[log] Noisy Black Part Three - Mingle [closed]

[snowblindmods]

Characters: characters participating in the noisy black event
Location: An office building.
Date: Night 261 - Day 262
Summary: Conversion and exploration.
Warnings: body horror, body trauma, medical horror, psychological trauma, forced IVs/forced feeding, note specifics in subject lines please

Sinners
Converted
Exploration

Comments

Sinners

[snowblindmods]

everything you love is crushed and broken

Overnight 261 - cw: just mild trauma references right now

[sleight_of_fate]

Rhys has been quiet during most of the day, except for his contacts over the network to check in and his attempts to keep helping his fellow inmates, but it's clear that it's taken its toll as the shock and wear start to set in. As the afternoon wears on, he cares for his own injuries and then retreats to his bed, and when feeding time comes, he doesn't resist, eating what he's given with no fight and just an icy glare.

He needs to keep his strength up.

As the night goes on, he gets more restless and more disoriented, his demon tail thumping against the floor and bars like a snake in a box. Sometimes, he sings, mostly to himself: snatches of songs both familiar and old in a surprisingly strong, though somewhat hoarse voice. Mostly, he's quiet, if not truly asleep then at least resting with his eyes closed.

But when the girl's is heard echoing through the cells, it seems to startle him from his stupor, though not entirely back into awareness.

"Tell her it's okay...tell her...it wasn't her fault..." He stops, tries to look around, flinches when the pain stops him. How did he get hurt? His head hurts like it's been stapled together very, very badly. Was it the truck?

He kind of remembers the truck. And the pavement. And the screams and the lights and the ambulance and...

"Kendra? Kendra, I'm so sorry..."

Night 261, cw (potential) vomiting, rest of his limb/nervous system trauma

[headjacked]

[ This Rhys does not resist food and drink, though he's trying to train his new arm, forcing it to hold a spoon and bring the Not Applesauce to its intended destination.

This results in a lot of food down his front, which, incidently, is a good front. See, he's being a Good Follower. Trying. Certainly not doing this kindasorta on purpose.

Once the Converts leave, he drags himself to the attached restroom. The noises he's making, well. It's clear what he's trying to do. In a bit of cruel irony, he's having trouble puking on command. It's like his body is trying to desperately hold on to the food. ]

Night 261 - Midday 262 CW: Eye horror, nail gore, lung trauma/coughing, suicidal thoughts/ideation

[holmesice]

[Night 261-after food]

Technically it could have been drugged, could have been laced with something to make them more compliant, could have caused more pain somehow.

But honestly, if they were going to control them, they would have done so already. Mycroft had considered not accepting any food, but the worse off his body was, the more compliant he would be to their demands, and he could not risk himself becoming like them, becoming a danger to Sherlock--the thought ate at him for what seemed like an eternity...he actively looked for a chance to just end it all--if he was dead, he could not be used to hurt Sherlock. But then again, if he was dead, he could not protect Sherlock, and his brother might get captured the same way anyway. It was a complex enough problem that it kept him fairly lucid. The issue with being fairly lucid was that he could not escape from the unending visual input and the crackling, painful sparks in his chest and throat.

It was going to be another long night.

Mycroft attempts to pull his cloak over his head and use the darkness within to at least try to get some sleep. Even if it's fitful at best, not being able to close his eyes was rather detrimental to that sort of thing. Perhaps he does pass out, perhaps it's only imagined. Either way, it's not restful.

[Midday 262]

How long had it been since...

...since...something or the other. Mycroft frowned, trying to place why he was so worried about how long it's been since...whatever it was that worried him. Probably should ask 'Anthea' about that, she had his schedule blocked off for the week. Perhaps it was that meeting with Lady Smallwood about that blasted German affair, she would not let that go--

--the sounds across the cell block brought him back for a moment.

--ugh. He leaned his head back against the wall, the pain returning along with the absolutely unbearable farce of a sense that was sight. If he went blind somehow, he'd be thankful. He wasn't sure he wasn't going to half-try if this kept it up--his mind was rebelling, twisting, shattering under it--he just wanted it to stop, he just wanted to shut his eyes for a moment, just a moment...he clutched his sore fingers over his face, but it was only a small solace because every few minutes he kept forgetting why he was doing that in the first place...and the constant sharp pain with every breath, with no relief was wearing thin on what little nerves he had left. He hadn't been so bad off as some of the others at the beginning, but enduring this for any length of time--

--of course, they were trying to break him. He had to hold on until the rescue. He could only hope Sherlock would be delayed so he would not have to come here, and the others would get here first--he wanted Sherlock to have no part of this place, and what would it matter, anyway? Despite professing the fact he was coming to save him, he still doubted he wanted much to do with him, after he'd told him about Eurus and Victor--

--it would really be better for everyone if he just died here. A hard reset and an escape, or perhaps actual death. Mycroft cared little for the distinction at that point, he just wanted this to stop.

...whatever it was he wanted to stop. Maybe it was Mrs. Hudson's nattering every time he stopped by for a chat with Sherlock.

Where was Sherlock, anyway?

"Sherlock!?" he called out, randomly. "You can't fool me, I know you're home. Mrs. Hudson? Unlock the bloody door!"

Night 261/Morning 262 - feeding time + converted visit!

[warriorscribe]

(Night 261)

[The converted descend on the sinner's hall all at once that night, bearing bowls and spoons and IV bags. Enoch leans down to Quark and quietly says something (it's "mind how you move his arm for that", for those immediately surrounding them), and comes to a stop at Rhys's cell first, because he can be offered normal food and that will be easy. Which is good because he must wait an hour with Billy, whose mouth he has sewn shut. Either way, he's here for a while.

He may attempt conversation with his pair of sinners, but with Rhys focusing on training his new arm how to help him eat and Billy literally unable to respond in words or writing effectively, it may or may not work as intended.

Sinners and other converts alike are free to speak with him before he leaves, too, especially since he's stuck here a little while. Unfortunately, after a short conversation while checking on Rhys after Billy is done, Enoch leaves muttering apologies and rubbing an aching head. Maybe it's sleep deprivation or something. Oh well. He'll be back.]


(Morning 162)

[Enoch is determined today to get down to the sinners in his right mind. He finds a grounding phrase, mutters it under his breath dutifully in the elevator. At first he thinks it's working - he's still himself, as the elevator travels. And yet...

...a very confused-looking Enoch stumbles out of the elevator, glancing around quizzically.]

...Hm. I've forgotten what I meant to do here.

[He recovers, though, and smiles fondly at the sinners in their cells, the way one watches a newborn foal taking its first steps.]

No matter. Visiting you all is reason enough. This stage of conversion can be a rather endearing one, under the right circumstances.

[He begins approaching random cells, watching those within for a moment before addressing them:]

Hello, there. How are you feeling? It's normal to be confused by now, but I'm sure you've been told that [or "I've said that" for Rhys or Billy] already.

[He'll visit a few cells, in no particular order, just wandering and checking on everyone. He may strike up a conversation with another visiting convert, too. Maybe, just maybe, the right person will send him wandering away with a hand to his head and muttered apologies like Rhys (it might even be Rhys again!), though he'll be back several minutes later. Like yesterday, however, there is one cell he will visit, and will visit last. He may have been assigned to Quark and not him, but Enoch still feels particularly responsible for Beckett...

When he leaves after that conversation, with an apparently vision-swimming headache, he doesn't return for the rest of the day.]

Night 261 - cw: skinning, some sensory deprivation, face alteration/mutilation

[harlequinofhate]

[Joker sits in his cell with his head down, arms wrapped around his knees. Since the surgery he's been quiet, not bothering to try to speak much through the canvas of sewn flesh covering his face.

He resists everything the converts try to put him through, including the food, until he loses the will to fight. Every time he resists something snaps in his brain and makes him compliant.

And that makes him angry.

The longer he sits in silence the more his mind starts circling around various dark fantasies of revenge.]

Morning 261

[standing_waters]

Originally he'd tried to go down stairs to try and help those held captive. By the time he stepped out of the elevator the meaning of 'help' had changed. Afterwards he wouldn't be surprised, but he was hoping that remaining himself in the elevator was a good sign.

He knows that he wanted to remember what was going on here, even if the reasoning why has shifted. So he can be found throughout floor, checking in on and watching the sinners.
He doesn't talk to those who don't notice them, but for those who do he moves closer and offers a smile. "How are you feeling?"

overnight 261 - cw lacerations, body parts sewn together, dissociation

[thewarningafter]

[Stephen drifts in and out of the present. It's less sharp, less sure than at first, the exhaustion and pain leaving him unable to sustain even a false sense of his current location. Sometimes he mumbles defiance at Dormammu, but just as often he suddenly realizes that his arms are gone, no, anesthetized, and he cries out for help from an imagined nursing staff because he can't see, something is wrong and he can't see.

Sometime in the night he listens to Peter's playlist -- maybe he stumbles across it on his own tablet, maybe he overhears it from someone else's. House later, he can't recall just why this particular song is stuck in his head. He sings absently to himself, carelessly mumbling some of the words.]

Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide,
No escape from reality...

262- Convert Visiting

[darkincrement]

[ When he enters the room, he looks lost for a moment. Like there's something he's forgetting and then the expression is gone as he moves further into the room. Another idea helps itself into his head as he sees the Sinners. ]

Ready to give in?

cw: possible descriptions of surgeries; tooth trama, skinned limbs, body modification

[averytinyparticle]

Closed to Beckett and Castiel; Night 261

Gosh. I'm sure you had a really long day, so you must be hungry!

[Quark enters the cell of his assigned sinners with the same enthusiasm as ever, holding onto some sort of bowl of...well, who knows. Food, probably. He has spoons, after all.]

I can help you.

Open Day 262

[Quark took awhile to figure out the perfect thing he wanted to say. He found a nice, inky pen and wrote a message down his arm for the others to read--any that could read, of course. Knowing that he wouldn't be himself once he was down there, there just had to be some way they could communicate.

We go back to normal again when we go upstairs. Trying to shake this and were looking for an exit too. We remember everything we do so no matter what we say to you even if its really crazy it can help us once the brainwashing wears off again. Please hang in there.

Only...once he goes back downstairs, it isn't just that he forget about what he wrote. No, once he steps out of the elevator, he barely takes a couple steps into the room before he freezes, and then darts back upstairs. He has to write off the message. There's nothing he can do to stop it--and before he knows it, he's back downstairs again. His arm has a few ink smudges left, but nothing discernible, the skin rubbed red and raw--it's not immediately visible due to his cloak, but anytime he gets close and the fabric shifts, it's fairly easy to see. Quark steps shakily toward the sinners, that strained, unnatural smile that doesn't fit his face settling back in.]

How are you feeling? If there's anything I can do to help, just let me know! The hardest part is almost behind you.

Day 262

[quadrangle]

[Time passes.]

[Karkat barely moves from the corner of his cell but to relieve himself, which is a production in and of itself (damn wrists) (deserve this). At most, he makes a cursory attempt to clean himself, but between the sight of his own blood and how much moving fucking hurts, he makes little headway.]

[(Maybe it's better this way.) Maybe it's better this way. Everyone can see how he... what?]

[He's tired.]

[The newer puddles of red are less distinct than the old, and he stays settled over the largest, darkest patch as the others call to each other, call to no one (for you) (she's here), and sing songs that may as well be in tongues for all the meaning Karkat gleans from them. Some of the words strike too deep, the emotion behind them resonating in ways that have him sobbing quietly again, but most simply pass overhead. (They can't be let go.) (Not yet.)]

[... There's someone speaking to him. No, it's... to all of them?]

Shut up.

[He doesn't know who he's talking to, the world has blurred and blended together around him, but it's not the faintly whispering voice. That one's... old, familiar. He must have heard it somewhere before. Somewhere in the Medium? Or a dream bubble, fuck if he could ever keep track of everyone he ran into in those. And it's saying]

[(there's meaning to this) (not suffering in vain, no)]

[things he needs to hear. They're important, aren't they? Why would he be hearing them if they weren't important?]

[(Listen.)]

I'm listening.

Early morning to afternoon 262

[equal_shots]

[Open!]
[Kid spends a lot of time going up and down from the converted quarters to the sinners quarters. He's suffered a modicum of disorientation since the beginning, the madness of his death price attempting to override the brainwashing of the Prophet. Today, though, it's significantly worse. More than once, he's appeared at the elevator visibly confused, mouth open as if caught midsentence.

Still, by the middle of the day he's back in the hall of cells, warily checking on the sinners as he had been the day before. His expression is in clear disagreement with his words, confusion on his face as he speaks. If he's not already holding keys to enter the cell and offer water to you, he's likely scratching the stripes in his hair anxiously, brows furrowed in confusion.] Things will start to get better from here...

[They will? He seems as confused as whomever he's talking to.] But you will need to keep your strength up. I know you've been given water or fluids earlier, but I can provide more if you need it.

[Closed to House and Davesprite]
[House and Davesprite get not offer of fluids and food--they will be given it without option. Earlier in the day, in the morning, Kid appears in their cell with a bowl of applesauce-textured food, a spoon, a small cup. And intravenous fluids and nutrition, if it comes to that.

He's not as disoriented as he will be later, but as he balances everything in one arm and swings the door of the cell closed behind him, he sounds unsure just the same.] The hardest part is behind you now. We'll just have to keep your strength up. I've some food for you.

It won't taste particularly good, but it will help you keep your strength.

Overnight 262 - cw: brain stuff, limb stuff, childhood trauma

[termineur]

[ The second 'feeding' has come and gone, and Sylar needed an IV again, this time because he kept forgetting to eat. He's currently standing, as usual, but now one metal hand is reaching up and through the bars. His eyes are wide. He's crying, tears streaming down his face as he seems to be trying to grip something in the air.

Anyone close enough to hear his murmurs can make out "Mommy" and "Daddy, please" and a lot of "no"s thrown in for good measure. He is in a seemingly endless loop of this terrible memory, one he doesn't even understand. ]

Night 262-Morning 263; CW: Dissociation, eye horror, nail gore, lung trauma

[holmesice]

[He doesn't...he can't...

...it wouldn't end. All the world was this cell, all the world was pain, all the world would never turn to black.

He tried, vaguely, to pull his cloak over him, make it dark--it needed to be dark, it was supposed to be--but it wasn't, because--because of something--maybe he was just imagining things. Maybe the dark never existed. Maybe sleep was an illusion, something that was a lie.

In rare moments of lucidity, Mycroft felt his mind struggling to process the unending barrage of sensory input. Not being able to close his eyes nor sleep properly for--for however long it had been, it felt like all there was was this existence--it was shattering his nerves, shattering his sanity.

A mumble. He rarely begged, but this time he begged to make it stop. Every breath was agony. No relief, until every spark and crackle in his throat was unbearable. He knew on some level this was it, this was what they wanted--whoever they were.]

The British Government will not stand for this. They will rescue me, and any information I--I have...it will be use-useless to you.

[But even past that, his mind shattered further. As the hours wore on, even the pain seemed to twist into normalcy. Seeing was everything. Seeing was all. Seeing was what he did, and maybe that's what he was supposed to do.

When he heard the girl's voice, though, it seemed to bring him back to himself a little. Not quite.]

Eurus? Eurus, no! Please, don't--

[And then, elsewhen, he thought of Sherlock. His poor little brother, all that he'd suffered.]

Sherlock? Sherlock, I'm sorry.

...you don't have to forgive me. But please know...I-I am s-sorry.

[And past even that, he seemed to lose track of his very identity itself.

He was pain, he was sight.

And that's all there was and ever would be.]

Day 263

[warriorscribe]

[Enoch hadn't been seen on the sinner floor since arriving with Rhys's meal and Billy's IV that night. What draws him here is sheer determination to do something, anything, he's tired of this and he's finally got something.

The elevator door opens and the sound of a voice cutting out abruptly greets them. Enoch emerges, throat working and mouth straining but not producing any noise. His eyes are sharp and clear and angry, if any sinner is at an angle to see them under his hood.

And then, all of a sudden, it all clears. He stands calm, if clearly confused again, and surveys the cells.]

Well, hello again. I admit I'm not sure why I didn't greet you as I entered. What was I doing when I arrived?

...Oh, that's rude of me, isn't it. None of you need concern yourselves with me - your focus should be on your conversion! Yes... How are all of you coming along?

night 263; message closed to Davesprite

[keepscalm]

[The message appears gradually. Straight lines of eyes appear one by one, small but accurate enough to be read by Davesprite's sight; they're somewhere on the kitchen counter on the floor that the converted reside in.]

WE REMEMBER. WE'RE SORRY.

night 263; (cw: eye horror + related blindness, mild reference to other surgery)

[mrcreamsicles]

[Davesprite is downright exhausted after everything, woozy with his sense of balance still untrained and helped no better by the intermittent feeding schedule. He can't even stay sat down with whatever it is that's been skittering around the floor; with his eyes sewn shut, he can't see the lumps. His aching back is too much a target for him to leave it in their range.]

[He's fallen, too, into disorientation. With no sight to rely on and only the occasional snatches of conversation to pull his attention from his own head, he's left to the stark awareness of every prophet symbol in Norfinbury that the clear lenses implanted over his eyes has given him.]

[This, ultimately, is what calls his attention.]

The eyes... the eyes are spelling... They're telling me a message. Guys, they're speaking to me. There's letters—

[It takes a while, each symbol coming to mind one by one in pattern. He speaks the letters as they form, guessing words until the full is clear. But in the end:]

"We remember. We're sorry."

[A little later, a new one:]

Something from someone else? "Can't touch door... In from outside? ... Or you—how?"

[And one after whatever else may come:]

There's one that just says "Bye buddy."

Night 262-day 263, cw skinning, teeth nastiness, blindfolding, bone shattering, buckets of blood

[bookofnope]

Lavender's green... lavender's blue...

[It feels like he'd been singing for days. It feels like he'd done nothing but sing for centuries. It's not even singing anymore, Beckett thinks wearily; his throat is too raw to make out the tune, and he's losing his grip on the words...]

If I die first... down, down, down... down among the dead - no, that's not - that's a different one...

[But his arms and his legs are broken and he can't move can't see can't eat can barely think for pain. So he might as well sing, whatever floats up from the ocean where his mind goes back to floating.]

Converted

[snowblindmods]

everything you touch shall be destroyed

Morning/Day 262 cw: mentions of torture, blood

[warriorscribe]

(Headaches)

[Enoch is driven away from the sinners' cells a few times. The first time, it was Rhys, immediately after feeding. When he recovered, he remained for a moment in the convert dorms, absently nibbled a cookie down to nothing, because as much as his appetite had diminished, eventually his body's demands would grow too strong to ignore. He stared out the window as he ate, his gaze far away. He thought back to the event he was sure had put him here, of the improvised leather whip in his hand, crying, fingers trembling, mustering all his energy just to bring his arm down even if he thought something would come of their success...

And here, here he cut and broke and ignored screams without a second thought, because something would come of their success.

It became perfectly clear to him. Beckett had said as much himself.]

I am the one who chose to stop.

[Without another word, he turned, sharp eyes on the elevator like staring down a nemesis, and walked towards it, repeating "I am the one who chose to stop" until it became a mutter under his breath.

The elevator doors closed, and he descended.

He would be back. The other times may have been other sinners, Rhys again, or the sound of Lavender's Blue over someone's tablet. Regardless, they all only lasted a matter of minutes.

This time is different. This time, he staggers from the elevator, both hands pressed to his head, distressed moans through his teeth at the pain. Blood cakes his jeans legs and the bottom of his cloak; he's been in Beckett's cell, after all. Which is unfortunate, because the bed he collapses into may not be "his". He gets blood all over the sheets as he buries his head in the pillow, waiting for it to subside.

It does, two hours later, and his distressed sounds turn to relieved laughter, delirious but genuine, and he raises himself to his knees. It takes a moment for the laughter to die down enough to allow him to speak.]

He-he made me doubt. He made me doubt, oh, I've never been so grateful to doubt my convictions in all my years!


(Post exploration)

[Enoch returns with the knife he'd taken earlier to aid in his exploration. His eyes are distracted, but with searching, thinking, hopeful of something they can use. There might be a smile fighting to exist at the corner of his mouth as he brings it back to the kitchen. He's found something...and maybe that makes him feel a little less helpless.

When he comes out, he addresses whoever may be lingering in the dorms:]

Listen to me, I found something. We can further damage what's already damaged, in the old cells further down, there's carpet someone picked at and I was able to cut it and pull it away. There were eyes drawn in paint and- and something, black distortions, it moved too quickly to keep up with, like an extremely quick centipede. I don't know what it is or why I couldn't perceive it but there's something else here.

Day 263

[warriorscribe]

[Some people get into crawlspaces. Some people look in drawers and cabinets and some people examine the equipment.

Sure, Enoch did some poking at the life support machine, but the payoff came only after he had made a fool of himself putting too much effort into examining an ordinary electrical outlet.

Quark had come in as he'd turned to moving things aside and then he heard it as the boy tested the floor - a hollow sound. Surely enough, when they'd moved the bed...

Well, let's say it was worth getting a mug of hot chocolate offered to you out of nowhere from a strangely excited Enoch. Hey, he was thirsty and just...ran with it.]

We found it! There's a trapdoor beneath the operating room's table, we can't touch it but we couldn't leave this room with our minds at first, either! That's the way in and out of here, whichever corner we're in! We can use this somehow, we must be able to!

night 263

[keepscalm]

[While England and America's search didn't turn up anything of use, England is still hard at work trying to think of how to proceed now. Enoch and Quark found that trap door, but they can't open it. England's assumption is that it will rely on them cooperating with the sinners and those who are presumably outside, but that does little for them when they currently have no reliable way to communicate with either group.

Until England calls to the others from the kitchen, anyway.] I figured out a way to talk to them. To send them messages.

[And it's a bit of a silly sight in the kitchen, but there are toothpicks and bottles of condiments scattered all over the counters. And, on some very ketchupy paper towels, lines of the Prophet's eye that shape clear letters: WE REMEMBER. WE'RE SORRY.]

Exploration

[snowblindmods]

there's no one waiting for you

Day 262

[standing_waters]

Manny chooses to take it as a good sign that he's able to leave the dorm without losing himself. He'd already tried to visit the prisoners and that hadn't worked out as he wanted it to, but hopefully exploring the rest of the building would get him something.

He spends a good part of the day going over the operating room, hoping he can find something that could be of use. Or some way to disable the place entirely. Just because they hadn't used it last night didn't mean they wouldn't be made to use it again.

Day 262

[warriorscribe]

[Enoch has been busy after recovering from that hours-long headache that drove him from the sinner cell block. It may be somewhat alarming when he comes back up and takes the sharpest knife he can find from the kitchen, but anyone who follows him, if any, will see he's only going down to the abandoned sinner floors, to the already-worn carpeting where some earlier sinner had picked it away. If it's already damaged, can he damage it further?

The answer is yes, revealing various bodily fluid stains, bright red eyes painted onto the floor, and something black and staticky skittering past him.]

Stop! Wait! [he calls out to it on instinct, turning to chase it.

Anyone in the stairwell on this particular floor will see a breathless Enoch leaning on the wall. Even his fastest sprint couldn't keep up with the thing and now it's gone. Whether you've followed him or found him, it doesn't matter - no amount of people chasing it could corral it.]

Did you see it? The thing- it moved like a centipede, black, made of distortions... I tore some carpeting the people here before ruined, it was under it... It was too fast.