2012-10-03: Rough Day


Nicholas_icon.jpg Quenton_icon.jpg

Summary: Quenton gets run through the mill and shortly after it's Nicholas' turn.

Date: October 3, 2012

Log Title: Rough Day

Rating: R

Small Church - Interrogation Room

The very first thing anyone will seen entering this room is that someone spraypainted on the wall 'DEATH TO MUTIES' and then someone else tried to clean it off, but it's clung to the concrete. This place looks like what it was meant to be. A torture chamber. Wooden chairs are bolted to the floor with leather restraint straps visible. Tables holding various implements are on rollers to be moved around at will, some looking like they came out of the medieval period. A sickly sanitary smell does little to cover the scent of blood, sweat and more. There are stains on the floor… some recent, some old, all with a coppery brown color to them…

It's a good ten minutes before anyone walks in, and the Purifier walks into the room, it's not a face that's really been seen before. "Get this over with, direct and to the point. I don't know if I respect that or are upset that you don't want me to have a bit of fun." He says walking over to Quenton patting him on the back so that he has to jerk down and put more pressure on his arms. Pulling out a small remote of some sort he changes what's on the screen. "We can watch your friends get tortured…" For a while on the monitor is Warlock getting tortured, then he switches it to Connor, then video of himself torturing Nick… "I'm really proud of my art work there, but what I really wanted you to see was this." It's a freeze frame from a security camera at the mall showing Shane hunched over mid-explosion with the Purifiers all flying away from her. "I like this picture, because it doesn't look like she's defending herself."

"Is that the picture you're going to show to the public? Lies that you're putting up about her? She's just a seventeen year old girl," Quenton mutters, staring at the screen, before his eeys lift up to the Purifier. "You know what I think? I think torturing Nick and Warlock, teenage boys, really gets you going. I bet you had a bad past. I bet you daddy didn't love you, or he -really- loved you." He's panting from the exertion on his arms.

"WRONG!" The Purifier shouts, almost a hint of glee behind his voice. "She's a seventeen year old mutant! And your friends, they're teenage mutants! Just like you. Of course you would think it's wrong, you're a mutant, just like them. Does a pig think it's wrong that his fellow pig his being killed and eaten, probably, but we still kill the pig and eat it anyway." The insults though, they do get a reaction from the Purifier as puts pressing down on a spot on Quenton's back, hitting a pressure point there to cause pain to Quenton. "This was a calling from God after my family was taken away from me you mutant piece of shit, and you are right, that picture will be shown to the public unless you answer my question."

There's a cry of pain and Quenton's body jerks again, the ropes holding him down, and he's panting, spitting to the side, his eyes lifting up to the Purifier's face. "You know who you sound like? Magneto. Watching him on television, giving his speeches about how weak and pathetic you humans are. And what do the X-Men do? Try and stop him." He's breathing heavily, before muttering coldly, "Then you guys turn around and do this. Catch us. Torture us. Do you even believe your own propoganda? You know she was just trying to protect herself. You know the rest of them were, too. You don't hunt us because you think we're evil. You hunt us because you don't like us having more power then you." His nostrils flare. "If your question's about the location of the Mansion, you can fuck off. Show it. She'll be okay. They'll protect her."

Walking behind Quenton, the Purifier ties a cloth around his eyes to blindfold him. "Actually half of why I do this is because I hate you. All of you." He doesn't even try to hide it behind fancy words as he walks around the room to collect some tools. "I met a man, Reverend William Stryker, he can foresee the future, a gift God himself bestowed upon him. He had a vision involving you and your friends, and to prevent it…well here we are now." He says and the buzz of electricity can be heard not to far from his ear. "Now the question isn't about the location, I want to know who watches over the school, their names and powers. Depending on the answers you'll either get cut.." The point of a blade can be felt pressing against one of arms, causing a small cut. "Or electrocuted." The something is pressed into Quenton's side causing a shock to rip through his body.

The cut and the electrocution makes him twist and writhe, and he's panting further, his body trembling slightly, restlessly. "He can forsee the future. You know… we got a kid at the school who can do that," he comments. "See the future. You know what your William Stryker sounds like to me?' he asks. "He sounds like a fucking mutant." His eyes twist, as if trying to see through the blindfold, but of course he couldn't, even with his powers. "Who watches over the school? There's this woman, she has the power to put anything of any length in her mouth. Her code name is your mother."

The shock comes a second time from whatever device the Purifier is using. "You think we don't do testing? You think we don't have ways to tell if someone is a mutant?" He says shocking him a second time. "I can play these games all day, the question is can you? Now, I want to know some names. If I don't have any names in exactly one hour from now, that picture of Shane is going on air with a wonderful story about it. I wonder how many will realize it's from already released footage…"

"… Already released footage?" wonders Quenton, lightly. "What do you mean already released footage?" He's breathless from the second shock, and he shakes his head, his breathing still heavy. "Who do you think watches over the place? Was the big fucking X on my jacket not a clue, or you guys just that retarded?" He's stalling.

The blade of something digs into the back of his shoulder and slowly cuts it's way down as the man speaks. "Oh I forgot, you wouldn't know. You've been….indisposed for a while. She's a wanted terrorist. So are the others that were with Nicholas and Warlock. She's been on the news, on government lists and is painted in a light no better than that Magneto you mentioned." He stops cutting Quenton and leans in close so close to his ear his breath can be felt. "And don't try to fool me with that, I know there are others than some eighteen year old rage monster guarding the school."

Quenton hisses in pain as the blade digs into him, his body trembling, though it goes still so that the cut doesn't get any deeper. "What I mean, you fucking peice of shit, is that the X-Men protect the school. Do your homework. There's more then enough information about them. Am I going to tell you any of their identities? So that you paint them as terrorists, too? No. Fuck you," he mutters, jerking his face away from the breath on him. "If she's on the news, there's nothing more you can do to hurt her."

"I see how it's going to be then." The Purifier says with a mock disappointment in his voice. "I should have known you wouldn't talk, but just because you one answer my one simple question doesn't mean we shouldn't have fun?" The sound of water can be heard before a blast of cold water hits Quenton, as if from some sort of hose. "I could do the usual, threaten Shane's family, since you don't have one, but I don't think that would matter. Besides, I don't really care if you do answer or not, the longer you don't answer, the longer I can have fun." The water is turned off, leaving Quenton quite soaked, and the blindfold is pulled off.

"I do have a family. My mother and brother are still out there," Quenton murmurs, quietly. "Here, I'll give you their names, in case you want to go find them and kill them." He says this shakily, the cold water torrent having made his body twist and stiffen. His breathing is erratic, and his crimson eyes regard the Purifier with hatred.

"Don't try to full me, I already explained to you that the Reverend sees things. Trying to set us against those monsters you call your family." The Purifier says waving what looks like a hand taser in his face. "Believe me though, we'd have gone after them if they weren't all…you know, with their condition." He taunts. "You see we know a lot about you and your friends in there." The taser is pressed into Quenton's side for only a second. "I can always have The Handler come and try to talk to you for a while, you know."
Quenton jerks a little at that, before his head hangs and he shakes it, muttering, "What? Afraid of a couple vampires?" He's sweating, the torture clearly taking it's toll on him, and tears do run down his face, but he remains rebellious. "I'm even less afraid of him then I am you," he spits. "Big muscular guy? If it wasn't for this stupid collar I could take him."

"But with the collar you're just a regular person, nothing special about you." The Purifier mocks, moving a hand to grip at Quenton's chin, moving his face up so he's staring right into his eyes. "With your cooperation or not, we will break you and when you are nothing more than a quivering sack of bones and flesh we will kill you when the times comes. Then after the four of you are dead, and the world sees our demonstration, we will march on that school of yours and destroy every last one of you."

Quenton looks over the Purifier's face, before attempting to spit in it. "We're small timers," he says quietly. "You show the world you tortured a three teenagers and an autistic guy, go ahead. If I were one of the X Men, I'd laugh." No. He wouldn't. But his captor doesn't need to know that. "You have nothing. You're weak. And once you beak us and show us to the world, they're going to see just how weak you are."

"Small timers, you have no idea do you." The Purifier snaps at Quenton striking him again with the electric shock. "You have no idea what your destiny is, and right now we mean to squash your destiny so it's nothing. The four of you will be gone and dead before you can ever reach what you're fated to do." He spits out before slugging Quenton across the face several times hoping to put the young mutant into a daze so he can throw him back into the cell.


A special thanks to Quenton for running this portion of the scene!

It isn't long before Quenton's thrown back into the cell by the Purifiers, before they lift their guns up. Stepping into the door and ducking underneath the top of it is a seven foot tall black man, who regards the unconscious Connor and Warlock dispassionately, and then looks over at the downed Quenton. He's not the sort of man that sends guards to grab who he wants, however, it seems, as he begins heading for Nicholas, giving him the most friendly smile, though it doesn't each his eyes. "Mister Gerhardt. Please come with me."

Nicholas looks up at the man and eyes him with hatred from his spot on the bench. "You've never asked nicely before. What happens if I don't?" He knows what'll happen but he's barely recovered his strength from the other day. He then remembers Quenton and what he said about the Shaq-like guard. "Fine I'll come with you." He says pushing himself off the bench. He looks over at the other three with concern before following him.

"You'll find," the Handler murmurs, turning, his hands behind his back, "that I'm different from your other captors. See, I'm your friend. I don't believe you are an amomination, Mister Gerhardt," explains the man, as he leads Nick through the halls of the church and down into an area Nick hasn't seen before, one that looks much more high tech and pristine then the rest of the structure, almost like a lab of sorts. "I believe that you… are diseased. And I am here to help you with your disease, and the psychological issues that it brings you. You can say I'm like your teachers at the school, except I don't treat symptoms."

"Oh I see, you're the good cop and they're the bad cops." Nicholas says moving to fold his arms over his chest, but wincing when it presses against the cuts so he settles for resting them at his sides. "Well what if I don't want to take your classes, can I just skip? And I'm fine with my disease thank you very much." He's worried, this is unknown territory and he's not sure what to expect.

"I suppose that is a good analogy," agrees the Handler, his voice a low rumble, though surprisingly articulate as he turns to face Nicholas. "Please lie down on that cot," he murmurs, nodding to such furniture in the middle of the room. "I'm going to treat some of your wounds," he explains. "I'm going to ask you some questions. If you answer them honestly, I will supply medicine for Connor, your friend. The one that's been teaching you boys self-defense," he murmurs, his eyes flitting over Nick's face to gauge his reaction.

Nicholas doesn't flinch but looks at the cot and then back up to the Handler. "And what if I don't answer your questions?" He looks around the room and for a while it doesn't seem like he's going to lie down. "Why do you even care if he gets his meds or not, it'll probably be worse for you if he does. And yeah, he has been teaching us some things, since you left us without television or video games, we have to keep ourselves entertained some how." He sits down on the cot, but doesn't lie down.

"If you don't answer my questions, you don't answer them. My job, believe it or not, isn't to interrogate you. I'm simply giving you the option. Please, lie back, this won't take long," the Handler murmurs. "Look. No straps. Nothing. I'm not going to hold you down," he murmurs, flashing brilliantly white teeth. If this is the person Quenton seemed so scared of, something had to give. There had to be a catch. "And I'm sorry about the lack of entertainment. It's why we put you all in a cell together. So you can keep each other company."

"I'm sure." Nicholas says to his last statement and he's terrified. It's that calm before the storm, he saw Quenton after his encounter with The Handler and he didn't look good. "So, what gives? I'd rather you get right to the point instead of playing games." He looks over the cot for a while, moving a hand along the surface before slowly, and cautiously, lying down on it. He doesn't say anymore but he's shaking just slightly from fear.

"Let me see your arm, first, please," asks the Handler, holding up his hands, as if expecting Nicholas to raise it. "I don't play games, you'll find. I'm not interested in your pain, Nicholas, I'm interested in what you're capable of. You see, the Reverend, he thinks that you are more then what you appear to be, even without the collars. He thinks you're meant for terrible things. My… assignment is to find out how close to being able to do such great things you are."

"I saw Quenton after you were done with him, not interested in pain…that's bullcrap." Nicholas says to the Handler. He'd rather he be taking his arm forcefully, but it's like he's offering himself to be at his mercy. "You all are the terrible ones, and you're not just meant for terrible things you're doing them. If you all just left me and my family alone, you wouldn't have worry." He doesn't offer his arm but just looks over at the man. "Right or Left?" He's trying to be a bit of a pain.

"Left, please," the Handler says patiently, his smile fading at Nicholas's words, looking concerned. It looks so damn genuine. "As I said, I'm more interested in what you're capable of then your pain. Mister Michaels' ability requires… a certain kind of care, and those burns are from his own mutation. He's as self-destructive as he is… the other thing," explains the man. "Please, your arm, it needs to be taken care of."

Nicholas thrusts his left arm at the Handler and glares at him. "No I know you're full of it. What are you going to do to me and blame it on my mutation, huh? We know how each other's powers work, we went to school together, we're friends, so don't tell me it's his mutation that did that." He spits out with anger. He closes his eyes and starts counting so that he doesn't jump off the table and start a fight he knows he can't win.

"No. I wouldn't hurt you and blame it on your mutation. In your case, I'd blame you being unhurt because of your mutation," the Handler says lazily. And then it happens. If this man was any stronger, he'd be considered superhuman. That's luckily not the case, but he is still stronger then any average person. Much stronger, in fact, though it wouldn't be surprising to someone watching, based on the giant's size. But to Nicholas, the break is abrupt. "You see, I'm not breaking your arm because you enjoy it," he says loudly, in case there's noise he has to speak over. "I'm hurting you so your self-defense classes are fruitless!"

Nicholas lets out a scream as suddenly the bone in is arm is snapped. He wasn't expecting it and his words just come out as babbles of shock and after a few moments is when pain really sets in. His face is pale and his eyes are closed tight, though a few tears start to form through the shut eyes. "You….you…arm…not like…" He mutters incoherently between breaths. "Not like…we….we could do much…."

"Some of the men had limps after dealing with your teacher," explains the Handler, rising carefully and moving over towards Nicholas's legs, taking up his knee in one hand and his ankle in the other, glancing down at him. "I don't know how fast of a learner you are," he comments, his voice relaxed again. "But I can't let that happen anymore." And with that, another break.

Before he even has time to say anything in response, there is another scream from Nicholas as his leg breaks. All colour has drained from his face and he's just crying at this point. Sniffing to try to compose himself, he speaks. "Oh God please help me." He says in a pitiful attempt to pray. He looks over at the Handler and mutters to him between sobs. "G-go fuck yo-yourself-f."

"No," the Handler murmurs, grabbing the edge of the cot and pushing it towards the wall, before pulling a lever to the side, sitting Nicholas up, before taking a step back. "Remove the collar," he tells one of the guards, who goes through a series of complex maneuvers to do that. While the collar is being worked off, the Handler warns, "Should you attempt to do anything more then protect yourself, I will take this gun," he explains, peeling a magnum from it's holster, "and go into the holding cell, and -kill- Mister Michaels. Do you understand?" The Purifier backs away rather hastily. "I'm going to begin throwing knives at your arm and leg, the ones I just broke, don't worry, I don't want you completely helpless. You're going to use your abilities to deflect them."

"You know, I can just crush that gun you're holding into a pile of scrap metal, so how are you going to use that gun to kill him if I destroy it first. And once I crush that into a metal ball, I'll crush your throat!" Nicholas says raising his right arm towards The Handler holding a shaking arm out stretched towards him. "You give me my powers back and you won't even get a chance to breath, I promise you that."

"Hold on," the Handler says to the Purifier who's still going through the trouble of using the device to remove the collar. "One moment, I'm going to go shoot Mister Michaels in the knee cap so that Mister Gerhardt will understand the seriousness of this situation." He looks back at Nicholas, peeling the hammer of his pistol back, before beginning to head for the door.

"Nooo!" Nicholas protests. "Fine, I'll do it, I'll play your stupid game you bastard." He lowers his hand and his head. "Does this count towards Connor receiving the medication he needs too or do you need to break my other leg for that?"

"You threatened me," the Handler murmurs, though he does pause, turning to face Nicholas. "You've made me have to resort to extremes. Connor isn't getting his medicine, not until our next session. Let's hope you cooperate a bit more… civilly, next time," he murmurs, holstering his gun while the Purifier gets back to work, glancing between the two of them while he plays with the device.

Nicholas opens his mouth to protest and stops, just lowering his head in defeat again. "Let's just get this over with." He mutters, not sure which is worse, suffering at the hands of this guy or the guy who killed his parents. "One day you're going to get yours and it's going to be ugly."

"Right. Hold still, then," the Handler murmurs, while he is given some Vibranium knives from another lackey, which he holds up and looks over. "Now. Each of these knives have a gravity repulsor in them, that makes the pressure they're thrown with stronger in mid-air." He tilts his head to one side. "So, at the moment, what is the heaviest thing you were able to move?" he asks, calmly.

Nicholas struggles to remember as so much strength has left him at this point. "Um…two…two tons." He thinks that sounds right from what he's done in the danger room. He just feels completely defeated at this point, he doesn't even know where he's going to find the strength to use his powers now that his moral has been knocked down.

"Two tons," the Handler says, tossing a knife up and then catching it, before throwing it as hard as he could in Nicholas's direction, the weight changing in mid-air to exactly that, a tiny screen on the hilt reading 2000. Should it actually collide with Nick's arm, however, it would immediately become it's normal weight.

Nicholas raises up both of his hands, his left arm just handing their limply as a shield is raised in front of him. If he was more focused and not exhausted and in pain, he'd normally be able to deflect the knife. Instead though it hits the barrier and the barrier breaks, slowing down the knife a bit and throwing it off it's trajectory so when the knife cuts into him, the force is significantly reduced. Though the effort of the shield has him grimacing and breathing hard.

"Interesting. Twenty five hundred pounds," the Handler says next, lifting up a knife and then lurching it off in Nicholas's direction. The Purifiers scattered about watch with glee, their eyes trailing after the thrown knife.

Again Nicholas tries to put up the barrier but it barely stops the knife, again some resistance is provided but not enough for him to stop it and the knife slices into his broken arm causing him to cry out in pain and double over as the headaches from using his shields start to kick in. With the amount of pain he's already in and the injuries he's sustained, his powers aren't at their peak.

"That's it for today," decides the Handler, tilting his head to one side. "You disappoint me, Mister Gerhardt," he murmurs, moving over to the cot. "Put the collar back on," he tells the one Purifier, who approaches slowly and begins to wrap the collar about Nick's neck, hitting a button, the device plunging into him while he fits it back on. When it's snug and secure, the Handler's fist lifts and he attempts to smash it into Nick's temple as hard as he can, in an effort to knock him out.

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