My Bones All Resonate
Who: Alex Summers and Open to those he's talked to repeatedly
What: Alex has been released from the Unnatural. And isn't in the best of shape.
Where: Outskirts of the city, then the Mansion
When: Today-Rest of the weekend (Just note the day in your tag)
Warnings: Possibly mild descriptions of torture.
NOTE: Prose or action are fine by me! The first thread is closed to Ben Hawkins; the other is open to visitors. Feel free to hop in whenever.
Alex lost track of time somewhere around Wednesday night.
Up until then, he had thought that the Unnatural was going to be a walk in the park. After all, how could it not? He'd done jail before, and it was just a stupid mask.. The lack of water, the lack of food--minor inconveniences. But then he had shown up on Wednesday morning...and taken Alex downstairs. Downstairs where everything screamed 'bad'. Where everything pointed to a very bad end.
Alex started to lose track of everything by that point--everything that wasn't blinding pain. He wasn't even sure how the machine did it, but with each overturn, each mechanical whir, Alex felt his plasma being ripped from every pore. It was a slow, excruciating process, with that man making sure to take his time, to prolong the torture.
Genero. Little fucker had gotten off on listening to Alex scream, listen to his defiant curses in response to questions. But no matter what happened to him, no matter how bad it got, Alex was sure he didn't give up the names of the others. He may have cried (it was all a blur), he might have shamed himself in other ways, but he hadn't given up the truth. Alex had to think that was enough.
Genero had seemed so damn pleased when Alex had nothing more to give, when his body felt nothing more than a hollow shell. If this was what it felt like to be without his powers, to be completely drained--it was madness. The strain on his body (from contorting to keep from screaming, muscles straining to break free, to hold the plasma in, even against the unbeatable machine), the lack of food, water, energy, had left him hovering, blacking in and out of consciousness.
He knew he was laying on the ground somewhere, now, outside, and then sun was shining brightly. But Alex couldn't even muster enough energy to open his eyes. It took everything in him just to keep breathing, and try to think things other than the pain in his bones, and the way his thoughts kept spiraling to nightmares.
Alex knew he had been an idiot.
He had paid dearly for it.
What: Alex has been released from the Unnatural. And isn't in the best of shape.
Where: Outskirts of the city, then the Mansion
When: Today-Rest of the weekend (Just note the day in your tag)
Warnings: Possibly mild descriptions of torture.
NOTE: Prose or action are fine by me! The first thread is closed to Ben Hawkins; the other is open to visitors. Feel free to hop in whenever.
Alex lost track of time somewhere around Wednesday night.
Up until then, he had thought that the Unnatural was going to be a walk in the park. After all, how could it not? He'd done jail before, and it was just a stupid mask.. The lack of water, the lack of food--minor inconveniences. But then he had shown up on Wednesday morning...and taken Alex downstairs. Downstairs where everything screamed 'bad'. Where everything pointed to a very bad end.
Alex started to lose track of everything by that point--everything that wasn't blinding pain. He wasn't even sure how the machine did it, but with each overturn, each mechanical whir, Alex felt his plasma being ripped from every pore. It was a slow, excruciating process, with that man making sure to take his time, to prolong the torture.
Genero. Little fucker had gotten off on listening to Alex scream, listen to his defiant curses in response to questions. But no matter what happened to him, no matter how bad it got, Alex was sure he didn't give up the names of the others. He may have cried (it was all a blur), he might have shamed himself in other ways, but he hadn't given up the truth. Alex had to think that was enough.
Genero had seemed so damn pleased when Alex had nothing more to give, when his body felt nothing more than a hollow shell. If this was what it felt like to be without his powers, to be completely drained--it was madness. The strain on his body (from contorting to keep from screaming, muscles straining to break free, to hold the plasma in, even against the unbeatable machine), the lack of food, water, energy, had left him hovering, blacking in and out of consciousness.
He knew he was laying on the ground somewhere, now, outside, and then sun was shining brightly. But Alex couldn't even muster enough energy to open his eyes. It took everything in him just to keep breathing, and try to think things other than the pain in his bones, and the way his thoughts kept spiraling to nightmares.
Alex knew he had been an idiot.
He had paid dearly for it.