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redshiftrp2019-08-03 11:31 pm
sobloodyinspired) wrote in redshiftrp2019-08-03 11:31 pm
video; un: shuckitall
[It's obvious that, at least at first, the boy being filmed has no clue about it, nor that it's being sent anywhere else for anyone else to see. It would seem someone left the device somewhere, discarded and ignored.
There isn't much to be seen, the room he's in is mostly empty, besides a bed to sleep on and the like, mostly decked in chrome everywhere the eye could see. The angle is tilted, but the boy can be seen in nearly every area of the room that he paces around like an angry cat. He bangs on the door, demands to be let out, to no avail. Mutters to himself, nonsensical things--
All the while, he's clawing at his arms, fisting his hands in his hair, punching the wall until his knuckles bleed, but he doesn't seemed phased by any of it at all.
The feed stretches on for a good hour or so, maybe closer to two, before he takes notice of the device again. The camera gives a far-too-close shot of his face as he mutters intelligibly to himself, fussing with the-- well, he doesn't know what it is, but he's sure that flickery-man he'd seen earlier said he could talk on it, somehow. Not that he remembers any of the instructions. Or were there any instructions at all? He can't remember. There were rarely instructions when WICKED was involved, and if there were, they were hardly useful.
"Shuckin' thing... Dunno what'm s'posed to..."
He blinks as he inspects the screen a little closer, eyes squinted in concentration. Everything is hard to process still. They said they cured him-- or something. He doesn't buy it, he's still too jacked in the head to be all right. But... he thinks he's getting clearer, maybe. Or maybe he just wants it to be true.
He pulls the device away from his face and taps a finger on the screen. The young, dirty-blonde boy looks a bit worse for wear, a few scrapes and scratches littering the tops of his hands, one cut in particular on his cheek.
But most noticeable, any time he moves his hands in the right angle in the shot of the camera, are the thick, black veins that run across his arms and peek up from the collar of his shirt, running up his neck and toward his face. When he speaks, it's with a distinct accent.]
Oi, this thing on? Anyone out there? If WICKED is listenin', hear me out, yeah: I don't buy your klunk about a cure. It's never existed, an' I don't reckon it ever will. You're all a bunch of nasty buggers who need to sod right the shuck off, al'right? Every last one'a ya.
[He throws an offensive hand gesture toward the camera and there's a beat after that before he adds:] And let me outta this bloody metal box- cage- thing you lot've shoved me in!
There isn't much to be seen, the room he's in is mostly empty, besides a bed to sleep on and the like, mostly decked in chrome everywhere the eye could see. The angle is tilted, but the boy can be seen in nearly every area of the room that he paces around like an angry cat. He bangs on the door, demands to be let out, to no avail. Mutters to himself, nonsensical things--
"Kill me! I trusted you.""Shut up! Just do it!"
"Kill me or I kill you!""Do it before I become one of them!"
All the while, he's clawing at his arms, fisting his hands in his hair, punching the wall until his knuckles bleed, but he doesn't seemed phased by any of it at all.
The feed stretches on for a good hour or so, maybe closer to two, before he takes notice of the device again. The camera gives a far-too-close shot of his face as he mutters intelligibly to himself, fussing with the-- well, he doesn't know what it is, but he's sure that flickery-man he'd seen earlier said he could talk on it, somehow. Not that he remembers any of the instructions. Or were there any instructions at all? He can't remember. There were rarely instructions when WICKED was involved, and if there were, they were hardly useful.
"Shuckin' thing... Dunno what'm s'posed to..."
He blinks as he inspects the screen a little closer, eyes squinted in concentration. Everything is hard to process still. They said they cured him-- or something. He doesn't buy it, he's still too jacked in the head to be all right. But... he thinks he's getting clearer, maybe. Or maybe he just wants it to be true.
He pulls the device away from his face and taps a finger on the screen. The young, dirty-blonde boy looks a bit worse for wear, a few scrapes and scratches littering the tops of his hands, one cut in particular on his cheek.
But most noticeable, any time he moves his hands in the right angle in the shot of the camera, are the thick, black veins that run across his arms and peek up from the collar of his shirt, running up his neck and toward his face. When he speaks, it's with a distinct accent.]
Oi, this thing on? Anyone out there? If WICKED is listenin', hear me out, yeah: I don't buy your klunk about a cure. It's never existed, an' I don't reckon it ever will. You're all a bunch of nasty buggers who need to sod right the shuck off, al'right? Every last one'a ya.
[He throws an offensive hand gesture toward the camera and there's a beat after that before he adds:] And let me outta this bloody metal box- cage- thing you lot've shoved me in!
action
Not good over vids.
She'd been exploring the area around the decontamination ward anyway and it's not hard for her to locate where she thinks the boy is. So here she is, then. Perfectly visible through the window. A tall, sturdy woman dressed in dark blue fatigues, trailing a suitcase. She hopes the suitcase looks battered and luggage enough to be non-threatening. ]
I'll start with a stupid question, yeah? You just woke up in this thing?
[ She's good at the casual, calm voice, even with her military bearing. ]
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His words, when he speaks, are sharp and suspicious.]
Who're you? [Yup, he's sure just ignoring your questions, lady.]
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[ No 'commander', no stumble over the loss of her ship - her ship - because, yeah, she's not stupid. 'Commander' probably wouldn't go down well with the kid. Not when she remembers being that wary, suspicious kid herself. ]
Just got yanked here, according to the vid I watched.
You?
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[He nods a little.] Guess we're both Greenies. [He huffs an amused sound and muses:] I haven't been one'a those in awhile. Weird.
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Least no one's shooting at us. [ That's almost an aside to herself, wry and amused. Waking up in that Cerberus medbay had been... an adventure. ]
Did you get any vid welcome?
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[That earns an amused sound.] Yeah, at least there's that, I guess.
Yeah. [He nods.] And then I got alarms and an injection and tossed in here. Pretty jacked if you ask me. Not like those lot didn't already know who did and didn't have The Flare. The fanfare is a bit overkill. [He finally moves from the far side of the room on the bed where he'd been, device left behind on it and toward the thick window separating them. The black veins raised up against his skin are more obvious from closer up, and it makes him look even more sickly than his earlier video had.]
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[ She's assuming so. She's not sure, but it makes sense in context. ]
Bit on the nose naming, if so.
[ The kid looks sick. Fucking understatement, Shepard, except he'd been panicking before and she can get around to what's wrong with him as it turns up. And investigate. ]
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Well, that's sure a name.
[ The fuck. ]
I'd say they sound like something Cerberus would dream up, but they're better at coded naming.
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So you don't know about WICKED... how about The Flare? [No one around here seemed to know about it, and it's driving him a bit mad. He'd gone from not knowing, to not being able to unknow it and now he's smack back somewhere, where he's supposed to believe that no one's heard of it-- it's not the best time.]
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The Flare?
[ There's a frown, then a shake of her head. ]
No, I haven't. Nothing serious with that name. What is it?
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[ And she's never seen an in-between stage, not really. The closest was on that old, dead Reaper. ]
They're violent, husks. The same for your Cranks?
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[ Then she pauses, glances up at the ceiling as she ponders it. ]
No, not really. Each victim is deliberately turned into a husk by some mechanism. There's a few ways. But it isn't contagious from the husk itself. A location, or an object, but not like a disease.
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