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xp_logs2012-06-03 08:48 pm
x-gambit.livejournal.com) wrote in xp_logs2012-06-03 08:48 pm
Genosha: Onwards To Victory: New Prisons
Doug, Marie-Ange and Terry are temporarily cut off, and rescue a few prisoners.
The metal doors slammed shut faster than anyone thought possible, and though Marie-Ange had the time to try to wedge an imaged metal cup between them, the doors simply squhashed through the image, turning it to mush and ectoplasmic goo before any of them could get through. "Merde. Merde -merde." Marie-Ange pressed the heel of her hand to her eye and kicked at the door with a bare foot. "Cypher, get us out. Now."
This wasn't awkward at all. Separated from the rest of the group with the two women who had been used as levers against him. One his ex-girlfriend, one...whatever he and Terry were. And he had no idea what that might be after she had been in the room while the Genoshans had worked him over. It was a measure of how tense and avoidant Doug was that he didn't even toss off a quippy reply to Marie-Ange ordering him, the way he might have among the larger group of prisoners.
Instead he turned, thankful for something to look at besides either woman, and made a sharp hand gesture down the hallway leading away from the blast doors.
Terry grimaced and exhaled hard. The door was smooth and there were no visible controls, and anything she could do to pierce it would just as likely leave her companions comatose and bleeding on the floor. She flattened herself against the wall out of the way of Doug's gesture, sliding her eyes easily past both of them, though it was her ears that she strained. "Better hurry. Seems clear for the moment." She worried a piece of skin off her lips though, not yet trusting the return of the full extent of her powers.
Still grinding her hand into her eye, Marie-Ange pulled up images behind her, a shifting, moving wall of discs and interlocking knives that followed behind them., only faltering as they paused before t-junctions and corners. "The cell doors. Cypher, can we open them? If they are all open they will have to check every cell to see if we are hiding or have split up." Plans made from desperation were not usually solid but it was all they had. "I think I recall emergency releases, in case of earthquake or monsoon?"
Doug looked up at the ceiling, again glad for something to do and somewhere to look. Everything had patterns, a language to it, if you knew how to read it. Wiring schematics, drainage piping, they could all be traced from end to source. He glanced around, spotting the closed circuit cameras that were spread throughout the hallway, overlapping so that one always saw what was happening at any particular point. He gave another hand gesture, trotting off toward another T-junction and indicating which direction to turn at each splitting of the hallway.
"Can we access the line directly? Open them that way?" Terry asked after two or three of those turns, looking up at the ceilings and not seeing the same patterns. She looked over at Marie-Ange, then at Doug, eyes narrowing slightly at his continued silence.
"I think Cypher may recall where they are, but I am not certain." Marie-Ange narrowed her eyes at Doug and frowned. "I am forced to assume he knows what he is doing."
A few more turns brought the trio to a door that, unlike others, was not barred, but was heavily reinforced. Doug brought his rifle up and triggered a quick burst at the handle and lock assembly, then kicked sharply at it. On the other side of the door was a command post, with a number of monitoring stations. He pulled a chair out and sat down at one, propping his gun against the workstation. He rapped a few keys and brought up a diagram of the cell block, with all the cells currently colored a neutral gray color.
Terry's retort hesitated on the tip of her tongue long enough for them to reach the door. Then it just seemed pointless. She slid into the room and started rummaging methodically through desks and cabinets and drawers looking for anything useful, stopping when her hand fell on a clipboard with a set of grimy sheets attached. A list ran down the pages, and she flipped through them distractedly before pausing on an item. She turned the clipboard toward Marie-Ange and said, "P. Moreau."
"The president's son. The one who tried to run to America." Marie-Ange said, voice low. "He has been here the entire time?" She shook her head. "That is no way to treat someone. Doug? Can you open his cell?" She could see his fingers already moving over the keyboard, but it seemed for now to just bring up more control screens.
The president's own son had been left to rot in a jail cell. That spoke volumes about the regime and their position on dissent. It clearly didn't matter how high the dissent came from, the result was the same. He paged through a few blocks of cells until he found the correct one. A keystroke turned the cell's color from gray to an angry red, likely an extra indicator to the observer that the cell was open, and thus unsafe. He made a 'wind it up' gesture to the two women, to indicate that they should hurry to the cell and be there to meet Philip as he came out.
The one that she had let get taken out from under her nose. Her and an FBI detail. The Government's finest. Her face settled into hard lines and she tossed the clipboard onto a desk as she spun in place and stormed for the door.
The metal doors slammed shut faster than anyone thought possible, and though Marie-Ange had the time to try to wedge an imaged metal cup between them, the doors simply squhashed through the image, turning it to mush and ectoplasmic goo before any of them could get through. "Merde. Merde -merde." Marie-Ange pressed the heel of her hand to her eye and kicked at the door with a bare foot. "Cypher, get us out. Now."
This wasn't awkward at all. Separated from the rest of the group with the two women who had been used as levers against him. One his ex-girlfriend, one...whatever he and Terry were. And he had no idea what that might be after she had been in the room while the Genoshans had worked him over. It was a measure of how tense and avoidant Doug was that he didn't even toss off a quippy reply to Marie-Ange ordering him, the way he might have among the larger group of prisoners.
Instead he turned, thankful for something to look at besides either woman, and made a sharp hand gesture down the hallway leading away from the blast doors.
Terry grimaced and exhaled hard. The door was smooth and there were no visible controls, and anything she could do to pierce it would just as likely leave her companions comatose and bleeding on the floor. She flattened herself against the wall out of the way of Doug's gesture, sliding her eyes easily past both of them, though it was her ears that she strained. "Better hurry. Seems clear for the moment." She worried a piece of skin off her lips though, not yet trusting the return of the full extent of her powers.
Still grinding her hand into her eye, Marie-Ange pulled up images behind her, a shifting, moving wall of discs and interlocking knives that followed behind them., only faltering as they paused before t-junctions and corners. "The cell doors. Cypher, can we open them? If they are all open they will have to check every cell to see if we are hiding or have split up." Plans made from desperation were not usually solid but it was all they had. "I think I recall emergency releases, in case of earthquake or monsoon?"
Doug looked up at the ceiling, again glad for something to do and somewhere to look. Everything had patterns, a language to it, if you knew how to read it. Wiring schematics, drainage piping, they could all be traced from end to source. He glanced around, spotting the closed circuit cameras that were spread throughout the hallway, overlapping so that one always saw what was happening at any particular point. He gave another hand gesture, trotting off toward another T-junction and indicating which direction to turn at each splitting of the hallway.
"Can we access the line directly? Open them that way?" Terry asked after two or three of those turns, looking up at the ceilings and not seeing the same patterns. She looked over at Marie-Ange, then at Doug, eyes narrowing slightly at his continued silence.
"I think Cypher may recall where they are, but I am not certain." Marie-Ange narrowed her eyes at Doug and frowned. "I am forced to assume he knows what he is doing."
A few more turns brought the trio to a door that, unlike others, was not barred, but was heavily reinforced. Doug brought his rifle up and triggered a quick burst at the handle and lock assembly, then kicked sharply at it. On the other side of the door was a command post, with a number of monitoring stations. He pulled a chair out and sat down at one, propping his gun against the workstation. He rapped a few keys and brought up a diagram of the cell block, with all the cells currently colored a neutral gray color.
Terry's retort hesitated on the tip of her tongue long enough for them to reach the door. Then it just seemed pointless. She slid into the room and started rummaging methodically through desks and cabinets and drawers looking for anything useful, stopping when her hand fell on a clipboard with a set of grimy sheets attached. A list ran down the pages, and she flipped through them distractedly before pausing on an item. She turned the clipboard toward Marie-Ange and said, "P. Moreau."
"The president's son. The one who tried to run to America." Marie-Ange said, voice low. "He has been here the entire time?" She shook her head. "That is no way to treat someone. Doug? Can you open his cell?" She could see his fingers already moving over the keyboard, but it seemed for now to just bring up more control screens.
The president's own son had been left to rot in a jail cell. That spoke volumes about the regime and their position on dissent. It clearly didn't matter how high the dissent came from, the result was the same. He paged through a few blocks of cells until he found the correct one. A keystroke turned the cell's color from gray to an angry red, likely an extra indicator to the observer that the cell was open, and thus unsafe. He made a 'wind it up' gesture to the two women, to indicate that they should hurry to the cell and be there to meet Philip as he came out.
The one that she had let get taken out from under her nose. Her and an FBI detail. The Government's finest. Her face settled into hard lines and she tossed the clipboard onto a desk as she spun in place and stormed for the door.