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Post by Aleu on Aug 8, 2006 10:39:36 GMT -6
((Let's see how well I can copy Max's character :>))
It was pitch black and dead quiet. Dead quiet, as in, literally dead, with little cold corpses in the cages around us. Not the most cheerful of thoughts nor sights, but we had gotten used to it.
"We" being the few genetic cðcktails that hadn't died after a couple years. As far as I knew of, there were five of us, including myself. All of us were kept in the same room, in the center of the housing complex. The complex was partitioned into three sections. Each section was lined with a single row of dog crates on both sides, from smallest at front to largest at the rear. Since we were in our teens, we got to sit in the waaaay back.
The door opened slowly, squeaking every inch of the way. I think the designed made it squeak on purpose, because those kinds of heavy iron things were made to make lots of noise. It just wouldn't fit if it didn't.
Everyone shielded their eyes against the light, except for the dead ones, the ones who didn't have anything to shield with (they just turned around in their cages and put their heads down), and ones that didn't have eyes.
Basically, just the five of us in back.
"Serene?" Oh God, why me? My legs were achy from the last set of trials they had run, not to mention the fact that I was dead tired from having to do the Treadmill of Doom (as we affectionately called it. It was run at 15 mph for hours on end or get your rump fried by a stun baton) overnight.
A man in a white lab coat tapped on my cage. I recognized him; he was one of the Officers.
The seven Officers were like guards, except much, much higher up. They were like... Elite guards, I guess. They did most of the running and fetching (I supposed normal guards were too stupid not to permanently damage the merchandise (us)).
"And to whom do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" I asked him acidly. Out of all of the Officers, Richard (Dalton was his last name) was the least nasty (or at least, not as sadistic as everyone else), but I still hated him with all of my heart and a good portion of my spleen.
He smiled wryly at me. "The guys in the examination room?"
"How sweet of them. I'll be sure to send them a card come Christmastime."
"That's the spirit," he said to me, picking up my crate in one hand. I weighed in at about 70 pounds, partly to let me fly and partly to save money on the grocery bills.
Two minutes later I was chugging away at 15 mph.
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Post by Arynielle Fallyce on Aug 8, 2006 11:42:17 GMT -6
I've always wondered Why me? Why am I stuck in this prison? How am I so special that I get to spend my entire life in a cage? It's not fair. Though I've never been able to spend even a day away from this building complex, I know there are other people outside these walls! Why can't I be like one of them..? All this insane torture... and for what? So these people can do their stupid, sadistic experiments? I'm sick of this.
Honestly, I've done everything I can to irritate them. (Them as in the scientists.) I know that they can't hurt me, because I'm one of their precious experiments. Still, they all vexed, so they usually stab me with one of those shocker things. Bah. Watching their irritated faces is enough for me. Heck, I even bite them when I have the chance. Not that they taste good, but still. It provides me with some entertainment. Besides, for what other purpose do I have these fangs for?
As of right now, I'm strapped to a table in a completely white room. Gee, why can't they do anything about the scenery..? It's irking me. Grr. A big light is shining in my face and I can't see a thing. Well, maybe that's the whole point of it.
And the my point is that I hate this. I hate it all with a fiery passion. Grawl.
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Post by Shiori Ailill on Aug 8, 2006 13:20:20 GMT -6
((okay... so we're all rooster/hen hybrids? I just need to clarify before I start >_<U))
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Post by f0n9 on Aug 8, 2006 13:37:09 GMT -6
-={[No, that's just the censoring system gone haywire. It's supposed to be a genetic c0cktail, but it converted it to roostertail. They're all half-avian, half human.]}=-
-={[Proceeding on the assumption that I can make my own self. If not, I can always just transfer back to Gasman.]}=-
...ow..!
I swore to myself as, for what felt like the seventy-bajillionth time, my freshly bandaged head managed to touch the side of my kennel. In case you couldn't tell, it's sensitive.
...hey, I am not a wuss! Your head'd be sensitive too if you just had your eyes operated on! ....uuuurrgh... *shiver* ...d-don't remind me, please... Surgery wasn't fun... I don't deal well with knives... and needles... ...and b-blood...
Anyway, back to the kennel. I shifted uncomfortably in the tiny, cramped space I had, trying to keep my head from the walls and yet give my wings the most room to expand in. Y'see, they had the lucky thrill of getting operated on too! I'm just such a lucky kid that way. But hey, it beat last month... when they took the chisel to my skull... and operated on my... m-my... I-I think I'd r-rather not get into that...
At any rate! (Before I skeeve myself into a complete meltdown.) ...you don't know my name, do you? Good, I'd hope you didn't. I don't know my name either. The only way you would, is if you were one of Them... and you're not, right? Of course you're not... if you were, then you'd already know this story. But anyway. I'm starting to babble.
The only name I have for myself is the name one of the nicer nurses gave me. ...if you can call any of them nice. She named me Hibou. Said it was French for my "codename"... it's sad, really. I don't even know my codename. No name, no codename, just someone's passing nickname as something to call my own.
Oh well. Just make the best of it, Hibs...
...whatever the best can be in this situation...
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Post by Aleu on Aug 8, 2006 18:33:43 GMT -6
Thump. I scooched further back in my crate, seeking shelter and coolness by the wall. The other room was really cold, and since my crate sat right against the concrete division, it was handy for soothing burning muscles and a small source of comfort during the hotter days of summer. The metal-framed door shut on me, and the bigger iron door clanged a few seconds later.
Jeez. Four hours on the treadmill. That must be a new record or something. If only I could enter my initials. Well, in my case, initial. Unless, of course, they wanted my other name, which was 492A1121L-22C19/17AS82-18RS-3. Which, according to one of the lab techs, actually meant something. Fancy that.
About an hour later, I heard another "Clang! 'Serene?'" Oh jeez. Not again, please not again, no no no NOOooo get away!
Hullo, what's this? I peeked through the bars to see a pair of shoes I didn't recognize. When you live at ground level, you learn to identify people by their floor-hugging parts. In most cases, it was their shoes, or sometimes even their pants.
Todd Welsh. Oxfords. Stuff for the guys that never got dated in high school. I looked left. Newports. That was... Ms. Brimmer. She was an okay nurse. Sometimes she brought an extra bit of food or something, which was nice.
"Mr. Osman, this is 492A1121L-22C19/17AS82-18RS-3, or Serene, as we call her. Age fifteen. In good physical health..." she continued to rattle off my life story to this Osman guy. As I half-listened, I couldn't help but notice how much she sounded like an auctioneer, like the ones we saw on our twice-weekly hour of TV time...
...Oh crap. Did that mean...?
"Moving on, this is 492A1121L-22C21/15AS82-18RS-5..." I tuned her out. Osman seemed to do the same, as he was crouching down and peering into my cage. I looked up at him, blinking. Who exactly was this guy, and what the heck was he doing here?
Osman leaned closer, and I mentally decided that if he tried to poke or pet me or something, I'd bite him. I saw a hand reach through the bars, and I was about to lunge when I realized it was retreated. It had dropped something in front of me.
I looked at it as though it was potentially hostile. It was yellow, wrapped in thin plastic. A little bit of writing said "Lemonheads," next to a picture of a big, grinning lemon...head. I had no idea why someone had a lemon for a head, nor why he would be so happy about it, but I pocketed the thing anyway. It had a picture of a lemon on it, and lemon = food.
Well, it had a picture of a lemonhead on it, but I figured the principle was the same.
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Post by f0n9 on Aug 8, 2006 19:20:19 GMT -6
"Moving on, this is 492A1121L-22C21/15AS82-18RS-5..."
...did I say I didn't have a name? I lied. That's my name, or at least what the 'coats call me. I was kinda surprised that Ms. Brimmer had called me by my longname, though, since she was the one who named me Hibou... although obviously, not as surprised as she was, because she stopped talking.
I swear on whatever god or gods you believe in, Ms. Brimmer may be a nice lady, but there is nothing that shuts her up. Obviously, something had surprised her.
...or perhaps, annoyed. I heard the soft shuffle of feet as someone moved quickly away from Serene's cage, and closer to mine. Then she resumed her drone.
"Like I said, subject 492A1121L-22C21/15AS82-18RS-5, or Hibou for short. Still recovering from this morning's suuuurrrrgerryy..." (the word slowed down in my head as bad images filled the space, no, badbad, no throwing up, suppress the nausea, suppress...) "...but as you can see, the bioenhancements are picking up the slack and the tissue is recovering quickly. We expect her blahblah to yakkery yak before the end of the gabgabgab..." ...and at that point, my brain gave up. Jargon's not something I take to too well. Sure, I understand it, but my mind tends to wander a bit... and at that point I usually find something to distract me from the complexity, like a butterfly, or Nurse Nelson's newest lanyard (I swear, she collects them, she's got a different one for each day of the week and special ones for holidays), or... yeah. Babbling again. Sorry.
Oh wait, hi! I could feel someone's breath against my skin. There's a someone in front of my cage. And I don't hear clicking steel, so it's not another doctor! Yay! Whoever he is, he just jumped five points in my book.
Oooh, wait, clicketyclick... that's not steel, though. I know that sound. This is plastic, with just a tiny bit of metal. And it's sitting on the floor of my kennel. I wonder what it... oooh, coooooold!! There's an icepack with it! Cold cold cold cold COLD!! ...ahh, but MAN does that feel good on my head. Bless you, strange breathy man! ...but what's this?
Slowly I turned it over and over in my hands, feeling for some key to what it was. Long, thin metal pieces with plastic at the end... connected to two thin pieces of smooth plastic, which are connected by metal... and the weird nose thingies! He got me sunglasses! I always wanted a pair of these...
"...thank you..." I whispered, my voice still raw from this morning's drugs... and I heard his footsteps stop. And start again, sounding the teensiest bit lighter... or maybe he was just moving faster. Ms. Brimmer was tapping her foot after all, and she is not a good lady to make impatient.
"And here we would normally have subject 492A1121L-22C21/15AS82-18RS-6, but she's in the Lab... moving on, 492A1121L-22C21/15AS82-18RS-7..."
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Post by Omio on Aug 9, 2006 9:49:03 GMT -6
((This is assuming I just got worked on. F0n9, thanks for covering Shiori's _ _ _.))
He was just waking up from his last operation to overhear this. "... on, 492A1121L-22C21/15AS82-18RS-7. One of the worst of our subjects for physical condition, but one of the best in terms to mental condition. He only has had about 23 operations." The rest was just useless bauble for the 16 year old. Well duh, you guys don't know what you're getting into. You may be fiddling with some of the worse of things. Luck was, that he had 7 operations in the course of 2 days usually although it grew less and less. 7 in 2 days, a single day break, 7 in 2 days again, a 2 day break, 6 in 2 days, then today, 3. He didn't take any liking to any of the suits and robes. Last time they were reckless, 5 of their soldiers got taken out. Literally. He could've used that opportunity to escape, but he knew his value to them. Alas he kinda figured that someone else out there wouldn't take a liking to him. Why the #311 am I kept cooped up like this? I could, at least, have a decent cage. I do have wings that I don't like to have cramped. He was in a rather thin, but somewhat tall box. It cramped his wings, but nothing else. It was no wonder he wasn't the best at flying. He tried to squawk at them to get moved to a cage. But, all that came out were just senselessly loud 'sqwawk's and 'tseer's. They laughed at the futile attempt and moved on. ((They, being the officers.))
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Post by Aleu on Aug 9, 2006 10:18:05 GMT -6
((Omio! We can talk. We have perfect, even above-par cognetive abilities. Your character has been beaten down into submission over the last 16 years. There is no way he's going to be that resilient on a day-to-day basis. There is absolutely no freaking way he's going to want to stay here. You live in a dog crate (which are cubical, not rectangular.) Natural instinct that's been built in will make him freak out at the sight of a cage, and his worth and what people out there think don't matter in the least when the opportunity for escape comes up! Every fiber in your body will be screaming at your head to get your ass out of there, and there is no living creature with enough willpower to sit still and go through 23 operations. Why would he have had 7 operations in two days?! They wouldn't have enough stuff to operate on after the first two, let alone 21 more! Operation is a dicey business, you can't go under the knife that many times in such a short period of time and survive.
There is only one person in a suit, and that's Osman. Everyone else has a white lab coat. There are no robes. White coats! Anti-septic smell! Read the book or get a grip or something, ffs!))
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Post by Presea Combatir on Aug 9, 2006 15:03:50 GMT -6
I sat there, huddled into the corner of my crate, watching everyone else poof into the room. My turn would probably come soon. I would rather stay in this tiny cage then go into there. The things they did in there hurt, not saying that being cramped in here didn't. I didn't want to go into that room... It was all so cold and stuff... I wanted to get out of here, and I'm sure everyone else felt that way, too.
The weird man in the weird suit was coming towards me now, and I saw him reaching for the latch to my cage. I squirmed around, trying to escape from him, but I lost. I hadn't eaten in a while and was too tired to try to get away anymore.
((Are we all going to bust out sometime? o.o))
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Post by Arynielle Fallyce on Aug 9, 2006 16:36:02 GMT -6
I have absolutely no idea how I made it out unscathed, but somehow I did. (or maybe I didn't but just don't realize it... they did force a strange tasting liquid down my throat earlier, but so far, I feel average.) Maybe they just gave me an x-ray and decided to stuff me back in the cage. I hope. Not that I really mind. I escaped from surgery, the prodding, the poking, the goddamn hell of it all. That just made my day.
Well, whatever's left of it anyway. I sighed, sinking low in my dog crate. The rest of my day remained inside of this cage. Unless, of course, they would be kind enough to let me out. Even just for a minute to stretch would be nice.
But I guess that isn't going to happen. >.< Not today, anway. Grah. My wings... my poor, cramped wings. Do you know how badly I want out of this cage? Not just the cage... I want out of this lab.
Maybe if I rocked hard enough in my cage, I can somehow scoot over to the corner and go unnoticed. Just maayybe... Bah, forget it. I've been trying for a while now. It doesn't work-- it's just a nervous habit by now. I think these dog crates were built with a heavy base for a reason. Grr. I sighed and continue to rock back and forth, hoping that perhaps there would somehow be a miracle.
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Post by Aleu on Aug 9, 2006 19:47:19 GMT -6
Osman left yesterday and hasn't been back. I found that the thing he gave me was candy. Huh! Something I hadn't seen in my isolated life. It was wonderful. I gave it just a lick before deciding it should be saved.
The door clanged open again. God, when would they they give us a break? A heavyset guard walked in, and in his silouette against the light streaming in from the door, I could see a long, heavy cord. As he drew closer, I observed that it was made from a synthetic-looking bunch of fibers, almost impossible to break.
My hearted leaped. Not the standard response to a situation like this, but the leashes meant we got to go outside.
The mang lifted my crate and Hibou's easily, one in each hand, and lumbered outside. Setting us down on the edge of the (dry) fountain, he threaded the end of the threads around the outside of the grille and reached in to clip it onto the the metal anklet everyone wore. The clip was a devilish device, structured in a funky roundabout way that meant you needed almost no effort to clip something in, and a heck of alot of keys to get it off. No one tried anything to him, though, seeing as the last time an unfortunate someone (me) had done something like that, I had found myself in posession of some seven factured bones. They'd healed within a few weeks (all of us healed quickly), but they hurt.
The cage opened, and I sprang out, grateful for a chance to breathe the clear night air and stretch my wings. As I began to unfurl them, a heavy arm dropped onto my wrist. "You fly, you die."
Ahh, crap. That was one of the least fun rules they had. No flying, or it was many, many volts of very lethal electricity though the anklet for you. I nodded silently, then scurried off. The tether had quite a bit of slack, so I could move relatively easily.
Hibou left her cage shortly after I did. I waved her over to where I stood, far away from the guard, who had gone back to grab the next two members of the flock. "Your head okay?" I asked her softly, eying the bandages. "That looks pretty bad."
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Post by f0n9 on Aug 9, 2006 20:02:19 GMT -6
"Mmh..." I groaned softly in reply, stretching my wings... and wincing, don't forget the wincing. Fast healing or no, my wings were still sensitive from this morning's surgery. ...not a wuss.
"Pretty bad," I murmured, in response to the question. "I can't see a thing, thanks to these bandages. I'm not sure I want to, either... just the light eeking in from them is giving me a headache..."
"...oh, right!" I reached into my pocket and snatched out my prize sunglasses, waving them around energetically before putting them on. "The guy from awhile ago gave me these... and an icepack!" I nearly sang, truly chipper for the first time in weeks. Weeks? Scratch that- months. But at least the light didn't hurt my eyes so much now.
"Who was that guy, anyway? I couldn't see him..."
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Post by Shiori Ailill on Aug 10, 2006 0:32:29 GMT -6
"Out you go, Éanna" One of the guards practically drags me out of my cage. Another, more senior guard whacks him up the side of the head and I almost smile, almost. You must be delicate with the experiments the doctors tell them, and then they run us through more inhuman tests. I would laugh at th irony of it all if I wasn't living it.
I slump to the ground once I was out on the grass and out of my miniscule cage. I am larger than the others, but all of our little prisons are the same size. A soft breeze blew my long red hair back, and a phantom of smiles came with it. I stretched my large, black-tipped white wings; one of the guards gives me a warning look, but I only rolled my eyes, I know better than to take wing. I can't fly now anyway, having been on the treadmill for twelve hours before our rare excussion outside. I see Serene and Hibou talking to each other. I shudder at Hibou's head, at least I don't have to go through as many surgeries as she, just tests, lots and lots of test. Long ones. I lay down on my stomach, my extra large wings spread wide. This was bliss, or as close to bliss as it gets for us, God I wish I could fly.
God... what was "God" to us? My mind went into one of it's philosifical speals. Most of us try not to think... I guess I think enough for all of them. But anyway, what is God? I mean we were created by the doctors, not by anything natural. Would God even look our way, because of what we are? Could we, abominations of all things natural, receive his blessing? We did not ask to be this way, afterall. No, of course not. Our parents, our "God" are the ones in white. The demons who think we are beneath them, even though we can do things they could never be able to do. I close my golden eyes, burrowing the sorrow that threatened to surface. I snuggle my face in the grass taking in the earth's smell before we are lead back into our unnatural "home."
((note: Éanna is an albatross/red-tailed hawk hybrid [thank you F0n9!] just so you guys know.))
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Post by Omio on Aug 10, 2006 8:56:00 GMT -6
((Grek, looks like I made yet 1 more major misread. Consider it punishable? This is going to be awkward to RP, but I'll see to managing. I'll also see to reducing the # of operations. I don't want to assume this is the time we escape yet. Unless Mr. RP agrees with it. After all, we can't really do anything too far outbound.))
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Post by Aleu on Aug 10, 2006 11:27:35 GMT -6
((Mreow. f0n9's posts are what I consider ideal. He's got a wonderful grasp on what I expect, he has a nice writing style that fits his character well, and it's just plain good. And, no, it's not the time to escape. It may never be time to escape. Mwahahaa. It's good to be DM.))
I nodded sympathetically. We'd all been through more than our share of stints under the knife. The shades looked kinda funny on her, especially when you took in the bandages. Thank God that she couldn't see my expression.
"They... they look good," I managed to say without laughing. "You mean that man from yesterday? I think his name was Osman." I shrugged.
"He looked like an okay guy. He was wearing Oxfords. Looked like a moneybags. He gave me some candy, but I don't trust him." Actually, if anything, that lemonhead had made me more distrustful. If he were a nasty little bastard and kicked my cage around, well, fine, I could trust that he would be a jerk. But giving me candy? Sneaky, like ninja. He was someone to watch.
"Is Éanna mating the grass or something?" I asked Hibou, looking at her prone body facedown in the grass. "Or is she dead?"
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