eyes wide open [closed to dorm 2-14]
Characters: Abel Nightroad, Cain Knightlord, and open to JD and Enma if they wish!
Setting: dorms, room 2-14
Format: prose
Summary: arrival at the Tower and initial wtfery.
Warnings: expected violence (though not necessarily to any persons), coarse language, perhaps mention of death since. you know. 'hay your world is destroyed!!!1' letter shenanigans.
Move.
Move. Move.
Move. Move. Movemovemove--
When the temporary state of sleep paralysis wore off, Abel was jerking upright in his standard issue bed with its obligatory sheets within the unremarkable four walls beyond them. He was breathing hard -- as if startled from a dream with suddenness; rarely had he ever woken up somewhere he hadn't fallen asleep and found it to be a good thing. Sadly, the situation he finds himself in isn't all too outside the norm, save a few unerringly jarring additions to the scenario.
First -- he is in a room shared with four beds instead of the officer's quarters he'd slept in that night with its lone mattress and his things where he left them.
Second -- that this is nowhere on the colony he can recollect; he has never seen any addition to the base or the surrounding city that had a room of this make. Not even in the barracks. There are subtle tells he's somewhere foreign; the smell of the air and the make of the sheets... the sounds of the world beyond his little room.
Thirdly, and perhaps most disturbingly -- he is affixed with an addition to his person. A collar... its weight unusual around his throat, and one he immediately lifts hands to explore with a puzzled expression. What the fuck is...
...This?
He sees his twin in the bed beyond; there's one worry assuaged. Had they been separated, there would've been an immediate... issue. Was this a test? Neither of them had been subjected to this kind of experimentation in... a while. Certainly nothing so outwardly obvious as this for the sake of appearances while they held rank over their fellow Martians. There is a confused and more than slightly irritated frown at his brow as he finds his feet, tugging at the collar as he fumbles to find some sort of mechanism to release it from him. He's not a fucking dog. --Is this tubing?
He's disturbed from his train of thought by the discovery of a piece of paper flittering to the floor before his booted feet as he shifts legs off the bed; a letter...?
Abel reaches to retrieve it, opening it carefully. If this was some sort of session of surprise 'training' his superiors worked to enact without alerting him, he was highly unimpressed, and they would be sure to understand his displeasure when he--
...
....
. . . .
World... destroyed?
Survivors? ...Is this some kind of joke? He stares blankly at the page as if its contents were in another language he couldn't comprehend.
What kind of bullshit is this...?
Did they think he was a gullible child? ...A simulation, then. Some sort of... post-apocalyptic survival training mission? He finds his fingers clenching over the page, the letter wrinkled in his palm. Of course. Of course it's just another foolish ploy, some... ridiculous scenario in which he's made to run the maze with his brother like lab rats. When had he started assuming they'd inherited some sense of human rights to stand above nonsense like this?
He tosses the paper aside... climbing to his feet and still fiddling indignantly with the device at his throat before roughly shoving at his brother's shoulder in an attempt to rouse him. Wake up, Cain. ...It's time to play at being mice running the wheel, again.
Setting: dorms, room 2-14
Format: prose
Summary: arrival at the Tower and initial wtfery.
Warnings: expected violence (though not necessarily to any persons), coarse language, perhaps mention of death since. you know. 'hay your world is destroyed!!!1' letter shenanigans.
Move.
Move. Move.
Move. Move. Movemovemove--
When the temporary state of sleep paralysis wore off, Abel was jerking upright in his standard issue bed with its obligatory sheets within the unremarkable four walls beyond them. He was breathing hard -- as if startled from a dream with suddenness; rarely had he ever woken up somewhere he hadn't fallen asleep and found it to be a good thing. Sadly, the situation he finds himself in isn't all too outside the norm, save a few unerringly jarring additions to the scenario.
First -- he is in a room shared with four beds instead of the officer's quarters he'd slept in that night with its lone mattress and his things where he left them.
Second -- that this is nowhere on the colony he can recollect; he has never seen any addition to the base or the surrounding city that had a room of this make. Not even in the barracks. There are subtle tells he's somewhere foreign; the smell of the air and the make of the sheets... the sounds of the world beyond his little room.
Thirdly, and perhaps most disturbingly -- he is affixed with an addition to his person. A collar... its weight unusual around his throat, and one he immediately lifts hands to explore with a puzzled expression. What the fuck is...
...This?
He sees his twin in the bed beyond; there's one worry assuaged. Had they been separated, there would've been an immediate... issue. Was this a test? Neither of them had been subjected to this kind of experimentation in... a while. Certainly nothing so outwardly obvious as this for the sake of appearances while they held rank over their fellow Martians. There is a confused and more than slightly irritated frown at his brow as he finds his feet, tugging at the collar as he fumbles to find some sort of mechanism to release it from him. He's not a fucking dog. --Is this tubing?
He's disturbed from his train of thought by the discovery of a piece of paper flittering to the floor before his booted feet as he shifts legs off the bed; a letter...?
Abel reaches to retrieve it, opening it carefully. If this was some sort of session of surprise 'training' his superiors worked to enact without alerting him, he was highly unimpressed, and they would be sure to understand his displeasure when he--
...
....
. . . .
World... destroyed?
Survivors? ...Is this some kind of joke? He stares blankly at the page as if its contents were in another language he couldn't comprehend.
What kind of bullshit is this...?
Did they think he was a gullible child? ...A simulation, then. Some sort of... post-apocalyptic survival training mission? He finds his fingers clenching over the page, the letter wrinkled in his palm. Of course. Of course it's just another foolish ploy, some... ridiculous scenario in which he's made to run the maze with his brother like lab rats. When had he started assuming they'd inherited some sense of human rights to stand above nonsense like this?
He tosses the paper aside... climbing to his feet and still fiddling indignantly with the device at his throat before roughly shoving at his brother's shoulder in an attempt to rouse him. Wake up, Cain. ...It's time to play at being mice running the wheel, again.