[Player Plot] Indoctrination - Part 1

[beautifulspaceraptor]

Who: Everyone who wants in on this brainwashing/techno-zombie fun times!
When: 08-11.11.2016
Where: Around the Moira and in a room in the ILR
What: Mass Effect-style brainwashing/techno-zombie fun times!
Warnings: Brainwashing, potential body horror and techno-zombies!


Nihlus is halfway into dozing off in the lounge, when he sees her. He’s surrounded by a small pile of tablets and Blasto was on in the background, volume set to low enough that he could barely make out the dialogue. The light from the TV flickers over the walls, casting sharp, deep shadows with the ceiling lights turned off.

Benezia’s serene face stares back at him from the doorway and he blinks sleepily at her, letting a tablet fall out from his numb grip to clatter on the floor.

What a weird dream.

“Hey,” he says, and he might be crying, wobbling infrasonics making his jaw ache, throat closed on a sob. She smiles at him and Nihlus laughs in raspy resignation, sitting up and pushing off the couch to follow her.

The corridors are empty, silent, just the low hum of the ship’s systems, the sound of their footsteps, the whispering slide of the Matriarch’s fine robe trailing after her in a delicate wave. Eventually, they end up in the cargo bay, standing before a large crate with his name on in. He vaguely remembers a notice had arrived in the mail for him a few weeks back, but he’d been caught up with the species swap and… well. It’d slipped his mind.

Turning to Benezia, he finds the Asari watching him expectantly. She nods her head towards the crate.

Open it.

There’s a moment of hesitation, surreality settling over him in a blanket of white noise. What a weird, weird dream. Without really thinking about it, body moving on autopilot, Nihlus starts snapping the latches open, working his way around the crate until the lid is completely unlocked. Lifting it takes some effort and he grunts, sleep deprived muscle heavy and uncooperative.

Blue light spills over him, warm and welcoming, glimmering softly in the gloom and rooting him to the spot for a small eternity.



((OOC: Prommpts/starters are in the comments! If you have questions, ask them here!))

Comments

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

There's something almost satisfactory in hearing the bone break and feel how his leg twitches under her hand. It's a lot like finally managing to pop an ugly pimple. The thought digs up an old memory, one that now doesn't even feel real anymore, and she can hear the sick laughter in her ears and feel the gun pressed against her. Had something like even happened?

It's the weak and shaky touch of his hands that bring her back to the moment. Right, the Voice and Peter. She leans back, withdrawing away from him seemingly decided that this is enough. It's not like she wanted him dead, no, that would have been very counterproductive.

Ignoring his cries of agony, J looks around and thinks about the logistics. Where should she put the gun so that it wouldn't get in the way but also be at hand when needed? After mulling over the thoughts for a bit she comes to the conclusion that inside the jacket would be the best. As long Peter would keep his hands to himself.

Sliding the gun back to where she had took it, she stands up and walks behind Peter, crouching down once again. But this time she wraps her arms around his upper body and lifts him a little. There's now vein-like blue, metallic looking wires snaking down across her slinkin.

"Let's go," she says, voice sounding nothing like humans anymore, and starts dragging him back towards the door.

[takeitslow]

He's shaking when she pulls away, reeling from the weight of it all. Things like this weren't supposed to happen. J was the closet person to him he had outside of his sisters. The closet thing he had to a best friend. The closet he'd ever come romance. Maybe it was pathetic, how much of himself he'd pinned on her, how quick he'd let her go from just a pretty tease to one of the most important people in his life. But, even between all the fights and the pain he knew he'd caused her, Peter had always thought that she was ultimately someone he could count on. Not his enemy. Not even when she had the most reason to be.

Peter couldn't bother to hide that he was crying now, wet and gasping breaths as he clutched above the wound. When he feels J behind him, he stiffens and tries to jerk away. A futile effort, as there's no where for him to go. He's at her mercy, and for all the times he'd joked about such a thing, right now it makes him feel sick. The arms around him make his stomach churn, the movement jostles his leg and hurts so much he feels bile rise in his throat. He lifts a hand toward his chest like he might try to pull her off, but he stays grasping at air. Some part of him is dimly aware that the blue in her skin isn't right, but Peter's too gone now to put the pieces together.

He can't tell her to stop moving him; his voice seems to be gone. At most he can only shake his head, try to muffle the urge to scream and scream and scream. Even trying to struggled away is beyond him, it's too painful and besides his other limbs have turned leaden from dread. It's over, done. All Peter can think is that J's going to kill him and there's not a damn thing he can do about it.

[squadgoals]

She's still in the elevator when she hears the first gunshot — and the first scream. It's muffled — like a gasp through thick gauze — but still utterly unmistakable sound. That she was so intimately familiar with cries of pain at a distance in multiple species was rarely something she was proud of. Adrenaline dumping into her system, skin prickling, she jams the floor button, willing it to go faster, wishing she'd followed her gut and brought that gun. As the lift comes to rest, the second shot rings out, followed by a second scream. It's clearer, now, a literature in unbridled pain that makes her shiver with rage.

When the doors open, she's out at a sprint down the hall, zeroing in on the two figures — and suddenly, nothing makes sense. She can see J dragging Peter's bleeding body by the torso, her face devoid of expression — save a shade of satisfaction — hear Peter's choked sobs and rasping cries, his barely-contained screams and voiceless protests. Why?

Questions could, would come later. Without further thought, Shepard's between them, wrenching J's hands off her victim, then putting her own on J's shoulders, manhandling her backwards, towards the corridor's wall, away from Peter.

"J! What the hell do you think you're--"

It's only when she puts hands on her friend that she can truly appreciate the change. The sickly pale pallor of her skin, which itself seems to slough off under her grip, thin blue worms of light crawling underneath. Her hair, normally coiffed to perfection, now brittle and dry as a pile of straw. J's eyes, intense yet unfocused, pupils looking off to the side, up, like she's trying to see, to listen to something else...

I've seen this before.

The flicker of recognition is delayed, too late — too late to realize she should have looked for the smoking gun first.

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

J's already forgotten about about the network post she had made no less than an hour ago. With all of her attention and focus being targeted at Peter and the Voice, its' cheers loudly echoing in the walls of the hallway, she completely fails to pay attention to what's happening around them. The sound of elevator moving and opening, hurried steps in the hallway, all of that escapes from her. It's like she's in her own world, a small bubble where only she, Peter and the Voice exist.

However, that bubble is suddenly burst as J can feel strong hands jerkingw her away from Peter. Her first reaction is to tighten her hold, hard and stiff fingers pressing and digging as hardly against his body as she tries to cling on her victim. But in the end, she's no match for the strength behind the hands and she ends up letting go of him, dropping him hard on the floor.

She doesn't even raise her head up or take her eyes off Peter when Shepard drags her up to the wall and demands answers from her. There's no sound from, using words or speak seems all too meaningless for her at this point. Unnecessary ability that she doesn't need, not when the Voice -- Monolith-- is telling her what to do. And right now it's warning her from this new intruder. Unlike Peter, this perso posed a danger.

Oh, Shepard really should have checked the gun.

When she finally looks up to meet Shepard's eyes her own are bright and void from any expression or emotion. She brings one of her hand against her waist, maybe to either distract her or bring some leverage, and then there's another loud bang accompanied by thin line of smoke as she shoots her right to the gut.

[takeitslow]

He's too focused on the bleeding, on the searing pain that every movement from J send shocking up his thigh, to notice anyone else has entered the space. The sudden tightening of J's hands, the pull of someone else, the shouting- all that is far harder to ignore no matter how much Peter's hurt. Being dropped? He would have to be dead not to realize what was happening at that point.

It's only a lifetime of quick reflexes and a deep self-preservation instinct that keeps him from knocking his skull against the floor from the unexpected drop. Peter stops clutching his wound and throws out his hands behind him, smearing blood over the floor as his wits kick in and he tries to crab crawl away. He can't get far, the blood loss and pain is far too great for more than an inch or so, but he moves enough to get a better view of what's happening above him.

Peter recognizes Shepard from the videos he'd been made to watch of the second incident with Rinzler. He knows her from elsewhere too of course, from passing by around the halls, the bar, and from months of living in the confined ship, but his first, still panicked thought is of when she'd swooped in to try to save his life once. For a brief moment, he thinks that's what she's here for again.

He's forgotten, somehow despite the holes in his knee, about the gun.

The ring of the shot makes him jerk back, gasp, and his stomach turn. Peter can't get a good look at their hands from this angle, but he knows in his gut it wasn't J getting a bullet. "Shit," he whispers, voice weak. He's not sure himself it it's from the black bursts edging at his vision or just a natural reaction to what he's seeing. He almost hopes for the former. At least if he's unconscious, Peter won't have to watch another death of someone who'd just been trying to help.

[squadgoals]

The pain is immediate, searing, and above all, surprising — although not, she suspects, for the usual reasons.

Shepard has certainly been shot before. The number, she has estimated, is now running into the hundreds, with "shot at" extending into the thousands. Somewhere in a mire of pain, she's vaguely aware that she'd even know exact numbers if she didn't keep copy-pasting reports together every time it happened. It's not the shot that's surprising — but the caliber.

After all, who used bullets any more?

The point-blank round rips through fabric, flesh, and cybernetics, slowed only briefly by skin and muscle weaves, before finding a cozy home deep in her gut, nestled between gore and synthetic fibre. Barely biting back a scream through gritted teeth, she looses her hands from J's shoulders, slamming them on to the wound site to staunch the flow of blood.

Shit.

She'd definitely had nightmares like this. Indoctrinated close friends, squad, turning on her, turning into husks before her eyes, then ripping her apart — and wouldn't it just be the perfect ironic twist for it to happen here, galaxies and universes away from her own?

With a grunt of pain and exertion, Shepard wraps herself in glowing blue biotic energy, and pushes J, sending her flying, sprawling down the hall with just a gesture — and leans against the space J had previously occupied, watching her friend's body ragdoll across the floor.

No. She had a good run of three solid years without dying going, and like hell she was going to give that up without a fight.

"Come on," she mutters, flipping her omni-tool open, slamming a medi-gel into her system, breath ragged, biometrics meter flashing for attention. Something was punctured, she'd lost a lot of blood suddenly — she could deal with it in a minute, surely. Just one more minute.

"Come on," she says again, a whisper of mantra to herself. Left hand over a spreading soak of vermilion, right glowing blue with potential, she wills herself still, never taking her eyes off J.

[notglitching]

One gunshot drew attention. The second, more. By the third? If J were in anything close to her right mind, she should have known more crew would be approaching.

Exactly who, however... well. Does irony count as a surprise?

The sound is what calls Rinzler to the scene. But when he turns the corner, it's the rising sense of error that nearly stalls him. He's seen this before—lived it, if not with nearly so clear a view. That user (threat), prone and bleeding on the ground. Shepard, lit from inside as her powers brighten to a flare. But instead of propelling herself forward, instead of impact (damage) shattering his fractured side, she shoves out her hand, and another user goes flying.

Her.

Rinzler doesn't stall. Rinzler doesn't stop. But quick steps stutter, the surreal sense of mismatch twisting further as J hits the ground in a heap. The damage doesn't seem to be severe—she's moving, climbing, rising without hesitation. But even the full distance of the hall away, there's something off, in shape and posture. Something wrong.

Paired batons unclip to fill each hand, and Rinzler casts an active scan ahead as the gap closes.

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

When the bullet is fired again and hit Shepard, J lowers the gun while keeping it and eyes on her. And once again, watching suffering of someone's who she'd normally even label as a friend of sorts, doesn't rise any kind of reaction out of her calm and calculating face. Although Shepard's appearance truly was unfortunate and she was forced to waste another bullet. She had only two shots left and what's worse: no one's been turned yet.

Oh, well. Luckily it seems like Shepard's out of the game, the bleeding is so rapid and massive that it should take care of her even if the most vital organs had been spared in the gunshot. For a quick second, she looks over Shepard towards Peter who's struggling to crawl away from them. From her. She parts her lips, a dry tongue trying to wet her icy lips. There's a word on top of her tongue which then abates into a sound and then into a thought. It's like there's something that still keeps pushing out, a small and dim flame that doesn't want to go out just yet.

But the second of struggle and lack of focus turns out to a mistake and before she even knows it something bright and blue swims to her vision and after that she's flying through the air as Shepard pushes her out of the way.

J's body hits hard on the floor, her whole body twisting up into an awkward and unnatural angle. Another quick moment passes and just as it starts to look like the pain from the hit and the compact were enough to knock her out -just like it should have- putting an end to this horror, J moves again. Her limbs stiff and heavy she slowly pushes herself up from the floor and raises her head up. There's no pupils in her eyes just empty brightness, her skin has cracked and reveals more blue wires underneath.

Once she's up she immediately starts moving towards Shepard but this time without reaching for gun. There's no thought in her anymore, the fire's been put out for good.

[notglitching]

Thoughtless. Hungry. There's no caution behind the ragged lunge, no control that could be attributed to the user. It's something else. Seeping out in cracked blue glow, burning through the bright/dead eyes with a flickering, erratic surge of power. Something sick, destructive, wrong wrong wrong, a screaming warning flagged in every line of Rinzler's code.

[VIRUS]

He doesn't hesitate. Light flares in either hand, blades rezzing from the ends of each baton. The program doesn't have his disks, but he has speed, and strides lengthen to an inhuman blur, up the walls and over Shepard. Rinzler hits the creature with the force of a lightjet. One blade flicks sideways to deflect (sever) the grasping arm. The second crashes through its center. Neck to core, power flaring down the blade to meet its own crackling, infected hum.

It's almost anticlimactic, how quickly it goes dark.

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

Were she anywhere close to her right mind J would certainly have enough survival instinct to step aside or attempt to dodge when the familiar dark figure with glowing lights emerges to her sight. But no, she only lifts her chin up and moves her attention from Shepard to watch as Rinzler dashes towards her. The two batons shining like a burning light are both stretched out, preparing to strike her.

It takes no more than few seconds, only few heart beats, for him to reach her and land down the deadly strike. There's no sound, no protest or sign of pain when the weapons cut her. She merely stops, her body slightly nudging backwards from the force of impact. She stares straight to the black helmet, her eyes meeting nothing but her own reflection. It's like they've been here before.

But before any remain of a memory can push forward through the infected and corrupted brain, the blood starts flowing. At first it's thin and red and it's pouring from her injuries and between her lips but then it stops. After a beat the it's replaced with something that's dark and much more thicker than before, slowly oozing out. J lifts her uninjured arm and with slow and shaking movement she places it on top of Rinzler's shoulder, trying to grab on it but failing to find strength to do curl her stiff fingers anymore.

And just as fast the attack had started it was all over. The light in her eyes dims down and J's body goes limp, her knees buckling as the body falls down forward towards Rinzler, the black blood spreading everywhere.