goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

Control was not happy with him. There was guilt engrained in him, trained into him as a reaction to Control's displeasure. It was his own fault. He should never have done this, he should never have gone against them. All he could do was take his punishment and do better.

He's stripped down to his undersuit when he enters the room, nothing to get in the way. It was a small room, a padded cell really, except for the machine set by one wall. It looked a lot like one of the machines they'd used on the MoI to implant AIs.

"Agent Washington." Control's voice. "Sit down."

He obeyed, settling himself in the heavy seat in the middle of the room, starting to fasten the restraints without prompting.

Getting herded out is new. At least they'd given him clothes to wear beforehand. Got cuffed. Got walked out to a chair next to a long pane of one way glass and it looks like here's where the interrogation is going to go down. Except...

It's a viewing room. The lights go up on the other side and it's Wash.

Buckling himself into a chair. Nothing that looks like this ever ends well. Padded walls, thin Machine and- needles for the neural implants. What the hell?

A guard fastens the restraints that he can't manage alone and then there's nothing for a moment, just the horrible waiting, and anticipation.

"You understand why we are doing this, Agent Washington?"

"Yes. I disobeyed orders. I fraternised with a prisoner."

"This is being done for your own good, to save you. To make you better."

"I understand. I'm sorry."

The hell is going on here. Not brainwashing his ASS, what the fuck else is that machine for? That whole fucking room. He doesn't say anything but Detla's running stats in the back of his head and none of them look good.

"You disobeyed orders, Agent Washington. We saved you. We took you in."

"I know. I'm sorry. I'll be better."

"We will remind you of your orders, of your place in this organisation. You are a valuable piece of this collection."

"I know. I understand."

He already feels cold and clammy and that doesn't go away when the guard, one of Charon's own soldiers, not the mercs, approaches him. He can't see it, but he definitely feels it when the needles are stuck into the implants and there's something pressed into the port at the back of his neck.

What the hell. What the hell, what the hell- Delta running the odds of what is happening isn't exactly HELPING York maintain his calm but-

If they want him to keep Delta they can't do this to him.

Can they?

And if they did D could talk him out of it. Right? Right. Jesus christ.

There's nothing for a long moment. Maybe he's supposed to fill that time with begging for forgiveness. But he knows they've made their minds up already. It starts as a tickle at the back of his neck, a whisper, the feeling of something in his head that shouldn't be there. He knows there isn't; it's all manipulation of electrical impulses. That doesn't help though.

And then the full force of it hits him. No building up to it, no gradual increase, just the feeling of something hitting his mind full force like a brick wall, burning through his mind. It's like Epsilon all over again except Epsilon had been sentient, been alive and hurt and this is just cold inanimate pain, strings of orders and codes and someone's screaming and he knows it's him even if there's a disconnect between his mind and body.

Not brainwashing his ASS. THe fuck do they call this- Wash starts screaming and that's when he starts struggling, it's involuntary. He's got so few people left and Wash is down there, screaming like he had when they'd put in Epsilon- he's not even thinking. Delta trying to shout down his reflexes in the back of his mind but it's Wash- breaking the armlock they've got him in doesn't take much, slamming the guard into the window once, twice- the glass cracks and if he keeps at it he might get through-

This has to stop. HE has to stop this.

All he can do is scream. It overwhelms his senses, blots out his vision with white hot pain until there's nothing left but the inside of his own head. And in there there's just his orders. He owes them, he has to obey, he has to. He's a weapon, that's his purpose so why is he fighting it? Fighting it just leads to pain, emotions just lead to pain, he needs to obey, to follow orders.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles in between the screams. "I'm sorry I'm so-"

There's an alarm sounding somewhere. An alert. He doesn't care. The next guard that comes at him from through the door gets thrown right against the crack- as much as Delta doesn't agree with this course of action he will help him be precise about it-

The glass gives. Shatters. York vaults after the body and rolls through the shards, sprinting for Wash.

He's only vaguely aware of anything going on around him. Hard to pay attention when his mind is unravelling, tearing itself apart, trying to rebuild and restructure around what's being forced into him. The screams are broken with sobs, great gulps of air and tears running down his face. It hurts and he doesn't have time to care. It hurts and he can feel blood trickling down the back of his neck. It hurts and that's all there is and- "I'm sorry i'm sorry i'll be good i'll be better i'll obey please stop."

Delta knows what he's looking for before he thinks to ask, hands scrabbling at the machine at the nape of Wash's neck, detaching it, shutting it down and pulling it out before someone, anyone can come for him. It's not like he'll be able to get out of here without getting his ass kicked but like hell he's leaving Wash to this.

Not again.

Not when he can stop it.

"Wash? Wash. It's over, it's over I need you to look at me, okay? Open your eyes-"

It's gone as suddenly as it's started and the cessation of it hits him nearly as hard as the start of it had. He sages in the restraints, sobbing quietly, struggling for breath. There's hands on the back of his neck, movement, someone talking. Hard to focus when his break is still sparking. It only slowly resolves into recognisable words.

And it- it's an order so he opens his eyes, stares at York blankly.

"Wash? Say something man, come on." He keeps one hand on Wash's jaw while he scrabbles at the wristbands, ignoring the shouting behind him. A sealed room means sealed but apparently someone doesn't know how to work the lock. If he was smart he'd grab a weapon but he's not being all that smart right now. All and all he gives himself about ten to fifteen seconds before someone man's up and knocks him out.

Everything seems slowed down and sluggish right now, even his own reactions. He blinks slowly at York. The hand on his jaw feels... nice. He thinks.

"I- I'm supposed to stop you. They said that. It's orders. I have to follow orders. I have to."

"No one SAID shit, they beamed it into your BRAIN like assholes how the fuck do you not call this brainwashing-" Arms, wrists, waist, ankles- okay he's up. He slings Wash's arm around his shoulders and tries to get him to his feet. "Come on, we're going. I don't know WHERE but we're getting you out of this room, fuck this room, fuck this machine."

"If I'd obeyed they wouldn't need to hurt me," he mumbled, slumping back in the chair and closing his eyes again. "Not brainwashing. Just reminding me of my orders." He didn't move when York unfastened the restraints, not until he's grabbed and has to stand and it's hard, really hard, when his legs feel weak and his head is pounding and he feels so heavy.

"I'm supposed to stay. Stay until I'm dismissed."

"Fuck that and fuck them." He mutters, cradling Wash against his side as he starts for the door. He won't get far but- the attempt counts, right? IT matters that he's trying. "Fuck staying."

He's torn between curling against York's side and pulling away. He should stop him, should be obedient, but York had- "You came back for me."

Memories are a malleable thing, his mind confused enough that that's all that matters right now. York had come back for him.

"Couldn't find you before." He mutters, hauling Wash along till they get to the door. Nowhere to check, no armor, no weapons. They are not getting far- but his point has been made. He's a threat and he is PISSED OFF. "Got you this time. Gonna get real crowded in a sec so hang on, okay? Okay."

He doesn't slide the door open so much as kick it and even in only the undersuit? He's got force. He's got means. He's PISSED OFF and that'll grant him any extra force he can Needs. The hall is, in fact, crowded. Their guns are all, in fact, pointed right at them. York keeps himself between Wash and the crowd, glaring. "I'll go back to my room but like FUCK are you taking him from me."

"Okay," he agrees. It's easier to do that if it's an order, easier to think around whatever they'd put in his head. It'll die down eventually. He'd only been in there for a few minutes. He clings to York as they approach the door and he winces when he kicks it open, the sound stabbing into his skull.

There's about twenty guns pointing at them. More than that. Wash hooks his chin against York's shoulder, brings his lips close to his ear. "Camo units," he whispers, a warning about what else might be waiting before he pulls away, staggers to keep himself upright and holds up his arms.

"You are not putting him back in that chair." He should've broken the machine. Didn't think to. Too busy trying to get Wash out of it, get him somewhere safe. Surrounded, outnumbered, out gunned- he holds his hands up but still does what he can to keep Wash behind him. "Seriously. Not gonna happen."

There's too many of them. York might be fine, maybe, but he can barely stand. He should never have got York involved. He sways on his feet, drops his arms because holding them up is exhausting. "I- I'm-" He's obedient, he's compliant, he follows orders and no, no, he can't think, he can't get around it.

"York... it's easier if you just... comply. If I do."

"This is me complying. They STILL don't get to take you. They want you? They'll have to shoot me." He is not budging on this. Not even a little. HE couldn't help back then, he'll be damned if he doesn't try now.

They can't win. As soon as York stands down, they'll be separated. He must know that. He must. "Please don't. Don't get hurt for me. I'm not worth it."

He turns to the guards. Charon guards, not his mercs. "I'll go back in. Just... just don't hurt him. This is my fault for being weak."

Edited 2015-09-14 03:33 (UTC)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

Re: York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

Re: York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

Re: York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

Re: York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

Re: York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

Re: York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

Re: York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)

York gets Captured thread split (point of divergance)