Players:
Summary: Introducing a new mysterious villain who has darker methods of torture for our victims.
Date: October 2, 2012
Log Title: Enter the Handler
Rating: PG-13
Quenton's collar was off. He was free. Or he should have been. When his eyes woke up he was surrounded in some sort of field, and he was immobile. The field was blue, like a bubble, and floated between four heavy machines, pillars of technology. Where the hell was he? Still. The collar was off. The Rage was instant. His thunderous roar echoes off the walls, and he writhes and twists and turns, his veins reddening and his muscles flexing with anger, his eyes dark.
This did not impress the Handler. He was a tall black man, standing above seven feet and staring at the bubble that was Quenton's prison with no visible emotion. What did impress him was the steam rising from Quenton's back, filling the small orb they had him in. "Interesting. How much pressure are the antigravity repulsors taking?" he wonders to a man at a control panel, operating the machine.
"Ten tons, sir," the man said, glancing up. "This is the highest recorded strength level of Henry McCoy," he claims.
"And we're supposed to be afraid of this?" The Handler wonders, chuckling in amusement. "I've dealt with worse. Stab him."
Nodding, another button is pressed, and suddenly, the pillers release two foot long vibranium blades, each of them cutting into Quenton's legs and arms.
He screams. It's not a shrill scream, it's a feral, primal one, as if Quenton was more animal then man. But that wasn't even the case. Animals don't change like Quenton does. His body twists and curls, and the steam rising from it begins to burn him, his already severely scarred hand's burns beginning to climb up his forearm. Then it becomes another angry roar, and his eyes lock on the Handler's, a savage promise.
"What the hell? Strength levels have more then doubled, sir. He's now putting twenty five tons of pressure on the repulsors. This is the highest recorded strength level of Luke Cage, who has a very similar power set to our boy here," the Purifier at the panel murmurs.
"Give him the fire," the Handler murmurs, watching as Quenton's body begins to transform, the veins beginning to form a spiderweb pattern on his skin, his eyes completely red now, including the pupils and where the red was. Streams of flame emit from below the Vibranium blades, lancing his skin.
And oh, is he transforming. Quenton's body jerks to one side, then the other, still immobile, his rage growing as he screams at the Handler with hatred, his body twisting. His words are unintelligible, just growls and other gutteral sounds.
"Fifty tons, sir. Strength level is pushed far beyond it's limits, but his body isn't able to handle it. This rage is burning him." Sure enough, Quenton's right arm is beginning to collect the burns, though not as severely.
"How long can we keep this up?" wonders the Handler curiously, circling the bubble as Quenton's body twists.
"Until he dies," the Purifier admits, stopping the fire before Quenton's body suffers anymore burns.
"And will he heal from these burns?" asks the Handler.
"He doesn't have a healing factor, but his body is remarkably durable as his rage increases. The rage itself is hurting him more then our own fire is," explains the Purifier. "If we could push him to his maximum limit, we could then figure out how to kill powerhouse class mutants."
"Powerhouse class mutants? We need new names for them," the Handler murmurs. "No. We're done here. Bring me Gerhardt," he murmurs, watching the rage ridden mutant scream. "Show him the feed."
One of the walls light up, like a screen, showing an image of Shane's grinning face after she knocked the Purifiers off her. Quenton's rage seems to cease almost immediately, and he slumps down, his eyes fading back to the normal crimson and the spiderweb pattern disappearing into his visible veins, which gradually lighten. And then the orb fills with gas, and his body slumps to the floor when it dissipates.
