For Treason, Act II, scene i
May. 5th, 2026 07:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsKyle wakes up in captivity, bandies words with a faceless voice, demonstrates that he is definitely more intelligent than he’s given credit for, and finds out who else has been abducted with him.
(He doesn’t need to be told who has him, it’s not that hard to figure out)
Cuffs. Kyle stared down at them - they were thick, metallic, hinged but they'd cuffed him in front. Behind his back would have been more challenging. He sat on the concrete slab doubling as a bunk, and counted footsteps.
Ten, twenty, fifty paces away. Shut his eyes to listen, waited another twenty five paces. He pulled one leg up next to him, and his elbow into his thigh. Rucked his shirt up with his foot, shoved the coarse fabric into his mouth and bit down. Braced, pulled, snap. Spat out the shirt, now wet with spit and torn where he'd bitten through it so he didn't yell.
His left thumb hung limp, he twisted and pulled the wrist through the cuff. No sense hiding it - he could hear footsteps coming back, they were on a couple minute rotation. He had enough time to shove the thumb back into the joint and shake the tingles out before the steps came close enough that he had to turn his back on the door.
"Ah. I see you're back with us, Mister Gibney," a mellifluous voice came over the speakers in the room. "While I admire your skills at contortionism, I'm afraid those cuffs were merely used against the possibility that you might shake off the sedation while we were transporting you here. Please disabuse yourself of the thought that you will surprise one of the guards and stage an epic escape, I assure you they've all been made aware of your status."
"Surprised I didn't wake up in more cuffs, or a fucking hood." Well, since they knew, he could be an asshole. Kyle turned and raised a middle finger - the one on his now uncuffed hand - at the door. "Since I bit the shit out of at least one of those guards the last time." Since they knew, he could give himself a few moments to pat down his injured thigh. No real pain, a couple of places that were sore when he poked them. Good range of movement. "You gonna tell me what the fuck, or is this the kind of kidnapping where I sit here and rot?"
"Your file indicates you have a masters degree. Even a masters of arts requires a certain level of academic rigor, so come, surely you must have some theories. Dazzle me with Columbia's finest pedagogy." The voice over the speakers carried a tone of amusement, and a distinct lack of urgency, as if he had all the time in the world to amuse himself.
Kyle snorted, and sat back down on the concrete bench. "Aw, I'm supposed to be impressed you fucking stalked me? Jesus fuck, either you did a lot of research and know you're about to be ass fucked by the people I associate with, or you didn't do nearly fucking enough research and you're still gonna get ass fucked by the people I associate with. Your guys like the blown out eardrums? How many of them got their hearing back? Man, even if you're like, the worst possible option, you guys are not gonna like what's coming for you."
A low dark chuckle rumbled from the speakers. "We -have- done our research, Mister Gibney, we are very aware of who you work with and live with. We have addressed operational security accordingly. We will not be repeating the mistakes of past antagonists, there are multiple redundancies in place, and a good portion of our facilities are...rather beyond anyone's reach." The voice paused. "But enough about that. Instead, let's talk about the reason you are here. Along with a few others."
He was up instantly, claws out, teeth bared. "I swear to God if you have Terry I am going to kill every single one of you assholes."
"Till death do you part, eh?" No matter how Kyle reacted, the voice was that same bland sort of conversational tone. "No, Mister Gibney, your fiancee is not one of the subjects we have here, but I am certain you will recognize them." A camera in a hidden recess projected a small rectangle on the wall, showing a camera feed from inside an identical cell. The furred form sitting in the corner of it was unmistakably Liam Nelson.
The snarl came out low, deep, from his gut. "What the fuck. He's a kid."
The voice continued, placid but relentless. "While young, Mister Nelson is of the age of legal majority. Old enough to vote and enlist, and to drink in most of the non-American world." A soft noise of throat clearing. "Still, if you think of him as a youth, in need of protecting, I will note that his continued well-being is contingent on your behavior."
"Sure, I absolutely believe that." Oh, this is how they were gonna play this. He'd bet money - or his own health - that the second he started losing his shit, they'd do the "oh, the scary mutie can't control his temper, look at what an animal he is." and if he calmed his ass down, they'd call it being manipulative, or anti-social personality disorder, or a lack of empathy. Lose-lose scenarios, and Kyle'skids students were more likely to lose. "He's a kid, you fucking know he's a kid, lets not play stupid games, I don't feel like winning stupid prizes."
The display split into three parts, one continuing to show Liam, the other two looking over cells containing Jessie Drake and a single member of the Cuckoo quintuplets. "We are the only game in town, Mister Gibney, whatever your judgment about it. And whatever prizes come from it are yours to determine."
"Fucking seriously?" The Frost girls, Liam... himself... not Terry.. Kyle narrowed his eyes at where he thought the camera watching him was. His legs twitched as though he was going to stand, and then he settled himself. "Gar in here too, or Logan? Wait, no, if you had either of them you'd be giving them this lecture and not me. So, this everyone or did you pick up Laura too?" He shook his head. "Jesus you people are so fucked, you know that right?"
"If it comforts you to think so, you are welcome to whatever opinions you like, Mister Gibney. As I said before, we're aware of the people you associate with, and have done our due diligence." The voice remained conversational, almost banal, despite the topics and emotions at play. "And excellent deduction regarding the presence of Miss Kinney. I confess, I'm curious as to what led you to that conclusion, if you don't mind sharing for the record."
Oh, it was gonna be like that. Kyle lay down flat on the concrete slab, arms crossed behind his head. "You fuckers have been obsessed with me since before I was born, you think I don't recognize this fucking circus? Every couple of years one of you fuckers gets some money, and remembers I'm out here and kidnap me to try to turn me into some kind of serial killer. You want an entire Hardesty group this time? Can't imagine how fucking well that's not gonna work out, because I'm not Victor fucking Creed, asswipe."
The voice chuckled. "Hardesty, eh? I wouldn't have pegged you as a classic slasher aficionado, Mister Gibney, given how much time you spend, shall we say...rising above baser instincts? Certainly we do not expect you to be Creed." The intercom cut out for a few moments, then came back. "Believe it or not, we mean to correct the mistakes that previous projects have made with regard to understanding the dynamics at play in all of this. Though it is perhaps not professional to speak ill of other researchers and some former colleagues...well, let's just say they were a bit too...myopic in their approaches."
Kyle snorted. "Oh, we gonna do the affable discussion thing? What if I don't wanna." He'd considered saying "I dated a film nerd once" but caught himself - and he was not about to fall into this bullshit conversational kidnapper stockholm syndrome bullshit. "So any particular reason you're not showing me Laura? Or was that gonna be my reward for doing some kind of cooperative bullshit like letting you muzzle me or something?"
"Oh, I'm just a firm believer in never showing all my cards at once, Mister Gibney." It didn't matter how combative Kyle got, the man's tone never seemed to change. "Gives me a chance to react to new and unexpected wrinkles in things."
"And I'm a big fan of getting my theories confirmed. Lemee guess, cooperate and you'll let me see the kids, and don't cooperate and you know I've got a healing factor so you'll hurt them instead." He grinned, a little sharply. "We both know how that goes, and what answer I give you, so lemee have my kids. All of them."
There was a pause, then the voice came back. "I believe that can be arranged, Mister Gibney. It appears that Miss Kinney is just waking up from her surgery, so let's see about reuniting all of you."
(He doesn’t need to be told who has him, it’s not that hard to figure out)
Cuffs. Kyle stared down at them - they were thick, metallic, hinged but they'd cuffed him in front. Behind his back would have been more challenging. He sat on the concrete slab doubling as a bunk, and counted footsteps.
Ten, twenty, fifty paces away. Shut his eyes to listen, waited another twenty five paces. He pulled one leg up next to him, and his elbow into his thigh. Rucked his shirt up with his foot, shoved the coarse fabric into his mouth and bit down. Braced, pulled, snap. Spat out the shirt, now wet with spit and torn where he'd bitten through it so he didn't yell.
His left thumb hung limp, he twisted and pulled the wrist through the cuff. No sense hiding it - he could hear footsteps coming back, they were on a couple minute rotation. He had enough time to shove the thumb back into the joint and shake the tingles out before the steps came close enough that he had to turn his back on the door.
"Ah. I see you're back with us, Mister Gibney," a mellifluous voice came over the speakers in the room. "While I admire your skills at contortionism, I'm afraid those cuffs were merely used against the possibility that you might shake off the sedation while we were transporting you here. Please disabuse yourself of the thought that you will surprise one of the guards and stage an epic escape, I assure you they've all been made aware of your status."
"Surprised I didn't wake up in more cuffs, or a fucking hood." Well, since they knew, he could be an asshole. Kyle turned and raised a middle finger - the one on his now uncuffed hand - at the door. "Since I bit the shit out of at least one of those guards the last time." Since they knew, he could give himself a few moments to pat down his injured thigh. No real pain, a couple of places that were sore when he poked them. Good range of movement. "You gonna tell me what the fuck, or is this the kind of kidnapping where I sit here and rot?"
"Your file indicates you have a masters degree. Even a masters of arts requires a certain level of academic rigor, so come, surely you must have some theories. Dazzle me with Columbia's finest pedagogy." The voice over the speakers carried a tone of amusement, and a distinct lack of urgency, as if he had all the time in the world to amuse himself.
Kyle snorted, and sat back down on the concrete bench. "Aw, I'm supposed to be impressed you fucking stalked me? Jesus fuck, either you did a lot of research and know you're about to be ass fucked by the people I associate with, or you didn't do nearly fucking enough research and you're still gonna get ass fucked by the people I associate with. Your guys like the blown out eardrums? How many of them got their hearing back? Man, even if you're like, the worst possible option, you guys are not gonna like what's coming for you."
A low dark chuckle rumbled from the speakers. "We -have- done our research, Mister Gibney, we are very aware of who you work with and live with. We have addressed operational security accordingly. We will not be repeating the mistakes of past antagonists, there are multiple redundancies in place, and a good portion of our facilities are...rather beyond anyone's reach." The voice paused. "But enough about that. Instead, let's talk about the reason you are here. Along with a few others."
He was up instantly, claws out, teeth bared. "I swear to God if you have Terry I am going to kill every single one of you assholes."
"Till death do you part, eh?" No matter how Kyle reacted, the voice was that same bland sort of conversational tone. "No, Mister Gibney, your fiancee is not one of the subjects we have here, but I am certain you will recognize them." A camera in a hidden recess projected a small rectangle on the wall, showing a camera feed from inside an identical cell. The furred form sitting in the corner of it was unmistakably Liam Nelson.
The snarl came out low, deep, from his gut. "What the fuck. He's a kid."
The voice continued, placid but relentless. "While young, Mister Nelson is of the age of legal majority. Old enough to vote and enlist, and to drink in most of the non-American world." A soft noise of throat clearing. "Still, if you think of him as a youth, in need of protecting, I will note that his continued well-being is contingent on your behavior."
"Sure, I absolutely believe that." Oh, this is how they were gonna play this. He'd bet money - or his own health - that the second he started losing his shit, they'd do the "oh, the scary mutie can't control his temper, look at what an animal he is." and if he calmed his ass down, they'd call it being manipulative, or anti-social personality disorder, or a lack of empathy. Lose-lose scenarios, and Kyle's
The display split into three parts, one continuing to show Liam, the other two looking over cells containing Jessie Drake and a single member of the Cuckoo quintuplets. "We are the only game in town, Mister Gibney, whatever your judgment about it. And whatever prizes come from it are yours to determine."
"Fucking seriously?" The Frost girls, Liam... himself... not Terry.. Kyle narrowed his eyes at where he thought the camera watching him was. His legs twitched as though he was going to stand, and then he settled himself. "Gar in here too, or Logan? Wait, no, if you had either of them you'd be giving them this lecture and not me. So, this everyone or did you pick up Laura too?" He shook his head. "Jesus you people are so fucked, you know that right?"
"If it comforts you to think so, you are welcome to whatever opinions you like, Mister Gibney. As I said before, we're aware of the people you associate with, and have done our due diligence." The voice remained conversational, almost banal, despite the topics and emotions at play. "And excellent deduction regarding the presence of Miss Kinney. I confess, I'm curious as to what led you to that conclusion, if you don't mind sharing for the record."
Oh, it was gonna be like that. Kyle lay down flat on the concrete slab, arms crossed behind his head. "You fuckers have been obsessed with me since before I was born, you think I don't recognize this fucking circus? Every couple of years one of you fuckers gets some money, and remembers I'm out here and kidnap me to try to turn me into some kind of serial killer. You want an entire Hardesty group this time? Can't imagine how fucking well that's not gonna work out, because I'm not Victor fucking Creed, asswipe."
The voice chuckled. "Hardesty, eh? I wouldn't have pegged you as a classic slasher aficionado, Mister Gibney, given how much time you spend, shall we say...rising above baser instincts? Certainly we do not expect you to be Creed." The intercom cut out for a few moments, then came back. "Believe it or not, we mean to correct the mistakes that previous projects have made with regard to understanding the dynamics at play in all of this. Though it is perhaps not professional to speak ill of other researchers and some former colleagues...well, let's just say they were a bit too...myopic in their approaches."
Kyle snorted. "Oh, we gonna do the affable discussion thing? What if I don't wanna." He'd considered saying "I dated a film nerd once" but caught himself - and he was not about to fall into this bullshit conversational kidnapper stockholm syndrome bullshit. "So any particular reason you're not showing me Laura? Or was that gonna be my reward for doing some kind of cooperative bullshit like letting you muzzle me or something?"
"Oh, I'm just a firm believer in never showing all my cards at once, Mister Gibney." It didn't matter how combative Kyle got, the man's tone never seemed to change. "Gives me a chance to react to new and unexpected wrinkles in things."
"And I'm a big fan of getting my theories confirmed. Lemee guess, cooperate and you'll let me see the kids, and don't cooperate and you know I've got a healing factor so you'll hurt them instead." He grinned, a little sharply. "We both know how that goes, and what answer I give you, so lemee have my kids. All of them."
There was a pause, then the voice came back. "I believe that can be arranged, Mister Gibney. It appears that Miss Kinney is just waking up from her surgery, so let's see about reuniting all of you."
