ataraxionlogs | 03 ▒ EVENT: STRELA OUTPOST ▒ ASSIMILATION

03 ▒ EVENT: STRELA OUTPOST ▒ ASSIMILATION

CHARACTERS: Ensemble production!
LOCATION: Strela Outpost.
WARNINGS: Mind horror, hivemindery, etc.
SUMMARY: Communal brainwashing.
NOTES: Divided by locations; players are free to indicate which day/stage, and to begin new subthreads wherever they'd like!

Looks like the authorities have apprehended you and have brought you in for processing. After being forced to wait in the waiting room, you're brought to the assimilation room - a terrible white cell, where you're trapped for hours, sentenced to be slowly stripped of your individuality.

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Tate, what --

[ what did you do, now they'll never let us go -- but that moment of shuddering horror doesn't last more than a beat because then he's surging towards her and then she's free. free because of him, because of Tate who they're piling on, Tate who's yowling like a trapped beast.

maybe it's silent hill, maybe it's what's happened on the ship. maybe it's just something in her but Heather is running for him before she's even conscious of what she's decided to do. Tate has snapped somebody's neck and there's no time to explain what they're come from, to try and get them to understand, so instead she pulls her knife and slams it into one of his captors. it bites into his neck, sinks to the handle. ]

Tate!

[ she's reaching for him even as she yanks the knife free from the falling man and spatters them both with blood. it's useless; before she can reach him her arms are pulled behind her tight enough that her elbows nearly touch and her knife clatters to the floor, the bright blade spinning and spattering in a slick puddle. between the two of them they might stand a chance but these silent, staring freaks just keep appearing, and Heather screams in rage. ]

I'LL KILL YOU, COCKSUCKERS!

[it's no less than a scream, and like a bull in a cage Tate thrashes against the hold they have. there are two dead, casualties in a war that Tate plans on bringing down on these people- unholy and wrathful, Lucifer the Morning Star- and that is more than enough to bring the big guns out.

Tate has faced off a wall of sniper rifles, and so he bares his teeth like a rabid wolf when he hears the soft hum of electricity, but the cattleprod that gets him fires white hot lightning through his synapses and he yells, body convulsing and bringing him shuddering to his knees. when he tries to get up again, he gets another hit, and the sound that pulls from his throat is more of a keening than anything.

it's the only way they manage to get them into the containment room, and when they do they throw Tate face first to the floor. with his hands free, he shudders, one bloodied hand (arterial spray, the knife that had dug into the man's neck) inching against the floor and Heather's name a cracked, pathetic sound on his lips.]

[ the first thing she does is crawl to his side, bruised knees and grazed palms smearing her anger over their pristine white floor. she's used to seeing him smiling, or at least self-possessed, and to see such rage in him and find it followed with something so small and broken is a visceral pain.

crouched low at his side, she murmurs his name over and over. it's meant to be soothing but her panic and concern bleed in, give it an edge of hysteria, and when she takes his face in her hands and sees the bloody prints they leave there she gags.

rebirth

paradise

bloodstained hands

she won't be sick. She won't. There's no time.]

Tate, talk to me.

[it takes him longer than he'd like to admit (he's fragile in his humanity, dead but not dead), but he manages to rouse from the static sound ringing in his ears to realize Heather is speaking to him and he's not just imagining she's there touching his face.

he grunts, shakily pushing against the floor to roll onto his back, coughing like he's only just remembered how to breath, and the dark of his eyes flutter. unfocus, refocus, and finally find her face. his voice is rough, like he's spent forty days in a desert.] Are you hurt?

I'm fine.

[he's talking. he's looking at her, he's talking, he's going to be fine. She pushes his hair out of his face as she takes what feels like her first real breath in minutes, and in the flood of oxygen and relief she realises what she's doing is kind of strange. she likes him, is fond of him, but they're not that close. and that makes her wonder.]

Why'd you -

[her hand retracts, drops awkwardly into her lap and wipes along the fabric of her skirt, but the blood is drying tacky and just leaves sticky, dark smears. not that she's paying that much attention; her focus is still on Tate. She shakes her head. Her voice is tender, if puzzled.]

Have you lost your damn mind?

[he considers sitting up, but he can still feel his body rapidly knitting itself back together, like he can hear the blood in his veins and the way his nervous system unsticks itself from one another. he takes a few deep breaths, his gaze flicking from the ceiling to her face, watching her expression as she presses the gold curl of his hair from his face.

it's pleasant, the stroke of her fingers. he lets himself bask in the attention for a moment, but his expression is wide, nearly innocent because the question is bizarre.]

I didn't want them to take you away. {he says, like the answer couldn't be more obvious]

[there's more to him than he shows. she knows that, remembers how interested the demon was in him. but it's hard to remember it with him like this, hurt because he helped her and saying things with the simple conviction of a child.]

I'm not going anywhere, dummy.

[it's not really a lie if she's going to do everything she can to make it true, right?]

Good. [he says, and lets his eyes close for a moment. despite the crisis, they've managed to get this far. he hadn't really known she was capable of killing someone, though.

it's a few moments before he tries to lever himself up to a sitting position.]

[forgivable. Heather didn't know that either.

it's why she's sitting in uncharacteristic quiet at his side until he tries to sit. when she reaches out to help him, it's probably equally because she's looking for something to hold on to.

she takes a breath, and it's shaky.]

What are we gonna do?

[his gaze rakes the room, finding the doors and the guards. there's the one they came in, and then a row with guards in front of it. there's no way to get out without fighting their way out.]

If the guards were distracted, we could try to sneak out.

[it's in that moment that the guards move, and they grab someone else in the room- a familiar face, though he can't put a name to it, and they start shouting as they're dragged toward the line of doors. some people get up and try to stop it from happening, and Tate rises shakily to his feet- taking Heather's hand in his own- as the commotion grows louder until the guards beat the people back and get their target through one of the doors.

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03 ▒ EVENT: STRELA OUTPOST ▒ ASSIMILATION

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