A price to pay for their freedom. (open)

[vividwriter]

“For the last time. What’s your message?”
“You promise It’s the last?”
“Yes. The last before we really get started. See that woman over there?” My torturer points to a tall woman, dressed in a dark trench coat and ocre slacks, standing in a corner.
“You mean the one with a severe fashion impediment?”
My torturer growls at me, twisting my scarred arm. “Laugh all you want. But that woman has always gotten the information we needed from even the most dedicated officers.”
I set my jaw.
“Who is the head of your operation?” He growls again.
“Bring the fashion lady on.” I growl back. My former torturer smirks and gestures for four men to come, take me off of the rack, and place me somewhere else. I’m too weak to put up an attempt to escape. They carry me to a wall, and string me up from the shackles that hang from it, so that my body forms an X. The torture mistress saunters up to me, places a manicured hand on my chin, turning my jaw from side to side. I watch her open her suitcase. I almost faint with shock at how many tools are packed into it, but I remain emotionless, and steel myself. Her hand skims over the tools of torture, and curls around a hypodermic needle, and a small glass bottle.
“What’s that?” My former torturer asks gleefully. The woman didn’t even smile, “Truth serum. It works three out of five times people. So pray she is a third person. For her sake.”
They force my head down, and I can feel the tip of the needle pressing on my skin. It’s cold, I wince as it slowly enters my neck bone, and a cold serum is slowly injected into my spine. The hand holding my head down, pushes it to the side, and holds it up at the chin. I shudder as the cold serum finds my brain, and the manicured fingers let go of my chin. I feel my head loll, my eyes roll back into my head, and I black out.
My eyes focus in on two people. I blink hard, trying to clear my eyes of the fog. After the fifth blink, I could see clearly. I strapped to a stone table. The torture lady, and my former torturer lean over me. I seem to have gained energy, and judging by the faces of my torturers, I didn’t reveal anything. I grin slyly at them, and notice that my lips aren’t chapped anymore. Great, I have heard of this. They make you healthier so they can ensure your alertness during new tortures.
“Let me introduce myself.” Fashion lady hisses. “You may call me Catherine.” “Catherine.” I echo. “Of course, that’s not my real name, but as far as you know, it is.” I seal my lips and steal myself. Catherine snaps her fingers, and my former torturer hands her a rather small hypodermic needle. More needles? Catherine curls her fingers around it, and smiles. She then turns from my, and chuckles. Beginning her monologue. “This is a needle that I will fill with a poisen, this poisen will cause a nerve attack, racking your body with shivers, and an electric feeling. These attacks will continue for an indefinite amout of time. Keep in mind I also have a serum that will cure this. All you have to do, is tell us the message. Here’s a demonstration.” Former torturer produces a white rat, and holds it down as Catherine injects a milligram of the stuff. “If I inject, just a fraction too much, the victim will go into a coma, or even die, after feeling their whole body tearing down. The rat screams, and shakes so violently my former torturer has to cup a clear box over it. I watch it shake, hear it’s shrieks, and I shudder. The rat is now on it’s back, it’s mouth hanging open, my eyes widen as a droplet of blood trickles from it’s mouth. It’s paws twitch and Catherine giggles. “Oops.” Her hand covers her mouth, and then drops to her needle, and she pierces another container of the same poison, filling the needle half way. “Ever felt your foot go asleep? Well, this is similar, except for that it’s harsher, and it’s all over you. I always say,” She hums, “that anticipation of the torture is worse than the actual thing, but,” She approaches me, I struggle in my restraints. She forces my head to the side, and stabs me with the needle. I feel this warmer liquid seeping into my spine. “There are always exceptions.” My eyes black out, and my ears pick up screams, my screams. I feel my whole body quaking, my nerves burn, my heart palpate, and my digits freeze. A voice, her voice, “You can stop this, Just tell us what we want to know.”
I can’t see them, but my back arches, and I pull towards her voice, “KILL ME!” I scream at them. “Sorry. Maybe later.” Catherine hums. I can’t see her face, but my brain can barely pull up an image of her, smirking. Screams tear from my lungs. The pain is massive, almost to massive. How much longer will I be submitted to this torture? When will my skin stop burning, stop freezing? When will my eyes see sun light? When will my ears hear a birds whistle, a crickets song? I am trapped here for information I will not give. I have a choice,
I choose this.

(OOC. If you can figure out how to help spring Enn, that would be great. She is part a smuggling team that smuggled people out of districts.)

[WT]

((OOC- I'm not sure how helpful Aeleze can really be, but she'll sure as heck try. xD

A repost, because the last one wasn't showing up for some reason, and today it seems to have deleted all the way. O.o))


“Aaaaaand one up over here; and maybe over there...”

In any of the Districts, a woman with hair styled to look like fire and an outfir of tree bark (only simulated, of course- the real stuff was much too scratchy and not flexible at all) would have gotten insane glances. Here, however, in the Capitol, such things were normal; as a matter of fact, Aeleze passed far weirder outfits on her way down the street. A few she paused to look at for a few moments before either wincing (the bright, blinding pink-and-yellow cone some man was wearing was particularly bad) or sketching something on her hand contemplatively; for the most part, though, she just glazed right over them and went back to putting up flyers.

Another strip of backing came off, and Aeleze positioned the words where she wanted them. “This lamp’s good, don’t you think, Thalia?”

The cattle dog at her side looked at the flyer, sniffed it, then glanced up at her mistress with a confused expression. Aeleze laughed and patted her for a moment. “Yeah, I know, girl. It’s got a picture of a sheep but it doesn’t smell like one.” As she spoke, she plastered the sticky part behind the words Wanted: Someone Who Knows About Sheep! onto the street lamp, and the two moved down the road, the dog sniffing the ground and the human looking for more flyer spots. “Well, you’ll smell plenty of sheep when we get home!”

Thalia tilted her head to one side, still looking a little confused, but barked this time. She understood sheep and home and her human’s positive tone, and all of those were good things, so she panted and wagged her tail. She was having fun today; Aeleze didn’t take her into the city very much, preferring to leave her with the sheep, but a shepherd had been hired for today and for now the dog was more or less free to explore all the new sights and sounds.

Suddenly, though, a new smell invaded, or maybe a sound- either way, it made Thalia’s black hackles rise and set her teeth into a snarl. Aeleze looked down and dropped the remaining flyers in surprise, allowing them to scatter away from her; normally her Australian Cattle Dog was energetic but good-natured, and she hadn’t seen this behavior from her since she’d bought Thalia from a breeder five months ago. (She was naturally like that, too, rather then genetically or psychologically altered; the breeder had been natural, as opposed to one of the specialists running around these days. Aeleze didn’t want to scare the sheep.) “What’s up, girl?”

Growling softly now, Thalia tried to move in front of her mistress. Aeleze pulled out the scissors she had been using to cut the flyers and moved forward past her dog, genuinely concerned that something was going on. Thalia nipped at her heels, but she ignored the stabs of pain, walking forward until she could hear something- shouting and screaming.

Eyes wide, she fluffed her hair so that the fire effect was even more pronounced than usual, hoping that whoever was fighting with whoever else would be surprised enough by the sight of a tree on fire (which is what she had designed her outfit to look like today) that they would stop for just a moment. That done, she snapped the scissors open and began running toward the noise. Thalia snarled and barked once or twice, but she was as helpless to stop her mistress as anyone else once the woman got going, so she just ran alongside, legs tensed to spring if anyone tried to hurt her human.

They only had to take a few turns before the source of the shouting became apparent. Aeleze started waving her left arms to catch attention, still brandishing the scissors in her right hand, and ran toward the thrashing girl (at least, she thought it was a girl; all she could really see clearly was long black hair). “Hey!” she shouted at the woman who was standing over the girl, doing her best to project her voice as loud as possible. “What’s going on here?”

[vividwriter]

Shivers ran up and down my spine, shooting side to side down my fingers. Sounds came few, but I thought I could hear a Dog barking, and then, a different voice, "HEY! What's going on here?" For a second, I felt hope inside of me, but then next, it was murdered by the realization that whoever this new person is, they didn't know what they were getting into.

Hopelessness and despair fill my heart. I can't see whats happening, but I can barely hear Catherine's voice, "Hayden, you know what to do." Hayden must be my former torturer! I form a sentence in my mind, and willfully project it onto my shivering lips.
"WHOEVER YOU ARE, RUUUUN!"

[tardisgirl]

OOC: If anyone gets shot at, and wants to, you can have Kurt randomly appear out of nowhere and shove you out of the way. He does that kind of thing a lot. Of course, I won't mind at all if you don't want him to. Just offering.



Kurt walked down a street in the residential area; for once he looked almost normal. Well, at least in comparison to the crowds.

Walking down a street is not notable for most people, it being such a simple every-day thing. However, its simple ness was what made it stand out. Kurt was a professional assassin, among other things, and walking wasn't something he really ever did. Not that he wasn't active, he ran, dodged, jumped, squzed through impossible gaps, lurked, slouched, stalked, dove, flipped, and contorted his body in impossible ways all on a daily basis.

See, Kurt was a full-time assassin, part time anti-espionage agent, and spy to name just a few. He was also a contortionist, able to bend himself in insane ways.

Kurt rolled his shoulders back and looked around. His smooth skin and curly hair both permanently died jet black caused his eyes and perfect white teeth to stand out and glint in the sunlight.

Kurt, who was almost never noticed, was being noticed now, by a few. Really though, even with his skin giving him a freakish appearance, he wasn't half as strangely dressed as anyone else who was there.

He glanced down at his long sleeved, knitted, navy blue shirt, and matching navy knitted pants. No, I'm not the eye catcher today. Kurt silently laughed to himself as he watched a man wearing a horrifically ugly pink and yellow cone that blinked incessantly go by.

A dog barked somewhere up the street, its sensitive ears having picked up a noise.

Kurt looked on, looking uninterested. He wasn't.

Old habits die hard, even for one day, heck one hour. Kurt reflected as he switched from his easy, relaxed stance, to one that meant business.

He melted into the shadows, so silently and perfectly that no one saw him go. Seconds later, he was on the rooftops, following the girl and dog that were running now, running toward a sound.

A sound of screaming, a kind of screaming he'd heard before. It could only come from one thing. Torture.

Kurt leapt off the building he was on, and onto a fire escape. From there he free-fell to the ground, hitting the ground rolling, curling his body into a ball.

Once he regained his feet, he followed the girl inside the building, much more silently and much more carefully then she did, but almost as quickly.

The girl rounded a corner, screaming at whoever was there.

Kurt melted into the shadows and watched, wishing he'd brought more then just two of his oozies with him.

[vividwriter]

I desperately want to see what's going on, and because of my screams, I can't hear anything. So I despair, deciding that whoever it was who came in died. Because, even if they ran, Catherine couldn't let them go. Not after what they saw.

I am once again alone with my own abused body, trapped on this world where nothing can survive.
(ooc. morbid thoughts huh? SOMEONE HELP HER!!!)

[vividwriter]

(OOC. you guys have my permission to write what catherine does, she's not one of the characters I actually made...)

[tardisgirl]

Kurt slowly slipped deeper into the shadows. Quickly finding a position from which he could look into the room.

A woman, cruel looking in a sadistic way, and a man stood there over the body of someone. Most likely female, judging by what he could see of the person's hair, shoulder size, and head shape. Kurt quickly gathered and assessed the information. Also judging the time it would take to take out both partisans under 15 different circumstances, the best way to clear the captive and bystander out of the way without sustaining injuries, and the best exits for getaways and most likely entry points of reinforcements.

"Hayden, you know what to do." Even with his ear amplifiers on medium he could barely hear the voice, it was so quiet.

Okay, so I'll... The plan was almost in execution mode when Kurt suddenly remembered. I'm not getting payed for this. It's not a favor; I'm not even supposed to be here. This isn't my problem in any way, I can just walk away.

The tortured screams rose in volume, and yes, they were most definitely coming from a female, and a fairly young one at that. Kurt looked at the shaking body, and imagined the pain that person was enduring. He could guess pretty well, he'd been tortured before, and it wasn't pretty.

He considered. No Kurt, you heartless dolt, it is your problem and you know it. Is there really that little of you left, old boy? 'Not your problem.' It is your problem, because you happened onto it. Just leave someone in that much pain to their suffering, an innocent bystander to die or face worse, and both young wemon at that? Do you have no honor? He accused himself. Yes! That's it, I'm a heartless dolt, it's my hobby. He sighed inwardly; attempts at light-heartedness are not easy when you're in the room with someone undergoing torture.

He looked into the room once more, surprised that so much could have taken place inside his head, and 'Hayden' had only just finished turning around.

I bet no one else does this on their day off. Kurt thought somewhat grimly. His left hand seemingly produced a mini machine gun out of thin air, followed in a fourth of a second by the appearance of one in his right hand. He aimed the guns, one at Hayden, and one at whoever the woman was. Not stopping to second-guess.

His fingers hit and held down the triggers, bullets shooting out too fast to see. He sprung into the air to give himself maximum maneuverability, the guns still spewing, and within four seconds it seemed that inside that room all hell broke lose.

[vividwriter]

Bullets. All I hear now are Bullets...or are those bullets? I'm pretty sure they are. Oh no. Now the newcomer is for sure dead. Now the pain is magnified, because now, instead of just the physical pain, I see the newcomer on the ground, still being shot, and I feel their pain too.

When will this end? Why can't I just die?

[vividwriter]

My heart burns in my chest as it overworks. I can't take too much more of this. Good. I'll finally escape. They won't have the information they need, and I'll be gone. Past pain, into heaven, I believe in God, and that's the reason I haven't given in yet.

Because I'm not afraid to die. The main thing I'm afraid of, is living, and other people dying.

But that doesn't stop my from wanting to survive. The instinct of self preservation flaring up, and over and over again being crucified by my spirit. I can't reveal who is the head of the operation. I can't. Even though they'd kill me.

I can't reveal it. This is what I keep telling myself as my screams intensify. A small voice inside me hisses, "sure you can reveal it, just tell them and rid yourself of the misery of this world. Just say the name. Two words. Mark Brodensky" I don't say this outloud, but I bite my tongue, trying to keep it from surfacing. I can't. He's a friend of mine. I couldn't do this to him. And all thouse people he's helped. I love him for it. I can't. So I stay here. angry at myself, at the world, at anything. willing it to be over.

[vividwriter]

Mark Brodinsky.

I saunter through the darkened streets, remaining insconpicuous in the shadows. I can't believe I'm doing this. This love is crazy. I can't not come. It's so stupid though, if I get caught our whole operation is down the drain.

Speed is my ally.

As soon as I hear the screams, I want to run towards them, any other capitol person would think that it was some person recovering from eye tatooing, of course, no person recovering from tattoo's would scream like that, but no one here would know the difference. How could they know what actual pain feels like?

I keep my quick step, refusing to break into a run.

I watch as a figure with a dog runs into the building, and I hear Enn yell for her to run. A short while later I hear a machine gun, and I can't help it I break into a run.

I reach the building in a matter of seconds, and heave myself through a window. My feet hit the ground silently and I crouch as I find myself in a back room. The screams are peircing my ears and I am hyperventilating. How can anyone make sounds like that?

I grip my gun and shuffle towards the door. I peer in, and see a massive black man, jet black man, shooting bullets into both of the torturers. I hesitate, not knowing what to do, but I can't wait, I run to Enn's side and grip her side, still gripping my gun, and untying her hands.

I am intensly aware of the large black man behind me, and I hold up my empty hand and make eye contact with him. "I know her. Thank you." Is all I get out. I get Enn out of the chair, but she's still screaming.

I cradle her in my arms on the floor, helplessly staring at her shaking, immaciated frame, screams still ripping from her lips.

I wonder out loud, "What do I do?" I glance up to the jet black man, and look for help. Would he know something about this?

[tardisgirl]

Kurt hit the ground in a ball, then sprung to the side like some demented shadow. Bullets hissed and shot through the air. They were sickening, the rain of bullets, so thick you could almost breath them in with the air. But that was before they hit their targets.
Kurt was excellent. He never missed. Either they had moved, been moved or something got in the way of his bullet. Even those occurrences were seldom to none at best.
You may be a professional torturer in your eyes, Kurt thought, watching a spray of bullets enter the woman’s forehead like jellow, but you aren't even in my my class.
Kurt was not humble about his skill, to say the least, but then again, he was that good.
He watched, time in slow motion, as his bullets hit the man in a strait line on his neck, almost severing it off his body. He looked back at the woman and saw bullets enter her eyes and spew blood and spew sclera and blood out of the now empty pits where her eyes had been.
He looked away then, from the gruesome sight, not because he knew they were dead, or from squeamishness, but because he saw a man enter and run to the girl on the torturing table.
Kurt had almost forgotten why he had killed those two. It was to help the two girls, he remembered then. And the dog... He added as an after thought.
The man began to untie the girl, a gun in his hand. Kurt walked toward him in a way that quite resembled a cat stalking its possible prey.
The man held up his empty hand, turned his head, and made eye contact with Kurt. "I know her. Thank you." He said no more, as if those words had been effort enough.
Kurt just stood then, watching, waiting. Not really thinking, but ready to think and act at a split second's notice. (In his line of work, a moment's notice was too long if you wanted to live.)
The man pulled the still screaming girl off the table, and into his lap.
Kurt ignored the man at the moment and looked at the girl. She was emaciated, sick, and screaming like the life was being sucked out of her. Drugged. And I know by what too. Metrophasiline. Strong dose. Maybe lethal.
He broke off his Doctor assessment of her condition when he heard the man speak.
"What do I do?" The man asked himself helplessly. He looked up at Kurt, asking him the question with his eyes.
Kurt looked down, cold, un-feeling, un-moved. He cares a lot about that girl. He wouldn't have come if he didn't. Kurt assessed, looking at the man silently. He's no underling. No, he's a leader of some kind. Not an expendable. Well, not in most circles.
He looked at the girl then. She was racked with pain, almost to death but just barely kept from that sweet pleasure. She cared about something enough to die for it. More importantly, she cared enough to live for it.
Kurt knew what it felt like to hurt like that, and he knew how to stop it. However, he didn't usually carry around Metrophasiline antidote.
"Listen, because I'm not going to tell you twice or ask you twice. I want only strait answers." Kurt said quietly, which was about a thousand times worse then sternly. "I don't know what this is about, nor do I care. The girl is going to die, short and simple, in about six hours if no antidote is administered. She's been poisoned with Metrophasiline. It’s impossible to get antidote for that on short notice, but I have some at my place. I'm figuring taking her to a hospital isn't an option either, because whoever wanted her dead liked to wear the seal of Panem on their shirt. I have medical equipment at my place, I can save her life, but you have to let me take here there, and you have to do exactly as I say if we are all going to be alive when we get there. They're sure to have backup here, which should be appearing any moment now, heavily armed. Unless you want them to know who you are, I suggest we move now."
Kurt looked away for a moment, and then back at the man who was clearly in so much pain for this girl. He let his voice soften then, almost bridging on non-hostile, which was big coming from him. "Don't worry. She's not dead yet. You can trust me."
He looked around once more, listened to the silence and heard the tromp of approaching feet at a fast pace, and turned back to the man. His voice was its usual cold, quiet, emotionless voice when he spoke again. "You have to."

[vividwriter]

Mark Brodinsky

I don't notice the gory mess I'm in, all I realize are the screams, and the quiet, matter-of-fact answer the tall black man delivered. That was possibly just as hurtful as the screams Enn is emitting.

It's not like I have a choice, but to do what the black man requests. Each paralyzing scream makes me want to tear first my heart out, then my ears. I wouldn't be able to live if she died like this.

Then I check myself. No, I wouldn't be able to live if she died. Period.

I stand, with her tortured, writhing, convulsing body so tightly in my arms. This wouldn't be the first time time I wasn't in control, and I don't care. I would follow this dangerous, dark, killing machine to the ends of the earth and farther if it only were to save Enn.

"Lead on." I quip, pain emenating from my voice, her screams threatening to make me myself drop to the floor in agony.

[vividwriter]

Enn Vinderbone.

I am vaguely aware of arms wrapping around me, not crushing and rough like the torturers would hold me, but soft, and loving. Loving?

My stable mind is reeling in confusion. My ears are muting, adjusting to the world of screms, but I can almost hear a voice I recognize. Could it be Mark? No it couldn't be. it's impossible.

[tardisgirl]

There were a few things that Kurt didn’t like. Whining, watching children die, killing women, and being in close proximity to people who were good people, self sacrificial, and in pain for someone they cared about. Kurt found himself in three of there situations right now. He’d just killed a woman with no prior knowledge of who she was or if she deserved to be killed, judging only on limited information and gut instinct was the first. The second two were standing in front of him, two self sacrificial good people in pain for each other. It made him feel uncomfortable to be this near to goodness, so he looked the other way when he heard the pain in the man’s voice when he spoke. “Lead on.” Kurt could hear the pain in his voice, see the pain on his face, heck, he could feel the pain in the air.
He stood, turned, and dashed off toward the way he’d seen the man come from. No, that man had no choice but to follow and obey him, and for once, it didn’t give Kurt any pleasure to be in control.
Note to self, don’t take any more charity jobs. Leave that to the good guys.
When they were out the window, Kurt immediately realized they had a problem. His car was two blocks away, and no way could they get that girl all the way there un-noticed. He hit the “auto drive to current position” button on his car remote, and absentmindedly hoped that anyone in the way would move and save themselves from becoming road kill.
He looked at the screaming girl and thought, I’ve got to get her to shut up, or we’ll never make it!
He turned to the man then, and out loud he said, “I have a shot I can give her with me. It’ll cut down the pain, and kill that noise she’s making, but it’ll speed up the poison too, by about an hour.” He paused and then added, “We’ll still have time to administer the antidote though. Your choice.”
I hand the hypodermic needle to the man and watch to see what he’ll do. If he doesn’t give it to the girl, I’m going to have to break out the duck-tape and cover her mouth.

[vividwriter]

I don't have much time to consider this, so I quickly assess the consequences that I'm so used to doing...

Give her the sedative...
Pros. Cons.
NO SCREAMS! Faster death, more chance she wont live...
however,
if she does die,
she dies in less a
painfull way.

I decide to let him administer the sedative. "Do it, and let's go...Quickly!" I can't wait any longer. I can't make her wait any longer.

I hear the hum of a motor, and fear shoots through me, I start to find a hiding spot, thinking the torturers had some visitors, coming to see how they're doing.