legionworld | THE MIND SLAYER

THE MIND SLAYER

She's been setting this up for weeks now. It's almost too easy with how trusting these Legion fools can be. If they'd only taken her seriously, if they hadn't laughed at her then... Well, things would be different. Now they'd welcome her with open arms. After she killed a few of them, of course.

This has to be done up close. She'd taken a job as a waitress in the mess halls. The older Legion, the ones who'd been at her tryout, didn't even recognize her. They deserved this more than their replacements. She almost feels sorry for them. But, no, she had to move before Saturn Queen went to trial in a few days. Meta, Esper, she's Esper now, can't risk any more time. If it's to be done, it has to be done now. She'd rather be further away, but her mental range isn't as long as she'd like. Tucked away into a dark corner of Legion World, she stood across from her costume. Heroes wore costumes, and she couldn't call herself that while doing this, but she could still draw strength from it.

She watches it, imagining how she'll look in it, and shivers. Nerves, she tells herself, glancing at the trigger device in her hands. "I'm sorry," Esper whispers. "But I deserve this." With the press of a button, the nanofactories kick into high gear and, for over a dozen Legionnaires, the lights go out. Whatever they're doing, their physical bodies instantly collapse and slump over, as if they're in a coma. Anyone coming too close, entering her psychic range, joins them.

They awaken almost instantly, finding themselves in a hellish amalgam. Parts of their worlds slammed together to make some twisted patchwork reality. And, like Oz himself, Esper's head appears above them, smiling with forced confidence. "You deserve to know what's happening, Legionnaires. My name is Esper! And you're locked into your own mindscapes. I've seeded you with teletechnology designed to tear your minds apart! It will be painless, mostly, but the weakest among you will fall to your own memories as my machines convince your subconscious that you shouldn't be alive." She drifts back a little, examining the group. "And, linked like this, if one of you falls, all of you die. Don't resist and make it more painful for yourselves. Just surrender and make it painless and easy for your friends. And don't try anything stupid. I'll be watching."

With that, she slides out, making sure her mindfield keeps people away from this section of Legion World, and that those who are still awake haven't noticed the heroes dropping like flies.

But she'll be back. And her machines have already set to work.

[[If you wish to have your characters discuss matters, set up your comments in the mingle post! Otherwise, make new toplevels for every mental scenario you'll work with.]]

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The ground crunches under America's feet. She's not sure about any of this, but even with her helmet's audio receivers turned to max, she hadn't gotten any solid direction for the sound. She's turned everything back down to normal and, gun in hand, eschewed stealth. If someone was watching her already, all the hiding in the world wouldn't help.

Besides, how dangerous could the inside of someone's mind be? There weren't any real psis on the team that she was aware of.

She moves in, watching the faceless men warily. Was there a danger now? Could she be harmed in someone else's memories? Either way, they seemed content to ignore them, so she just... kept pushing through, following the subtle urging that she hoped would lead to the nightmare generators and not some dead end. And now... A lab. She'd seen facilities like this. Run by criminals and in the Justice Department itself. But what was going on?

There were too many questions. And the men were being just cryptic enough to... Movement in the corner. She whirls, raising her pistol and half-way through the motion realizes who she's looking at. Carefully, unsure of whether touching anything or anyone will be dangerous, she makes her way over to Tracer and clears her throat, lowering her voice to a hush. "Almost makes you feel like a voyeur, doesn't it?" Not the best greeting for someone she barely knows. But the obvious questions will be answered if she just waits.

The commotion back toward the entrance to the lab had caused only a brief pause in the procedure as security dealt with it quickly. The two white coats had looked up, and even Amélie's head had craned to try to see what had happened. The first one noted something on the brain monitor, a flickering in an area of Amélie's mind where nothing was supposed to be active.

"Hope," he commented, looking down at her. A hand smoothed over her forehead, an almost affectionate gesture, as the sedative slipped through her system and he pushed her head back to the table. "My dear, they have forsaken you. We have gone over this time and time before. That was not them, and if it was, they would only be coming for you in order to kill you. This will allow you to adequately protect yourself."

Taking his hand away, he turned to the monitor with the coding, scrolling through it until he came to a part of it, a few keystrokes making a minor modification.

"But--" Amélie began to speak, though her words cut off as the white coat hit a specific button. Her eyes closed, though the muscles in her neck tensed and one hand clenched into a fist until it shook. The activity in her brain settled back to a steady low level, and the other white coat stood over Amélie with a larger syringe in hand, this one bearing a yellow liquid.

"Is there a problem, Doctor? Or did you lie when you said she was broken?"

"You have no idea what you are speaking of. I do not attempt to understand your Frankenstein science, don't attempt to understand the artistry of neural conditioning. It is a continual process. Your work may be done when you transform her, but mine will be eternal."

The white coat with the syringe made a displeased sound. "We are investing a lot of money into her. If your methods are flawed-"

"They are not. Proceed, Doctor."

Hand holding Amélie's shoulder, the syringe was inserted into her neck. "Hold her," she said to the assistants.

The two men barely had their hands on her when whatever substance was put into Amélie hit her. A scream of torrential pain ripped from her throat and her back arched. Now the reason for her restraints was seen with every muscle cording and the veins bulging like something foreign was moving through them. Instinctively, she tried to free herself, pulling on the restraints and fighting against the pressure the assistants had on her body. One of the arm and wrist restraints wasn't as tight as the other one and the spiking of her adrenaline and the waves of activity in her brain (not to mention her racing heart rate) allowed her to rip it free.

She lashed out, hitting the assistant closest to her in the side, a low kidney shot that produced a curse from the target. Immediately, there was retaliation as the assistant backhanded Amélie across the face, snapping her head back even more against the table. It bought him the time to grab that arm and prevent her from doing any more damage. The act made both white coats turn in rage, yelling at the assistant at the same time.

"You idiot! Do not damage her!" "She is more valuable than you will ever be to Talon. Strike her again and you will be replaced." It was clear that being 'replaced' was just another term for being killed.

Edited 2017-06-14 02:55 (UTC)

Lena is physically uncomfortable, enough that when America speaks, she nearly jumps out of her skin and points both pistols in her direction. When she recognizes the familiar face, she still doesn't lower them -- after all, she hadn't forgotten the last time she'd been forced into a mental-scape with allies. Allies became enemies. And in front of her was a Widowmaker being indoctrinated into Talon.

She hasn't a clue what to think or how to react. Amélie's scream yanks her attention back, turning Lena at least one shade paler than she had been. It wasn't that she hadn't seen horrible things before -- Null Sector had decimated King's Row, killed hundreds of people as all rogue Omnics did. But--

The yelling, the restraints, the needles, all of it combined causes her to stiffen up so tightly that her hands begin to shake.

"We've got to do something," Lena replies quietly, looking back to America for ideas. Even if it was just a memory, even if it wasn't real -- what if it had lasting repercussions?

America gives the pistols a dull look, not that it can be seen through her visor, then focuses on Tracer. "If you're planning on shooting me, I certainly hope you'll wait until after the-" And then the screaming starts. Her head snaps towards the action and she bristles for a moment, just a moment, before forcing herself to relax.

This isn't something she can change. There's no citizen to rescue. As much as the Legion liked to pound the 'jurisdiction' nonsense at her, there really wasn't anything to do this time. How could you change someone's past?

She reaches up, places a hand on Lena's shoulder. Gives it a squeeze. Focus. If this were home, the scientists already be dead or under arrest. But this already happened. Maybe not this badly, if she'd understood Esper. But still, it had happened. "Say we rescue her. What then?" She glances back at Amélie, eyebrows bunching. What are they doing? She wants to know. But who knew if they were on a time limit? "Whatever they've done to her has already happened. The first time I really spoke to you, you were acting as if she was your worst enemy. What will happen if she suddenly remembers you rushing in when she's at her weakest, rescuing her and pulling her to safety, and then the rest of her life is spent following her normal history?"

To America, it sounded like a recipe for a host of mental issues.

"But what if that's what we're supposed to do?" Lena bites back, eventually wriggling out from under America's hand more out of stubbornness than actual anger. Her stomach churns the more she watches Amélie squirm and scream -- for a moment, its almost like she doesn't hear America, eyes instead glancing for alternate routes she could take to put a stop to whatever was going on without forcing her removal.

Frankly, she doesn't care what Widowmaker remembers or doesn't remember -- maybe it would change her for the better. It couldn't possibly make things worse, that's something she's certain of. She didn't have knowledge of what made her into what she was, but she didn't need it to know that it was probably irreversible.

She doesn't know America well enough to know whether or not that would matter to her, nor does she know her well enough to spend time explaining the intricacies of her moral code.

"Are you gonna help me or not?" she says, while still searching the ceiling, the walls, and the exits she can see. "You don't have to -- but at least let me know what I'm workin' with, yeah?"

THE MIND SLAYER

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