Let's see how far we've come, let's see how far we've come
ALIAS
Anna
POWER
Hemoconsumptive Augmentation with Magnetoreception
Civilian
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Dec 21, 2017 15:55:38 GMT
Post by CBE-177/"Anna" on Dec 21, 2017 15:55:38 GMT
The cell was six feet wide, six feet wide, and eight feet high. It was bare concrete, except for a small drain in the middle that served as her toilet. Naked, she lay face down on the floor, head resting on her arms.
The blaring of an alarm made her look up and blink blearily at the door in front of her. It was a solid steel thing, dull gray and three inches thick with four moveable panels in it. The second panel from the top now slid open, and the barrel of a gun extended through.
"Put your back against the far wall," said a voice through the panel.
Shaking herself awake, 177 sat up and crab-walked until she was sitting against the far wall.
"Feet straight out in front of you," said the voice. Palms against the wall." She complied, and the lowest panel on the door slid open and a mask was pushed across the floor towards her.
"Put it on," said the voice, "Then with your feet out and your palms on the wall and lean forward and shake your head hard."
She moved slowly, cautious of doing anything that would be percieved as threatening. Once her mouth was covered by the mask and they were satisfied she had it on right a pair of cuffs separated by a bar were pushed towards her.
"Put them on your ankles," said the voice. "We need to hear them click."
She did, resuming her feet out, palms against the wall position without being prompted. This time a metal triangle was shoved her way.
"Neck first, then wrists," said the voice. "We need to hear the click."
She picked it up, a device sturdy enough to bludgeon a man to death, got it locked on, and waited for the next instruction. The metal was cold against her skin but she was used to that.
The voice said, "Come up to the door. Sit with your back and elbows against the door and your legs straight out in front of you."
She moved, half crawling and half slithering in her restraints and assumed the required position. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily.
Above her head, one of the panels slid open and a band was pushed down onto her head. Despite keeping her eyes closed she could feel the moment the inverted magnetic field took hold. A wave of dizziness went through her, followed by nausea.
The door opened. She wavered, the magnetic crown making it difficult to sit upright until two hands seized her and pulled her to her feet. She followed listlessly, eyes clenched shut against the way the world swam when they put the crown on her. Some steps. A few more. A turn here. They her go and she dropped to the floor, letting out her breath in a huff.
"Good morning, 177."
She opened her eyes and looked up at Sato Masushita. He was smiling. He had a gray beard trimmed to a point at his chin, thinning white hair, and soft brown eyes that gazed down at her from behind a pair of half-moon glasses. His voice was soft and lilting, comforting, speaking Russian with only the slightest trace of an accent. He looked like a grandfather from so old fable. At this moment she lacked even the energy to hate him.
"I hope you're doing well this morning," said Masushita. "I thought we'd begin with a new routine today, something to test your-"
-she woke up with a start, teeth bared in the beginnings of a snarl. She hurled herself up and for a moment glared around in confusion. What-
It came back to her then. Slowly she lowered herself to a sitting position. No more Masushita, never again. No more laboratory 1. No more Soviet Union, even. She was in her own room, sleeping in her own bed, and had been for several weeks.
Well, her own floor, anyway. So far she had found her bed uncomfortably soft. She felt like it would swallow her. For now, a blanket and pillow on the carpet would serve well enough. Her room was warm, and through the crack between her curtains a line of silver moonlight covered her floor.
She stretched and stood up. She wore a pink and white nightshirt with a frill at the bottom. She would need something to distract her mind before she could sleep again. Americans had a tradition that they called the "midnight snack", which she had found it to be delightful. And what she wanted for her midnight snack was Skittles and Coca-Cola. Just the thought of the fruit-and-chocolate candy made her mouth water. It was, without question, the greatest thjng she had ever tasted.
She crossed the living room to her fridge, bare feet padding silently on the wooden floor. She opened the fridge and-
Shock flooded her face. No! Her six-pack of Coke was empty! HOW COULD THIS BE?
Jack. Her eyes narrowed. He had been here today, and somehow the rotten bastard must have stolen her Coke. Quickly she strode over and checked the pantry. Yep, her Skittles were gone too.
Unacceptable! Completely unacceptable!
Her face scrunched up into a frown. Going back to bed without her Coke and Skittles suddenly seemed like surrender. No! No giving in! And that meant only one thing: it was time for a midnight Skittles-hunting expedition.
Her shoes and coat were by the front door. She slipped into her shoes. The coat was too large for her, with rolled-up sleeves and going down to her knees, but she put it on over her nightshirt anyway. Pulling on her baseball cap, she slipped outside.
The gas station was a few blocks down the road and she went there at a brisk jog. The night was quiet- even the insects were mostly still. The moon was out but currently behind a cloud. In the space between where the streetlights ended and the lights of the gas station took over she passed a parked car that freaked lightly on its shocks as she approached. In the shadows, she paused, listening. A man's voice.
"Aw yes, yes, see, that's what a real woman's like, yes, not like that cow I keep at home."
A airy laugh. "You know how to say the sweetest things to a girl."
"Screw sweetest things, that hundred and fifty bucks a pop better be the sweetest thing."
"Awww, but you know I'm worth every penny." Scuffling from inside the car.
"I'd pay that just to be free of the cow's crotch dropping's for a night. Getting you is just a bonus. Move over." More scuffling.
177 stood in the shadows for a long moment, listening to the movement in the car. She stared across the street with a glassy gaze. Memories floated through her mind, distant and scabbed over. Faces of her mother and father, faces she couldn't place, uncles or friends or neighbors she couldn't say. Even when her voice had been stolen she had been part of their lives for a good space of years. That was a love, she thought with a disgusted glance at the car, that you couldn't buy no matter how much money you had.
She crossed the street to the gas station. Three men in wool hats were lighting cigarettes next to the not smoking sign. One of them whistled to her. She paused long enough to flash both her middle fingers and proceeded into the gas station. It was bright and oddly humid and smelled of mildew inside.
She went to the racks and found her Skittles, then found a bottle of Coke in the fridge. There was one aisle devoted to snack foods and another aisle devoted to other necessities: pain pills, chapstick, tire pressure gauges. She heard one of the men from outside laugh at some joke.
She laid her Coke and Skittles in front of the Hindoo behind the counter, glancing out the window to her right. She could see the car parked just outside the light. It was rocking, slightly.
"Will that be all, ma'am?" said the man behind the counter.
She looked out the window again. A hundred and fifty dollars a pop. Wife and children dismissed with crude nomens. Whistles as she walked past. Faces from her past. And suddenly an immense anger seized her. How dare he. Did he even know what he was throwing away? How precious, how easy to lose? She turned from the counter and went to the aisle with the tire gauges. There was a row of tire irons, the L-shaped kind with a socket at one end and a flathead point on the other. She brought one back and set it on the counter, then paid her bill. She put the Skittles and the Coke in her pocket and walked outside with the tire iron. Crossed the street towards the car again- slamed the tire iron into the back windshield.
The woman inside screamed. A man's voice, swearing. A shout of confusion from the three smoking men. And she swung again. And again.
@jim
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Let's see how far we've come, let's see how far we've come
ALIAS
Anna
POWER
Hemoconsumptive Augmentation with Magnetoreception
Civilian
|
Dec 19, 2017 18:35:37 GMT
Post by CBE-177/"Anna" on Dec 19, 2017 18:35:37 GMT
She grinned at his suggestion of platform boots, genuinely amused, and raised herself up on her toes to a still-not-impressive height just over five feet. She made a "what can you do" gesture and came back to the floor. Internally, she snorted at his idea of a "hard enough stare"; clearly he was trying to come to grips with her abilities by collapsing them into a "hard stare". That was good, though. It meant he was off-balance around her, which made him less likely to try anything she would have to make him regret. She took her seat. She felt a twinge of relief as he agreed to call her Anna, though she carefully kept it off her face. Her expression was neutral but open, not exactly excited about what lay ahead but not throwing up any deliberate barriers, either. His question caught her off guard. She'd never really thought about how she was "fitting in". What did that even mean? She'd never "fit in" much of anywhere, as far as she could see. No doubt it was one of those questions intended to assess her mental state, but she sensed a genuine concern despite the obviois ulterior motive. It was... strange. She felt a surprisingly strong desire to be honest with this man. She looked down at her phone, clicking her teeth as she considered. Truth be told, she'd had the rug torn out from her so many times in her life that finding herself in a future United States had hardly seemed out of the question. What did "quite a shock" mean, anyway? As if there was any road that went between living and dying. What was there besides one or the other? She stared at her phone, conscious that he was watching her, suddenly angry at him for putting her on the spot and herself for not being better prepared. He'd unbalanced her. Perhaps he hadn't meant to, but he had, and that was dangerous. Sometimes you couldn't afford to stop and think. Sometimes you just had to move. She began typing. Nathan Havelock
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Let's see how far we've come, let's see how far we've come
ALIAS
Anna
POWER
Hemoconsumptive Augmentation with Magnetoreception
Civilian
|
Dec 18, 2017 19:28:48 GMT
Post by CBE-177/"Anna" on Dec 18, 2017 19:28:48 GMT
Footsteps going by outside the door lulled her into complacency, and when one of them finally stopped and someone touched the handle, she had less than a second to decide what to do. Her first instinct was to bail, leap to the floor, sit and act like she'd done nothing unusual, but she suppressed the idea. In the first place, it would probably have made noise, and a cabinet slamming shut just as the doctor walked in would have cast doubt on her attempts to feign innocence, to say the last. And if that wasn't an option, he next best choice was to play cheerful. She had long ago learned that there was a kind of power in fulfilling the expectations people had for you. If you were in a box- and, "Small happy mute girl" was certainly a box that people had- then they thought you were safe, and they let their guard down. She had played the mute fool more than once in her life, and had found the role useful in a variety of contexts. And... there was something else. She might not trust Jack on a personal level, but when it came to business she doubted he would deliberately throw her into danger. She wanted to test that. Give them a chance to respond when she was caught somewhere she probably shouldn't be. She had found that the worse someone acted when you crossed their rules, the worse of a person they were likely to be. Good people could handle a change or two; bad ones saw themselves as the center of the universe. She wasn't sure she believed in good people... But perhaps some part of her did. Or perhaps it only wanted to test the hypothesis. Either way, she stayed where she was. Besides, she had a better angle on the window from here then from the floor. The man who came in was tall (well, everyone was taller than her, but he was taller than average, anyway) and dark-haired, with a smile that surprised her in disarming pleasantness. She let herself smile back, just a little. She sensed this was the sort of man who thrived on positive feedback, and she had no reason to alienate him just yet. She'd be cautious, yes, and she'd keep an eye out for any sign of treachery, but sitting sullen wasn't the way to deal with him. Still on the counter, she looked him over from head to foot, a slightly amused expression on her face, then sat down on the counter and dropped to the floor (without taking his offered hand) before looking him over again. She tapped on her phone and showed him. She took one of the chairs and sat facing him. Truth be told, she'd rather him call her Anna than 177. Having a doctor use that designation for her was an association that could make her queasy if she let it. Nathan Havelock
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Let's see how far we've come, let's see how far we've come
ALIAS
Anna
POWER
Hemoconsumptive Augmentation with Magnetoreception
Civilian
|
Post by CBE-177/"Anna" on Dec 18, 2017 2:12:01 GMT
She still hadn't gotten past his veneer of pride and control, but that was all right. She doubted that he would have let himself be shaken under any but the most violent circumstances. And she certainly wasn't about to bring those without a much better reason. Even dogs know better than to attack the person that feeds them. She typed on the microcomputer. She left the rest of it unsaid: that if she wanted, she could make it very dangerous for someone indeed. He said something about getting her a name better suited to America. She stared at him for a moment, and then typed. The man still hadn't told her what to call him. With her luck, he'd want to be addressed as “Master” or something. Well, it could be worse. The man dismissed the bodyguard and said that he and she had some “catching up” to do. He'd want to be informed of her history, of course; it was a sensible thing for any employer to want. She hesitated a moment. What was safe to tell him? She decided to tell nearly everything. It would build trust, and she got the impression it could do little to hurt her now. If they were to be allies, he would need to know what she was bringing to him. She motioned towards the couch, indicating that they should sit down. She sat and typed on the phone. ------- Over the next hour or so, she described her history to him, leaving out only a few bits that she viewed as intensely personal. When it came time to describe what had been done to her in laboratory 1, her description was clinical and without details except when specifically asked. She was able to enlighten him only a little about the scientific details of Masushita's work. She knew that the Hakoirikappa had been nuclear powered and had only been usable on her because she could survive the chemicals required, but little else about the exact mechanisms. She showed him the CBE-177 tattoo on her lower back and explained that her cell number had been 177, marching off six feet by six feet to indicate its size. Explaining it all by typing was a long and arduous process. When she was done, she sat and typed one final message. She glanced at the microcomputer again and typed something else. Jack Fontaine
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Let's see how far we've come, let's see how far we've come
ALIAS
Anna
POWER
Hemoconsumptive Augmentation with Magnetoreception
Civilian
|
Post by CBE-177/"Anna" on Dec 17, 2017 4:50:19 GMT
The man's reaction was subdued. Rich people, of course, were never impressed if they could help it; it made them seem vulnerable. Still, it appeared that her demonstration had had the desired effect. He was interested; he was considering her. She had to resist the urge to roll her eyes when asked how he was supposed to use her; had he been paying attention at all? Was he really so stupid he couldn't see the potential of what she had? She tapped on the microcomputer. She turned to the refrigerator and got her drink, pausing when his voice came from behind her in Russian. She hesitated, unsure how or if he expected her to reply in Russian. But the microcomputer that served as her voice only had English letters; she had no choice. After a moment she typed a reply. She opened the bottle and took a long drink. It was quite good. Jack Fontaine
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Let's see how far we've come, let's see how far we've come
ALIAS
Anna
POWER
Hemoconsumptive Augmentation with Magnetoreception
Civilian
|
Post by CBE-177/"Anna" on Dec 17, 2017 4:06:46 GMT
Well, it didn't look like Laboratory 1, anyway. The taxi pulled away and 177 was left standing on the sidewalk outside a dull brick-and-glass building that, according to the card in her hand, was where she was supposed to spend the next hour or two. Not that it had been her idea. The idea of a medical check at the local MRNU was the last thing that 177 would have chosen for herself. As far as she was concerned, she'd had enough of doctors and science types to last her three lifetimes. If they were so interested in how she ticked, they could go dig up wherever it was in Siberia Masushita had buried his notes. But Jack was her employer, now, and if he wanted her to do this, so be it. But that didn't mean she'd like it. She stood outside the building for some time, studying it. She wore jeans and tennis shoes and a pinkish white blouse and her baseball cap that said “Dawnbreak Security”. Her hair was done in two bunches, which had begun as an abortive attempt at replicating the plaited hairstyles she remembered from her youth and was now being kept as was. She hadn't realized that Americans considered it a children's hairstyle, and combined with her height it had gotten her more than one sideways glance. The reactions amused her, so for the time being she kept her hair as it was. At times like this, she wished her magnetic sense was more sensitive. It would have made her feel better to go inside with a knowledge of what their. She'd have to content herself with a few minutes of study. Plenty of windows, at least, so escape routes wouldn't be lacking. Well. She couldn't stand here forever. She wasn't going to get any more ready. She found the waiting room without much trouble, pausing at the door to examine it. Exits were two doors and a window, with one of the doors leading further inside. Four other people were there already: a woman with a baby, a woman by herself, and a man who sat in one corner and stared at the ceiling without blinking. Near the door that led further into the building was a window with a woman sitting behind it in a strangely colorful thin-clothed outfit. Some sort of uniform in this place? The woman clearly wasn't a nurse; she lacked the proper hat. The place smelled awful. It smelled of too many human bodies passing through and latex and talcum and disinfectant and some sort of fake floral scent ineffectively covering up the rest. If by some chance she had come here of her own accord, the smell would have driven her away instantly. It was too much like Laboratory 1. Yet it lacked some smells she remembered from there: the smell of decay, and mildew, and sewage improperly disposed of, and acidic poisons that left their own strange marks on the air. Too much like- but also quite unlike. She wanted out of this as soon as possible. 177 walked towards the glass window where the woman in the colorful uniform sat. She tapped it with one of her knuckles and slid a card that Jack had given her to the woman behind the glass. The woman read the card, and her eyes lit up. “Oh! Miss Trotsky. Right this way.” 177 had to resist rolling her eyes. Her fake ID identified her as “Anna Trotsky” (did her employer think that was funny?) and her date of birth as September 20, 1994. The name still sounded stupid every time she heard someone say it. She followed the woman through the door that led deeper into the building, turning right and proceeding about a hundred steps down a hall. The room the woman led her to had two chairs, a desk with a computer, a padded table, a counter with a sink and some cabinets. Exits were the door she came in through and a window that looked out over a three story drop or so, which she could handle if she needed to. “Just have a seat and someone will be here shortly,” said the woman. She left, closing the door behind her. When she was gone 177 went up to the window and tapped the glass with one of her fingers. It wasn't her preference to be here, but she took comfort in the fact that she could escape easily if she needed to. She went over to the counter where the sink was and tried the cabinets under the sink. They were locked. Some glass jars on the counter contained sticks that could be used to gouge an eye out or could be broken to serve as weapons in their own right, but there was nothing in sight that looked exceptionally dangerous. The cabinets above the sink were unlocked but her height precluded her from seeing what was inside while she stood on the ground. Undeterred, she hopped onto the counter, and that was where she was when the man walked in. Nathan Havelock calico
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Let's see how far we've come, let's see how far we've come
ALIAS
Anna
POWER
Hemoconsumptive Augmentation with Magnetoreception
Civilian
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Post by CBE-177/"Anna" on Dec 15, 2017 3:29:34 GMT
Can't believe no one's thought of this yet.
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Let's see how far we've come, let's see how far we've come
ALIAS
Anna
POWER
Hemoconsumptive Augmentation with Magnetoreception
Civilian
|
Dec 13, 2017 22:48:46 GMT
Post by CBE-177/"Anna" on Dec 13, 2017 22:48:46 GMT
The the rich young man would want someone skilled in the sort of dirty work 177 excelled at she never doubted. Rich people always needed someone for that sort of thing. When he made the comment about wondering where they found her she simply stared at him, not offering any information. Let him do the digging on his own, if he could find it. At his statement that she should explain her skills she set the microcomputer down on the counter, tilted her head back and drained the rest of the soda in a few long gulps. She liked it quite a bit. She licked her lips and set the bottle down next to the microcomputer and walked out into the middle of the room. The bodyguard the man had walked in with was still standing in the shadows, and she made a “come hither” gesture towards him. The guard looked towards the rich man, uncertain. 177 gestured again, impatiently. After a moment the man walked into the middle of the room. He was well over a foot taller than her, large and imposing. She made her eyes doelike and gazed up at him, blinking in a way men sometimes found so seductive. She smiled at him, gentle and admiring. So saw suspicious hesitation, and then she saw something in him crack. The edge of his mouth twitched slightly upward. She saw the moment some switch in his brain flipped and classified her as “cute”. A small woman. The way the eyelashes moved. The smile. Somewhere inside every man was an instinct that said being looked up to and admired by a woman was fundamentally right. She held out her hand, as if in greeting. He extended his to shake hers. A vision in her head. An image she'd been forced to watch over and over, a motion she'd been made to repeat. Techniques thrown at her like pounding water. The old days, when they'd anticipated making an obedient Soviet soldier out of her. Training. Images. Movement. And in one motion, her other hand seized his wrist, her feet planted, and her entire torso twisted as she sidestepped and pulled him past her, off balance. He stumbled, and she kicked one of her feet through his ankles, bringing him down. At the same instant, guided unerringly by her magnetic sense one of her hands flashed under his coat and pulled the gun from its holster. She took a step backward as he fell to the floor, gun unerringly pointed at his back. He landed with a thud, and paused, realization of what had happened to him coming into his face. She stood still. The gun stayed where it was. He glanced over his shoulder and raised his hands. Only the slightest tension around his jawline betrayed his anger at the upset. She set the gun on the floor and kicked it to the rich man. She motioned for the bodyguard to get up, getting in a fighting stance and then motioning again. He got up slowly. He had a dark expression on his face. She repeated her “come hither” gesture. He approached more slowly this time, hands held about chest level, moving cautiously, feeling her out. She crossed her arms and stared at him, tapping her foot. A flash of anger across his face, and he charged. She leaped over his head, slamming both her heels into his upper back and spinning towards the wall. He grunted as he stumbled forward and she ran across the sheer wall, momentum and speed holding her up against gravity. There was a butcher's block on the counter and she ran past it, seizing a knife from it as she went by. Leap, and throw. The knife hit the bodyguard handle-first at the base of the throat. He sputtered and gagged, putting his hand to his throat as the knife fell at his feet. She landed just out of reach, hands up in fighting stance again. The anger on his face was visible now. She could tell he was barely in control. She pointed at the knife, than at him. He lunged for it, teeth bared. She held up her hand; wait. From inside the pocket of her coat she pulled out a bloody rag. It had been part of the shirt of the man she had killed earlier that. She wrapped the bloody cloth around her eyes and tied it at the back of her head, and motioned for him to come on. He charged. To her magnetic sense the location of the knife was clear as day. His first strike was obvious, clumsy and she dodged easily. Another wild strike, and an easy dodge again. He paused, seeming to consider, and tried again with more subtlety. A feint to the left that time, but it took her only milliseconds to sense the change in direction and dance out of the way again. A direct thrust, and feint! She was to one side. A slash! She bent backwards, letting the blade pass over her. Downward strike! She dodged, and ran a complete loop around jabbing him in the back with her finger for no reason than to show that she could. He tried to grab her with his other hand as she came around him, which came perilously close to being her undoing. It was sheer luck that saved her. He wore a watch on his other hand and she felt it coming in time to move. The guard would never know how close he came to landing a blow on her. Had he not been wearing that watch, she would have had no way to sense that hand as when it approached. As it was, she ducked and came back in front of him. Though she didn't show it, her close call had shaken her. Time to end this. He struck again, and this time she caught his arm and held him by sheer strength. She heard him gasp, and that told her where his mouth was. Quick as a flash her other hand came up and twisted his wrist. The knife was hers. Her hand shot out to just below where she heard his breathing, and she felt the flesh of his neck under her hand. The knife came up, stopped just above her other hand. She stood still. He froze, shock apparent in his sudden change in breathing. She held him like that, one hand around his neck, the other holding the knife to his throat, then let go and turned from him dismissively. She pulled the blindfold off her eyes and strode over to where she'd left the microcomputer. She put the knife down and picked the microcomputer up. She picked up the knife again and replaced it in the block. Jack Fontaine
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Let's see how far we've come, let's see how far we've come
ALIAS
Anna
POWER
Hemoconsumptive Augmentation with Magnetoreception
Civilian
|
Dec 12, 2017 14:52:59 GMT
Post by CBE-177/"Anna" on Dec 12, 2017 14:52:59 GMT
The Cold War, she thought. She smiled a vicious grin. It was a good namd for a war where your enemy was Russian. So everything she had known there was likely destroyed in the fires of nuclear combat. She felt surprisingly little emotion at the realization. There had been a time when she had been a Soviet girl through and through, but that had evaporated at Laboratory 1. She was without a home, as she had always been. The man made a comment about the blood on her and she glanced down at the red spots that still dotted her stolen jeans. She'd done her best to clean herself up but what she really needed was a bath. She thought of it longingly. It had been forever since she'd had a real one. She knew what he was doing by pointing out the blood. He was saying, "You are weak, you are vulnerable, you need someone like me to protect you." He wanted to make a slave of her, wanted the feeling of her submitting to him. He offered a soda and she held out her hand for it, catching the bottle and prying the lid off with her nails. She sniffed it, and, smelling nothing unusual, put it to her lips. It was tingly and far sweeter than she was used to. She sipped the soda, considering her situation. His last words were an implicit offer of help, with a hook buried inside them. Rich people never did anything for free. He would want something. Did she even need him? Maybe not. She suspected she could take care of herself. But she had realistic: she had no voice, no papers, no knowledge of this place she was in. Having him would make her life far easier. And then there was the dead man she had left at the warehouse to consider. Questions would be asked about that, authorities would want to find her. Having someone rich in her side would be helpful. Strange that she didn't feel more over becoming a murderess. Perhaps she had fantasized about killing Masushita and his ilk so often that the actual act was barely interesting. The question was, what would this man want that she had and was willing to give? She wouldn't sell her body. She decided that at once. She had been down that path before, and- never again. Her other skills, then. She took another sip of her drink and ran her tongue over her teeth, thinking. What was she willing to give him? That he would want her to do something illegal she never even questioned. All rich people did illegal things. She wanted food, shelter, and a steady supply of blood. She wouldn't sell her body, and she wouldn't help him sell the bodies of others. She wouldn't hurt women or children. She wouldn't kill anyone unless they deserved it. Outside of that... She shrugged internally. She'd do what she had to. She stood. This wasn't a time to grovel on the floor and make him feel like he dominated the situation. This was a time to prove she was useful, strong. She typed something on the microcomputer, then raised herself to her full height (still not very impressive, unfortunately) and walked towards him. She held the screen so her could see it. She'd serve him. Just for now. Just while she got her bearings in this new place. Let him think he had her firmly clasped in his hand. She'd obey him, but she wouldn't be ruled by him. One day, when was ready, she would break away- and for his sake, he had better not be blocking her path when that happened. Jack Fontaine
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Let's see how far we've come, let's see how far we've come
ALIAS
Anna
POWER
Hemoconsumptive Augmentation with Magnetoreception
Civilian
|
Post by CBE-177/"Anna" on Dec 11, 2017 1:30:27 GMT
A... micro computer? Micro meant small, didn't it? That would make sense. She imagined the computer she had seen Masushita use back at Laboratory 1: a blocky, hulking thing, with reels for magnetic tape and places to put in punch cards that too up an entire wall. She looked at the device he handed back to her. Micro indeed. The man asked her another question, where she was from. She thought at once of childhood days long gone by: playing in the street, waiting for her father to get home black from coal dusk, wooden houses, winter fires. She didn't remember the name of that place. Masushita had taken it from her. Where then? Moscow, where she had lived when she knew Him? She rejected that idea at once. She knew now that she had never belonged there. She had always been an outsider, a foolish child pretending a grown-up games, a dog slavering after its betters. No, she was not from Moscow. So where? And she knew. In the end, there was only one choice. One place that had defined and molded the course of her life. She moved closer to the man, not rising fully from her feet. Much as it irked her, she had learned the value of moving on all fours around such people. Let them think they were her betters. When they thought you were a beast they at least didn't hurt as much. She typed the words and held it out for him to see. She turned the phone back towards herself, considering his second question, unconsciously flicking her tongue back and forth over her teeth. Where was she now? She could sense the general direction of magnetic north, which put her further east than anywhere she had been before. And with everything being in English... It all fell into place then. The English letters, her box being in a warehouse, the strangeness of this place. Of course. Her masters had been afraid this would happen, and now it had. She smiled. So everyone from Laboratory 1 would be dead, then. Almost certainly. Good. She hoped it had been painful. And if she was in the USA, there was a new possibility opened up to her... She typed a new message. Jack Fontaine
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Let's see how far we've come, let's see how far we've come
ALIAS
Anna
POWER
Hemoconsumptive Augmentation with Magnetoreception
Civilian
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Post by CBE-177/"Anna" on Dec 9, 2017 22:43:53 GMT
The man's face showed no sign of sympathy for her condition. 177 internally tensed and readied herself to fight or run. A rich person who failed to show sympathy was a monster beyond all compare. The metal at the bodyguard’s waist was a gun, she had no doubt, but she had one too, and she would be faster. If she had to, she’d shoot the big one first, then deal with the small one. She made no effort to keep up her charade after being called out. She pulled the bread back and studied him, allowing her usual cunning look to come back in her eyes. She didn’t move from her spot as he found a chair and sat in it. Let him have the high position; it made people like him feel better. She watched carefully as he pulled something out his pocket. It was thin and rectangular, and cast a grey light on his face. She kept her face carefully neutral as he touched it with his thumb, then held it out to her, telling her to use it. She caught it easily as he tossed it, staring at the strange object. It was surprisingly heavy for its size. The front appeared to be made of glass, and she saw English letters arranged in rows on the glass- like typewriter keys, only much smaller. She blinked, unable to keep the expression of confusion off her face. He’d told her to use it. What did that mean? Did he expect her to already know what it was? She glanced up at him, tongue moving over her teeth. She was suddenly uncomfortably reminded of one of Masushita’s favorite techniques. “Do you know what this is, 177? Here, let me show you.” An involuntary shudder went through her at the memory. He was staring at her. She had to do something with the device. Gingerly, she touched her finger to one of the small letters. A quiet click, and the letter appeared in the black space at the top of the screen. She stared, now completely fascinated. She touched another letter, and it too appeared. Another touch, another letter. She smiled, a sudden wonder filling her. She tapped letters at random, producing a stream of nonsense. What wonder! She laughed, a shaking of her stomach muscles that produced no sound. She looked up at the man again, reconsidering him, perhaps a bit awed. What kind of man could have a wonderful device like this? She tapped more letters, then made herself concentrate. With this she could- She typed a few English words, and stared again in wonder. Just like that, she had spoken. She typed some more. She knew what this was, now. A speaking device, for people like her. She smiled again, then looked up and tossed the phone back to the man. Jack Fontaine
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Let's see how far we've come, let's see how far we've come
ALIAS
Anna
POWER
Hemoconsumptive Augmentation with Magnetoreception
Civilian
|
Post by CBE-177/"Anna" on Dec 8, 2017 23:12:33 GMT
She heard the car long before she saw them, pausing as she ate when she heard it slow down outside the house rather than zooming past like all the others. That gave her a few moments to think. A choice of three decisions: run, fight, or play along. It was always one of those three.
She didn't want to run. She knew it was a loser's game. No matter how fast or how far you ran, they could always come for you later. She didn't know where she was or what was happening, and running wasn't going to give her any of those answers. What she needed was a place to hole up, take stock of her situation, plan her next steps.
So. Fight, or play along. And put that way, it was really no choice at all. Fight meant killing, and that was something she wasn't prepared to do yet. If she could, she would make this place a stronghold, somewhere she could recover and reorient herself. What the future held, beyond the next few moments, she had no idea. All she knew was that she would never allow herself to be taken captive again. She would kill a dozen people, or herself, before she let that happen. And she knew she could stop it. What she remembered was that she was one of the strongest of all. When she had been taken before, it was only because she had trusted Him. That had been her mistake. Then and there, she resolved never to trust anyone who was rich ever again.
A bittersweet emotion at the thought of Him swelled inside her, but she ground it out, roughly. This wasn't the time.
Rich people, she knew, respected two things. One was power, the ability to make others bend to your will. The other was their own power, and their own virtue and goodness. Rich people, she had learned, liked to feel good about themselves, liked to feel that they were doing right by bestowing some of their favor onto the less fortunate. They enjoyed being gods, both of the sort that dispensed fury and the sort that dispensed favor. It was all about their egos. But she could use that. She could cut a pathetic figure, a helpless one, and the right kind of rich person would eat it up. They would be all over a chance to bestow some blessing on the poor, mute girl. She knew she didn't look particularly dangerous. Men judged her by her size and saw someone small who would have to rely on them for protection, though she knew better than to trust anyone else to take care of her. But men liked that she looked smaller and weaker than them; it made them feel powerful. She would use that, too.
They were coming. She pretended not to hear them and bent herself to her loaf of bread again. When the voice rang out- English again- she made herself leap as if in surprise and turn towards him, clutching the bread to her chest.
She was surprised to find that she knew him. Not him personally, but his species. It was the arrogance on his face and the looming bodyguard behind him that were the distinctive marks of his kind. It was an expression that said, bow to me, I can make you hurt. She restrained her face from a sneer. The bodyguard's size wouldn't matter if she ever got her hands on him. Not to her. The man's clothes had a decidedly feminine appearance but he smelled male. A circus performer? They weren't usually rich.
She stared at him, making her eyes wide with fear and pleading. She turned her face and tilted her head back so that the jagged scar on the side of her neck was clearly visible, raising one finger and tapping it. She made a motion as if zipping her lips shut. She looked down at the bread she was holding and gave him a nervous, apologetic smile as she extended the quarter or so left in the loaf towards him.
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Let's see how far we've come, let's see how far we've come
ALIAS
Anna
POWER
Hemoconsumptive Augmentation with Magnetoreception
Civilian
|
Post by CBE-177/"Anna" on Dec 7, 2017 21:20:04 GMT
Darkness.
She was in darkness, chained and cold. Too cold. They'd put her in the box again. Why was she so cold? It wasn't usually this cold.
Time passing. Shivering, her hunger a churning of broken glass in her stomach. Impossible to concentrate, except on the need to feed.
Time. How long this time? It always felt like a single night inside the Hakoirikappa, but this time in particular it felt like she was waking up from a long sleep. She was sore, her joints aching with a pain that spoke of long confinement.
Must feed!
She threw up, still trapped inside the box. She always did that, a side effect of the chemicals they pumped her with before putting her under, but they'd always gotten her out before it happened. She slumped in her own fluids, trying to bring her mind to order. So hard to concentrate. The hunger, and her thoughts trying to piece themselves together after a long shattering. Why hadn't they let her out yet.
More time flowing by.
They weren't coming. Somehow she was awake and they weren't letting her out. Why? She didn't know.
The hunger was getting worse. This was bad. She had to get out. She had to get out.
Moving, pushing. Trying her strength. The same iron walls that always met her, cold against her naked skin. The same chains: a bar between her ankles, a triangle of welded rebar with locking circles for her neck and wrists. The mask covering her face to keep her from biting. Little room to move, little leverage. She pulled her knees upward, the lid stopping them before they'd moved a few centimeters. A push, as hard as she could. Bad leverage, but she felt the metal give.
She let out a howl that her broken vocal chords rendered soundless.
Another try. Move give. A sudden upward strike with her knees; a satisfying creak. Another; the metal was being forced back. She could bring her feet up for a good push now. Desperation and hunger forced her onward. Feed!
Kick. A crash. And light that made her hiss behind eyes adapted for total darkness. And she stood, blinking.
Where... ?
The magnetic field was wrong. Not Laboratory 1, nor anywhere she'd been before. They'd moved her? Why? She couldn't think straight. The room was full of crates her sense told her were full of metal, shapes she didn't recognize. The metal bands around her wrists and neck and ankles still bound her. A desperate need for freedom, to feed...
"Hey!"
A man appeared, wearing blue, a flashlight in hand, gun at his hip. She blinked and stumbled backwards, the sudden light hurting her.
"Oh my god..."
He saw: a nude petite woman, in metal restraints, some sort of bite mask around her face, standing in the torn remains of a black metal box. Her ragged hair, her eyes bloodshot. He opened his mouth to gape.
"Hey..."
He took a few steps towards her. His eyes were wary, his voice concerned. "Where... Where do you come from?"
Later, she would put the clues back together. She would recognize the language he spoke as English, would realize her sense was telling her that magnetic north was further to the east than it had any right to be. Just then she couldn't think like that. Just then she saw blood.
She jumped up and towards him, slamming both her heels into his torso. She heard and felt the bone crack, heard him groan and saw him fly back into a metal pillar. His chest was caved in. He gurgled once but absent the immediate prescense of a doctor he was dead.
Blood blood blood BLOOOODDDD!
She jerked her way to his corpse and fell on it, howling again as her mask stymied the efforts to feed. Hands locked in place, unable to remove it. A silent scream of desperation.
She spun, and the side of her mask caught on something. She threw her body against it, and it tore off. She fell on her knees beside the man in blue, and gave herself over.
When she found herself again she was kneeling beside the man's corpse. Blood had pooled around him and she was kneeling in it. The front of her body was slicked with it. She stood on shaky legs and stared down at the man. His face and neck was a ruin, his chest practically torn open. She was still naked.
For the first time she examined her senses in detail. She was in some sort of warehouse, that was clear. Magnetic north... Magnetic north was wrong. For it to be that far east she'd have to be... Japan, perhaps? But the man had spoken English... Had Stalin conquered Australia? She tried to visualize the geography she knew and couldn't picture it.
She looked at the man again, and suddenly felt an overwhelming wave of sickness and regret. He was dead. She'd torn him to pieces, drained his life out. She'd never done it before, not like that. She knew people had been killed to feed her, but this was the first time she'd done with her own hands.
Out. She had to get out.
The metal pillars in this place provided her leverage. Laying on the concrete, she pushed the bar between her ankles against the pillar until it cracked and her feet were free. Then she pulled her feet into the triangle that held her neck and wrists and pushed until it broke. She broke the metal rods off but the bands around her wrists proved problematic. There was no leverage; she'd need a cutter for those.
She had to get out of here. No one else had come and that was lucky, but she couldn't trust to luck.
She needed clothes. She forced herself to turn back to the body. They weren't even close to the same size; she was shorter and thinner. But they'd have to do. His shirt was a total loss for clothing, but used it to clean herself of blood as best as possible before tossing it into a corner. She ripped the legs on his pants to keep them from dragging and tightened his belt to his smallest length to keep them up. She still looked ridiculous. She found a coat that reached down to her knees and zipped it shut. This done, she stared down at herself, feeling strange. How long had it been since she'd worn real clothes? She couldn't remember.
She put on the man's cap (It read, "Dawnbreak Security", in English), and underneath his body she found a gun. She took it without a second thought. The flashlight she left; she didn't need it.
She would have to do without shoes. There was no hope of fitting into his.
The door from the warehouse was metal with a glass window in it. She frowned at the configuration; it seemed unusual. She studies her reflection in the glass. A coat too big for her, torn pants, no shows, pants and cap with blood stains showing. She needed some better clothes and fast.
Through that door, then through another room and towards a door that smelled like outdoors. This one was locked. A moment's inspection revealed a knob that functioned as a kind of permanent key. Clever. She opened the door, stepped out, and paused. A wide flat paved area greeted her, a few cars of models she didn't recognize stopped in the corners. The air smelled of salt, and she knew the sea was not far away. Yet the air was too warm by far for her to be in Siberia. She frowned. But there was no time to puzzle out the mystery; she was escaping, and she had to put distance between herself and this place.
She ran, keeping to the shadows. A chain link fence blocked her way; she vaulted it and kept going. Everything seemed unreal to her. Where were the guard towers? Where were the machine guns? Why would they have taken her to this place without them? The roads she ran down were flat and smooth- no doubt one of Stalin's many improvements, she thought, but already part of her knew that something else was happening. Buildings came into view: stores, houses. When she saw them, she had to stop and gape. Huge clean buildings, of the best brick and concrete. Elegant yards, kept clean. Cars in every driveway.
This must be some private neighborhood, she thought. Some elite area reserved for high-ranking party members. But already she felt that was not the explanation at all.
Her stomach growled. Not for blood, this time, but for real human food. She looked at the houses again. She had to assume she was in danger. She had to assume they would be hunting for her. She could hide in a house long enough for food and drink, and then she would have to run. To where? She didn't know. Maybe she would find shoes there too.
The first house she carefully skulked around smelled occupied, as did the second, but the third was covered in the deep silence of emptiness. Leaving the locked lower doors and windows intact, she scaled a back wall and found an unlocked upper window. It slid upward instead of opening out. Strange.
A rich man's house, clearly, and with the kitchen inside instead of in a separate building. She understood that this made sense for the rich, but still found it strange. The pantry; where was the pantry?
Her nice told her. She opened the door, stared, then squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. So much food! Was this how party leaders lived?
Party leader? she thought. The labels were all in English...
A suspicion, a hope, was beginning to grow inside her, but she forced the thought aside. Food first. She found a loaf of bread and tore the plastic (not paper, another strange thing) covering off, settling on the floor to eat greedily. It was soft, sweet, and close to the best thing she had ever tasted.
She didn't understand where she was or what had happened to her, but as long as she had this bread, she could pretend it didn't matter.
@nosuchthing
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Let's see how far we've come, let's see how far we've come
ALIAS
Anna
POWER
Hemoconsumptive Augmentation with Magnetoreception
Civilian
|
Post by CBE-177/"Anna" on Dec 7, 2017 3:50:09 GMT
[nospaces] [attr="class","hopelove"]
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[attr="class","hopelovename"] [attr="class","hopelovename2"]
CBE-177
[attr="class","hopelovelyric"]
[attr="class","hopeloveleft"]
ALIAS // 177
[attr="class","hopeloveleft"]AGE // Twenty-four (biological), 89 (chronological)
[attr="class","hopeloveleft"]GENDER // Female
[attr="class","hopeloveleft"]GROUP // civilian
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[attr="class","hopelovetitle"]APPEARANCE [attr="class","hopelovetop"][attr="class","hopelovesub"]
HAIR // Brown[break] EYES // Blue[break] SKIN // Type III on the Fitzpatrick scale[break][break]
ATTIRE[break][break] Still new to US fashion, 177 favors practical clothing, generally with a masculine bent. Since most of her clothing right now is borrowed, stolen, or otherwise acquired on the cheap, it tends to be older and less than coordinated. She doesn't see much point in trying to be fashionable, favoring wearing something until it's fully worn out. She often wears a baseball cap. [break][break]
GENERAL[break][break] 177 is a short, stocky woman, standing 4'11" and weighing 125 pounds. She has broad shoulders and a narrow waist (inverted triangle body shape) and overall muscular physique. She wears her hair at about shoulder length and usually keeps it pulled back. She has several distinguishing marks: a jagged scar on the left side of her throat, a tattoo reading “све-177” in black letters on her left collarbone, and an identical one on her lower back. She also has a tattoo of a hammer and a sickle on her left shoulderblade. Not one to spend much time prettying herself up, she often has a plain appearance.
[attr="class","hopelovetitle"]PERSONALITY [attr="class","hopelovetop"] [break][break] Being mute, 177 tends to quickly get written off as quiet or brooding. And there's some truth to this; she certainly prefers to look at a situation from all angles before entering a situation. In reality, 177 is an extrovert and more than a little fun-loving. It's just that her life experience has led her to stay inside her shell until she feels safe. Her apparent gruffness and seriousness is, in many ways, a defense mechanism. She has a mischievous streak and loves a good practical joke.[break][break]
Due to her history, 177 has a fierce desire to be independent and a strong resistance to being cohered or controlled. She tends to be stubborn and somewhat contrary, the sort of person who feels a strong temptation to perform forbidden acts just because they're forbidden. She tends to hold grudges after perceived wrongs.[break][break]
177 greatly respects strength, and despises weakness. She tries to make herself as strong as possible, because in her mind, strength is associated with goodness. She's vaguely aware that protecting the weak is good, but isn't particularly inclined to do so at the moment. In general she feels that people need to take responsibility for fixing their own problems. That said, she also has a deep hatred for those she views as “evil”. As an extremely practical person not particularly concerned with highbrow moral theories, she tends towards snap judgments based on intuition and can be a bit extreme in her reactions as a result.[break][break]
Overall, 177 is a complex personality, a fun-loving woman inside a shell with a streak of moral absolutism to her.[break][break]
[attr="class","hopelovetitle"]HISTORY [attr="class","hopelovetop"] [break][break] CBE-177's life began in as the daughter of Russian kulaks in 1929, as Joseph Stalin was consolidating his hold over the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. In 1930, her father was of the many kulaks who resisted collectivization by slaughtering his livestock and burning his fields, requiring the small family to flee for their lives. Her father eventually found work as a coal miner, and 177 spent her youngest years growing up in a coal mining town. Her family was poor, but so was everyone else, so it hardly mattered. All things considered, her early years in the mining town are some of her happiest. When the fireplace was cleaned and the front steps swept, she would find her friends and spend hours playing tag or hide and seek, not expected back home until suppertime. Somewhere in the outside world Stalin was conducting his Great Purge, but in that town only his picture on the outside of the courthouse and occasional brown vans that came through at night provided evidence of his faraway tyranny. Those were he days when Communism had not done its full damage in Russia; there was light and laughter and warm fires on long winter nights.[break][break]
She lost her ability to speak in an accident when she was six. She was playing hide and seek, and, having just been found, was running without looking where she was going and ran into the street where she was clipped by a cart carrying scrap metal. Though she eventually recovered from her other injuries, her recurrent larnygeal nerve had been damaged, rendering her mute. Despite this, her life remained relatively happy until her 11th year, when her ability first manifested. [break][break] It began as a kind of weakness, a tingling in her stomach, a feeling that something was missing. A smell that she'd never found attractive before drew her behind the local butcher shop. There it was, dripping from the window onto the street. She got on her hands and knees, lapping it up. It stirred something in her. Something strong. [break][break] She soon learned to catch birds and rats and small dogs to take the blood from them. That was how her mother found her, casually drinking the blood of a rat she caught. Her mother, an old-fashioned Russian woman, was horrified; her daughter was clearly an Upyr, a vampire. Her mother consulted the local Verduna (Wise woman), who advised her to tie a blue button into her daughter's hair and feed her a disgusting paste made of beets and offal. This had very little effect on the girl's blood-drinking activities. [break][break] Over time, the girl became a social outcast. The village culture had plenty of sympathy for the disabled; had her parents died, she could have counted on being supported on account of being mute. However, it had little tolerance for monsters from folklore coming to live among them. War with Germany in 1941 heightened tensions among the townspeople; though they were a long way from the front, brothers and sons had been sent to fight the Germans, and the fear of war was everywhere. Windows were tightened at night; misfortunes of all sorts were blamed on the girl. [break][break] During this time, the main bright spot in the girl's life was her father, a practical who regarded upyrs and blue buttons as so much nonsense. In 1944, however, he was killed in a mining accident, and the girl knew there was nothing more for her in that town. Carrying a rusted knife and a stolen loaf of bread, she began walking. [break][break] Two years later, when she was 17, she met Him. From the moment they met, He had the capital letter in her mind, a status He retained ever since. The first time she'd ever met another metahuman, and a man with money and political power to boot. She was a child; what did you expect? To say she was infatuated is an understatement. She worshiped the slippers He wore before bed. For reasons of His own He took her as a sort of ward, and for almost two years she lived a life of what was practically unimaginable luxury compared to her childhood. She learned of the Council that He had a seat on, was exposed to other metahumans. It was He who first gave her human blood to drink. It was here that she received a rudimentary education, including instruction in English and French. She thought her ship had come in. She thought she was secure, safe, set fit life. And then He sold her. [break][break] She never learned the reason. As a favor to someone, to get what he wanted, or simply because He was tired of her- it didn't matter. In the end, the Councillor was a politician, and He viewed her as simply one more pawn he had to play. Regardless of the reason, she found herself carted off in chains to Laboratory 1, the Soviet Union's human experimentation project. It was here she would receive her designation and the tattoo све-177, from the first three letters of the Russian word сверхчеловеческий, or "superhuman". [break][break] Once there, she was placed in the care of Sato Matsushita, a Japanese defector to the Soviet Union who had previously served in the infamous Unit 731. Matsushita, who would escape the Khabarovsk War Crimes Trials by virtue of having defected, was given two mandates: first, to investigate the possibility of creating superpowered, obedient soldiers for the Soviet Union, and secondarily, to develop chemical and biological weapons for use against the West. Since the Soviet regime had suppressed the study of cybernetics, certain military officials believed that human enhancement by biological means could prove helpful (though the Soviet demand that biological research conform to Lysenkoism would prove a hindrance there as well). [break][break] However, it was the first mandate that intrigued Matsushita. He divided the task before him into three parts: first, the forcible induction of metahuman abilities in human subjects, second, the rapid training of subjects in combat and espionage, and third, the task of inducing and exerting psychological control over the victims. [break][break] The first task was a complete failure. Despite testing hundreds of subjects, Matsushita was never able to induce metahuman abilities at will. The second was a partial success. Although Matsushita found the results supremely unsatisfying, Laboratory 1 was indeed able to rapidly bring све-177 to a level of competence in combat and assassination skills. (Observers, however, pointed out that this was far from a breakthrough; putting све-177 through a forced training regimen would probably have taught her something even without Matsushita's work.) [break][break] As for the third part, све-177 found that to be the worst of all, though Matsushita was never satisfied with the work. Through a combination of drugs, hypnosis, and applied electric shocks, Matsushita hoped to produce a soldier entirely obedient to the will of the Soviet state. At this, too, he failed. Two factors were against him: first, the fact that it is easier to damage a brain then to change it, and second, that све-177 was absolutely opposed to any kind of brainwashing. No small part of the success of the teaching regimen could be attributed to her cooperation; no small part of the brainwashing's failure can be attributed to her resistance. Still, there were lingering effects. Electric shocks delivered to her brain damaged many of her memories. She forgot the name she had grown up with and the name of the town where she had lived, though she could remember images from her childhood she forgot names, dates, places, and found gaps of weeks or months in her memory. She was still herself, but she had lost much. [break][break] све-177 was a prisoner at Laboratory 1 from 1948 until 1953. During that time, Laboratory 1 developed numerous toxin-based weapons, most prominently the compound carbylamine choline chloride, or C-2, which Matsushita had a hand in developing. It is possible that Matsushita was something of a metahuman himself; at any rate, he was as brilliant a chemist as he was an evil one. [break][break] By 1951, све-177 was becoming increasingly difficult to manage. Matsushita sought a solution to controlling the metahuman between rounds of testing that might be many months apart. After rejecting sedation as too difficult with 1950s technology in light of her abilities, he turned to the work of British scientist James Lovelock, who had suggested that it might be possible to place organisms in a long-term statis using extremely cold temperatures. While existing cryopreservents were unsuitable for long-term use due to their toxicity, Matsushita realized that све-177's ability would allow her to survive an otherwise toxic process. An additional difficulty was that increased economic difficulty in the Soviet Union due to the policies of Joseph Stalin, resulting in Laboratory 1 losing power at unpredictable times. The loss of power was unacceptable if све-177 was to be kept in statis. Matsushita solved this problem by creating a primitive radioisotope thermoelectric generator (RTG), of the type later used to power satellites. (Due to the secrecy surrounding Matsushita's work and the poor recordkeeping of the Soviet secret services, the invention was not publicized, and Americans Ken Jordan and John Birden were credited with inventing the RTG three years later). This breakthrough allowed Matsushita to construct a coffin-like box in which све-177 could be kept when not needed. Matsushita christened the device "Hakoirikappa", roughly meaning "vampire in a box". [break][break] By this time, све-177 had become the defining obsession of Matsushita's life. His personal papers contained thousands of pages of scribbled notes or plans for experiments, and he ordered the construction of a much larger Hakoirikappa. However, Laboratory 1 was shaken to its core by the 1953 death of Joseph Stalin. Overnight, political structures realigned; the heads of Laboratory 1 were sentenced to death, and in the course of an afternoon, Matsushita was convicted of war crimes, shot behind the chemical shed, and his body thrown into the lime pits that had swallowed so many of his victims. With Matsushita now a persona non grata, his work was now politically charged and his fellow scientists dumped his papers and personal effects, including the Hakoirikappa, into a warehouse. In the confusion as Laboratory 1 was reorganized into Laboratory 12, records of Matsushita's work were burned and све-177 forgotten about. [break][break] Neglected, све-177, safely secured inside the Hakoirikappa, remained in statis as decades passed around her. In the 1960s, the warehouse in which the Hakoirikappa was stored was repurposed to store NK-33 engines from the Soviet space program. Technical problems and a lack of funds resulted in many of the engines being unused for years. [break][break] After the 1991 fall of the Soviet Union, Western interests obtained access to NK-33 rocket stores. Orbital Sciences Corporation in particular was noted for its use of the engines (though the engine was also blamed for the October 2014 explosion of an Antares rocket during launch). [break][break] In 2017, workers were preparing an order of NK-33 rockets when the Hakoirikappa was discovered under an old part. Noting the prescense of an RTG and knowing that they were often used in space research, workers assumed that the Hakoirikappa was part of the order and placed it on the truck with the engine parts. Loaded onto a ship and brought to Orbital Sciences's Southern California Research Center in Huntington Beach California, where warehouse employees, not knowing what else to do with it, placed it into storage. [break][break] On June 30, 2018, the Hakoirikappa's internal mechanisms failed, and све-177 awoke for the first time in sixty years.
[attr="class","hopelovetitle"]POWER [attr="class","hopelovetop"][attr="class","hopelovesub"]
ABILITY[break][break] Hemoconsumptive Augmentation 177 has the power to enhance her physical and mental abilities by consuming human blood. As long as she has recently consumed blood, she becomes stronger, faster, tougher, and her senses and thinking become clearer. The exact degree of enhancement depends on how recently she has consumed blood, how much, and what kind of blood it was. Human blood works best, while the blood of other mammals is less effective. If she doesn't get blood, she becomes irritable and loses cognitive function. Although she still needs to eat, having access to blood allows her to stave off hunger and thirst for extended periods, generally concluding by gorging herself on whatever she gets afterwards. Both her teeth and nails are sharper and stronger than in a normal human (comparable to animal claws), with her canines being visibly elongated if you look closely. Her ability gives her protection from disease and helps her heal more quickly when injured. However, her most spectacular ability is one that she doesn't even know about: by consuming the blood of a metahuman, she can imitate a portion of that metahumans ability for a short period afterward. (As 177 has never had the opportunity to drink the blood of another metahuman, she is unaware of this). This requires her to consume at least a cup of the blood of the metahuman in question, and the power will remain available to her depending on how much she drank and how active she is. Magnetoreception: A secondary ability, an enhancement of her sensory powers, that gives her a sixth sense regarding magnetic fields. Similar to the senses possessed by some birds, this enables her to navigate using the Earth's magnetic field or sense ferrous metals near her.
[break][break] LIMITS[break][break] Hemoconsumptive augmentation:[break][break]
At maximum strength, 177 would be overhead lift 4000 pounds, bench press about 5500, squat around 8100, and deadlift about 9500 (single rep). She would be able to run at 70 miles per hour for up to 1600 feet, or for 4 miles at 36 mph, accelerating from 0 to about 50 mph in just under two seconds, or running a marathon in approximately 45 minutes. These are maximum numbers, and she may not be able to achieve them if it has been a while since she last ate. Use of her strength causes it to reduce over time, requiring more blood to sustain her. While enhanced, she is tougher than a normal human, bleeding less from wounds and recovering more quickly. However, this taxes her blood reserves much more quickly than using her strength. Nor is she capable of simply shrugging off large wounds; if she lost a limb, she might be able to regrow it, but it would take months or years and require her to consume a great deal of blood. She is, however, capable of ignoring or blunting most pain, though this may be a baseline human ability rather than a superhuman one. Without the benefit of her powers, 177 is only as strong as would be expected for a fit woman of her height and build.[break][break] Her senses are similarly enhanced; she has excellent night vision, and her daytime vision is 4 to 8 times better than a baseline human's- about as strong as a bald eagle's. Her sense of smell is good enough that she can identify an individual person by their scent, while her hearing is about 4 times better than a baseline human's (comparable to a dog). Unlike her strength, her hearing and smell are not reduced if she runs low on blood, though her vision is.[break][break] At her peak, 177's reflexes are significantly faster than a normal person's, giving her a reaction time of about 8 milliseconds compared to the human average of 166. She would be able to hold her breath for up to 90 minutes if refreshed, though this will be less if she is performing physical activities.[break][break] Should 177 imitate the abilities of another, two main limits will come into play: first, any duplicated abilities will always be weaker than the original ability. At most, they could possess about 90% of the strength of the original ability. This is further reduced if 177 tries to drink from multiple metahumans in a short time; each additional ability acquired reduces the strength of all duplicated abilities by half. Additionally, 177 will not be as practiced with the power as the original holder. Duplicated abilities will expire after a period of several hours, eight at the most.[break][break] Magnetoreception:[break][break] The ability is much less precise than hearing or sight, and mostly provides her with vague information. She can generally orient herself relative to magnetic north without trouble, and sense ferrous objects in a range of about a hundred yards without much trouble, but she can't always tell exactly what the objects are. Additionally, strong artificial magnetic fields can disrupt this ability. [break][break] WEAKNESSES[break][break] 177's biggest weakness is her dependence on human blood. Without blood, she becomes irritable and finds it more difficult to concentrate on anything except getting more blood. Not having blood makes her strength less, as well. It does not reduce her senses or magnetoreception (however, both will be more difficult to use effectively as thinking gets more difficult). In general, she needs a minimum of a pint of human blood a week- more if she can only get animal blood. (This would mean that she would need a minimum of eight people to safely take it from willing donors.) However, that amount is not comfortable- she would prefer twice that, about a gallon a month. Drinking more than that at one sitting will not sustain her any longer than a month.[break][break] Once her stores are exhausted, 177 needs to feed in approximately three days or less, before her cognition is entirely swallowed up by her hunger. Under these circumstances, forced deprivation may cause her to enter a state of berzerker-like rage, during which she becomes insensible to anything except the need to feed. Strangely, though her strength would have been gone before this happens, it reappears during the period of rage, allowing her to hunt more effectively. However, she has little volitional control during these periods of rage; she's entirely focused on getting more blood as quickly as possible. If she ingests the blood of a person who is drunk, poisoned, or high on drugs, she will experience at least some of the effects of those chemicals.[break][break] Other weaknesses come from her enhanced senses. Bright lights or loud noises can stagger her, causing pain, and an inverted magnetic field wrecks havoc with hermahgetoreception, inducing dizziness and nausea. A sufficiently strong one, as was applied to her cell in Laboratory 1, can leave her hardly able to walk.[break][break] However, most deeply, 177 is vulnerable to anything that a normal person is vulnerable to. She can be shot, stabbed, crushed, or poisoned like anyone else- it just takes more poison, or a bigger bullet.[break][break] Other weaknesses aren't necessarily related to her powers. For example, 177's inability to speak is a major hindrance, and she possesses a fear of bodies of water due to being half drowned multiple times while with Laboratory 1.
[attr="class","hopelovebot1"]
PLAYED BY Two McMillion
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