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The bitter end
Jun. 12th, 2013 01:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
copeseticThey had failed.
Albert could still hear the sickening thud ringing in his ears as Skull had dropped Joe's battered form at Gilmore's feet, a message to them all. Each cyborg watched helplessly, the electromagnet keeping them from action as Skull taunted them all with promises of being broken, of torture and death, even of erasing their memories.
At least they wouldn't have to live with this, if that were the case.
The soldiers were careful to keep the magnet close as the cyborgs were lead to what little of the compound remained. A secondary system, with its own power and facilities and everything else. The original had at least been severely damaged through the actions of the cyborgs but it hadn't done any good. None of it had done any good.
They were transferred to cells, two to each, though Gilmore and 001 were taken elsewhere. Precautions were taken, each cyborg being bound, relieved of weapons, or otherwise rendered unable to use their skills. Albert in particular was divested of his hand - the left, not the right - so as to be unable to use his knife. For the rest they simply took his ammunition. For Jet they surgically severed the fuel line, rendering his rockets unusable. Chang's fuel was also cut, GB was set with a restraint that prevented his shifting, and Junior they simply sedated, his strength too much to keep caged.
When they'd advanced on Francoise with a specialized mask to dampen her abilities, something snapped. She'd been crying quietly to herself since Joe's body was dragged from their presence, but the tears had turned to cold fury and she'd lunged at the nearest guard, gouging his eyes out with her nails and leaving wicked gashes across him and two others as she struggled wildly. They'd shot and killed her, like a rabid animal.
And now here they were, each imprisoned with no means of escape, two to a cell with the promise of retribution for their insolence hanging over their heads. Albert, for his part, seems to have gone mute. He sits in the corner of the cell he shares with Jet holding the stump of his removed hand and staring at the wall. It's a familiar state, an utterly passive demeanor as he had displayed originally, decades ago when he'd first been taken.
They'd failed. He'd failed. Joe was dead. Francoise was dead. Ivan and Gilmore are likely to follow, as will the rest of them if they're not stripped of what little humanity they have left and made as automatons to serve Black Ghost. What's the point in fighting anymore?
Albert could still hear the sickening thud ringing in his ears as Skull had dropped Joe's battered form at Gilmore's feet, a message to them all. Each cyborg watched helplessly, the electromagnet keeping them from action as Skull taunted them all with promises of being broken, of torture and death, even of erasing their memories.
At least they wouldn't have to live with this, if that were the case.
The soldiers were careful to keep the magnet close as the cyborgs were lead to what little of the compound remained. A secondary system, with its own power and facilities and everything else. The original had at least been severely damaged through the actions of the cyborgs but it hadn't done any good. None of it had done any good.
They were transferred to cells, two to each, though Gilmore and 001 were taken elsewhere. Precautions were taken, each cyborg being bound, relieved of weapons, or otherwise rendered unable to use their skills. Albert in particular was divested of his hand - the left, not the right - so as to be unable to use his knife. For the rest they simply took his ammunition. For Jet they surgically severed the fuel line, rendering his rockets unusable. Chang's fuel was also cut, GB was set with a restraint that prevented his shifting, and Junior they simply sedated, his strength too much to keep caged.
When they'd advanced on Francoise with a specialized mask to dampen her abilities, something snapped. She'd been crying quietly to herself since Joe's body was dragged from their presence, but the tears had turned to cold fury and she'd lunged at the nearest guard, gouging his eyes out with her nails and leaving wicked gashes across him and two others as she struggled wildly. They'd shot and killed her, like a rabid animal.
And now here they were, each imprisoned with no means of escape, two to a cell with the promise of retribution for their insolence hanging over their heads. Albert, for his part, seems to have gone mute. He sits in the corner of the cell he shares with Jet holding the stump of his removed hand and staring at the wall. It's a familiar state, an utterly passive demeanor as he had displayed originally, decades ago when he'd first been taken.
They'd failed. He'd failed. Joe was dead. Francoise was dead. Ivan and Gilmore are likely to follow, as will the rest of them if they're not stripped of what little humanity they have left and made as automatons to serve Black Ghost. What's the point in fighting anymore?
