Mnemovore: Jean-Paul, Monday morning
Jun. 22nd, 2009 11:01 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsJean-Paul wakes up in the care of a Taygetos telepath.
When Jean-Paul opened his eyes, he was staring straight up at the acoustic tiles on the ceiling of a very white room. For a moment, he knew he was in the medlab, that Nathan had retrieved him while he was unconscious...
No, that was wrong. This was too quiet even for medlab. There were tubes in his arms, down his throat. He was restrained against a hard surface unable to even turn his head.
The footsteps on the floor were almost inaudible, even in the quiet. The face that moved into view above him was unfamiliar, half-scarred and shaven-headed on the scarred side. He was older, to judge by the gray in his hair, and when he spoke, it was the same cultivated, British voice that had demanded Nathan's surrender on the road in Moldova.
"My employers were very relieved to discover that you were not, indeed, part of some would-be Canadian response to our program."
Jean-Paul tried to swallow. The feeding tube snaking down his throat shifted uncomfortably. They were planning on keeping him here for a while without starving him, so they needed him physically intact. He was at the mercy of a telepath, and the bastard had been in his head deeply enough to know that he didn't have any current information on Alpha Flight or the X-Men that was of any particular value. His mind flickered through the possibilities and none of them were any good.
"Your employers should keep more up-to-date records," he managed, flexing against the straps across his body. No give. His heart sped up a bit.
"In their position, they need to prioritize. Deal with the immediate threat." The man tilted his head, and Jean-Paul was gripped by a sensation that felt like nothing so much as icy spiders crawling around on the inside of his skull. "You," he said, sounding mildly amused, "are going to help them do that. He refused to trade himself for you, by the way. Not unexpected, but it does say something about how much he values your friendship."
Despite everything, despite the impending violation, Jean-Paul let out a choked laugh.
"That is the best you can do? Kindergarten psychology? No wonder you need telepathy -- ARGH!" He broke off as those cold pinpoints turned to needles digging into his mind.
In contrast, the telepath's tone was conversational as he went on. "I find bravado tiring. Essentially, you're correct - I don't need to play these word games. But I was correct, too. You will hate him, before this is over. Or rather, before you lose the ability to feel anything beyond what your programming was designed to produce."
Jean-Paul gathered himself to mock the devil again...except that he couldn't seem to work his jaw. The tension in his muscles evaporated and he went lax in his restraints
like a body laid out for autopsy, his voluntary responses shutting down one at a time. He managed to flex his fingers once before they too ceased to heed him in any way. He couldn't even flinch from the telepath as he reached down to shut his eyes for him, leaving him in the dark.
"You're going to be useful," the telepath informed him, sounding almost pleased. "And I must confess, it will be enjoyable to utilize my skills properly, for once. The children are like soft clay. Barely a challenge at all. While you will take effort, and strategy..." The lean on his pain center was brief, almost casual.
The telepath's first cut into his mind was a clean, bloodless incision that drove deep. The body on the table had no voice to scream protest.
When Jean-Paul opened his eyes, he was staring straight up at the acoustic tiles on the ceiling of a very white room. For a moment, he knew he was in the medlab, that Nathan had retrieved him while he was unconscious...
No, that was wrong. This was too quiet even for medlab. There were tubes in his arms, down his throat. He was restrained against a hard surface unable to even turn his head.
The footsteps on the floor were almost inaudible, even in the quiet. The face that moved into view above him was unfamiliar, half-scarred and shaven-headed on the scarred side. He was older, to judge by the gray in his hair, and when he spoke, it was the same cultivated, British voice that had demanded Nathan's surrender on the road in Moldova.
"My employers were very relieved to discover that you were not, indeed, part of some would-be Canadian response to our program."
Jean-Paul tried to swallow. The feeding tube snaking down his throat shifted uncomfortably. They were planning on keeping him here for a while without starving him, so they needed him physically intact. He was at the mercy of a telepath, and the bastard had been in his head deeply enough to know that he didn't have any current information on Alpha Flight or the X-Men that was of any particular value. His mind flickered through the possibilities and none of them were any good.
"Your employers should keep more up-to-date records," he managed, flexing against the straps across his body. No give. His heart sped up a bit.
"In their position, they need to prioritize. Deal with the immediate threat." The man tilted his head, and Jean-Paul was gripped by a sensation that felt like nothing so much as icy spiders crawling around on the inside of his skull. "You," he said, sounding mildly amused, "are going to help them do that. He refused to trade himself for you, by the way. Not unexpected, but it does say something about how much he values your friendship."
Despite everything, despite the impending violation, Jean-Paul let out a choked laugh.
"That is the best you can do? Kindergarten psychology? No wonder you need telepathy -- ARGH!" He broke off as those cold pinpoints turned to needles digging into his mind.
In contrast, the telepath's tone was conversational as he went on. "I find bravado tiring. Essentially, you're correct - I don't need to play these word games. But I was correct, too. You will hate him, before this is over. Or rather, before you lose the ability to feel anything beyond what your programming was designed to produce."
Jean-Paul gathered himself to mock the devil again...except that he couldn't seem to work his jaw. The tension in his muscles evaporated and he went lax in his restraints
like a body laid out for autopsy, his voluntary responses shutting down one at a time. He managed to flex his fingers once before they too ceased to heed him in any way. He couldn't even flinch from the telepath as he reached down to shut his eyes for him, leaving him in the dark.
"You're going to be useful," the telepath informed him, sounding almost pleased. "And I must confess, it will be enjoyable to utilize my skills properly, for once. The children are like soft clay. Barely a challenge at all. While you will take effort, and strategy..." The lean on his pain center was brief, almost casual.
The telepath's first cut into his mind was a clean, bloodless incision that drove deep. The body on the table had no voice to scream protest.
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