his paper, only to see the contract flinch away from his grasp, hurrying to its caller. A gesture its brethren mirrored when he tried the same with them.

Isaac held back one breath, the left side of his mouth twitching as his arm lowered again, the message clearly received. Slowly, he exhaled, a serene smile returning to his lips as his fingers lingered on the spot the paper had once covered.

Moving on.

Questions! Answers! He visibly perked up again. Isaac liked those. Too much, most would say. Not enough, in his humble opinion. The world was built for people daring enough to ask for them, for sheep had no other purpose than to land on dinner tables. Not that he even enjoyed the taste of meat. His gaze lowered, tongue pressed against the back of his front teeth.

Anyway, as a true gentleman would, Isaac patiently listened to the others baring their heart, his head tilted. Some of them, at least. He wasn’t surprised by the ones opting out of the question for now.

But then, finally, his turn. His fingers curled in. "Any chance to earn a promotion? I'd love to be part of your team, Swanny. We could be on first-name basis." Isaac blinked, before looking up again. At the clipboard, then at her. He knew she wouldn't disappoint.


interactions: ms. swanson Juju Juju


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In the Palm of His Hand (in collaboration with Toivoajarakkaus Toivoajarakkaus )

The pain rockets through Lev veins. All that echoes in their ears is that damned, incessant ringing and rushing of air through their teeth. Great Pillars they hate flare ups. It was more than just the sudden rush of pain. It was the feeling of inadequacy that came with it. Worked too hard? Pain. Eat even more than just one meal a day? Pain. Standing up? Sitting down? Pain. They couldn’t exist without it being a burden. And here they were again. Bowed over by the sight of their ex. Fingernails digging into their palm over the pen as they counted each heartbeat. It was pathetic. It was annoying. Just like Alois said it was. He was probably watching them. Judging them with that dumb, smug look like Lev just proved him right. Again. The pen creaks as their knuckles turn white. If Lev could, they’d crack open their own ribcage and rip out their own organs-

-AP SNAP SNAP

A hand beckons in their swimming vision. Without thinking, Lev limply rests their left hand in the outstretched grip. Their least butchered hand. The growing habit of picking at their skin like they can peel away the flawed flesh hadn’t fully jumped from their dominant right arm. Eyes tracing up the stranger’s own arm to his face.

Theyan could only click his tongue at the absence of any real presence from Lev. They weren’t in the present, still stuck inside his own head in a way that showed in how their glazed over eyes didn’t really contact Theyan’s own and instead locking on the eyebrows. There was some obvious defensive intent behind it, but he doubted that was a voluntary thing from Lev.

“Wake up, I need you paying attention,” Theyan barked. “Tell me my name, I’ll spell it for you.” He ordered, raising his hand with index outstretched as if to communicate the method with which the spelling would happen.

Bringing his index finger down onto Lev’s palm, he traced out the letters of his name oriented in a way that Lev would be able to parse it together without rearranging the perspective in his head. T. This was a grounding technique he’d picked up from his parent’s pretty early on in his career; turns out that his field of expertise can be pretty stress inducing on someone thrust into it so early in life. H. He did have a handful more, but they required a lot more input from Lev which Theyan wasn’t convinced he was capable of at the moment. E. Effectively, the idea was to give him a sensation, a texture to hold onto and pull himself out of his head and into the now. Y. Yet, Theyan still wasn’t quite aware of what triggered such a visceral catatonia in Lev, nor was he confident that this grounding technique would work until that was figured out. A. Although, it wasn’t like there was any harm to be made out of this. N. Now that he was thinking on it, Theyan’s eyes started to dart around in study of their company; it was very possible that there was a particular culprit, a person. Theyan had an idea.

“Well?”

The feeling of pressure on the palm of their hand. That glazed green following the tracing. T. H. E. Y. A. N… T. H. E. Y. A. N…It brings no memories. Not a single thought adjusted to the name. Not even in passing. But it’s enough. Enough that they can begin to make out some words over the chatter in their own skull. Feel the weight of eyes upon them that are more than the one Lev assumed was watching. They’re more aware of the slight wheeze to their exhales. The prickle of salt in their tear ducts. Tongue rasping over their palate like sandpaper.

“T-The.. Theyan. It’s a uh, nice name.”

It’s an absent minded compliment. But far more attached than earlier. The thumping of their heartbeat against Theyan’s grip is still too rapid. A tremor making itself more notable as the high of adrenaline begins to wear off. They’re almost tempted to pull out the shoddy little container they have of pain pills in their pocket. That little white plastic bottle. Cheap. Over-the-counter. Just to have the comfort that they attempted to soothe the pain. Even if it just be clogging their veins with ineffective junk.

“Good, you can follow simple directions, at least.”

“T-thanks- I’m sorry, I don’t, I don’t know where my head went for a moment.”

Lev is tempted by the new flush of embarrassment to pull away. To settle on the old face of nonchalance… The blanket of exhaustion is nearly suffocating. Even this little flare steals their breath. Each inhale stings in just an extra layer as Lev can feel Theyan’s prodding gaze. Searching for an opening. Opportunity. Weakness.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Theyan slapped into his palm a… stick of gum? “Focus on this for a minute,” He stepped in closer, closing line-of-sight from some of the others but most notably from that Cartwright brat. “Also, fix yourself, you look like a mess.” He brought his hands up to adjust Lev’s jacket for him, but with the endpoint of that adjustment seemingly the same as how it was before it was unclear in what way Lev looked like ‘a mess’ just then.

Of course, what it actually was is a bit they performed on in order to get their plant. Theyan never left the house without a bug or two on hand, and in this situation of unfamiliar and potentially hostile environment, he would need every bit of ‘Lev’erage he could get. Information is everything after all. He had some doubts as to what all he’d learn from this, but it was better than nothing. Besides, knowing someone was tagged brought him a little bit of comfort.

Lev tenses. The little bug tucked away into its new little bed of unassuming cloth. Fabric shifting across and up, before being tugged thankfully back into place. They did not wish to explain the growing patchwork of nicks and bruises hiding beneath their sleeves. Some from forcibly weathering through flareups, and others that are even less fun. The crook of their elbow had yet to fade from that sickly purple from their last…Well. They couldn’t exactly say a doctor visit. That last one was anything but a doctor. Certainly not one even Alios would even go for in desperation. It was lucky in a way that the flyer came before their next appointment. If even a ‘simple’ blood draw would have left nearly a bruised circle of nearly three inches of diameter, they’d probably be worse under that heavy handed maniac… But he was cheap… And willing. Not many cheap docs wanted anything to do with a case that stumped even the best. Ruined what little credibility they had.

If treating Lethe’s flotsam lent them any credibility at all. Taking advantage of those left behind by… The bright and beautiful tomorrow. Paved in viscera and paper green.

The sweetness of the gum soothed some of the sharpness in their belly… and gave them an excuse not to have to speak. Faux leather ruffling in their ears as finally, blessedly, the ringing stopped. It gives them a chance to catch up on some of the conversations outside of their little interaction. About the pay… And certainly a question Lev needed answers themselves, about drugs… Gods even in their own head they can’t escape Alois. Hell. Probably looked the part of a drug hound. Shaking hands. Pallid skin. Ick.

“You got any questions, Theyan?”

Gross. They could hear their mother’s nasty voice in echo of their skull. ‘Don’t talk with food in your mouth, you ain’t a little piglet’.

“Later. You have your own, don’t you? Now that you’re back on earth, maybe you should make sure those get answered.”
 
Errol | meeting room
Errol jumped at the sudden mention of his name from Ms Swanson, his gaze shooting up from the paper to look around the room frantically. A sudden flush coated their face as suddenly a few people glanced his way. It made him shift in his sheet, trying to ease the onslaught of a racing heart. However, before he could will words from his mouth the room moved on, and he let out a soft breath in relief.

just as Errol was relaxing, a hand moved into their vision; they looked up at Basile in surprise, checking around the room, trying to figure out if it was, in fact, for them. Of course, they quickly came to the conclusion, of yes, it is in fact for him, when no one else was in reading distance. Errol flushed a deep red at his actions and instead turned to read the paper.

"oh! Yes, I do," they squeaked out in an attempt to whisper, flinching slightly at the sound of his voice potentially breaking into conversations. They offered a quick glance around the room to see if anyone noticed, which, as far as he could tell, they did not before rummaging through his backpack's pockets. Errol pulled out a cheap pack of smokes and his lighter and passed it over to Basile.

"oh I am so sorry, I just assumed," Errol whispered in shame as the choice of communication clicked with him and he began to sign along with his words, "I don't know if you can't hear or speak, or maybe you are just choosing not to? Anyway, you are free to take some, I am sorry they aren't very good and if I assumed wrong I just wanted to make sure you could understand and ...I am actually going to shut up now." Errol chuckled nervously at his rant his flushed face grimacing at his own words.

"I-I am Errol by the way," they added at the end, trying desperately to recover from their fumble as they signed it back when the movement from Ms Swanson drew his attention, watching his paper fly away. His gaze sparkled slightly at the cool ability, but he didn't want to interrupt his own conversation and drew his attention back to Basile. Errol had a few questions he wanted to ask, but swallowed them back. Someone else would probably ask it anyway and the questions weren't very good.
interactions | Autumn Leaf Autumn Leaf
mentions | everyone
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Last edited:
Marisol Seawright
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Feeling: Unsure
​
Marisol sat on the chair, fumbling around with her locket while carefully looking at the rest of the group. She wasn't exactly sure why anyone else came here, the mysterious man that escorted them earlier in the day seemed to tell her that it was going to be her and only her.

"Don't worry Miss Seawright. It will be a very quiet experience since I doubt anyone else will arrive."

His words echoed in their mind as the memory of her driving away from The Manor flashed before her eyes. They quickly snapped out of it in a cold sweat and went back to what she was doing before. They took a glance towards a blonde girl, who offered assistance with the papers. Melina, was it? Marisol thought to herself as they offered a slight smile to the girl. She turned to a blue haired girl, who was eagerly chattering to some of the others. Her large jacket bared a symbol on it, which Marisol couldn't find the meaning behind. A dark haired man sat near them, his intimidating stature striking fear into others, especially Marisol. She thought she recognized those eyes but quickly looked away after he caught her staring. In a similar vein, the man with wavy black hair also made Marisol begin to shrink into her seat. His egotistical nature shining through, blinding Marisol. Just the way he talked and acted, it sickened Marisol. How could someone be so self-absorbed? He glared at her after noticing her staring then going back to what he was doing. Then there was the girl with raven-black hair. She seemed so beautiful, yet so fragile like a porcelain doll. Every time she spoke, her voice broke Marisol's heart, almost like she was going shatter for just breathing. Marisol wanted to speak but knew for her own good she had to stay quiet. Her grandparents hated when Marisol would go on and on about her new favorite thing, telling them that "A proper lady stays quiet" or something like that. She became quiet, keeping their hands to herself and staying quiet. Maybe the reason she felt sympathetic to the woman was because she reminded her of Marisol a bit. Next was another blonde woman, this time with shorter hair. Just the way she held herself gave off the vibe of someone with a lot of confidence, which Marisol had to admit that they were a bit jealous of. The woman studied the clipboard carefully, looking for something that Marisol didn't see. What was even on the fine print anyways? There was another person there of course, with long white hair and what looked like a whole lot of injuries. He played with his sleeves as their eyes frantically darted around the room. Marisol wondered how he lost an eye, looking at them pityingly. There was another person with white hair, the familiar floral stench of substance. He didn't speak at all since Marisol arrived, concerning her deeply. There was of course the person with dark brown hair, scars dotted across his arms as many as there were stars in the sky. They seemed kind, even though Marisol could sense there was a deep rooted pain within them. Before she could look at any one else, the clipboard flew away from right in front of her eyes.

"Woah.." She gasped, amazed by the technology in this place. I wonder what other kind of gadgets they have here... She went back to zoning out as she leaned back in her chair.
 
Ms. Swanson made no comment on the interaction between Lev and Theyan, though she watched it carefully from beginning to conclusion. Her cool, unimpressed gaze never changed, but it seemed to have garnered enough of her attention that she made yet another note. For better or worse.

As for the others, such as the now silent Saengo, Ms. ‘Secretary Swanson’ lost all interest in them as soon as they stopped talking to her. Happily so. Yet all hope died in her joyless, sour eyes when Isaac insisted on keeping the begrudging conversation going.

One of her eyes twitched, “It's Swanson, Ms. Swanson, and it will remain that way.”

She rolled the pen between her fingernails in a self-soothing motion. It dulled some of the sharpness in her tone, but not all. “By volunteering for our project, you are already part of our team. As for promotions, that is entirely based on your performance.”

Looking for a way out, her eyes flicked away from Isaac and settled on each volunteer as they gave their questions. Much to her delight, there were only a few, two of which concerned the same matter. Once everyone had either asked their question, declined the generous gift, or completely missed out, she got back to work. Clearing her throat and straightening up her already prim posture, she addressed the group once more.

“Ah, forgive me. I should clarify.” Swanson shifted her weight onto one hip and lowered her clipboard, “You are, as a group, entitled to a single question and truthful answer. I will now select the most relevant.”

Her eyes fell on Alois and Melina. “Once the experiments have concluded, you will all receive a lump sum payment and, as a possible bonus for performance, a founder’s share to any of the seven Pillars. You may choose which.”

She glanced down at her clipboard, now filled with the signed forms in their neat and impossibly thin pile. Although she kept it tucked against her side, anyone with a keen eye might notice that the sage-coloured forms were illegible, gibberish made of strange lines. A trick of the eye or a handy self-encryption?

“Thank you all for signing the forms in a timely manner. We will now proceed with final documentation. Please remain seated and excuse me while I retrieve the papers.”

With that, Swanson turned on her heel and left the room. The door automatically slid open to let her pass, and then slammed shut. After she left, there was an ominous click, just quiet enough to prevent a ruckus, but loud enough to make it known that a bolt had been set in place. The doors were now locked. No amount of pounding would open it.

A painful stillness followed, giving the project volunteers an opportunity to ponder their fate and the wisdom of their actions. Maybe they talked, maybe they tried to pry the door open, or maybe they dutifully waited for Swanson to return.

After about one minute, the room echoed with a low hiss. The slatted vents on each side of the room began to leak a billowy, acid-yellow smoke. The gaseous substance was scentless and heavy, falling down into the floor like a land-locked cloud that slowly rose to the knees.

Bea, who was still standing despite Swanson’s advice to be seated, froze up like a startled calf. “Shit! Oh shit!”

She lurched towards the door, caught her foot on a half-hidden chair leg, and then fell face-first into the fog. Once down, she didn’t move again. Whatever the gas was, it worked quickly.

The effects of inhaling the diluted air above the gas cloud were not as instant, but quick to accumulate. Eyes grew heavy, limbs turned to lead, and the senses dulled. It was difficult to struggle against it, though not impossible. Some might have lasted up to 45 seconds against it, but in the end the outcome was the same; an oblivious and peaceful state of sleep.

If you were lucky, you might have even dreamt after lights-out. For those who didn’t, the transition might be a little more jarring.

━━▲━━
​
This artificial slumber was broken by the high-pitched whine of a drill and a sharp pain in the side of your head. It was like a mining pick had been shoved into the middle of your head, and it was perhaps one of the rudest ways to have been woken up. A novel experience for all but one here, no doubt. If you looked to the side, just at the corner of your eye, you might even glimpse a metal rod retract out of sight behind your head.

“There we go!” An unfamiliar voice trilled, gushing with pride. “See, what did I tell you? Streamlined the whole system!”

Another voice followed, mellow and low. “It’s much appreciated, thank you.”

“Keep focussed. We’re still behind schedule.” Swanson’s familiar words chided both of them. She was perhaps one of the first you’d see upon opening your eyes. A familiar, but not so comforting sight.

Once the sleepiness faded, the unfortunate volunteers found themselves each strapped to a metal chair, bound tightly with leather straps around their wrists, legs, chest and head. It left only a little bit of wiggle room, just enough to give a false sense of agency, but not enough to do anything but squirm. All the chair-bound assets were arranged single-file in a circle, each facing the back of the one before them.

Instead of a soulless meeting room, they now occupied a dimly lit chamber with grey tiles with a matching ceiling-floor combo. It smelled coppery and moist, like the killing floor of a slaughterhouse, though somehow looked as clean as a hospital. Thin veils of plastic were draped in a wide bubble around the assets, each stamped with a biohazard warning label. The plastic veil blurred everything outside, though that was redundant considering the room was empty. The only light in the room came from a buzzing fluorescent light in the ceiling. Occasionally it would flicker, like a warning in binary code.

“Oh, they’re awake! Hiiii~!” that first voice spoke up again, feminine and bubbly.

It belonged to a woman perched on top of a large box, legs crossed, and a briefcase propped up just behind her like a pillow. In both style and demeanour, she was Swanson’s opposite, sporting an impossibly split outfit that was a mix of a cropped shirt and skirt, with half of a long coat.

She waved enthusiastically at them, the one eye not covered with an eye patch sparkling in unhidden delight, “It’s sooo good to finally meet you! Wow, I can’t believe there’s so many this time! I'm Siyeon! Did Swanson tell you? I’m going to be your—”

Swanson cleared her throat loudly. “On with the procedure, please.”

“Oops. Right.” The one-eyed lady quickly fished out a remote from her pocket and clicked the obnoxious red button that made up most of its surface.

With a jarring start, identical to the cheap mechanisms of temporary theme parks, the chairs began to move. The clicking of gears below slowly propelled them along a metal railing that in both sound and appearance were indistinguishable from those used by roller coasters.

One by one, the assets stopped in front of a gaunt man wrapped in a doctor’s outfit. Most of his face was obscured with a medical mask, but the eyes left exposed were almost kind. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, but his voice had a certain soothing quality, like one of those ASMR artists. This, of course, was somewhat dampened by the threatening syringe he held in one hand.

The liquid was a bright cherry red, clear but vibrant in the dreary room. It caught the meagre light like a reflective patch, almost as if it was glowing. The doctor flicked the syringe to remove the air bubbles, then used a gloved hand to feel for a vein in the forearm of the lucky asset in front of him.

“I'm Dr. Meyer, but you are welcome to call me Orson. Sorry, this might sting.” He dipped his head politely as if permission could be granted or received, “Excuse me…”

All injections were somewhere on the spectrum of unpleasant, but this one took the cake. It was like fire being shot straight into your system, spreading up your arm. The sensation lasted after the needle was removed and your chair jerked forward like a conveyor belt to make room for whoever was next in line. The initial pain would dull into an ache, but that's when the other symptoms started.

No asset would experience the same reaction to whatever was coursing through their blood. Some were cold, some were hot, some even had strange cravings for things they had not yet consumed. A few might even feel something on the edge of their mind, memories and emotions haunting them.

While the assets recovered or waited in line for their turn with the mystery juice, Swanson began to address the group, “On behalf of the Pillars, we thank you for participating in our study. As you are currently unable to sign the final documents at this time, I will now complete the enrolment process in your name.”

Her pen moved across the paper, swirling in a final signature. Once that was done, she circled the assets like a military instructor. As she passed by, she motioned to the box Siyeon was sitting on, “For your privacy and safety, we have confiscated all personal belonging deemed contraband and unnecessary in our study."

Now that she mentioned it, a few of the assets would realize they had been frisked. All their belongings aside from their clothes had been snatched, even those thought to be well hidden beneath folds and pockets. Sadly, even Errol's cane had been taken from him.

"Additionally, we have printed copies of your personal records, identification, certificates and all data collected by Theatron. Any digital copies of this data, online accounts, and your citizenship status in The City have all been erased. For the duration of this study you effectively no longer exist within The City.”

Siyeon held up a hand, turning over a tiny object between her fingers. It was impossible to see what it was, unless you were Theyan. "I bet you're in for a real headache with this catch. We've got some biiiiig fish in a tiny pond!"

"Speaking of that matter..." Swanson narrowed her eyes, voice icy. She nodded her head to Theyan. "Orson, please euthanize that one over there. "

The doctor blinked in surprise, "What? Are they incompatible? The initial screening should have..."

"No, just one of Theatron's toys." Swanson said, giving Theyan a disgusted once-over. "And you know how little they like to share. The last thing the project needs is another one of their temper-tantrums."

"Oh, but it would be so fun to shake things up around here!" Siyeon piped up, the only opposition to Theyan's death sentence. "Besides, not to be that gal, but don't you think SHE is the problem?"

She playfully wagged an accusatory finger at Yun-mi, "I checked her scan and there's a little something-something in there, if you know what I mean! She's also super boring. Did you read the charts? Practically brain-dead! But what's worse is..."

Leaning closer to Swanson, she whisper-shouted in a manner that was absolutely useless. Literally everyone could hear it. "Remove it and she will capital D-I-E."

Dr. Meyer looked between them, his eyes hesitantly perplexed, "I doubt Dr. Blackwood will appreciate the loss of two assets before Distillation. Should we really euthanize them both?"

The mere mention of the name gave the two pause, and enough doubt that Theyan and Yun-mi's fate hung in the balance for the time being. How long this grace period would last was uncertain. It left the floor open for objections, or perhaps a second helping of that once-promised answer. Whatever came next had been momentarily delayed, but that would not last forever...

While this all went down, the usually chatty Bea was uncharacteristically quiet. Her eyes stared ahead, tears welling up. Even as her idol Theyan was put to the chopping block, she kept her silence as she waited for her turn to get the injection.

1. The post order is the order of treatment.
2. You can speak freely and shift just a little, but your head, arms/wrists, chest and legs cannot move.
3. You are missing all items except for your clothing or glasses. Everything else (including Errol’s cane) are gone.
4. The side effects of your injection are a hint towards your archetype, but it has not activated yet. I'm giving you creative freedom with this one so have fun with it (can be like slight discolorations, itchiness, cold spells, hot flashes, cravings, auditory halucinations, or even memories resurfacing. If you're unsure, just ping me.)

>uncropped<
>uncropped<
>uncropped<
>uncropped<
 
Wehressi Christie
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~{Serious In Seconds}~​
Status: Suspicious & Scared
Location: ???
Interactions/Mentions: Juju Juju

Wehressi rolled her eyes as the woman ‘clarified’ herself. Maybe she should have been the first one to speak up. But there was nothing to do about it now. Once it was revealed that they weren’t going anywhere, the blonde girl sat back down in her seat. Again, quiet and observant. Then, the odd gas came from the walls. It was clear her earlier assumptions were turning out to be more and more correct. Especially as a Founder’s Share was promised after completion of the test. This made her doubt they were all leaving. She knew the group was either leaving here alive, or they weren’t. Somewhat obvious, but their fates were all in the hands of the Pillars now. Therefore, she found little reason in worrying herself while waiting. Arms crossed in her chair, she simply closed her eyes and leaned back. Now that they were essentially owned by the pillars, there was nothing to do besides sit back and be along for the ride. She might as well make it a ride with no undo panic or stress. It all melted away in mere seconds. She was the second one to go unconscious after Bea.

The good news? Wehressi was still alive. The bad news? A sharp pain had woken her from her unconscious state. The silver lining? It was fading as whatever was inside her head was being retracted. She closed her mind and focused on the feeling of the chair beneath her fingertips. Her clothing against her skin. The air traveling down her windpipe, into her lungs. Anything to stave off the pulsating pain in her head. Her adrenaline was spiking due to the situation. No sane person could realistically stay calm through a situation like this. At least, not one at Wehressi’s level. She wasn’t given torture training or anything of the sort. Perhaps those that had something akin to it could. But not Wehressi. However, she was adept at keeping her emotions tucked away. No one would notice anything besides the same, mostly neutral, slightly stoic expression. While she couldn’t see anything before her, she could assume from Swanson’s antonym that there was at least one more of them behind her. She had no idea if the gas was just to knock them out or kill any of them. She had no idea how many remained behind her, if any at all.

Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest, adrenaline coursing through her, but her breathing remained steady. Her expression unchanging. Though she gripped the armrests on her chair to steady her hands. She knew they’d start shaking otherwise. She’d keep her eyes closed, only until she heard the male voice. Her eyes opened, and she looked at him, nodding at his question. Her head turned away, her eyes shut once more, and she gripped the armrests so hard, her nails left imprints in the padding. She breathed in through clenched teeth and exhaled through them as well. Instead of using words to vent her pain, she used the air being pushed through her teeth to vocalize her discomfort. No amount of focusing on something else would hide or dull this pain. Though the adrenaline certainly helped, it was still the worst pain she’d ever experienced. She breathed shallowly and quickly for the next few moments at it slowly dulled. It felt like forever, but once it had, she started to feel incredibly relieved.

That was, until the side effects started. Every noise around her caused her a headache. Painful, but not on the level of a migraine. Certainly uncomfortable, but nothing compared to the injections. The creaking of the mechanisms moving her chair along the conveyor. The soft buzz of the fluorescent lights somewhere overhead. The sounds of the doctor setting down needles and fiddling with whatever medical supplies he was using. The sounds of the footsteps of the other two girls. It hurt but was more of an annoyance. For some reason, it was the words spoken by others that made it the worst. Anytime someone spoke, it was like a vice around her brain slowly being tightened. Thankfully it was manageable with a single person speaking at a time, but with multiple, it grew in intensity.

She’d missed the part about Swanson speaking about completing the papers for them while she was still attempting to get her bearings but barely managed to catch the part about their stuff being confiscated. That didn’t much matter. She just had some clothes, toiletries, phones, and travel stuff in her suitcase. All of it could be replaced. What surprised her was the erasure of them from the city. What constituted going so far? It only further cemented her belief very few, if any, were going to leave this alive. And Wehressi was okay with this fact. If she made it out, she and her family would be set for life. If not, well, her considerable savings could go to them. While okay with both outcomes, Wehressi obviously wanted to survive. So, she wasn’t exactly complicit in her death, she could see the silver lining there.

It was unsettling to hear those around her talking about the killing of some who still seemed to be alive. Right in front of them all. So casually. Is this what it was like in the slaughterhouse? Would her brother and father talk of animal’s lives like this? Is this atmosphere of tools and death what it was like to be in the facilities? The thought made her shiver. Though the way they spoke made them all seem unsure of exactly what to do. While she didn’t exactly like speaking up, perhaps she could make some allies this way. It would likely only make her stand out to those running things, but maybe having people to back her up in times of need would be handy.

“I mean, you went through all this effort. You might as well keep going.” Wehressi said in an oddly calm sounding voice. Like she wasn’t fazed by the situation. But if someone could feel her chest or see her heartbeat, they’d know the truth. “Besides, they aren’t a problem now, right?” She asked genuinely, as she couldn’t even see them. She had no idea of their status. But it was likely a rhetorical question, as she continued before any answer could be given. “Just kill them when they become a problem. No need to be hasty. You have full control over us and this operation, right?” Wehressi tried to toe the line a little bit. Asking to delay wouldn’t exactly be vouching for them. So hopefully these staff members wouldn’t get mad at her for the suggestion. It would also allow those in the crosshairs to possibly find a way to fix whatever it was, or act in a way to keep themselves from being terminated. If they just didn’t become a problem, hopefully they’d be fine, and could in turn help Wehressi at some point. If they got themselves killed though, Wehressi knew she would have said this all for nothing.

Oh well. At this point, she was just along for the ride. She’d scrunch up her face in a painful cringe whenever anyone around her spoke. Thankfully, it seemed her own voice didn’t exactly cause her pain. But some weird off-putting sensation in her mind.
 
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LEV LOVEALL
ASSET #520
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The return to consciousness isn’t helpful to their wonder if they made the wrong decision.

Certainly not as they awaken to a new kind of pain.

The thump of their heart against their skull echoes at the scientists’ voices. Muddling whatever words being spoken into audible garbage.

Lev can’t pick up a bloody thing.

Not even as their eyes skip across the room. It’s too much.

A feedback of information overwhelming their stressed senses. It’s a weaving spiderweb of pain growing from their belly as their fingernails bit into the chair beneath them. The slide of their tears feels like ice against their overheated skin. Each breath is wheezing through their teeth with a vengeance. The agonizing buzz of the fluorescent light above. The stench of copper. The unyielding grip of the manacles denying them even the relief to squirm.

The panic attack they had before is nothing compared to the one they’re having now.

Lev’s been treated like an experiment before. So many doctors wanted to peel back the layers. To be the one to figure out their condition. But at least then. They needed Lev alive to see the results. But there’s something about the way the scientist approaches… That wicked syringe in hand, that just solidifies just how…

Insane this was.

How insane did pain push Lev to take this?

That this was their only choice.

Their arm shudders as the doctor struggles to find an adequate vein at first. Previous ineffective treatments had taken a toll on more than their mind. He is however undeterred. Switching from their left to their right as he rolls up their sleeve. A couple taps tracing from the blown bruise at their elbow without a glimpse of any thought crossing his face. The scientist’s face blurring like a wet painting under the weight of Lev’s tears. Each tap echoing up through the subject’s flesh down to the very bones. Until the stubborn vein is coaxed to the surface. Shiny and discolored from the under counter treatments. Standing out from the barely healed scratches, the raised scars, the divots their nails dug. Lev can only watch through watery eyes as the needle enters.

The flush of the red medication burns. The rush of it through their blood, that uncomfortable flood that shouldn’t exist.

But it’s more than that.

Of course it more than that.

Their nails dig into the armrest harder.

A crawling ache.

Their muscles unconsciously tensing at the sensation that can only be described as…

Pins and needles.

Thorns.

Itching.

Scratching from within.

Crawling through their veins like vines curling beneath their flesh. The weight. Even the texture of their clothes leaves their skin feeling raw. Veins forcibly dilated by medication begin to press up against the skin.

Copper floods Lev’s mouth as their teeth chatter inside their skull. Their tongue taking the brunt of unconscious clenching. Only making them gag as the taste of dirt mixes with blood. Earth crawling up from their throat to cover their tastebuds. Overwhelming them as the herbal sting of multiple herbs fills their nose. It’s like being back in their family’s storeroom. Thousands of herbs, stewing, drying, the herbal concentration making their head throb even worse. But it’s more than that. It feels like they’re being buried in that damned storeroom. It was an accident. They were young. Lev didn’t mean to knock over the bag of soil. Stuck beneath the same earth their beloved plants needed. Stuck there for minutes, but to a child, it might has well been hours. Suffocating under the weight until their grandmother had come to their rescue. Not their parents. No. They were working on their next Lethe’s trade. Far too busy to remembered they had a child.

They need to scratch.

Claw up and out whatever’s writhing in their flesh. In their veins. Their being.

They need to get it out.

Let it breathe.

Get it out.

GETITOUTGETITOUTGETITOUT-

But something catches them. It’s not enough to drag them from their living nightmare. But enough to force through their chattering teeth so semblence of a thought that isn’t smothered in panic. Lev’s been to business school. They’ve spent years keeping their parents from running their company into the ground. They’ve been on the end of a bad deal… And they can recognize a potential breach when they see it

Lev’s right.

They are insane.

“H-hold on. Before w-we arrived, you already knew who we were. If you didn’t want the t-trouble, why invite them in the first place? I-It be going back on your contract to provide for us through the duration of-of the experiment. Regardless of o-occurrence. Which would indeed-d cover the young lady’s condition. It covers mine. A-And Theyan hasn’t broken the non disclosure clause listed. It’s a-specifically banning the sharing of information outside of the experiment. N-not the collection of data still within. A-And if you are using T-Theyan’s previous occupation a-as grounds for termination, then you’re terminating a larger p-portion of t-the group. We may n-not has access such as a celebrity d-does, but several of us s-still have contacts that m-may prove as p-potential leaks. S-surely this D-Dr. Blackwood wouldn’t want to take the brunt of such a-a breach in contract as most likely y-your supervisor?”

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Interactions: The Scientists ( Juju Juju ), Yun-Mei ( Meehrwillow Meehrwillow ), and Theyran ( Yakov011001 Yakov011001 )
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Saengo Yun-mi
#040

As the gas began filling the room, Yun-mi didn't stir or panic, contrarily to her always unsettled nature. To fear was natural, but once it arrived and became inevitable... what could one do other than face and accept it? The girl slowly and elegantly rose from her chair, before lowering herself to her knees. She patted down her skirt, fixed up her clothes as best she could, then closed her weary eyes with a passive expression. Only a second later, she was soundly asleep; the perfect image of a lifeless doll surrendered to its fate. Father would be so proud. . .

Even as she woke, she didn't bother to struggle against the foreign object invading the depths of her skull. Any regular citizen of the City would be shocked and anguished by such a cruel procedure, but Yun-mi had already experienced it once—experienced a far worse version of it, for which; unlike now; she had to be awake and feeling. Torture, surgery, pain. Fear, paranoia. They always spun in a cycle of avoidance and acceptance, until the brain shattered and ceased fighting back. Yes, how could anything break it further? As such, this porcelain doll laid back easily in the oppressive but inviting chair, perhaps finding some sort of disgusting, twisted comfort in the way it reminded her of that dearest place which had been stolen from her—home. The only worrying sight among the plastic curtains and sickly lights was the presence of a female researcher. Hopefully she wouldn't make any costly mistake.

With a click, the chairs awkwardly shuffled away one by one into the presence of another doctor. Yun-mi faced him head-on, staring into his eyes with an uncanny intensity that she never could muster in a casual situation. Her eyes remained as the only part of her face capable of portraying some minor emotion, and they seemed to be... smiling? Enough so that one could even imagine a non-existent curve to her tiny lips, the smile of an angel sentenced to death. But she shouldn't have been smiling. That was the work of that ████████ █████ █████ ██████ ██ ██████ ███ ████!

While she was distracted by this inner struggle, an injection had begun wreaking havoc through her nervous and circulatory systems. It burned like fire; it stung like blades pressed against the inner linings of her arteries; it tore and chewed; and yet, what else did she deserve? In the world of a precious daughter, the road must be built to equate lethargy and surrender with L█VE. Even if she was a mere replacement. If you are scolded, accept it. If you are struck with a whip, accept it. If you made to kneel on burning coals, accept it. If you are branded with an iron, accept it. If you are unwanted, accept it. If you are laid into the guillotine. . . kiss your father's blade and accept its embrace of your neck. That is; without a doubt; what L?V█ means.

Yun-mi sat idly as talks of executing her and another subject whizzed past her ears. There were more important news, namely the removal of her existence from all written and taped record. She wondered if perhaps uncle Jum had his hands in her enrolment in this program if such were the case, but she couldn't spite him for it. After what she had done, her complete removal was her unquestioned duty to at least one of her families, and this method would create far less of a commotion than hiring a disposal crew. As long as she survived, it could also mean freedom, even if she doubted that her likeness could ever be forgotten by those she had affected. In that sense, both life and death held comparable value.

". . ?"

Her eyes shifted in the direction of the blonde girl, who perhaps thought she was speaking up for their sakes. If she were capable of expressing emotion with her face, there would be an ugly scowl plastered over it, but there couldn't be. She couldn't smile, she couldn't laugh, she couldn't frown or act bewildered. Such unbecoming notions would only ruin her face, and she was a good wife and daughter, after all. Thus, she stared at the other woman with the same passive acquiescence as always.

"As long as it doesn't bother my Family, I will leave my life in their hands and at their discretion. May it. . . serve you well."

At the moment, she was ready for either outcome.

Haha. . .

If that doctor came closer with a syringe of poison, surely she could at least manage to ████ forward and ████ ███ █████ ███.


Click Below
 
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He watched Swanson as she spoke. He watched Swanson as she left the room. He watched the others drop like flies, one by one, as the room filled with gas and his vision bled into yellow. He watched until there was nothing left to watch. The sound of his own slow heartbeat drowned out everything else, rhythmic drums beating in sync with the sheep jumping behind his fluttering eyelids. Everything faded.

Isaac always hated falling asleep.

. . .

But he hated pain more, and waking up to it was his second-worst nightmare. It rippled through his skull like waves across still water, reverberating as if trapped in a screaming contest, winner takes all. His skin tightened, fingers tingled. Yet aside from a small shake of the head, Isaac remained uncharacteristically still. As if refusing to put on a free show.

His tongue darted out, wetting dry lips again and again. A smacking sound followed. The gas had dried them out. Irritating. “This sucks more than I thought,” Isaac murmured, testing his voice. Dry. Low-pitched. Power-saving mode, one could say.

Slowly, his brain began booting up, breaking through the fog of pain and drowsiness. Just in time to catch the tail-end of a sentence. A voice not unlike his own. Then chairs started to move—like a line at an amusement park. Or a doctor’s office, Isaac realized. He squinted at the increasingly clear figure in front of him: familiar uniform, unfamiliar face.

Isaac smiled. He liked irony.

“Was this whole gig necessary? We signed the contract already. Could’ve just, you know, asked nicely,” he said, loud enough for anyone alert enough to hear. Far too friendly for someone just transported from point A to point B in a way that violated more than one legal right. On the other hand, the paperwork probably already covered it.

Then the chairs moved forward once more and the doctor finally approached him. “Can you inject my right arm? I always get mean tingles on the other side,” Isaac said, wiggling the mentioned limb as much as the restraints allowed. It didn’t hurt to ask. Orson seemed nice. First-name basis and everything. That had to count for something!

Wherever the needles ended up landing, they stung. Liquids inserted into his blood like ants crawling under his skin, racing through veins and up his neck. Isaac huffed. Once, then twice. A foreign presence settled inside him, and the scent of spring hit his nose. Flowery. Fresh. Oddly calming. But then the chair moved again, and the smell vanished, replaced by blooming itches. Patches woven across his skin. Randomly and pulsating.

Meanwhile, explanations trickled in from his favorite secretary. Isaac barely registered them, more focused on reclaiming lost control over his body. But long pauses in-between sentences? The perfect spots to intervene? Those were intolerable. Holes in the fabric, begging for a poke. His leg twitched. “Hey, will we like, get the records back? I’d love not to be dead on paper.”

Bait thrown. Reel in the answers. Future dead men don’t need documentation.

Then Siyeon spoke up, and things took a turn. A bit grim. A bit bleak. A certain kind of answer. The sword of Damocles inching closer. Voices rose. Voices died. Some people, maybe, would do so too. Or maybe not. Isaac loved calling out a good bluff, or betting on a bad one. That’s why he tried gambling in the past!

“Hey, if we all get to pitch in, you can count my vote for team 'in favour'. Trim the weeds, or whatever they do over in Trophe.” Isaac felt cheeky enough to giggle, so he did. Always sprinkle a bit too much rather than too little. That was the motto. “Do we even need that big of a sample group anyway? Is there a mortality rate on these shots?” he asked, hands curling into fists before uncurling again. Rinse. Repeat.

Somewhere inside, a silent bell rang. A reminder of what his words weighed. “Ah," Isaac breathed out. "Nothing personal, you two,”. Weightless, thrown into the room. Like an afterthought. Their murder. Not that the woman even seemed to mind it that much.


interactions: scientists Juju Juju + everyone else, but especially interacting with theyan & yun-mi Yakov011001 Yakov011001 Meehrwillow Meehrwillow


Click Below
 


His lip curled, twisting into a wry grin as Basile lowered his hand. He stared at Swanson without blinking, a flash of rebellion surfacing. He called it. Changing the promises and rules already. Or wording it in a deceptive manner. This is what the Pillars always did.

Empty promises, and words so hollow they break apart at the lips.
But if the last one was true, even the slightest, perhaps this hell would be worth it. What torment had been laid out for them.

He watched Swanson leave, with the door latching shut behind her. There was nothing he could do now. The bell which tolled their doom. They were greeted by a hiss of gas agents. Then, the first dropped. How pitiful. That blue haired girl seemed to not understand the situation at hand. He could only hope she was ready for what came next. If there was a next, at all. Others surrendered to their fate differently, with apathy, or slumbering like a little discarded puppet.

The pale eyes followed the yellow tendrils sweep and shudder down around, taking a deep breath before it reached him.

Uncannily calm, the quiet man turned to Errol, plucking the cigarette from the carton and stowing it between his lips. Basile nodded at his gentle benefactor, smiling softly. He had not wished to speak for a long time. Not to utter another word. He wanted the last one to be forevermore eternal. But in this moment, a desire burned to voice his appreciation. One that shone in his eyes. Yet, this was all he could offer. A silent gesture. And a grateful pat on the shoulder. Not only for the smoke. But for them as a person. The boy seemed the most genuine, honest person so far. Nothing to hide or smother. No ill intention that cannot be gleamed beyond their words.

No, that wasn't true. They were all flock trapped here in this place now. Some lambs, others goats. And so, after lighting the stem, taking a few quick puffs to spark the steady stream of smoke, Basile offered to light one up for the young cripple.

In this way, he wished them the best of luck. If they were to not meet again.

If this was to be his last moment, at least this solemn act shall be engraved on this shore of their shared fate.
He leaned back in his seat as the smoke filled the room, mixing with his own gray swirl. The ashen taste dripped from his tongue down his throat, coating his esophagus with a bitter tang. Locking eyes with anyone who managed to stay upright thus far, nodding respectfully at them as the cigarette swiveled. Allowing he carcinogenic chemicals to expunge the oxygen in his lungs, making his head light. The nicotine dampened his nerves, sparing some of the pain as his chest convulsed and spluttered.

Ah, it felt like he was dangling. Floating in the air, suspended on a string. He smiled despite the deathly veil draping itself across his eyes.

Je veux voler vers toi, mais je ne peux pas...

That sole thought permeated with his blearing mind. Finally, when he can no longer bear the compulsion of his choking body, he exhaled, letting it all hit him at once.

- V - ​

The darkness was a misty blanket, providing no warmth. Still, it comforted him from the world of static and haze. Of cruel brutality, parading false truths. Here, there were no overly complex dynamics. No disconnected complications. This was a haven from where he couldn't even feel the rancid weight of his own thoughts. If this was the embrace of death, it was rather peaceful. Where he felt no pain. No remorse. Basile wished to snuggle against it, clutching and rolling only to himself. His weary eyes fluttered shut. Perhaps, he could sleep some more? Remain here for a time. A long time.

He began to hum to himself, letting the soft notes drift away into the vacant echo.
Just then, as though in response, a lullaby came from beyond in this realm of nothing, the voice of something lost.

His eyes flickered, recognizing the beckoning call. A reminder of something that cannot be broken. Not even through death. One that pushed strength into his weak body. He lifted his head, seeing a path of flowers blooming in the shadows, glowing and leading a path to somewhere.

With a grunt, he lifted his form, shivering there in the coldness. He wobbled for a moment, nearly collapsing. Like a freshly born fawn.

With a breath of resolve, he trudged onward on jittering legs. Lead by instinct to obey the maternal call.

As Basile continued further down the flowery track laid before him, the darkness quickly closed in, devouring the faint light from the glimmering buds. Leaving the rest of the wayward journey completely blinded. But he did not falter or slow, for he still felt the soft pedals beneath his feet. He did not know where he was going, but he had never been guided by his eyes. Always, there was something beyond even himself, and his own foolish dreams. Even if he cannot, he must. Before long, the swirling clouds of shadow was all he knew. How much time had even passed? Hours? Days? Years? It felt endless. But it didn't matter.

His legs angled, and pushed, until... he felt the ground give beneath his soles. He was falling.

- V - ​


He jerked from the kick in his stomach. The back of his molars crunched as his eyes were assaulted by a ray of light. Tasting iron and ash. He opened his bloodshot eyes with less of a groan, than a silent whisper. This was his world. And he had been led back to it. He almost felt a pit of despair at this notion, but as the voices began to hammer into his head through his ears, he reclaimed his senses. Swanson was speaking to some unfamiliar voices. Much like how butchers casually conversed while gutting their cattle. The poignant smell reminded him of his home. The bloody alleys within the slums. Where corpses were common sight.

Basile tried moving his numb limbs yet found they were bound. And when he tried to careen his face to get a better look, his head was stuck. Only just catching a glimpse of some instrument prodding the back of his skull.

Realizing how futile it was, he simply lay there, letting them do whatever they wanted.

When their medical cots were dragged through this twisted amusement ride down the conveyer, he was somewhere in the line. He couldn't tell. But there was some conversation being made between the 'subjects' and the staff present. Some were pleas, others were bargains. A few even sounded maniacally calm. By the time it was his turn for the treatment, his eyes landed on the doctor. But he ignored their words. Whatever they said, it can be made void in an instant. There were no facts here. Just sounds without weight beyond their own private internal definition. Kept locked from the caroling cattle laid there. Utterly meaningless vapor spat into the air.

When they rolled up his sleeve, upon his blanch skin was a sight most would associate with a chronic junky. Needle scars dotted his skin like dotted freckles of a terrible rash. He watched the needle pierce the surface dispassionately. Even he didn't know all the chemicals he injected himself willingly in the past. How many bad trips that were self-induced. Some not so willingly.

Somehow, he found a smile spread on his lips.

All he did was take a breath. Eyes pointing up. It was unpleasant, but nothing new.

Once it was administered, the doctor jotted some notes and Basile was swung along like the rest. Only then, while he watched the ceiling tiles pass overhead, there was something alien bubbling within the concoction mixing in his blood.

His eyes turned when Swanson began to make some address to the subjects, but his eyes moved down in clear distraction.

The ache soon went from hot, to a spasm and shudder. Rippling, almost. Soon, he felt thrumming at the spot where the needle left its mark. Like a sore wound of a cyst being formed. The point felt like it was going to swell and burst, yet when he cast his eyes to it, nothing seemed to be happening.

Just then, a whisper invaded his thoughts. It tingled in a discomforting way. Like the brushing breath of a stranger leaned over, whispering into his ears. Yet, it felt ever closer. From within. Was it coming from his own thoughts? The auditory parade sounded akin to his own internal monologue, but these were not his own thoughts. How could they be? He hardly knew these people to internalize the tones of their voices to convey it perfectly through memory. He eyes darted around to figure out the source. One dull tone resembled Swanson's grating voice, amongst it, amongst that of the other patients. Yet, he was looking directly at Swanson and... Siyeon? Right, that was the other doctor's name. It didn't match either of their mouths. That was when he realized the lack of sound. Anywhere. Not even the sound of his own hammering heartbeat in his chest could be heard.

Had the injection make him deaf? But then, why did it feel like he was hearing... something familiar?
The moment lasted as quickly as it came, however, and her words began to vibrate once more through the sterile room. Matching the movements of her lips.

They were talking about euthanasia. He didn't know where they were pointing, or who they referred to. It was all incredibly vague. It was a flurry of names that meant nothing to him. Outside of the ones referring to the Pillars. Evidently, there have been some snakes plucked from the tall grass. Associates that snuck into the program. Or rather, into their own prepared snares. He smirked, at the prospect. Those that put him behind those walls of the Ward. Those who made his life a living hell. He almost laughed aloud in glee. Perhaps it was the high lingering in his system from the fresh drugs mixing into his bloodstream. He was practically glib, bearing a wide toothy smile. If Basile had not been pinned, stapled to the cot, he would have turned his head to witness this act.

Good, the less there are, the better. It didn't bother him one bit.

 
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It was of some concern to Theyan that they were being offered such a suspicious amount of compensation. A founder's share, in any pillar? How it was that they had the power, the authority to just hand that over to—from what Theyan gathered looking around the room—a bunch of fuckin' nobodies, was beyond him. It was too good to be true; a feeling that swirled around into a knot at the base of his intestines when Swanson left the room, and further solidified into a concrete dread when he heard the bolt activate behind her leave. Fuck this, I need out. On the approach however, he heard the hissing of a pressure release valve. Looking down to the ground level vents, he could see the discoloration of the mist that seeped out and rolled across the floor.

"Shit! Oh, shit!" Theyan whipped around to see Bea spill out in her panic and confirm the effects of the gas for him. Something that made him hiss through his teeth in his anger.

"When I fucking get you."

Theyan kicked into overdrive, that is to say he flipped over to the silvered nervous system. He didn't have a lot of time, and he was going to need to squeeze out every millisecond he could in order to get out of this. First, he sprinted at the wall adjacent the door Swanson retreated through and scaled up onto the framing of the light fixtures that edged the wall and ceiling: like this, he could take advantage of the high ground to buy more time since the denser-than-air gas would need to progress up to his level. Next, he flicked his arm out in the direction of the door, a flat disk launching itself from beneath his sleeve and onto the door. The AR gear in his glasses sparking to life and showing him what he was operating on: nothing actually. He was offered a lot of data, but he didn't actually know what he was looking at. The framework around the door's operation must've been created in-house from the ground up, and he had no reference for what vulnerabilities to test for. He was shit out of luck there, but he did learn one thing.

There was something of a digital nomenclature plate Theyan was able to get access to, and from there he was able to identify that the door's bolt functioned using a normally-open solenoid. Solenoids were consistent, but could easily cause a lot of damage in the case of overcurrent faults in which the contactors could melt together and cause the door to be stuck closed; it's in that design flaw that necessitates the use of a fuse for safety, and in turn Theyan's ticket out. His AR gear clicked over to a special view that was able to identify the AC currents running from the door to its junction box through the walls. Tumbling down from the lights and onto the tables their contracts had been presented on, Theyan was thankful for his silvered nervous system because he would not be able to pull this shit off in ankle boots otherwise.

Still trying to keep himself as high off the ground as he could while he maneuvered the room, Theyan unfortunately had no choice at this point but to step down into the gas to reach the far wall. Steeling his resolve, he took a deep breath and rushed in. Slamming a black puck onto the wall, he gave it a crank so that it would expand out and latch itself on. Simultaneously to that, also breaking the circuit inside. That was a shape charge, an extremely powerful but extremely localized explosive device that required much much more than a simple flame to ignite. The charge began ticking with a rhythm much the same as those little spring-loaded crank timers found in pre-Pillar style novelty diners, because that's effectively what it was. With the charge planted, Theyan settled back at the door and cursed himself for accidentally setting the timer too long in his haste. Theyan looked out into the small crowd of what were effectively just bodies at this point, after what was to them a fearful and directionless struggle—or maybe a willful relinquishing to others. Each tick was a fraction of a second—it was just him now—but in his mind the silvered nervous system stretched that out into several seconds—but it always is just him. The simultaneous crushing and expanding feeling of asphyxiation in his lungs cracking through him as time continued its inevitable march forward. Finally at the end of the timer, the open contactors of the circuit rejoined with a small arc that jumped between them; that spark ignited the LX-14 and inverted the copper cone, sending a liquid copper needle straight through the wall and into the fuse on the other side. The door was open, but Theyan couldn't walk through.

Falling to the ground just on the other side of the door, Theyan couldn't hold on. Now in his swimming vision, he had just barely enough strength to pick their head up and see Swanson standing over him. There were no words, all he could do with his failing body was flip her off; something that persisted even when his body went limp.


The pain had Theyan wake up screaming, not out of fear or even rage; instead it sounded more like an annoyed frustration.

"Fuckin—turn that shit off, would you!? If you're gonna put me to sleep, let me stay asleep." The pitch of the drill made him twitch in his bindings, an involuntary tic from the sensory overload it gave him. That same overload caused a miasma to take his thoughts, a general confusion and recounting of steps again and again until he fully rebooted. It was only when he was met with a needle that Theyan was able to fully tune in. "Quit fuckin' stickin' me, you bastards!"

As the substance passed over him, that burning sensation quickly turned into a tightening. Like every fiber of their being began to weave into infinitely many layers upon layers, folding down and compressing. Stretching out and coming taut, almost to the point of tearing. It was a feeling that had them straining against the leather belts that bound them, and in turn the rivets that bound each belt to the table. It was only when one of the other attendees revealed the bug he'd planted on Lev, that Theyan snapped free from the sensation and back to the present.

"Speaking of that matter. Orson, please euthanize that one over there." What the fuck? Bitch, you are not pointing at me right now.

"What? Are they incompatible? The initial screening should have..."

"No, just one of Theatron's toys, and you know how little they like to share. The last thing the project needs is another one of their temper-tantrums." Toy? Toy!? I didn't fucking take the torch so that I could be called toy to the Pillar that I'm using. Theatron is my plaything, and I'll fuc—

“Hey, if we all get to pitch in, you can count my vote for team 'in favour'. Trim the weeds, or whatever they do over in Trophe.”

"Weed!? You shut your fucking whore mouth! Weeds can grow through concrete, you'd probably die if the pH of your soil was too high! I could fucking spit on you and you'd whither away like the fuck-ass pansy you are!" Theyan started to lose it a little at the prospect of being snuffed out so easy, by something he walked into so stupidly. "Act like you aren't brain-dead fucking troglodytes!" He switched to Swanson in his ranting, the pressure on his bindings getting tighter and tighter. "If keeping me hostage was going to create issues, are you really so shortsighted as to not see the immediately worse consequences of killing me!? You actual goddamn Petri dish-ass fucking amoebas! And as for you..." He locked eyes with the one who'd revealed his trickery, his breath labored from the fruitless efforts of his struggles against the bindings that held him. Even if no one else would be able to recognize it, it was still annoying that they did. "Siyeon, right? You wouldn't happen to have any plans, would you? I know a nice café on this side of the pillar if you wanted to get coffee later."

Juju Juju efferve efferve
 
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Marisol Seawright
IMG_5447.jpeg
Feeling: Utter Consternation
​
Marisol fiddled with her necklaces again while waiting in the room, watching Swanson carefully taking the papers and looking them through. She flipped open the locket to look at photograph before shutting it back. They missed their parents, truly. Soon Swanson got up and left as swiftly as she arrived as the click of a locked door sounded. Just a bathroom break probably she reasoned to herself. There wasn't anything bad on the papers, right? Suddenly a devastating hiss entered through their ears as panic shot through her body.

"W-What is happening right now?!" She whirled towards Bea, who screamed something before her body hit the floor. People fainted left and right as she looked around herself. "No, no no no no!!" She yelped before her eyelids screwed themselves shut and she slumped onto the floor like everyone did.


She was suddenly in a ballroom, in a gorgeous white ballgown, pearls adorning the sides. Her hair was longer now, tied up in a formal bun. Next to her was her father, his bright eyes shining as he led her down into the room.

"Hey Mari!" he greeted her, his arm linked with hers as they moved closer to the enter of the room where her mom stood, she looking beautiful as ever. "We've been waiting awhile." A gentle smile traced the edges of his mouth, as her mother walked towards them. Her shining royal-blue gown trailing across the floor as she met them.

"Yes. We have." Her mother laughed poshly before all three of them walked into the middle of the room, underneath the large dazzling chandelier. Over thousands of little diamonds dangled from the golden rods and burning candlesticks illuminated the already gorgeous room. All three of them danced together, spinning around and jovially chatting. Marisol felt all warm and happy inside. She was home, with her parents. Suddenly a window behind them shattered as water began to leak into the room, fast! Guests were swept away in its current and people screamed as water poured into their fragile lungs, killing them within seconds. Marisol's mom looked at her with fear in those violet eyes but a disturbing crack was heard above them. The chandelier, hanging on by its last chain.

"Marisol." No, no, no , no!!! This couldn't be happening! I can't loose them again. Marisol's face turned pale as the chandelier dropped, fell from the heavens almost an hid the water, trapping her parents in it's golden prison. Their screams carried up, echoing off of the water and resounding in the room like a broken record over and over again and again. Fire burning the wallpaper off of the walls and water rising higher soon consuming Marisol into it's dark heavy world.


She didn't realize they were screaming the whole time until they woke up, breathing heavily as sweat trickled down their forehead. "S-Sorry." She spoke in a low voice, her mouth feeling like sandpaper. She looked around, they were all strapped to chairs and covered in some weird plastic thing. She overhead Isaac speaking.

“Was this whole gig necessary? We signed the contract already. Could’ve just, you know, asked nicely,” She rolled her eyes at the man's annoying voice. Couldn't he ever shut up? They moved down in an orderly fashion towards someone who looked to be dressed in the same apparel as Swanson. She giggled slightly, it was kind of like when people went to meet the hostess of a party except this "party" was definitely their doom. There were two others, however no features could be made out through the blurriness that was the bubble. She could hear voices though. She reached for her necklaces but it was gone. Marisol began to panic, trying to move out of the bindings but they were too tight unfortunately. She looked around, desperate for the necklace but it was gone, they weren't going to give it back. That was the last thing from her mom and they took it?! Tears rolled down her cheeks which she couldn't wipe away. She choked words out which nobody could understand. "M-mom....d-dad....no, no..."

"Orson, please euthanize that one over there. " she was shot back to reality by a new voice joining the group. They looked outside the bubble and saw them talking. Euthanize?! No way! She gasped as she saw who they were talking about.

"What? Are they incompatible? The initial screening should have..."

"No, just one of Theatron's toys. And you know how little they like to share. The last thing the project needs is another one of their temper-tantrums."

"Oh, but it would be so fun to shake things up around here! Besides, not to be that gal, but don't you think SHE is the problem?" The new person pointed to Yun-mi, who didn't even try to defend herself from death! What kind of freaks were these people?! Who finds fun in killing people?!

"I doubt Dr. Blackwood will appreciate the loss of two assets before Distillation. Should we really euthanize them both?"

"Hey, if we all get to pitch in, you can count my vote for team 'in favour'. Trim the weeds, or whatever they do over in Trophe.” Oh heck no. She was not letting this shell of a man play God for a second.

"Let's not kill anyone!" She needed to think of a reason this selfish creatures would not kill a person since they clearly didn't value human life. "Uhm, you need more subjects right? If there are less of us then you get less chances!" She knew this wouldn't work but it was the best chance they had. She quickly shot a glare at Issac before looking away. They moved forward until they got to the doctor, their dark under eyes kind of freaking her out. She pulled out her arm as the doctor looked her up and down. Flicking the weird syringe inserted into the vein. As the crimson liquid entered into her blood stream, her head began to pound. It felt like someone had dropped an a thousand pound weight on her head! Her eyes were sealed shut from the tears as she gripped her wrist tightly. Her back itched something fierce as it felt like knives were digging into her back, prying her ribs open. She couldn't feel anything beside that, she was totally numb everywhere else. Now she felt something crawling inside on her bag, like little worms trying to eat through her skin, painfully with their little teeth. She could feel them, wriggling inside of her. GET IT OUT GET IT OUT GET IT OUT STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP she thought her cool tears trickled down her face, feeling like water in this hot desert that was pain. Soon the pain ceased, and she fell back motionless onto the chair.

Interactions Juju Juju efferve efferve
​
 
When the gas came into the room, Alois noticed it by its effect on the others. He and the other attendants used to intoxicants would have just that much more time than the others to remain conscious. If only because they were used to the feeling of dancing on the edges of the unconscious at times. Allowing one to grip consciousness firmer at need, if one so desires.

Alois used this half second, to breathe even deeper. He felt he could use a long nap. Alois expected whatever surgery they were about to put them through they'd probably stay under the whole time. You wouldn't want to wake up in the middle, after all! Perhaps they were only being transported a great distance and the staff didn't want the headache of needy passengers. Again, a good nap has always been the best solution to long trips.

Of course, Alois couldn't have been more wrong. He came to with a sleepy expression, just as a needle was pressed to his skin. He screamed. Loudly, furiously, from his chest and gravel-like. His eyes searched for someone to accuse, to cast his fury on to. He saw the doctor, and all emotion was cast on him. What followed was an obnoxious, unintelligible stream of curses and insults. Alois spat unwillingly as he did so. When his face was a dark shade of magenta from his rage, or tantrum, he finally stopped to take a few choking breaths.

It was not only the pain, but the shock of waking up strapped head to toe for a procedure. The total loss of power being far flung from the best cased scenario he'd envisioned moments prior. Apparently this disruption had satisfied him, however, as he finally tuned in to the conversations being had around him. When Lev finished speaking, he interjected.

"Not to mention, you Idiots just dosed all of us didn't you? Whatever it was must be special, and you're going to waste two samples just like that? All that data?" It was surprisingly coherent compared to his waking nightmare he made for himself. Yet, this involved possibly throwing a wrench into their plans and he definitely wanted to do that now.
 
Melina Arta
"A lump sum...and a founder's share..." Melina repeated quietly to herself, her brow furrowed in conflicting thought.
Ms. Swanson's response wasn't exactly what she'd been hoping for, she'd hoped to be able to send some money back in installments, help keep the strain of their daily expenses to a minimum...but she couldn't deny that the prize at the end was certainly well worth the trouble.
With a founder's share and a lump sum, they wouldn't have any worries, all she'd have to do is endure whatever tests they had in store for her.
"Wait, how much is a lump--!?" Melina suddenly spoke up once more, only to find the secretary already walking away, disappearing behind a thick, automatic door with a sharp hiss of hydraulic pressure.
She breathed heavily through her nose, similarly deflated, and more than a bit confused by how quickly the secretary had made her exit, as if she wanted to leave the room as quickly as possible.
A heavy clunk reverberated on the other side of the door, echoing throughout the room.
And then, everything grew still, a dreadful silence, as if they sitting in the maw of a massive predator.
And then, the walls hissed.

Looking behind her at the source of the sound, Melina watched in shocked as a vile, yellowish gas began to seep out of the vents, spilling out into the room.
Instinctively, she covered her nose and mouth with her hand, backing away from the creeping mist in fear.
The girl in blue scrambled behind her, rushing for the door, and in horror, Melina watched her, the girl so full of life mere moments before, fall to the ground like a puppet with it's strings cut.
"B-Bea!!" Melina's body moved without thinking, scrambling out of her seat to rush to the fallen girl's side.
She tried to shake the girl awake in a panic, a cold sweat streaming down her cheek as she begged for some sort of response, any sort of sign that the girl in her hands was still alive.
A small mercy, she could see the subtle rising and falling of her chest, the faint twitch of muscles still fighting to survive.
She almost breathed a sigh of relief, but the moment she opened her mouth, a sour, chemical scent assaulted her senses, filling her nose and tongue with a horrid, stinging electricity, that burned her nerves, and left them deadened in its wake.
Pained, excruciating coughs tore out of her, her lungs rejecting the bitter, harmful air, and Melina instinctively recovered her nose and mouth in a futile attempt to keep any more of the gas from seeping in.
Her vision grew blurry, filled with tears, her eyelids growing increasingly heavier with every passing second.
N-No...
She tried desperately to fend off the encroaching darkness creeping in, willed strength into the arm that was the only thing keeping her from sinking to the floor.
I-I can't...
Not...here...
They're all...counting on me...
Her failing brain tried to conjure some way out, some means of escape, some way to fight.
But all she could think of, in these last moments, was home.
Home, the warm, soothing comfort of home.
The memory covered her like a blanket as she finally succumbed to the darkness, sinking to the floor, and into a deep slumber.
Pain, a harsh ringing in her ears, the faint scent of copper and antiseptic in her nostrils are what awoke her.
She felt sick, her stomach lurched inside of her, her limbs felt like lead, her head felt like there was a drill boring directly into her brain, it was a sensation so vividly intense, she thought she could see the gleam of steel somewhere out of the corner of her vision.
Thankfully, she couldn't turn her head to look, a cold, heavy sense of dread warned her that she wouldn't like what she saw.
Instead, she looked down and was greeted by an arguably equally disturbing sight; her arms, legs, and head had been bound, forced to sit uncomfortably upright in a cold, metal chair.
A thin, translucent film covered her, obfuscating most of her surroundings. It was as though she had been reduced to a mere toy, still in its packaging, waiting to be opened and manipulated by it's new owner.
She felt a cold chill run down her spine, her breath hitching in her throat as she instinctively struggled to wrench herself free from her bonds.
No good, the leather straps held tight, and she couldn't muster the strength in her heavy, stiff limbs to break them.

“There we go!”
A sharp, shrill, unfamiliar voice filled the air, awfully cheery despite the bleak environment, it bore into Melina's aching temple like a hot poker.
Another voice accompanied it, softer, thankfully, though she could barely make it out over the intense ringing in her ears.
And then a third voice emanating from somewhere in front of her, still carrying the same flat, impatient tone it held earlier.
"Swan...son...?" Melina groggily croaked, raising her head towards the secretary before her, confusion and betrayal evident in her voice.
"Wh-Wha--?"
What was happening? Where were they? Why were they doing this?
A swarm of questions buzzed around in her head, but before she could ask them, the chair beneath her whirred to life, roughly turning her away, until she disappeared from sight.
In her place, Melina was brought face-to-face with an anemic-looking man, his features gaunt and pale, the sympathetic look in his eyes betrayed by the syringe in his hand.
She stared him down like an animal trapped in a corner, unable to do anything else, besides attempt to retreat into her seat to avoid what was coming.
But it was inevitable, and as the man seized her arm, and plunged the syringe into her vein, she turned away, clenching her teeth, and shutting her eyes tight until all she could see was the blinding white of her eyelids.
She could feel the mysterious serum invading her being, spreading up her shoulder and down to her fingertips.
It seeped into her muscles, a horrible paralytic burning, that forced all of her muscles to seize against her will, all the way into the marrow of her bones.
All the veins in her arm distended from the injection point, bulging against the surface of her skin as if they were trying to burst free.
The pain was blinding, like her arm was being turned inside-out.
It hurt so much that she had to fight with all her strength to not pass out.
But none of it cut deeper, than the revelation that these people...these monsters had deprived them of their identities, and not content with that, they were now contemplating killing two of them outright.
She focused on that anger, that betrayal, it was the only thing keeping conscious at this point.
"A-All...that work...A-All of that time..." her voice came out in a low, rumbling growl, hoarse with agony and rage.
She glared at Swanson with all of the hatred she could muster, more than she'd ever felt in her lifetime, as she viciously snarled,
"All of that...AND YOU'RE JUST GOING TO KILL US!?"

Everyone Everyone



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Errol | ???
Errol couldn't help but return the smile, his own nervous and barely holding itself up. The relief was visible at the other's friendliness as some of the tension holding in Errol's shoulders eased away. As the other lit the cigarette, a look of alarm took hold of his face as he looked around the room as if expecting someone to walk in and punish the other, "You can't smoke inside!" they whispered and signed as hushed as they could, trying not keep the other from getting noticed, "you could get in trouble!"

even if they had given the other the cigarette, they had not expected them to light it up inside. Even if the scent of it brought an itch to their throat, they definitely weren't going to follow Basile's lead in smoking it inside. Errol had been so distracted by the smoking indoors they hadn't noticed the hissing of gas until it touched his nose. They wrinkled the appendage up in distaste at the smell, the sudden onslaught of fuzz making something in their mind click, "we... have to get out! There... there's been a gas... leak...code brown..." They slurred out, grabbing Basile's arm to try and warn them, too dizzy to attempt to sign it.

of course, by the time Errol had recognized the scent it was already too late. His arms slipped off the other, who was far too relaxed, as he fell forward and hit the table. Errol could feel himself fade away for only a moment before he was gone, returning to the embrace of his mind.
--
when Errol awoke it was to the familiar scent of antiseptic burning his nostrils and the murmur of voices. Errol felt something in his chest twist as he came to, the same feeling of heavy limbs and a pounding skull. What if it had all been a bad dream? Maybe this time... though when his eyes opened, he was met with the same body uselessly restrained to a chair.

it took more effort than it should for Errol to lift his head and take in the fluorescent lights that shot pain through his skull and into his brain matter. He felt dizzy and disoriented as he tried to catch up on instructions he had missed, trying to swallow with his dry throat. The cranking of the machine as he lurched forward didn't help to ease his discomfort, his stomach doing a flip with each jolt. Maybe not eating before getting drugged wasn't a good idea...

Errol did his best to look for Basile, the only person he knew in the line, but was only able to catch a glimpse before the movement had his body spinning again. When Errol had reached the front, the doctor grabbed his only flesh arm with an apology that normally would have brought a smile to his face if it weren't for his jumbled mind. Even still, he managed to offer a weak, "it's okay," to the doctor before the pain hit.

it was like fire had been injected directly into him, each pump of his heart sending it further and further through his veins. Errol's heart began to pound in their chest as he began to gasp, heat washing over them like a sauna. It burned like he was encased in a fire. It cleaved through every capillary like they were nothing. Errol couldn't breathe, he was choking on the smoke of his own body burning alive.

his flesh was barely holding him together and it wasn't enough. It itched like the flames were about to burst out from his skin. Could anyone see it? Was the fire already escaping? Of course, they couldn't see it. The doors were closed, and the smoke was being smothered by his clenched teeth. There was no way out. He could hear them screaming around him, or maybe they were whispering, he couldn't tell.

each sound felt like it was in fortissimo, and he couldn't make it stop. Pillars, he just wanted it to stop. How could they think through the blaze? How could they speak without the smoke breaking free? It was too much. Even as the flames began to crawl to smoulders, he could only gasp in oxygen to feed the ashes of his nerves. Tears had slipped through his eyes, boiling against his cheeks as he cooled.

the flames dulled and left him shivering, arcs of pain flowing through each of his limbs, even the ones that were nothing but burnt bone and sinew. Was there anything left? He couldn't tell. Why were they still speaking? Was he the only one that couldn't handle it? He could barely tell what the words meant anymore, and the thought of trying to even form a syllable brought another flare of pain throughout his limbs.

but the rain fell, and his body cooled to only aches and shivers. His blurry eye blinked a few times before closing again. His body was untouched, his limbs were still missing. The only one who could still feel the remnants of the fire was him, but it didn't help ease the pain. His breathing evened out despite the dulling agony, but he couldn't yet speak. Whatever conversation was important enough to take place amidst the pain and flames would have to do without Errol.
interactions | Juju Juju Autumn Leaf Autumn Leaf
mentions | everyonee
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Cecil​

The sudden shift in tone for everyone as the doors shut tightly, and the gas was filtered into the room, wasn't something Cecil would've expected earlier. It has been in their contracts that they gave up a good portion of their bodily autonomy, but this simply felt crass or rushed. His judgmental and panicked mind quickly fell to the effects of the gas as the world turned black.

The key to his awakening was the sharp pain he felt at the side of his skull. He felt the restraints in his body as he reflexively moved, only being able to slightly shuffle, but failing to progress any significant amount. It didn't matter much anyway, he knew what he was here for, the best he could do is remain cooperative until this was all over. Surgery wasn't anything new regardless, he could only blame their sloppy use of anesthetics, having him wake up mid-operation.

The only thing more annoying than having metallic objects shoved into his brain was the greetings of these doctors. Perhaps it was his current state, but Cecil didn't feel like he was listening to trained and calm professionals, but psychos given toys to play around with, and like children it was better to not provoke them.

After having to listen to these people longer, the next part of the procedure came in the form of a needle injection. It felt like burning magma spreading through his body, an internal fire spreading, only it did not melt him, for that would end the pain quickly. Yet once the pain subsided, he felt a weight placed upon him, as if his flesh became stone and his bones transfigured into metal. If he had trouble moving before, now it was nearly impossible to move an inch. Cecil considered the implications of this new weight, had his body's mass actually increased? Was this some form of psychological trick? The thoughts and the weight placed on him made him rather oblivious to what the doctors spoke off until the words of essentially execution were mentioned.

If there was any doubt in his mind about these people being nothing but psychos, this was the clearest indicator of it. He noted the reactions of others, he was glad that not all people here were utterly heartless. They were bottom barrel lickers, but they weren't ready to let another die. Then there was Wehressi and Isaac. At first, he agreed with the formers reasoning, only for his mood to sour again at the idea of killing them once this was over. Isaac and the other hand gave Cecil a visceral gut reaction, this fucker was enjoying this, even using metaphors to trying and pretty up his words.

"Seems you're illiterate, as you are cruel." Cecil remarked towards Swanson, "Within the contract we allow you to provide us with medical assistance even against our will. We essentially give up bodily autonomy in many regards. Euthanasia or any matter of execution can't fall under medical assistance. So even if you wanted these two dead, you are unable to. If you wish for us to value and follow your contract, then you will follow it too." Cecil stared daggers at Swanson.
 
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