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exsiliumlogs2012-12-25 12:02 am
deathwarder) wrote in exsiliumlogs2012-12-25 12:02 am
Entry tags:
"I always have plenty of things to share with my friends..."
Date & Time: Wednesday evening (forward dated)
Location:DEATHWING'S LAIR OF WICKED VILLAINY Prestor's lair of pimpin' awesome, also known as his room
Characters: the flawless Lord Prestor and the not so flawless Adam Jensen
Summary: A meeting of the minds and a "sharing of wisdom". Also known as feeling each other out. No, not that kind of feeling.
Warnings:This is probably going to get really creepy really fast, but nothing for now. Will update accordingly. Violence, gore, nightmares, and overall creepiness. Cthulu, eat your heart out.
[ Prestor stares down at the warm mug of murky brown tea in his hands, and waits.
There was something to be said for gaining allies in this strange world, this realm alien to Azeroth. Power he possessed in abundance, but even Death couldn't have eyes everywhere. And now, it seemed, there were suspicious eyes cast upon him from this man, from this Adam Jensen he'd done extensive research on, network availability permitting. Too many questions, too many implications in his words. Too many loose ends, as it stood.
It remained to be seen if he would be of any use. Everyone has a use. A purpose. But if not, he would meet the fate of all other loose ends—tied off and discarded for the annoyances they were.
He doesn't doubt the message has reached Adam by now, the requested meeting time and place. Now, all that was left to do was sit. And wait. And scheme.
After tens of thousands of years of doing the same, it was something that only came naturally. ]
Location:
Characters: the flawless Lord Prestor and the not so flawless Adam Jensen
Summary: A meeting of the minds and a "sharing of wisdom". Also known as feeling each other out. No, not that kind of feeling.
Warnings:
[ Prestor stares down at the warm mug of murky brown tea in his hands, and waits.
There was something to be said for gaining allies in this strange world, this realm alien to Azeroth. Power he possessed in abundance, but even Death couldn't have eyes everywhere. And now, it seemed, there were suspicious eyes cast upon him from this man, from this Adam Jensen he'd done extensive research on, network availability permitting. Too many questions, too many implications in his words. Too many loose ends, as it stood.
It remained to be seen if he would be of any use. Everyone has a use. A purpose. But if not, he would meet the fate of all other loose ends—tied off and discarded for the annoyances they were.
He doesn't doubt the message has reached Adam by now, the requested meeting time and place. Now, all that was left to do was sit. And wait. And scheme.
After tens of thousands of years of doing the same, it was something that only came naturally. ]
no subject
Oh, and to be a jackass. Like usual.
Despite that, he hasn't had much time to set his hacking device to work at some private conversations, and it would be unwise to do so before he's talked to him. If he gets detected and his hacking attempts are traced back to him, he'd screw himself over. Adam's fairly confident in himself, but even so he knows what he's capable of--and technology can be fickle, his hacking device, as advanced as it is, being no exception.
Whatever. Time to go and see what this is all about. No doubt the guy is looking to make allies, and Adam's gonna be doing his best to seem at least somewhat trustworthy and easily swayed. Having mastered the art of pokerfacing and smooth talking, at least that part shouldn't be too hard.
Truth be told, when he arrives at the transport apartment building, he's a little surprised he's even still staying here... Adam himself moved out as soon as he could--a few days after his arrival--, in dire need of some privacy and distance.
In hindsight, he probably should have insisted on a meeting place that was more public. Then again, if worse comes to worse, that probably wouldn't make much a difference.
After knocking twice, it's his turn to wait. ]
no subject
And being a bit of a jackass he could understand, possibly better than anyone else.
Still, life as a privilege noble had left him unaccustomed to not being attended in all due swiftness. So the man was letting him stew; fine. Those who crossed Death got their just desserts in the end. Even the most reliable gun would one day rust, outlive its usefulness.
The sudden knock interrupts his quiet simmering, though he isn't surprised by it. His footsteps were softer than most, more concealed, but his ears were sharp in defiance of a body that had long since worn itself out. There was no surprising a dragon.
From his fireside table, Prestor gestures towards the door— ]
Dath.
[ —and it opens obediently to the lavishness of the room, dipped in blacks and deep, silken reds, several steps above what is ordinarily offered to the transports.
Prestor greets his guest with a slow smile. ]
Good evening. I trust tonight finds you well.
no subject
His eyes scan the room thoroughly behind the semiopaque shield his lenses provide. Those are definitely staying on for the duration of his stay, here. ]
Nice place you got yourself here.
[ And Adam's pretty sure that's not how the transport apartments are supposed to look like, unless there was some major refurbishment done since he'd last been around, which he doubts. So, probably his own work, and a personal preference. Adam cannot argue anything concerning style, honestly--he has his own quirks, if the custom tailored coat he's wearing is any indication.
Anyway. Adam is giving no visual reaction to any of this, nor does he return the smile. In the middle of the room, he stops. ]
I hope tea won't be all I'm getting.
no subject
Just a little something to remind myself of home.
[ There's nothing immediately suspicious of note in the room, even if it a strong, musty sort of smell prevails, sumptuous and dark, much like the fine bottles of wine sitting on the counter. Yes, someone already knew of your preferences, Adam. Prestor's accommodating nod towards them says as much. ]
Please, help yourself. There's plenty of room by the fire, once you're acclimated.
[ The armchairs look comfortable enough for a king. Improving the decor is a bit of an understatement. ]
no subject
Whatever, he's not gonna be told twice to get comfortable, although it's not like Adam is going to be drinking much (given he has the alcohol tolerance of a fly since he got up from the chopping block), if at all, 'cause who knows what might be in those bottles? His parents did a good job teaching him never to accept anything from strangers. ]
Thank you. That's pretty generous.
[ But yes, appearances. He's gonna take a few moments picking a bottle that looks promising, taking it and a glass with him over to the offered seat, situating himself in it.
A fireplace though, really. That's just pretentious, even for his standards. ]
no subject
[ It goes without saying that not a moment goes by where Prestor isn't inwardly smirking.
Prestor's eyes, sharp even in the dark and with an occasionally peculiar glint—a "blink and you miss it" sort of thing, perhaps a byproduct of the magic—follow Adam as he trails about the kitchen and finds his way to a seat, studying his attire, his face, the way he carries himself, anything he can file away for later assessment. He doesn't doubt now his background amongst the authorities of his world; Prestor had some meat to his bones in his current guise, but he was still slender in comparison, a smaller presence at the table. The grizzled quality to his expression and tone showed through all the more in person, a far cry from the smoother dialect of a noble. And those shades...
Yes, interesting was an understatement here.
Clearing his throat in a deliberate show of politeness, Prestor dips his head in apology. ]
I hope you might accept my hospitality, having invited you over without properly introducing myself first. My name is Daval Prestor. Titles mean little in this place, but I was a lord back home in Azeroth, high counsel to His Majesty, King Terenas.
Though you already know most of that, yes? [ His face brightens with an easy smile. ] Still, formalities are important to me.
no subject
[ That's an assertive grunt there; he's listening, but he's more occupied with the bottle right now. It's not like he doesn't have any manners, it's just that most of the time, he doesn't bother with them unless the social context doesn't permit it. He's talking to a Lord from some kingdom that's invited him to his home... that's nice, and he'll say thanks, but that's it.
There is also no reason to pretend he isn't already perfectly aware of all the stuff he's being told right now. Metal digits effortlessly free the bottle of its cork with a wet pop, and he pours some of its liquid contents into his glass before placing it down. Then he languidly leans back, raising the glass to his lips -- doesn't smell like anything's in it, though of course he can't be sure.
In the end, it shouldn't matter. Sentinel will recognize any harmful substances and remove them from his system before they can affect him in any way, so Adam takes a sip. ]
Well, they aren't to me. If I remember correctly, I believe we were gonna talk about the things we want. So allow me to get straight to the point. What do you want from me?
[ Taking a bit of a gamble here, but still. If his suspicions turn out to be true, 'Lord Daval Prestor' would rather keep idle chitchat to a minimum and talk business. ]
no subject
Prestor watches the inhuman fingers work, listens to the straightforwardness of his speech, and has to smirk at the bluntness of his question. ]
Such a forward man. [ Drawled with a dramatic sigh as he leans back, idly toying with a ring. ] I want what everyone wants, of course. Information.
[ Prestor stares in its onyx surface, at his own face reflected within it. ]
Information is the most valuable commodity of all. And as a newly minted member of the Initiative's team of merry musketeers, I believe you can provide that for me.
The price I would offer to pay in return is substantial, naturally.
no subject
[ It's good wine, Adam isn't complaining about that--though it'd be rude to complain at all, wouldn't it?
It's funny, actually, given Adam's former job had been just that... intel gathering with a side of corporate espionage. There's not really a market for that here, unless, of course, he's supposed to be spying on people. Which doesn't sit right with him, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. ]
Before you tell me how exactly I can help you, I should probably mention that I come with multi-million, state-of-the-art equipment. 'Substantial' payment is the very least I'd expect.
no subject
[ The thunk of his mug hitting the table is harsh, same as the expression drawn upon Prestor's face. ]
Details we all should be privy to. You cannot rightly serve the public trust if you would see them hidden, swept under the rug for some invisible savior's benefit.
[ Multi-million. State-of-the-art. Prestor just smirks, leaning forward. ]
Valuable things, to be sure. But are they what you truly desire?
no subject
Yeah, and I'm sure you're the first one asking for that kind of 'information'.
[ He's been here for months now, even attempting a large scale hack targeting the servers belonging to the Initiative, but unsurprisingly, they caught him and told him off. And then try getting into the UE ... ]
There are a lot of things I want, most of which you couldn't give me. So I'll settle for money.
no subject
I'm afraid you vastly underestimate my resources, sir.
[ Shaking his head, Prestor rises from his chair, striding past the fireplace with his hands behind his back, its flames crackling higher as he speaks. ]
I can shower you in wealth, if such is your wish. But what I desire is setting the world on its proper course. Who is to say if the Initiative or this United Earth is most fit to rule? I need to discover it, the truest ambitions and intentions that lie within the human heart. I must judge for myself which path is most appropriate for Exsilium to take.
And to do that, I need people like you. People who can cut through the deceit and operate where my eyes cannot take me. Do you understand what I am saying?
[ The flames die down, quieting to a mild smolder as he glances over his shoulder at Adam. ]
This is a victory I will achieve at any cost.
no subject
However, Adam will, of course, remain polite. Mostly. God, it's the Illuminati all over again. He watches the man and the fire attentively, reviewing data displayed for him at the same time--funny, he's getting some blank readings and some data just isn't loading; another glitch, most likely. Time to press it a little. ]
A noble goal. You believe you have the wisdom required to make choices on behalf of humanity? What makes you so special?
no subject
[ The remains of the fire are pulled from the coals, drawn into the air and into Prestor's waiting hand, a blazing sphere that roils with an eerie intensity as if it were alive. And yet he wields it effortlessly, turning so Adam can see. ]
It is power. Power is why gods sit above us and we grovel down below. Power is why man placed the yoke upon their fellow man, why nobles drown themselves in luxury while there are those that starve on the streets. From the moment we are born until the moment we die, power drives us, determines our place in society, the air we breathe and the food we eat, whether we are the boot or the ant.
And power is what I possess.
[ Prestor snuffs out the flame with a clench of his fist, leaving the room dark. Cold. ]
Power enough to change this world into something worth living for. Isn't that the root of why you exist? Humanity [ a dangerous smile, that same hand extended towards Adam ] to extinguish inhumanity?
no subject
[ Someone likes to go off on a tangent, and for some reason, he's briefly reminded of James (stupid useless fuck, just disappearing all of a sudden). Adam wants to respond to all of this with his usual deadpan sarcasm (wow that's a nice little trick, doesn't Vegas want you back?), or maybe just remark that he would prefer to be called Jensen, but he wants more information and acting flippant now could be counterproductive when it comes to that.
His own eyes narrow behind his lenses, unseen, and so they do not betray the rest of his expression -- or his tone. Given his background, he's very skilled at keeping a cool head even in potentially precarious and stressful situations. He swirls the wine in his glass as he listens, oh so intrigued by what this man has to say and his magic.
All he gets from this is the implication that he might not be human, which doesn't surprise Adam--there are a bunch of non-humans around here, but the difference is that none of them take on the appearance of a human because there is simply no need--unless it's for practical purposes, of course. Even Adam, with his strange mechanical and very visible appendages, doesn't usually get more than a look and maybe some curious questions, and none of them condescending in nature (clearly an improvement). ]
So you aren't human, is what you're saying?
[ He doesn't sound shocked. Not even wary. Slightly... reserved, maybe. ] What are you, then, [ he leans forward, the glass now in his lap, as if beckoned closer by that hand that's being extended to him. Of course, it's all show. ] A god?
[ Bait, right there. And with an ego like that-- ]
no subject
There is a mystery about this man he longs to corrupt, to tear down to nothing. It could not be blamed on anything but his nature, as the Destroyer, the Betrayer; anything he laid eyes upon suffered the same fate. It intrigues him all the more so, this act, this dance around each other. He is skilled. That face is worn and stern for a reason. He can see that. There is precious little he couldn't.
What he cannot see is his mind, his inner workings, his heart, all shielded from his power. But there are ways around that. There are ways to turn someone, many, many ways. So many ways to corrupt.
The table creaks as Prestor's weight is rested upon his palms, eyes the faintest, murkiest crimson in the dark. ]
You can call me as you like. But it would best to simply know me as a force for correction. Are you not the same? An agent to preserve the precarious balance of our world? Someone who walks the line between the light and the shadow?
I can see it in others, you know. [ In Adam's ears there is the softest whisper of I see everything. ] That you came at all, accepted an invitation from a mere stranger, is proof that you care deeply for that balance. As do I.
[ There is a warmth about his shoulders now, as though he is being embraced by something invisible, seduced and swallowed up by the shadows Prestor spoke of. Something hot, searing that is trickling through the veins that were alive and touching the parts that were not, chips, prosthetics, slithering up the spinal cord to the brain, giving experimental prods. Trying to find a weakness. Something to sink into.
Something to corrupt. ]
An alliance of sorts would surely not be a terrible thing.
[ Surely not. Surely not. The voices are disturbed, as snakelike as Prestor truly is beneath his clothes. ]
Surely the deepest desire that exists within your heart is something I can grant in exchange for your unwavering loyalty.
no subject
There are many harmful influences his mechanical parts can protect him from. Brainwashing and darker influences, unfortunately, are not among them, but Adam has a sharp mind and knows countless tactics when it comes to swaying people, as well as psychology. The words, itself, he can easily see through and repel, it's almost laughable that anyone would think he'd be so easy to win over. With flattery.
--Then why, despite of that, is he still considering that offer? Surely-- Well, he came here in the first place to gain enough trust to be let into any dangerous secrets, if there are any. If he stands to gain something at the same time and all he has to do is be loyal, he can do that, he's done that before, life as Sarif's attack dog hadn't been so bad, up until the point where he realized that balance is important, and as an agent joined the ranks of the-- ]
--What?
[ Hold on, that's not how it went. He'd sentenced them all to death, including himself, because no individual--no one--had the right to decide, not even himself. At no point did he join Taggart and his conspiracy buddies. He's not thinking straight right now, is it the alcohol after all--?
And suddenly, there's the sound of glass cracking and ultimately breaking into a dozen broken shards and fragments, whatever wine he had left spilling onto the carpet. For some reason he'd no longer been able to control the pressure his prosthesis exerted on it. It's a distraction, if nothing else, to momentarily pull him out of that mental lull filled with self-doubt. A chance to catch his breath. He blinks, tearing his attention away from Prestor. ]
Fucking-- [ He curses under his breath, looking at the mess and wiping his hands clean on his own pants. ] I'm sorry. I was kinda lost in thought, that's not really supposed to happen anymore.
[ And for once, he's not acting, because this hadn't been planned at all. The machine is still slave to the flesh it is fused to, which had, however subtly, realized that something wasn't right. In fact, the more mentally stressed he is, the more the machinery will rebel and glitch.
Not like Adam knows much about that, being the first man to achieve the Singularity because of his unique genetic pattern. ]
no subject
Finally. ]
You are not lost, Adam. [ Something sparks behind his lenses, distorts the HUD for a second or two. ] In fact, I'd go as far to say you're thinking more clearly than ever. You've realized your position in this game. In this war.
[ Don't make this difficult.
I can make it very difficult.
Painful claws clamp down on his back, though no one's touching him. A steady force from within. Crushing. Breaking. Squeezing, though nothing is truly there. ]
It is to help me recreate this world as it should be. As it must be. There is no higher calling, no higher purpose than this. You should be honored to be part of it.
[ The broken pieces of the glass begin to lift, propelled by magic, hovering in the air as daggerlike shards. Prestor's tone has changed from its usual allure to a grating hiss, one that is impossible to ignore, drown out. ]
Pledge me your service. Your sword. Your life.
Pledge yourself to me, and you will be rewarded beyond measure.
no subject
Behind his lenses, he starts to scowl, and then--another glitch. First his arms, now his eyes, and not only does it seem serious enough to warrant an immediate check-up but this is is also definitely not the time. Feels like something's pulling at his artificial spine, too, so painful it almost feels like it's going to be ripped out of his body, and he stifles a gasp in the back of his throat, shifting subtly and uncomfortably. Something's wrong, he thinks, but not much beyond that because it's getting harder to concentrate and focus his thoughts. It might just be phantom pains, but why now, all of a sudden--
Unless.
And that's when things become a little clearer through the fog of pain he can't tell is real or not, taking a turn for the worse. You bet your fucking ass I'm gonna make this difficult, and Adam's lenses retract, revealing a pair of fairly unsettling, green-gold eyes, narrowed in repugnance while his mechanical fingers stubbornly grip onto an armrest, almost hard enough to break the material as they had just broken the glass.
His body possesses too much strength--no doubt the thing talking to him had realized that, too--and Adam's starting to lose his control over it. There's a pang of deeply rooted fear in the gut of his stomach, but Adam ignores it, because the moment he gives in he's lost. ]
His -- Lordship wants my sword? [ There's a certain strain in his voice-- it's slight, but it's there. ] You only had to ask.
[ He wills himself to KILL, his body still willing to follow the command to destroy, it seems, as he pushes himself forward, lashing out at Prestor and aiming straight for his chest with the ceramic blades simultanously sliding out of his wrists. ]
no subject
He watches him begin to fall apart. To doubt himself. The pain is excruciating for Adam but delectable for the one inflicting it, every choked sound just encouraging him to continue broiling his nerve endings, cracking into metal. Memories would take more time to access, to sift through given the intricacy of the systems protecting it, but once he got into those, really started his fun, then...
Prestor watches the false eyes slide back to Adam's true ones, and he meets them in turn with a crimson pair, feral and slit and no longer hiding their malevolent nature. Once a dragon, always a dragon, once an alpha, always an alpha, and now he begins to growl, tries to ward off what he senses is coming. Don't you dare. Don't you move. David facing down the Goliath—or perhaps a more apt comparison here would be Hercules confronting the Hydra, brute strength pitted against a hellish power.
But he is strong, and the sudden lunge comes quicker than even he anticipates, just before he can counter with a smarmy remark. ]
Ugh...!
[ The blades meet their target, slicing clear through Prestor's chest, splaying black blood every which way and corroding whatever it touches. He doubles over, bawking, and it trickles from his mouth, from fangs pulled too late. The glass drops to the floor, harmless. It would seem Adam has severed the head of the beast, so to speak.
But then the voice comes again, echoing in the room. ]
Did you honestly believe that would kill me?
[ The pierced flesh begins to harden around weapons embedded inside it, effectively locking Adam in place. The strength of a thousand men would not move him. He has made an enemy of the earth itself and it will not budge. He is trapped.
Prestor lifts his head as his skin turns black, ashen, something like a living volcano with molten veins visible. His lips are still but the voice is ceaseless. Hand rising, sparks of electricity weave about his fingertips. ]
You haven't anywhere to run...
I almost feel sorry for you.
[ Claws extended, Prestor aims straight for his face. ]
no subject
Right. His augmentations. One quick CASIE scan, no harm done. Sometimes it's just better not to know.
But he has no time to dwell on that, not like it'd change anything about his current predicament. For a moment, when his blades are being sunk deep into the other man with a digusting wet noise, he honestly thinks he's got this--he hates the feeling, something that is now effectively a part of his body drilling through bone and flesh, but within seconds, it becomes something else. Something terrifying and deeply unsettling he needs to get away from, right now, and his augmented reflexes kick in, cutting through the phantom pain and propelling him backwards.
If it weren't, of course, for his stuck blades. He grunts and growls when he pulls, trying to pry them free with raw violence at the risk of breaking them altogether. ]
Son of a bitch--!
[ That fucking voice. It's grating, and their darkness reaches for and settles in parts of his body he did not think could feel anything even closely resembling pain anymore; wrestling for control over his cybernetics. Adam gives a low groan, struggling and kicking against the thing holding him in the futile hope that the additional force may be enough to push himself free. It's not, and then--
He catches sight of something that gives off sparks of electricity, Prestor's words, and he's struck by it as if struck by lightning.
In the end, the only one who's in a world of pain now is Adam. He screams, HUD and eyesight going completely haywire and his knees which are not usually prone to weakness buckle beneath him, his whole body giving in and falling limp and hurting while he remains fully conscious.
Just rendered completely immobile, like a paraplegic, and his mind goes blank until the system manages to stabilize itself and him..
> REBOOTING . . .
> REBOOTING . . .
> REBOOTING . . . ]
no subject
You fight the inevitable. The indomitable. Death does not bow to mortals...
[ Eventually, the flailing slows, along with the systems keeping Adam functioning. Strength fails his legs. He falls. They all would, ultimately. In the end... ]
...mortals bow to Death.
[ With another bloody jerk, Prestor pulls out the blades, kicks Adam's still form aside, and assesses the damage done, dipping his fingers into the black dripping from his torso. ]
I know you're still in there, Adam.
[ After taking a slow, deliberate moment to lick them clean, he reaches for Adam's head to seize it in his grip. ]
Wake up. [ Slam against the floor. ] Wake up. [ Slam. Again and again and again. ] Wake up.
no subject
Right now, he's vulnerable, and more so than a human that doesn't have augementations. All he can do is listen when he really wants to cover his ears and tell the guy to SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GET OUT OF MY HEAD--
Guess he can only hope the other presence in this room is able to read minds. ]
...nnghh. Hrrn.
[ His head hurts, and it will hurt more in a bit as a grab is being made for his head, and he braces himself for the worst. Deathwing doesn't disappoint, slamming his head repeatedly against the hard ground until he bleeds, caushing him to roll his eyes in pain, and groan pitifully, his already fucked up HUD shaking at the edge of his vision. Sentinel is back online again, assessing the damage and administer emergency medical treatment where needed. Now he also needs the arms, still too numb to be of any use to him. ]
Stop it--
[ Causing head trauma isn't gonna make him reboot or recover any faster, but maybe that's the point. ]
Stop. Stop.
[ He tries to bat at Deathwing, push him away somehow, but given how little actual sensation he has in his prosthesis, it's rather weak and pathetic.
He's never felt so pathetic, in fact, not in all the months he'd had to adjust and deal with discrimination, and the hatred generated by that is perhaps the single strongest feeling he's capable of right now. ]
no subject
I begged them to stop, you know... to leave me be. All for naught. All into the void.
[ Deathwing's grip is crushing and sears to the very touch, like hot oil being poured onto his scalp. Blood is spilled and the heady scent reaches his nose, a shaky breath sucked in, but business before pleasure. And this was still business, just as Adam wished for. ]
But very well.
[ And stop he does, lifting Adam up with an impossibly strong grip, dangling him like a piece of meat before a lion. It was not far from the truth, judging from the hunger in the dragon's eyes. ]
Now, are you going to behave and listen? Or will you continue to beat your fist against stone? [ The wound Adam had endeavored so valiantly to make closes up, illustrating Deathwing's point. ] Speak, Adam. Don't waste my time anymore than you already have.
no subject
[ He really doesn't. It's all just words, words, words, and no matter how alluring they are in the end, they don't mean anything to Adam. He's more preoccupied with the pain surging through parts of his body, and this time it's all very real--and yet at the same time, surreal. Because what exactly is he dealing with here? A god, really--
Well, clearly not a very nice one. And shit ugly. He snorts a laugh despite everything when he gets a good eyeful of him. No surprise he had to keep the appearance of a human, Jesus Christ. It's his luck, probably, that he says none of that out loud, because he realizes how he's essentially at the mercy of this thing, pushing him around like a ragdoll with hands as hot as fire, burning into his skin, resulting in Adam sharlpy sucking in air through gritted teeth in a hiss.
At the very least, his gross motor skills are coming back to him, and the first thing he does is grab for the wrist belonging to the hand that holds him captive. He'll feel temperature if there is any, but no associated pain. ]
That how you go about making friends? [ He smirks, weakly. No, he's not going to make this any easier on himself. ] You must not have very many of those. Bet you bullied other kids in the playground into giving you their lunch money, too.
[ Bitch. ]
no subject
There is a grip fumbling for his wrist, though it might as well not have bothered. His hold remains ironclad. The skin itself burns just like the rest of him, literal fire in one's palm, and leaves a nasty black scald. Every bit of the beast is barbed and poison and he is making damned sure that Adam knows it: he is not the only walking weapon in Exsilium. Not anymore. ]
I can just as easily put you back together as I can tear you apart. Do keep this in mind.
[ Deathwing snorts smoke in his face, unfazed and unimpressed by his display or his attempts to goad. ]
Unless, of course, pain is what you truly desire... in which case I can deliver in spades.
[ His fangs open again, drifting close, dripping some toxic mixture of blood and magma, black and red with an insistent echoing mantra of die, die, die, obey, obey, obey. Not quite a god, but demonic, wretched hellspawn all the same. ]
no subject
In the end, it doesn't come down to whether or not he can free himself from this, but to how self-destructive and masochistic he's feeling today. Knowing what he does about death here, as well as having experienced it at least once and preparing for a second time, it seems like a viable option to escape this. But neither Deathwing nor his own augmentations would make dying an easy task for him; he'd been promised pain and suffering, not a merciful death. Sentinel would attempt to revive him time and time again and he'd come bouncing back to life like a weeble, only to be abused some more.
... Maybe if she were here, she could--his thoughts trail off, to something more pleasant, and he chides himself for even thinking of her right now. She shouldn't be here, because he can't even protect himself and he can't stand to see another woman that means something to him suffer. Focus--
With wide eyes, he stares at the grotesque face right in front of him. He considers the Typhoon, for what little good it would do him, but then a voice forces itself into his head again, pounding into an already fragile mind and drilling right through his resolve.
And his mind isn't a machine. He can't resist it for much longer, and all tension leaves his body, luminescent eyes glazing over. He relents, visibly. ]
Ff... [ Fuck you, you manipulative shitstain, you butt ugly monstrosity I'm gonna kill you someday and I'll enjoy every second of it-- ]
Fine.
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Skimming the surface of his mind, the appearance of a woman catches his interest, though he doesn't find it entirely surprising; mortals would cling to anything to keep themselves sane, in the midst of absolute insanity. He had certainly tried the same, for what little good it did him.
That silent swearing of revenge earns a distinctly amused chuckle, reverberating in the room like it came from some crazed ghost. ]
Employing the threat of death against death itself is meaningless. [ You are meaningless. Everything you have ever done is meaningless. ] But now that we're seeing eye-to-eye...
[ The grasp is loosened, but only for Deathwing to slam him front first against the floor, and it comes as it surprise that he doesn't just fall through, such enormous force is applied. A heel is ground into his spine, and the form above him changes once more, back to Prestor, back to the smooth drawl. ]
...I propose again that we join arms. However, since you rejected my first offer in exchange for information, I'll offer something else.
[ He pushes his weight down, and there is an an audible snap. Something definitely broke. ]
You will do as I command, or I will take everything you love from you, everything you cherish, every last shred of dignity and sanity and what allows you to function on a level beyond a mindless slave. You will infiltrate the pitiful police force here and feed me what you can.
Or else I will feed on you. Am I understood?
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Meaningless. He grunts and spits blood onto he ground between his hands when he stirs, trying to prop himself up onto his elbows and get back up, but the numbness hasn't completely relinquished his limbs yet, and the blanket of darkness that has laid itself over his mind is smothering, combined with a voice that's so booming and grating it feels as if Adam's head is about to explode.
It's made worse when he's kicked like a dog, pinned to the ground, heel almost crushing his spine--and it's debatable whether or not he's lucky that he just breaks a metal bar beneath his skin, connecting his arms.
He bites down on his own tongue and slams his head against the floor, stifling his own cry of pain.
DAMAGE REPORT. Direct medical attention is required. Basic functionality of SARIF SERIES 9A MILITARY MOD CYBERNETIC ARM PROSTHESIS (2) may be impaired. Please visit a LIMB clinic at your earliest convenience.
Wonderful. The voice that had been grinding on his mind is replaced by Prestors again, which is slightly less awful but hated by association.
Everything he loves. That's a good one. He might be the most concerned about his sanity, the ability to make choices; the very idea of losing even more control over himself is just straight up terrifying. He can follow orders, but only if he chooses to do so and can decide himself how he goes about it.
So here he has a choice, and he chooses the lesser of two evils, for the sake of his own humanity and protecting what little there is worth to protect. He grinds the next two words out, not hiding his aversion and disgust at all, ]
Yes, boss.
[ Sarif, with all his self-righteous bullshit and going behind Adam's back, hadn't actually been that bad, he realizes now. ]
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Adam would prove no exception.
More blood, and my, that was going to stain. Prestor wrinkles his nose at the prospects of clean-up duty, but does refrain from hindering or torturing what has essentially become his captive further. The message finally seemed to have registered that this particular situation was out of his hands; he would do as he would bid, and there would be no refusal, no complaints about it. The foot lifts and Adam is free to stand, if he can even manage it, though both sharp eyes and a sharp voice warn him you will stay until dismissed.
Prestor manages a smooth chuckle at yes, boss, and finds he doesn't mind the resigned ring of it. Yes, that would do. He supposes he won't get much better out of Adam without a more significant time investment, which isn't on the agenda for the evening. ]
As much as a spider is to a fly, of course.
[ Prestor turns his back to Adam, begins waving things magically back into place with short gestures as he speaks. The blood drains away from Adam's body, trailing towards Prestor's feet and vanishing, as if sucked up. ]
For future reference, do not attempt to engage me physically. It will not work and will backfire spectacularly, as you have seen. [ I am here now. Right here. I see everything. ] So please, don't make a mess of my quarters again. It really is troublesome to clean up.
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When he sits up, fake sensation finally creeping back into his limbs, he spits more blood onto the carpet out of spite. He rolls his shoulders experimentally, and notices that he can only move them to a certain point, like something's stuck. Right... he should do something about that. And the metal, having pierced right through his skin and dermal armor under his clothes like it was a particlarly sharp piece of fractured bone. Hurts like shit, but the pain is quickly dulled out because of strong painkillers being pumped into his bloodstream and immediately taking effect due to his fucked up metabolism. But he'd rather be in excruciating pain than have that bastard violate any part of his body again, whether it be his head, his flesh, or his cybernetics. And the only way have it like that it seems, is by playing nice.
Adam snorts, raising a sleek black metal hand in front of his face, curling it into a fist, and making sure it functions as it should while he listens to whatever stupid shit his lordship has to say. He'd like nothing more than to ram a blade into his back just for the hell of it. It must be annoying if nothing else. And doesn't he love to be an annoying little shit. ]
You've ruined my coat and you don't hear me whining.
[ He says, as he slowly gets to his feet, legs still a little wobbly for as much as bionic legs can wobble. And he does inspect his coat, dusting himself off; most of the blood seems to be miraculously gone (how thoughtful) but that doesn't change that the fabric is scorched in places. Burn marks are such a bitch to repair. He's not vain about a lot of things, but that would definitely be one of them, and it's easier and less upsetting to be annoyed at something trivial like this than the fact that he just became someone's pet. The second he stands and has his balance back, Adam wills the shades to slide back over his eyes, and fortunately, they're not giving him trouble. Again, small victories. ]
And it's 'Jensen'.
[ Not like he expects him to care, but he feels the need to point his preference in address out anyway, now that they are formally working together. ]
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[ Said with that unmistakably arrogant air that illustrates all that Prestor is, a creature so utterly full of himself that it's a wonder Adam hasn't been knocked down by the sheer force of his ego alone. Prestor takes a moment to dust off his own attire, straighten a rumpled cuff while leering down at the man like he's some hideous animal on display—and not the other way around. ]
And I'll ruin much more than that if you make a habit of sass. Don't delude yourself into thinking I'll tolerate it for long.
[ There's a shifting in the dark, a stirring of Prestor's shadow as it lurches off the floor and wraps about him, twisting into a serpentine shape. Two ruby eyes staring Adam down with a Cheshire grin, like something out a nightmarish fairy tale. Yet still he continues to speak casually, as if addressing an old friend... ]
Don't delude yourself into thinking you won't be swallowed up like all the rest.
[ ...or food.
The ethereal snake grows until it's nearly encompassed the entire room in size. This doesn't look like it's going to end well. ]
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Again, he scowls, but actually manages to keep his expression in check. He usually gets very far with the stoic attitude, but that's because most people can't very well see through it. Deathwing however...
He puts a hand on his hip. ]
Yeah? Wanna make a mess of things again? Go ahead, you'll be the one to clean up. Not me.
[ Unwise, especially considering what happens next, but he can't help it. There we go with the stupid magic bullshit again. Whatever's happening, he lets it happen and remains right where he is, unperturbed. If the guy wants to make him suffer he'll do it regardless of what he says. ]
Not even thirty minutes and I'm already getting fed up with your bullshit. You really that bored, boss? Is the cliché-ridden villainous scheming not coming along so well?
[ Adam, son. ]
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But the presumption aggravates him, shoulders tensing and skin prickling visibly as a result. Staring at the wall, still turned away from Adam, a bitterness enters his voice that was not present before. ]
Do you really think it's all so straightforward, what's going on here? I asked before of heroes, of villains, but what difference even exists between the two? What qualifies one over the other? Do you even know of how utterly broken this world is, how imperfect, how fragile?
[ The room itself fizzles in and out of view, replaced by a flickering mirage of Exsilium ablaze, burning bright into the night, corpses stacked high and blood filling the streets. The serpent's outline shifts in turn, alternatively becomes more distinct, blacker, features more visible, wings growing from its back. A monstrosity. ]
What I seek to do, what I must do, was a task dictated to me long before your kind even walked the earth. Have you any idea how heavily that burden rests? The pain you felt just moments ago is nothing compared to what I have experienced, the death throes of an entire planet.
[ The thing glares down at Adam. ]
But you will.
In time, you will.
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Quite the lightshow. Yes, whatever happened to you totally justifies all your subsequent douchebaggery. Here's the world's smallest violin. Let me play it for you.
That's what he's thinking even while Prestor is still talking, and hopefully he's too absorbed in his self-pity to really take note of it. Talk about overdramatic. Then there's the image of what he presumes to be Prestor's real form glaring at him, going by what he's seen of him before--some sort of dinosaur. Or dragon. Whatever. Definitely still ugly (but also impressive and intimidating, he has to reluctantly admit to himself, and he definitely doesn't want to experience that thing In The Flesh). ]
I didn't know. [ And he never asked for it, either. He takes a step closer so he stands almost directly behind Prestor. ] Tell me, what happened exactly to make you see things this way.
[ Like he cares. ]
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A few scattered scenes flash behind them—the remains of an ancient battlefield, littered with the dead bodies of dragons, demons, elves, and men, the faintest outlines of similarly hellish beasts with oozing appendages and vile extremities—but they all run together, too intense, too fast to be properly assessed, cataloged, analyzed. Reality returns as it truly is, leaving only the searing image of the molten giant in Adam's head.
Prestor sounds almost bored when he answers him. Disinterested. Unimpressed. ]
You're going to continue to treat this like a game, aren't you? Like something you can set aside, walk away from at any moment. Something you can find a way to outwit, outplay, outlast. Something you can cheat, as you've done to so many others.
But it's not. And you can't. And you won't.
[ Prestor looks over his shoulder at him. ]
Go on, Adam. Take your shot. I know you want to. Get it out of your system.
Show me the extent of your resolve so that I might crush it.
[ And he turns back around. ]
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My pleasure.
[ And the moment he turns around, Adam's augmented fist comes flying straight for the other man's face. It's not going to be nearly as strong as usual--and he'd planned to use additional force mainly reserved for walls--given the sorry and weakened state of his cybernetics due to the damage inflicted earlier. But that doesn't matter, it's the act itself that counts, as well as the satisfying feeling and crunch when a fake fist meets a fake face. All that's reminiscient of the real thing are their shapes, whatever lies beneath that isn't human, and that also goes for Adam, as much as he likes to tell himself otherwise.
Morality.
Because he does use his augmentations often without thinking, doesn't he? And doesn't even feel sorry. Especially not in this case, where he clearly isn't the one who possesses the most strength between the two of them. And much like the people who took his former girlfriend away, he isn't going to get any mercy or sympathy. Not one bit. Just pure, unadulterated hate, mostly for personal reasons.
And he's not just going to bend over and take it, for how little good that will do him. If Deathwing truly want to to reduce him to a broken and begging mess, well, he's welcome to try, but with Adam and his tenacity, it might take a while. ]
Are we done here? Unless you wanna tell me what exactly you have in mind for this place and me. Otherwise, stop wasting my time.
[ ... always pushy and demanding, even when he's clearly not on top, it seems. ]
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It's refreshingly painful. He's a creature who's been twisted by it but he's also a creature who needs it. Pain is what drives him. Pain is what reminds him that there yet remains work to be done. Pain is an addictive force and he takes it in as much as he doles it out, gladly. He'll never forget the first time his armor was branded onto his skin and never should.
It doesn't quite shatter, but his face does contort from the force of the blow, stagger to the side as his body absorbs the shock. There's a bruise Adam will no doubt find very satisfying to look at for all of the ten seconds it'll exist and there's a trickle of blood from his mouth. It takes him a solid working of his jaw to set it back in place and he'll be feeling the sting for awhile. Fine. Get it out of your system.
Prestor's eyes slowly roll back up to Adam's artificial ones and he quietly assesses him for a moment. Disobedience makes him roil by its very nature, and he can already foresee that this is going to be a repeated instance, a difficulty he's going to have to contend with many, many times. The parts inside were weak, but the will was strong. Still, it's something that could be bent, given enough time. And the prospect of a challenge at least provided some incentive, some entertainment in the interim where otherwise there was little.
Yes, he could come to enjoy this. ]
No.
[ Prestor curls a fist, and there's no warning now, no dramatic speech. He just hits him right back, same spot, same style, but with agonizing force, certainly much more than he'd received. It sends an appropriate message of tit-for-tat, of oneupmanship. Take an inch, I'll take back a mile. Take a shot, I'll take mine twice as hard. An untenable, unwinnable situation. A game he couldn't cheat. ]
Now we are done.
[ Prestor shoos him off. Clearly, in his mind, the conversation is over. ]
Do not neglect the terms of our agreement. I will be watching you.
[ Every step and every breath.
It belongs to me now, Adam. ]
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The blow Adam receives is enough to send him reeling, only to be stopped by the nearest wall, in fact, despite his legs having been designed to absorb way more outside force that his body may be subjected to at any time. Broken legs would severely disable him, after all.
Honestly, he's more worried about his face, now adorned by a deep and very visible laceration and more blood running down his temple and cheek. He almost swallows his own tongue when he hits the surface, and when he pushes away from it with a grunt, he notes that there's quite a crack, indicative of the force that had just rocked his body. A normal man wouldn't be standing right now, Adam's a little more... resilient, fortunately. It'll stop bleeding and hurting in a few minutes, though any scars inflicted will, of course, remain. ]
I wouldn't dream of it.
[ He needs to tell someone, though Adam has no idea if there currently exists an individual among the Transports that's powerful enough to defy this creature. Trouble in the making, and so Adam suspects he has to bide his time and keep this to himself for now. It doesn't sit right with him. Gotta see to it that others stay far away from him, at least, so they don't end up in a similar situation.
His instincts hadn't failed him. ]
Enjoy the rest of your evening, your nastiness.
[ He cleans some of the blood off his face with metal digits, wiping them clean on one of Prestor's classy, comfortable seats on his way out, smearing it all over the soft material. ]