[HoD] Episode I: The Purgatory

[The Herald]

[member="Jakkor Kess"] | [member="Joran Del-Finn"] | [member="Silas Miu"] | [member="Kevros Kovani"] | [member="Dax Fyre"]​

[member="Sedge"] | [member="Jansal Corego"] | [member="Nicair Claden"] | [member="Singularity"] | [member="Aerin The Lost"]​

[member="Jaster Starfallen"] | [member="Cathul Thuku"] | [member="Thresh Sken"] | [member="Nate the Bounty Hunter"] | [member="Rocu"]​

[member="Jynx"]​

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HEIRS OF DARKNESS​

EPISODE I​

THE PURGATORY​

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• • • ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- • • •​

The Purgatory
- Location: Three Days from Nocrassol Orbit, Nocrassol System, Croke Reach Sector, Unknown Region
- Time: 09:32:75
- Destination: The City of Malia, Nocrassol

PLEASE READ: OOC Notes & Rules

Spoiler

[SIZE=14.6667px]Alright guys, we’re finally here and we would have [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]never[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px], not in a million years, [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]ever[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] have gotten remotely this far without your combined effort. All of the planning, the writing, the deciding - this was all you guys and now, at long last, you get to proudly see your combined effort come to fruition for our first thread![/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Foremost, I would like to specially thank a few who have contributed above and beyond to see this through and, hopefully, at the end of this story, will earn a little special something for their effort. Everyone’s helped in some shape or another, but these people, despite a life with work and family practically being dragged at the heels, have gone above and beyond to see things through.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]• [member="Kevros Kovani"] - Naturally, as someone I’ve praised endlessly throughout the duration of our planning thread, he’s not only the first to accept an antagonist position, he up and [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]ran [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]to Hell and back with it. Most of you have probably already read his solo development thread, [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]The Birth of a New Mind[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px], which is just one of his many testimonies to his dedication. We wouldn’t have the same story without him.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]• [member="Joran Del-Finn"] - I personally vouched for Joran when he joined, hell, we go back a ways, so of course I did; however, he has done nothing but make me proud with the activity. We hadn’t seen each other in months, but when he signed on for the thread (only for us to find out our real identities o.o), he threw himself into the fray without any hesitation, despite other obligations. He concentrated all he had into our story and it wouldn’t be the same without him.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]• [member="Silas Miu"] - I wish I could go over all the stuff Silas did in the company PM, but I can’t, because I don’t understand it. He really goes hand-in-hand with Singularity, here; they both bounced off each other build crazy tech for the protagonist company, using real life knowledge to create all sorts of crazy stuff in there. I took one look at it and proceeded to burn brain cells, trying to understand it. It didn’t only stop there, but he also played a [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]huge [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]part in building our story; he was there from the very beginning, and our story would be the same without him.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]• Morty [member="Singularity"] - The guy who pretty much sparked the entire storyline we got with a his introductory post. No bull, I actually went back and read it, then it dawned on me this guy, right after saying hi, puts us all on the single track which led us straight here:[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]It could be interesting to sort of combine your ideas. Something along the lines of "Purgatory" being an event that takes place once a year.[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=14.6667px]Essentially, he’s to thank for the entire direction of the story thus far, in addition to his continued dedication to planning and effort with tech development; it would be safe to say our story [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]literally [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]wouldn’t be the same without him.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]So make sure to PM these guys and thank them for the thread you’re about to participate in, [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]please[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]And with that said, time to discuss the actual thread we’re finally here for. Although I've largely addressed my concerns and whatnot in the planning thread, I will repeat them here, so please make sure to abide by them; they are not for my convenience, rather, they are intended to make sure no one inhibits each other[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Foremost, Posting Order:[/SIZE]

1. [member="The Herald"]
2. [member="Dax Fyre"]
3. [member="Nicair Claden"]
4. [member="Jaster Starfallen"]
5. [member="Joran Del-Finn"]
6. [member="Silas Miu"]
7. [member="Aerin The Lost"]
8. [member="Jakkor Kess"]
9. [member="Sedge"]
10. [member="Cathul Thuku"]
11. [member="Thresh Sken"]
12. [member="Kevros Kovani"]
13. [member="Singularity"]
14. [member="Nate the Bounty Hunter"]
15. [member="Rocu"]
16. [member="Jynx"]
17. [member="Jansal Corego"]

PLEASE ABIDE BY THE ESTABLISHED POST ORDER.
- If any changes are necessary, contact me via PM.
- If any changes are made, you will all be immediately tagged in a new list, found within the OOC thread.
- You are all individually responsible for maintaining up-to-date with this.
- If the person ahead of you is taking to long/isn't posting, contact me and they'll be put at the end of the que.

IMPORTANT:

• Minimum ONE post per day - everyone will be responsible for keeping the thread active; if you won't be able to post, please notify me. If it's an emergency, you will be excused; otherwise, you need to take responsibility for your schedule and accept a less-active position in the role-play or communicate with me directly; we can work something out. The official post "day" will begin with the first, IC non-DM post (e.g. Dax Fyre).
  Thus, everyone has until 2:49 PM EST tomorrow to post.

[*]It's integral for other players (including myself) that you list your LOCATION and GEAR with each post; if you don't tell me that your character has a lightsaber out in the open, I can't make NPCs react to it. Furthermore, if you're in the same area as other PCs, tag them in it.
[*]Always tag the person next in your post as well as myself: @The Herald.
[*]There are NO limits on maximum posts, so feel free to post as much as you like per day so long as you follow the established post order. If you break it, I'll be very, very grumpy.
In addition, please note that though this character is OOC, it'll still be responsible for writing a cadre of NPCs; treat these as you would a PC, make your attacks attempts. Insta-kills or non-attempts can be considered God-modding and will not be tolerated. Meta-gaming, canon-breaking, and other actions will also make me hunt you down and beat you with a heavy bar of soap in a sock among other household weaponry.

Also, please do not write for environments without asking. This is excluded for your initial post, provided it does not undermine the story. (AKA: Starting out free and ju-jitsuing your way into the bridge, etc.) If you have a question about what lies behind a door, PM me or ask me openly in the OOC discussion thread, I'll either tell you or give suggestions, giving you the freedom to write it. But never, ever take the initiative; this isn't me trying to throw a brick into your plans - if you have a suggestion, I'll probably give you the go-ahead. However, without any input, it lessons my control over the encounters, which renders the DM position ineffective, which can, in turn, nullify the entire RP. Please, keep this in mind; small things, such as supply closets and so forth, are fine - I want to keep myself out of your decision making as much as possible - but keep me involved.

Furthermore, if there is any drama for any reason whatsoever - either you feel the person is ignoring you, cheating, and whatever, PM me immediately.

Note, do not use this thread for any tech or codex subs; it will go towards a factory submission for the Purgatory at a later date.

And finally, take your time and have fun. The thread, officially, ends once we escape the ship, so don't rush yourselves; explore, don't be afraid to talk to me - it might seem a little daunting, but remember we were all creating this in a thread together not a day ago; if you want to find the power core to the ship, let me know, we'll work things out. This is a sandbox once you step out the gate, so get immersed and enjoy; I'm here if you want to take yourself in a given direction.

To start off, I'm putting objectives in order to situate the different locations of the ship; please, feel free to pick one or create your own if not fully discussed - this'll be a one-time free ticket to do so before I put out a milieu/setting sanction.

If you have any general questions, post them in the OOC Discussion Thread; my inbox will probably be cluttered from now on, so it might take me some time to respond if you go that route.

Plot:
You are on the Purgatory, a massive prison transport that operates on the underground; every year, it departs into the galaxy and returns filled with heroes gather from across all known space - both alive and dead. Some of you are here as prisoners, others as personnel, perhaps security or otherwise, all unknowingly serving a malevolent purpose. Your goal is simple: survive the next three days. Where you begin is up to you, so is where you go; some of you may choose to play along with the system, others might attempt to escape. Regardless, beware, the odds are stacked against you; something greater has been set in motion here and the ultimate outcome could weigh heavily on the very decisions you decide to make.

OBJECTIVE I:
- Location: CELL BLOCK B
- Overview: Here, prisoners are injected with the prototypical stims and cybernetic modifications; not all survive the process. Held within suspended UECs (Universal Energy Cages), capable of reflecting force powers back onto the user while simultaneously projecting an internal repulsor field, holding the inhabitant still; additionally, the bars were outfitted with an automatic stun system, shocking any who touch it. Here, initially, escape is impossible, however, today you'll finally be tested for a new drug, IEV-12; its contents are unknown, but its effects clearly are - screams of pain echo throughout the corridors constantly. They say it'll increase your reflexes, only at the cost of a brief sensation of pain as its injected directly into your spine; but are they telling the truth? Additionally, you might be subject to receive a neural implant, one set to be implanted directed within the subject's amygdala which will respond to sonic pulses cast from an external, head-mounted device, in an attempt to control their survival instincts. The procedure seems harmless enough, but rumors among the prisoners claim that those who depart for the procedure never return.

Spoiler

PM me or post in OOC thread to discuss creating/using an alternative to the two options.

[SIZE=14.6667px]L[/SIZE]ights flickered to life within the corridor, illuminating the deck; a brightly lit ceiling lights emit a pallid light which glances off of the dark, metallic interior. The air seems to be filled with moonlight, the room in a perpetual twilight which darkened the deeper you descended; the higher up, perhaps, the more you could convince yourself sunlight was streaming in. Through the streams of white illumination, near the base of the deck, clouds of dust glittered in the remnants of light that, by some means, still descended thus far; it was a surreal place, inhibited little by the churning of machinery. It was quiet, further igniting the sense of a dream-like quality which permeated the room.

•-•​

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[SIZE=14.6667px] The cells lining the walls were large and spacious, this was the apparent benefit of the secondary prison wing within the ship’s bulk; two rows of expansive rooms, sixteen in total, each externally sustaining the suspended expectation of a leisurely journey to their destination. In reality, however, beyond this were walls slick with blood and wide trash chutes, dedicated to neat disposal of corpses mauled by prodding instruments. Cell B was notorious among the ship's inhabitants, prisoners and personnel alike; it was where the initial testing phases commenced. It was not an act of barbarity, rather, it lacked the rage it equipped. Cold, apathetic doctors and faceless droid servants toil within the cells daily; the prisoners confined to small, bud-shaped cages suspended from the ceiling until their 'initiation.'[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px] Cell Block B is primarily composed of sixteen individual cells, each externally pretty in appearance, but internally a nightmare. Always an operating room, usually covered in human waste and fluid, it houses a variety of disturbing droids and instruments lining the walls; in addition, prisoners are held fast within the aforementioned cages, making escape near impossible until procedures are complete, where they'll henceforth be escorted, en masse, to Cell Block A by a company of twelve security officers. The cell block is designed more as a passageway than a prison complex, serving as a large tunnel overlooked by the individual cells, with bridges spanning in between to provide transport from one half to the other; that is because, in reality, Cell Block B composes the central haft of the ship, and doubles as the main walkway between the frontal and rear ends of the ship.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px] Due to the popular nature of this walkway, numerous instruments have been supplied to decrease the volume of sound emitted from the individual chambers; thus, screaming patients cannot be heard by passersby within the tunnel; however, beyond this, each cell opens into a wide hall, flanked on either end by a turbolift elevator. Due to the disturbing nature of this activity, often only the doctors are permitted entry; beyond this, only service droids patrol the halls, observed over by security cameras flanking either end of the corridor. However, every night, at 21:00:00 (9:00 PM), the cells are sealed shut to prevent escape; anyone trapped within the block must, then, wait until morning to leave.[/SIZE] Beyond either of the two story prisons, on the lower floors on either end, there is a prison mess hall, overlooked by live security from a balcony situated ten feet off the ground, and additional security droids on the floor below.

[SIZE=14.6667px] Finally, security detail in the area is overseen by Lt. Vodnik, a siniteen officer with a sympathy streak; he often remains stationed within his personal quarters adjacent to the port side barracks. While security systems are automated, and personnel are often trained to react independently to situations, he oversees a small armory within his office, and only he knows the password. Additionally, he holds holds codes to provide manual overrides within the block, allowing access to wherever he pleases regardless of the time of day. However, he himself remains under constant scrutiny to uphold standards of efficiency and his room his guarded by two massive turrets, each independently powered by power lines feeding into the main power lines running throughout the hull. Getting him alone and vulnerable would be tricky, but breaking into his apartment would also be dangerous.[/SIZE]

OBJECTIVE II:
- Location: Cell Block A
- Overview: Once prisoners have been experimented on, they are promptly delivered to Cell Block A, where they'll be treated to standard living conditions and be freed from any obligation until the Purgatory reaches Nocrassol. Once delivered, prisoners are subject to a five-day period in solitary confinement to wait out any potential side-effects of the drug before being deposited within the prison population. Here, security is tighter than ever to confront the large body of Block B survivors, though many are too weak or crippled to effectively fight. Here, you could find yourself arriving, or perhaps you have been here for awhile; in such a case, you are free to develop your own stim effects, however, if you feel they might be questionable (or lore-breaking) please contact the DM beforehand. Once here, it would be easy to mingle among your peers, waiting out the inevitable, or you could attempt a daring escape.

Darkness permeates the corridors, a haunting scene from an unreal reality; you don't know why you're here, you don't know why they chose you - hell, you had only woken up a week ago, subject to cruel, humiliating experiments before being deposited here, cloaked in a rubbery, uncomfortable garb. You were forbidden from changing, it's not like you could do it in secret; your very rooms were exposed, a single sheet of duraglass between you and the outside world - strangers past, laughing at inaudible jokes, enjoying their lives, yet you, for reasons unknown, where here, on the other side. You used the bathroom out in the open, or not at all; you were free to eat with the others, or to lounge about in a recreational room, overseen by a small army of guards - it beet that other place by a mile, but it still made you feel subhuman.

Like you were an animal.

•-•

Cell Block A is the main living quarters of the prison population, where those who survive Cell Block B are deposited; living conditions have improved immensely, with each prisoner receiving a personal cell with proper living conditions, including a toiletries and table to dine alone, if they so choose. Even with its exposed nature, now shower curtains, no stall - a fact which left them exposed to any passerby - it was certainly an improvement from the past experience, except for the reality of all those empty cells around you. They were pre-made, each with a plaque of authentic designation deposited before them, like it was presenting them like some kind of specimen; every so often, some group of strangers would pass by, often in rich or foreign dress, and they would inspect you with intrusive, beady eyes, before passing on to the next survivor.

They were sizing you up for what was to come.

Despite its rather exposed nature, Cell Block A values the mental repairing of the survivors, offering continued therapy service, under heavy observation and a security detail to accompany you; in addition, they provide a wide array of basic recreational activities, music, and an open lobby where prisoners are free to socialize with automated surveillance. The wing is condensed, tucked away into the right shoulder of the ship; overseen by Lt. Authellia, a zabrak, it contains the densest security short of the bridge. A veteran of the Republic War effort, now turned-mercenary, she rules the block with an iron fist, tolerating neither disobediance from prisoners nor failure from one of her own flock. Her punishments are cruel, but rumors have it that those who particularly cross her never return.

The wing is square, with multiple blocks on two, heavily secured floors surrounding a single cafeteria and recreational room. Unlike the previous block, the more compact nature of this location has allowed a more condensed field of security to maintain control; near every exit, a platform controls a series of blast doors and alarms, including a set of wall mounted, manual-targeting turrets, in order to secure who accesses the hold; furthermore, constant patrols and cell checks from armored security squads are a constant reality. With the halls continuously occupied, the only moments of reprieve are brief moments in the cell, completely a matter of chance, since the durasteel supports flanking the edges of the window provide little, if not any, peripheral vision, and the recreational room, located at the center of the block.

In order to leave one's cell, one must use a datapad, fixed to the wall on either side of the room, and sign up for a scheduled cell-walk performed by a pair of security officers, named Dave and Crul, and a massive assault droid which tails them named DOX, heavily armored and outfitted to wipe out a small battalion. DOX is the more laid back of the three, often tagging along lethargically and taking detours due to an over-programmed personality matrix. It's not unoften one will spot DOX alone, or only D&C (as they are lovingly called), patrolling without their more capable, friendly companion. However, the rooms remain thoroughly inspected; maintenance shafts are locked by electrical seals - roof-mounted power feeds are, as before, attached to alarms. Finally, security cameras directly hook up to a display found within the barracks, located externally of the cell block.

OBJECTIVE III:
- Location: Cell Block C
- Overview: Here, you fight to survive; there's no way around it. Here, in Cell Block C, it operates more like a fight club than an actual prison. No one is really certain of the criteria to enter, some say you gotta really spit in the face of the authority, others believe you're just a prime example of stim research; others feel they're just really unlucky. Regardless, picked from among the ranks of Cell Block A, dozens of prisoners are ushered into an empty supply room, surrounded by guards and ilk. It's simple, really: you're pushed into the center and forced to fight one another. The winner gets to eat and a room to sleep, the other dies. No one knows if this is officially sanctioned by the captain of the ship or not, but most guards seem to be in on the game; bets are placed, lost - fights aren't exclusive to the prisoners. Here, security is at is toughest, but the ragged nature of it leaves plenty to be desired.

Crack! The room is slick with blood, the walls reinforced with all sorts of trash the guards could muster; vents, old blast doors, scrap - all fused into the wall like a junkyard hell. Perhaps that's what this was - they gathered people in their sleep and brought them here; you fight and win, you live better than the rest, that was the deal. They emptied out an old, unused barracks for that; you got three full meals, got to do whatever you want. They'd go easy on you, it was psychological, they thought once you tasted the fruits of your labor, that this is all you'd ever need. CRACK! Another strike hits him in the jaw, blood sprays, a tooth hits the floor, the root shattered. Maybe they're right, what else is out there? Crack! The guy goes down - damn, is he dead? His eyes rolled back; he's shaking a bit. Yeah, the world outside's probably just as bad.

•-•

If you asked anyone on the Purgatory about Cell Block C it doesn't exist and it doesn't, not officially. Part of the overall experiments running aboard the ship, this one is disguised as an underground fighting ring, run by the senior officers of the ship beneath Lt. Camimur, a bloodthirsty savage who thrives off the old concepts of honor and valor through combat. Here, those who have displayed potential combat efficiency are tested against their peers; pitted against one another, in the image of what was to come, they're given a simple object: fight or die. They are gathered to the center of the room and proceed to beat each other to death with their fists, those who resist are promptly executed and disposed of. However, those who oblige and succeed are promptly rewarded with superior treatment, further pressuring them to indulge in combat.

However, its often that some will disappear without warning; in prologue to the future event, the stress of combat needs to be tested. Not all survive the unpleasant effects as the body readjusts to the stress of its newfound abilities, such as in the case of those with advanced strength; the sheer force emitted from the blows are enough to rip muscle clean from bone and, rather than treat the individual, who has demonstrated an instinctual inability to control their power, are promptly disposed of, alive, within the garbage chute, to join the bodies of those killed in Cell Block B. However, rumors persist of survivors, cannibals, who live in the bowels of the ship, creeping up through the vents to feed on prisoners and security as they sleep . . . .

Regardless, what Cell Block C has in terror, it lacks in finesse. Officer patrol routes and structural integrity are never stalwart, the walls reinforced heavily with scrap due to multitudes of design flaws that inhabit the ship. Beyond this remains a variety of discarded machinery and equipment, which inmates are encouraged to utilize against their peers; however, should anyone turn their strikes against the personnel, a decimation will be incited, where the perpetrator will be apprehended and every other tenth inmate shot. Once the executions have halted, the perpetrator will be released to the crowd and abandoned, left to be ripped to pieces by his vengeful brothers. What remains is then collected and properly disposed of to maintain some standard of cleanliness.

"It's a battlefield, not a graveyard," said Lt. Camimur.

OBJECTIVE IV:
- Location: Make Your Own!
- Goal: Fell free to create your own objective, so long as it doesn't override the current pacing of the thread. If you have any questions or concerns, please contact me.

MEANWHILE....

"I want a report," the captain snorted; "Someone get a hold of the lieutenants, we're going to arrive soon - preparations need to be made for a secure transaction."

"Yes, sir!"

Captain Llor Bel of the Purgatory, a gaunt man, with wispy, white hair; he looked like a ghost, the perfect impression of his own ship's namesake. He had the personality of a restless spirit, too, oft-seen haunting the bridge in the early hours, pacing back and forth, flicking his cloak about. He was a deathly fright to stumble into during those hours, he built up temper with motion, and, by the Force, did he move a lot. However, this inspired a frightfully quick and precise response from those he spoke to; he never once struck them, some swore he'd never killed a man, but regardless, he held a terrifying frigid chill behind his weary eyes, enough to make anyone want to avoid it. Perhaps he hadn't killed someone before, because everyone was so busy trying to stay on his good side.

However, if there was anything that could sour his mood, it was the chain of command; Talron, on one hand, was a whole different beast, but his lieutenants were fiercely independent. Of course, there was Vodnik, he'd never piss without permission; Authellia and Camimur, on the other hand, often openly challenged his decisions. You'd think he'd be bleeding red, Llor's cheeks would light up like a rose on fire and the words that came out were enough to shake the foundation of any Jedi's faith in all that was good. Regardless, they kept on inciting him; maybe they felt like he'd die faster that way. Maybe it was the opposite, that the more they incited him into an unbidden fury, the more he'd have to ultimately live for.

However, what came onto the screen was neither their likeness, nor that of any of the usual crew; a figure, draped in black appeared, a holographic representation of a lifelike shadow, one cut out of the solid void. He radiated nothing, not an overwhelming malevolence, nor good intent; he simply was a black hole in space. Simply looking at him might have dazed oneself, the voice enigmatic, echoing in a genderless sound, its language foreign - no, it was standard, but the accent . . . its very existence locked the entire crew in a trance as it spoke: "Captain," it spoke, its voiced balancing on a cadence of inquiry, "I trust you have experienced little trouble on your journey?" Rather than a fiery response, as the bridge officers had long since grown accustomed to, Llor knelt, wobbling on aged, arthritis-riddled knees and, all around, jaws dropped.

"Lord Talron," he replied. "No, sir; everything is proceeding as scheduled."

"It won't remain that way for long."

"S-sir?" asked Llor, watery eyes peering up, startled. He stammered, attempting to find his place again; by now, the crew had begun a silent retreat to the edges of the cabin, lest that dark figure take note of their presence. Garnering his attention would be death, cried instinct; they fled before him. "I said," responded the figure impatiently, "'It won't remain that way for long.' Must I repeat myself? Ah, I already did . . . Llor," the figure shimmered, "Have things not always gone according to my plans?" The captain shook his head vigorously. "You have always been right, sir. Your plans have what led us this far, without you we would have never obtained this-" He stiffened. "Where are my manners, sir? Please, forgive me for speaking out of place; what would you have me do?"

"Three days," replied the Lord; "For three days, utilize the information that I give you; understand what needs to be done and lay a foundation of trust in me, if you have not already."

And then, the figure discarded his robes, and portrayed the likeness of an elderly man, though one cast purely of ornate iron, with a beard of chainmail and crown infused upon a weak, ancient brow; eyes black slits, though peering out with a maintained darkness which was previously exhibited in his form. His presence was not that of evil, but of a deeper, carnal malevolence. He was primal horror incarnate.

"Then be done."

 

[Rocu]

Theme​

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UprcpdwuwCg​

 

[Dax Perl]

Location: Cell Block B
Equipment: Prisoner's Jumpsuit

Dax had little knowledge of where he was. Three days of being held in this blasted cage and nothing. Not a single thing...no questions, no visitors, no poking, or probing. Not even torture, or the expected Sith "interrogation"...unless of course this was a Sith's twisted new form of interrogation. Nothing but the passing bys of officers, guards, droids and surgeons. Dax had tried speaking to some of the droids and surgeons, but they had simply ignored. He'd even tried insulting multitudes of guards, if only to get a reaction from them and learn more about his captors. It was during one of these attempts that Dax had learned the true nature of these cages. He had tried to Force push a cart into a passing guard and discovered that the cage had instead rebounded his efforts and pushing him into the bars, giving Dax one nasty shock...one that still stung believe it or not. Beyond that, however, there was utterly nothing done to him, or said to him. Except of course for the screaming...the screaming never stopped! Dax couldn't pinpoint exactly where the screams were coming from, or even what was being done. Whatever it was however, it wasn't pleasant, and he wanted no part of it.

Yet everyone's time comes, and today's was Dax's day. Two droids, a masked surgeon, and two guards, wielding blasters approached his cage. One of the guards, a human if Dax had to guess...difficult to tell under the mask and armor...spoke to him the first words he'd heard in days, "Your restraints are about to be released. Don't bother struggling or attempting to escape. There are turrets and guards placed at every entrance and exit," the man said, his voice becoming mechanical in nature as it filtered through the helmet. Don't struggle my ass...Dax thought to himself. Sure enough, as soon as he was released he unleashed a kinetic wave at the guards. Not his strongest, having not eaten or slept in the days since his capture, but enough that guards and droids stumbled backwards. Dax dashed forward beelining towards the door. Before even having made two steps, his escape was cut off by an immense electrical shockwave going through his body. Dax hit the floor hard. He didn't really feel it however, the stun turrets having completely knocked him unconscious. The guards made their way over two him and roughly grabbed him under the arms and started dragging him away. "Warned you," the guard said with a smirk.

[member="Nicair Claden"]

 

[Nicair Claden]

Location: Cell Block C
Equipment: Standard Jumpsuit

I'm an animal. This was the only thought that went through the mind of Nicair Claden as he pummeled his opponent to death, inhuman growls emanating from his throat with each strike. He couldn't really remember who he was or where he came from, all he knew was that when the crowd chanted for death, he gave it, and he gave it with a smile on his face. His knuckles had busted open and blood seeped from the wounds as his enemy stopped moving, stopped breathing. He raised his bloody hands and roared to the gathered crowd, an assortment of lavish outfits and armored plates. The animal knew nothing of such requirements for dress, often all they gave him were pants and it never occurred to him why he would need even those. His beard and hair had grown feral though their growth hinted that they had both been trimmed and taken care of at one point. His eyes were orbs of rage and pain, strength and suffering, he didn't understand why he hurt inside but at times he did, and other times he felt he could rip apart planets. A shock collar attached to a long handle was a wrapped around his neck, one quick starting shock gained his obedience, he knew where to go though he had no idea how he did. Once the two guards and the beast had returned to his cell and he was locked in a horrible sickness overtook him and he vomited into his flushing water bowl. His body shook and his skin crawled, insects, snakes, something was living inside him trying to tear him apart, he could feel it, he clawed at it, to no avail. His mind screamed at him and he clutched his ears to shut out the noise, nothing worked, nothing stopped the pain but killing another man. He screamed at the noise so that he may have the upper hand in the war of his head, maybe then it wouldn't get split in two.

"He alright? He looks pretty messed up."
"Yeah he's fine. He's just coming down."

[member="Jaster Starfallen"]

 

[Jansal Corego]

Ignore.

 

[Jaster Starfallen]

Location: Isolation Cell
Equipment: Jumpsuit

It had been three days since I was locked in here. I was given food, but it was gross and disgusting. The water was murky and the room was lonely. It didn't help the fact that after I was injected with that serum I've been vomiting, blacking out, getting tunnel vision, and generally having a really bad time. I'm sitting in a corner staring at what I think is the door. The entire wall is white and there are no indications that the space is the door, but I hope. I still have that. There should be someone coming to give me that bantha poo for food soon. Either I can ambush them or probably die trying. It's the only way out considering the heavy security and isolation. Plus, better to die trying than to die from malnutrition or go crazy from isolation.

A few minutes later, or at least what I think is a few in this barren room, the door creaks open. It's a couple feet off to the side of where I was thinking, but close enough. Two guards walk in with another two waiting at the door. A stern faced man says, "You're free." I'm totally surprised at this and my head pops up. Moments pass and the guard gives a wicked, evil, grin. "Free to explore the rest of this hell for a ship and rot in it." He grabs me and hoists me up. They put my hands in restraints and take me to a room with some furniture. A table, bed, and even a old fashioned picture. Lovely. "This here's your quarters. You'll know when curfew is. Doors lock after that and don't open till morning. You'll be served three meals in the cafeteria. Enjoy your miserable existence." The scruffy guard slams the door.

I sit at the bed and think. Well, it's certainly nicer than the isolation cell I was in. Food, a bed, and a room for safety from other prisoners? Seems a little too nice. I bet they don't expect me to live. But I will. I walk to the door and try the handle. It's unlocked. The guard must have just slammed the door for effect. Wonderful. I poke my head out in the hallway. No one. I walk out the cell to explore the area, get a feel, an edge over anyone. I could probably find some scraps for a knife or something too. Just hope nobody gives me an 'initiation' while I'm poking around.

[member="Joran Del-Finn"]

 

[Joran Del-Finn]

Location: Cell block A. Dining hall.
Equipment: 10inches...or I mean jumpsuit or what have you

"Come on, Del-Finn, please."

Joran stared at the ratman Rusc as he pleaded for Joran's help. Rusc was tall but not tall enough to impress and shorter than Joran himself, he was rail thin and his dirty crusted prison uniform hung off his body, his hair was long, dark, unkempt, greasy and was more often than not covering his eyes which sat too far apart on his overly pointed face. In short Rusc had the look of a man you would not trust no matter what the situation was. He could be offering you a drink of water in the desert and you'd rather keep looking for catcti.

"Why should I, Mate? You still owe me." Said Joran looking up from his tray of food.

"Gulka, is going to kell me, Del-Finn." The other man practically sobbed.

"Yeah and who much do you owe him?" Joran asked impatiently. Joran had been here aboard the puragtory for close to four-weeks and it did not take him long to figure out that the hulking Trandoshan Gulka was not one to be messed with. The rumor going around was that Gulka used to be a slaver, but that was the rumor for all Trandoshans, with Gulka however Joran was inclined to believe the rumors. Gulka and his crew walked around cell block A like they owned the place and no one ever disagreed with them, excpet for Joran. In his first week aboard the prison ship Joran had a confrontation with Gulka, one that Joran had the fortune to come out on top in and now Rusc was asking him to do it again.

"Pay me what I'm owed and double my service fee for this time." Joran told the scrawny pathetic excuse for a man in front of him. Rusc agreed in a hurry and ran to his bunk room, returning only a moment later with Joran's payment. thirty-two bottles of pain meds as good as credits in a place like this.
"Okay, Rusc come with me." Joran and the ratman walked across the dining hall to where Gulka and his goons were loitering.

"You here to fight for the ratman again?" Gulka asked in gutteral Trandoshan.

"Just wanna know what you plan on doing with him." Joran answered back in huttese. Joran was not a small man by any standard, he stood six-foot-five and weighed almost three-hundred pounds of muscle but he still had to look up to adress Gulka.

"We. Kill." Gulka said in basic. Rusc looked as if he were going to vomit.

"Fair enough, Mate." Joran said shoving the ratman toward Gulka and his gang.

"But...But...But, I paid you!" Rusc shouted at Joran full of anger and terror.

"You paid what was owed, besides he gave me credits." Joran told the dead man.

@whom ever is next.

 

[Silas Miu]

Location: Cell Block A
Equipment: Prisoner's Jumpsuit

Silas Miu couldn't think. He lay limply in the small cot in the cold cell he'd been thrown in after a long and very painful surgery. When these men attempted to grab him from the streets on Nar Shaddaa, he fought back, injuring two of them, possibly killing one. However, the odds were heavily in their favor. He'd been beaten severely, and shot twice. His jaw, arms, and three ribs were all broken. Snapped under the torrent of punches and kicks that were thrown at him by each of his assailants.

After he was taken to his new prison, he was taken immediately to a surgery room, where a grizzled old man began the surgery. The man had grey hair, several facial scars and a hard set to his jaw. He looked like he'd performed many emergency procedures, both on willing and unwilling patients. The man never changed his expression while he worked. Slicing through flesh, re-setting bones several times, all the while having to listen to Silas' loud screams of pain.

That wasn't the worst part, though. About two hours into the surgery, the surgeon prepared a small device. This device was tiny, like smaller than a clenched fist, and it looked like it was being prepared to be put in his body. It was. He was never told what it was, and he never really got the chance to ask. He'd been in such excruciating pain that he could barely string together coherent thoughts, let alone words. All he knew was that from the moment the surgeon implanted the device and activated it, Silas was in near constant pain.

It's been about five minutes since the surgery, and they'd merely tossed him onto this cot, never giving him time to recover. He'd lay here bloody and broken for a while, watching the changes the implant made. First, his bones ached and pained. He heard the popping and groaning of the bones in his flesh, feeling them knit themselves together. Next, he watched broken and torn tissues in his open wounds falling back into place, mending itself. Next, his skin knit itself back together, though not exactly perfect, it was better than having open wounds.

He'd only been able to lay and marvel at the progress of his wounds, as they'd injected him with a paralytic to keep him from moving and damaging himself further before his bones could set properly. Even after his wounds were mended, he felt pain, though. As if his bodies pain response systems couldn't quite match the speeds at which the implant made his body heal. He felt like he was in hell. Well, almost, but not quite.

Another bunk in the room brought another concern to his mind. Did he have a cell mate? Are the others here put through such painful ordeals as he was? What's the purpose of all this? Why was this happening to him, of all people? Silas silently screamed, his jaw and vocal chords remaining unmoving due to the paralytic, allowing him to scream to his hearts content in his mind until he blacked out from the still present pain.

[member="Aerin The Lost"]

 

[Aerin Kath]

Location: Cell Block B
Equipment: Prisoner's Jumpsuit, socks, no shoes

Aerin could feel the drill going to his skull, he passes out. He wakes up and feels a needle go into his back, he passes out. His skull felt like it was going to split when he wakes up some time later.....

Location: Isolation
Equipment: Prisoner's Jumpsuit, one sock

"outta my head outta my head, outta my head..." Aerin repeats over and over as an excruciating headache overwhelms him. he had strangled, or rather tried to strangle , a guard with a sock when they last came to give him food and was getting a dose of sonic shock from an implant in his head to make sure the guards were safe. Aerin was by no means a weak man, but the headache made him go to his knees and nearly cry... as the headache subsided the new guard was just about to shut the door when Aerin heard the last bit of his conversation with another in the hall to his cell. "surprised this guy isn't dead, that implant must be hell to have put in." Why am I in here... who the hell made it so I'd live... and why the kark is it that I have a bloody sonic implant in my head all questions for another time as the engineer looks around to see if he could make something to pass the time. maybe he could make a shiv out of a spoon, or pry open the vents and escape... nope, he goes to make a type of toy that his mother had taught him to make when his father had left them. a small toy droid... he had to make it out of spoons and forks from the last few meals... 'course he had hid them in his clothes when they came to check on him, but this last spoon was just the last piece he had needed, it wouldn't function like a real droid, but it was a comfort... "Mom always said I was clever... lets see if she was right" he bends the last spoon and sets the toy down... it looks just like he thought it would...

[member="Jakkor Kess"]

 

[Jakkor Kess]

Location: Cell Block B.
Equipment: Nothing


How long was Jakkor in this place. He couldn't think through the pain of blades cutting through his body. For hours he was being poked,and prodded by the curious doctor's,and their maniac droid assistants. His chest,arms,and legs were cut open allowing the doctors to explore,and experiment with a force user every reaction they got out of the Tusken the more they jogged down notes on Jedi techniques on resisting pain,as well as to block it out. They also took notes from the gallions of blood they were draining from his body on Midi Chlorians. Jakkor was barely staying awake they had not used a single anesthetic on him when they began this nightmare,so he had been using the force to try,and block the pain all in the while screaming out to his captors. "PLEASE STOP!! OH GODS! I'll do anything! Please No More!! NOOO!! AHHHHH!!!" The droid then spoke to The Docter experimenting on The Tusken. "Sir,as much as you love your experimenting we can't be able to keep it up much longer or the subject won't survive." The docter scoffed at The droid then said to him almost whining sadistaclly. "Oh Fine 2B-1 why do you have to take the fun out of everything. Just look out the valuable research data I'm getting out of Subject Z-1999. I never had the oppurtunity to examine a Jedi let alone a Tusken before,but sadly he is a human,and he has been an interesting research subject thus far. Oh well time to do what the boss has ordered,and administer The Super Soldier Syrum on this one. I feel sorry for the opponets he'll face in the games. Hehe." The droid than proceeds to handle the docter a siryinge. The docter than walks to Jakkor,who he has stopped screaming for now his throat burning,and hoarse for screaming for hours on end. The docter chuckles as he sticks the needle in the pecktoral muscle injecting IEV-12 into his system. The docter looks cruelly into Jakkor's near passed out face. He says to him in Sadistic delight. "Well Subject Z-1999 this is your lucky day. Haha, from what I have learned from this drug if it's true,and if you do survive. You'll be the perfect warrior,your force powers,and connection to the force ampliphyed as it mixes into your bloodstream,and the midi-chlorians. It will also enhance your motor skills,senses,and reflexes. Making you into the perfect killing machine. When this is over you will be my best work yet. You might thank me for this,that's if you survive of course." He starts laughing like a madman,as the drug starts to take effect Jakkor resumes his screaming as he feels never ending pain throughout his body,as if it was on fire from the inside.His muscles spasm,and convulse throughout his body. After twenty minutes of nonstop screams,and seizures he finally passes out.


Location:Cell Block A,Solitary confinement.
Equipment: Socks,Jumpsuit,Tusken Mask

It had been at least several days since the 'Experimentation' he went through. For all intents,and purposes this was Hell,he had been dragged by guards to solitary confinement in Cell Block A. His body was covered in giant stitches,apparently the docter was having to much fun with his research. For days now Jakkor rocked back,and forth in a fetal position. Not just his body was scarred forever so was his mind. His nightmares grew worse,and everytime he could get a chance he beat the holy hell out of a guard,or prisoner especially when he received his meal. He was also placed with sometype of device around his neck that would frantically start beeping when he tried using the force,apprantely the staff ad a trump card for prisoners that were force sensitives. Jakkor could barely remember how this nightmare began anyway. He was just traveling the Outer Rim when he was caught in a tractor beam to this monster of a ship. When he got out he engaged the guards with Lightsabers killing many,but the heavily armed guards were armed with Slugthrowers,and Electrostaffs. He managed to hold them off for as long as he could till they overwhelmed him. Before passing out,and waking up to the hours of torture he just endured. The guards were gloating about capturing a Jedi,and saying that the boss would be pleased about adding Lightsabers to his collection of trophies. That must explain why his lightsabers were gone,one thing was for sure whoever the bastard was when he got out. He was going to beat the holy hell out of the guy,and get his sabers back. He heard from the guards that were passing by his cell that was inscribed Z-1999,Authorized personal only. That another docter was coming apparantely a therapist to come with an armed escort to give Jakkor now Subject Z-1999 to his captors a mental evaluation,and Jakkor was very excited for what was to come,as he tried to escape his hell in realm of comforting,and restless sleep.

[member="Sedge"]

 

[Sedge]

Location: Cell Block A
Equipment: Prisoner Jumpsuit, Socks, Five Spare Socks

All things considered, this week was probably going to take the prize for wierdest force-damned week in Sedge's life so far. He'd been between jobs, burning away his last few hundred credits at the Spacer's Union and just getting ready to start looking for another freighter in need of an extra hand when a pair of thugs had jumped behind a bar.

Or at least that was sort of how he remebered things, but it was hard to remember the last time he'd been taken by surprise by a wannabe tough. Whatever had happened, he's woken up in a sterile cell, bound and drugged and scared. A waste at the time, that had been just the beginning of the nightmare.

Eventually it had ended, and Sedge had crawled to his feet wearing the same jumpsuit he still had on in a place where the THINGS stayed out of his flesh and his head. For now that was enough.

For now he had to deal with the fact that the man seated across from him had been talking almost non-stop for hte last hour or so and seemed increasingly to believe that Sedge was either a close or confidant simply because he hadn't said anything. The man also stank, likely because he hadn't showered in several days. Or maybe he was some near-human alien who just smelled for a living.

"I mean, it's madness, how do they expect us to live," the man continued his most recent tirade. "Just strip naked and shower like animals?"

The former then. Beat the alternative at least, could still be fixed.

Sedge looked up, his first actual reaction during the past hour. It was evidently startling enough that the man sort of trailed off, looking surprised. "Yeah." Sedge said nonchalantly. "Like animals."

The man blinked, but quickly recovered. "Why the hell would we do that, endulge them like that?"

"Well..." Sedge interrupted casually, "You stay clean."

Silence reigned, Sedge's answer taking its time to settle in on the man's mind, either because he was simply that dense or had been in such shock that it simply hadn't occurred to him. The next few minutes passed in relative quiet, except for the nervous chatter that was noticable all across the rec hall. Others like Sedge and his companion, making friends or allies or simply picking up useful tools. Standard prison buisness really, though there was little about this place so far that made it seem like a standard prison.

A flash of movement caused Sedge to flinch into a defensive posture, but it was only the man across extending his hand with a small grin on his face. "Sorry to startle you, my name's Fero, glad to meet another normal person around here."

For a few moments, Sedge let the man's hand linger there, then he shrugged, took it, and shook. "Mhm," was his only reply. The man managed to look disheartened for only a fraction of a second before he launched into another speech.

[member="Cathul Thuku"]

 

[Cathul Thuku]

Location:Cell Block A, visiting prisoners in Solitary confinement.
Equipment: Socks, Jumpsuit, lightsaber

Cathul arrived onboard when the last therapist stationed aboard the Purgatory was dropped off and accepted to be the caretaker therapist of the Mandalore Psychology Clinic, where she used to practice. Presumably things went downhill after Jakkor's capture and the previous therapist, a Jawa non-Force-user, was found inadequate to treat Force-sensitive patients. They have searched far and wide for a Force-using therapist ever since Jakkor was captured. She jumped at the opportunity to expand her repertoire of what she can treat: while she may have had a few sociopaths for patients in the past, one of which is onboard the ship, sociopathy is a difficult condition to treat for NFU therapists. And she was en route to see a certain "Subject Z-1999" that she could readily feel his presence in the Force. A Tusken raider who was just administered an experimental drug aimed at Force-sensitives, which was touted to enhance a significant number of a Force-sensitive's major abilities. A certain [member="Jakkor Kess"] that was in a cell designed for solitary confinment, accompanied by a few armed guards equipped with electrostaffs and slugthrowers, knowing that, even without a lightsaber, Subject Z-1999 was Force-sensitive and still one to handle with care.

"This is where Subject Z-1999 is held, doctor"

"Hmmm... the medication appears to have made your nightmares worse. It appears that the Super Soldier Serum triggers stress reactions even when the patient appears to be sleeping. And makes the patient roll back and forth like a Colicoid in its sleep"

"Anxiolytics perhaps would help?"

"We haven't seen much of it, but using anxiolytic medication may prove to be a dangerous cocktail when used in conjunction with the Super Soldier Serum. But determining interactions between chemotherapies, unfortunately, is the sort of thing that requires experimentation to determine with any degree of accuracy. We cannot risk using both benzodiazepines or selective serotonin recapture inhibitors at once, even though we know these things work on Tusken for the relief of stress"

To many Humans, chemotherapy was most commonly associated with cancers; to Cathul, however, chemotherapy is more general and the oncology definition of a chemotherapy is included but by no means is restricted to it. To her, chemo includes any and all treatment of illnesses using chemical medications. But she had other patients to go see at later points: [member="Joran Del-Finn"], [member="Jaster Starfallen"], and so on, so forth. But for some reason the patient, not only didn't stand still, but he looks like he is wary of Cathul for some reason.

"Jakkor seems to have PTSD before he even entered that place, and this medicine does nothing to help him come to terms with his traumas"

[member="Thresh Sken"]

 

[Thresh Sken]

Location: Cell Block B
Equipment: Prisoner's Jumpsuit, Defel's Visor

Thank goodness I had my visor. There are a lot of different spectrum lights bouncing around here. Without my visor to filter them out, I would be blinded. It was interesting, though, they seemed to know that some species needed different spectrums to see, and so had their lights emit all different kinds of light. Thankfully, UV was one of them. Otherwise I would have been blind without light to see. But light just left me to ponder my accommodations, or lack thereof... Why am I here? I had no idea how long I had been in this... this cage. It was painful to think about. My hunter's pride was wounded, and it made me all the more angrier to be trapped in such a small space. Well, not so small. There was a human in the cage next to me who had been taken to who knows where. He was about average human height, so he must have been even more cramped than a Defel. When the guards had come to the cell next to mine, I had sat up and watched the whole scene with intense interest. The human had tried to escape, and had done something that caused the guards to fall backwards. I can only guess what happened next, because when the guards went into the cage they brought out the human unconscious. It gave me shivers. They had complete control over us, and I did not like that. I needed a plan to escape. It was difficult to think; we were given stuff that seemed to pass for food, because they expected us to eat it. And they never gave me enough water. I was always thirsty. When the security detail left with the human, I settled back into a corner to concentrate all my energy on coming up with a plan. I just needed to get out of this cage. I suppose if I were next in line to be taken... A plan started to come together in my mind.

What if I could slip out? I could use my ability to diffract light around myself to turn invisible, and if the guards came in to investigate I could just walk by them and no one would ever know I was there. And then I could explore this place to my heart's desire.

But that plan bordered on a lot of variables. Would I have enough energy to diffract light around myself? Could I hold it long enough? Would the guards even open my cell to investigate? Could the droids they bring see in UV light spectrums? Then I would be as obvious as any other being in a cell. Could I find food and water to keep myself going? I didn't know if this plan was possible. But the least I could do was try. I kept running it over in my head, trying to prepare for all the different scenarios as the room slowly, slowly, turned into the inside of my eyelids as I drifted off to sleep.

[member="Kevros Kovani"]

 

[Orion Darkstar]

Location: Hell / Sparring Chambers
Equipment: In Bio

The Purgatory continued forward as the churns of the metal pipes above whistled with a hiss. The mere thought of a place more daunting than the cell blocks within seemed impossible. However, upon the ship were even more monstrosities beyond their imaginations. The silent whispers from the lower floors made some captives go mad, others said, it was the souls of the Jedi brought to a hellish place. Regardless, what transpired below Cell Block C was worse than any operation or bloodied fight.

In fact, when they were brought here, they knew it was hell.

The quiet steam from above began to form tiny drops of water, the silence torn asunder by the constant repetitive splat that reached the pitch black floor. There was nothing, but at the same time, something in the engulfed darkness of this retched place. The only light that existed was a tiny, over hanging bulb swinging back and forth. The white marionette of the bulbs piercing light danced to and fro, trying to rupture the darkness, but to no avail.

Calm and patient he waited. The force was strong here, however, not because of the Jedi dragged from their feeble attempts to fight, no. What, no; whoever waited in the darkness was the reason for such a strong bond in the force. The swirling echoes of the dark side enraptured the entire room. Calling out to him he knew the next prisoner would arrive.

The slow creak of the tarnished metal door slightly opened, a ragged man with a long beard turning for the door as he was shoved in.

"Please....Please, I'll do what you want, anything...." The old ragged man cried.

Slamming the door in his face the two guards scoffed at his attempt to reason. He had already been chosen. The dark side didn't just pick from a flock without purpose, this old man was much more than a beggar. It seemed his time as a Jedi had come to an end, his will broken. The tight mechanical neck bomb, flashed in the distance of the endless darkness. He felt it like a torrent of waves crashing into him, the force told him he was no longer alone. The dark side froze him as he turned to face the empty room. The swinging light at the center enticing him to go near. Shaking and frightful for his life he hesitatingly stepped into the light.

"Xar Mane, apprentice of the Jedi Master, Grull Tukk...." Kevros' voice was like a snake, snapping at Xar like a viper.

Skiddish and startled from the cold voice he mustered a response.

"ye....yes....What....do you need? How...did..." Xar stuttered the frigid temperature of the room making it worse.

Like a deer in headlights he was cut off by Kevros, anger growing in his commanding voice.

"Enough! The codes...now. I will not be humiliated by some, weakling. The force has abandoned you, now tell me."

Xar backed up as the echoing boom of Kevros' voice ripped him from his complacency. Unsure of what Kevros truly wanted, he began to cry. The moment he began to sob a tall dark figure approached, stepping into the light a frightening golden mask peered down at him. The splattering consistency of the water behind him was cut off by the ignition of Kevros' lightsaber. The Vermilion blade illuminated the room, in one quick motion Xar felt nothing. His body felt cold and his eyes widened in fear, death was no stranger to this place. Tilting his head upwards Xar looked into the slits of the Kovani mask as he took his last breath.

***​

Location: Cell Block A, Window Shopping.
Equipment: Nice Dress, Political Corruption, Credits

The grime and filth that filled the halls made her disgusted, the least anyone could do was clean. Grinning she turned to one of the guards and looked out from the window. Her vibrant red dress showed her perfect hips, her red hair like a fiery flame of beauty. Vixen wasn't any normal woman, her seductive and lucrative actions made her more credits than she desired. Bored with the normality of the everyday rich life she came to the Purgatory. She knew the event was something a lot of people she worked with participated in.

Her deep scarlet eyes were scanning for anything or anyone that seemed fit for winnings. The fact that this was her first time, made her excited. The loose strands of her hair drifted to the floor as a sudden breeze crept through the corridors of the ominous lengthy bridge. Smiling, she pointed to a prisoner. Squinting she read the name engraved on the plaque.

Dax Fyre

"That one, I like him." She giggled as she watched the prisoner Dax in the shower halls.

Vixen bit her lip at the thought, what thought was only hers to know...

[member="Singularity"]

 

[Rocu]

ignore

 

[Singularity]

Location: Cell Block C
Equipment: Himself


The first time he'd been here inside the fighting ring, the droid had underestimated his opponent. He'd had little data to go off of last time, and had calculated that the organic he'd been forced to fight was of standard genetic makeup. His opponent had shown no signs of genetic alteration; no mutations of any kind. The enhanced speed and strength with which the male fought had surprised the droid and sent him flying. The damage to his frame; while minimal; had been difficult without his tools.

He wouldn't make the same mistake this time.

Singularity ducked the of the oncoming strike; narrowly avoiding getting hit. Taking a quick step in, he threw a punch of his own; connecting with his targets shoulder and sent the organic off balance past him. As the man fell towards the ground, the droid turned towards him in a blur, grabbed him by the back of his head and slammed it into the ground with as much velocity as he could muster.

Standing up, he observed the still form below him. Confirming the termination of his opponent, the droid turned away. He found no joy or satisfaction in ending another entity. Even if he was being forced to participate and fight for his own existence; he wouldn't draw out these fights for the ship guards amusement. He would remove his opponents as fast as possible.

The male was the fifth organic he'd deleted since being brought to "Purgatory", but only the second organic he'd been forced to delete here in Cell Block C.

The other three had been two droid technicians and a security guard.

Upon his arrival to the ship, the technicians had placed a Restraining bolt on him. They'd then tried to perform a memory wipe of his system. His security programming had protected him from both attempts at outside interference and the droid had quickly removed the restraining bolt and deleted them. His past experience on the planet Kal'Shebbol had instilled a strong hatred towards tampering with any of an entities base-coding against their will. He'd also grown to dislike the forced imprisonment of those that hadn't done anything worth such treatment.

Before he could successfully make his escape off the ship, the droid had been hit with multiple Ionized attacks. While his frame was resistant to such attacks, he was soon deactivated; but not before terminating one of the guards.

Upon his systems reactivation, his self-diagnostic noted various attempts of memory wipe and several attempts to hack him; all of which had failed. Singularity would have to thank his creators if he ever managed to find out who they were.

His diagnostic also informed him that after repeated failures at accessing his core, they had instead implanted ionized explosives throughout his frame.

According to the technician that had stood before him at the time; Both Singularity's uniqueness and his performance had intrigued enough people to warrant his continued existence. He'd been entered as a participant for an event. The explosives were there to both control him and force the droids participation. If he tampered with them or they were removed incorrectly they would activate and irreparably damage him.

He'd then been released and sent to Cell Block C for his first "Evaluation."


[member="Nate the Bounty Hunter"]

 

[Nate Phantoms]

Location: Cell block B, later C
Equipment: Black military fatigues.

Finally, after four whole days oh hearing a crazed doctor fathom over him, "the perfect specimen". They did it, they... mutilated him, using razor sharp scalpels to gut him like a fish, toss aside the "unnecessary parts", insert their own in replacement, and sew him back up. They tried to make him beg for mercy, tearing muscle and sinew in his arms, back, legs. When they were done, he looked like he lost 80 pounds, all of it pure muscle. But that what the enhancements where for, slow and steady tissue re-generation. It was excruciatingly painful, as sinew, muscle, and nerves all regrew, attaching them selves back together. "Yes, go ahead, scream little boy. I want to hear your agony." The "Doctor" sneered at his cringing test subject, enjoying the pain he inflicted.

With a shudder, he gasped for air, as he lost his voice after screaming for so long. It had been hours, and he finally felt..."normal". Standing, he looked at his reflection, sighing in relief as he saw that he was just as muscular as before, but less lean, now he looked like a heavy weight boxer, not a swimmer. That wasn't what he wanted, but alas, none of this was what he wanted.

The sound of foot steps and the door sliding open greeted his scowl. The doctor, flanked by two huge droids, entered the room. "Did you have fun? I did, hearing you cry for your mother, was...delicious." ​That man made Nate sick, and all he wanted to do was tear the man apart with his bare hands, as he wasn't restricted to only his brute strength, he could tap into the Force if need be. "Go kark your self, you senile prick." As he spoke, he stepped to the doctor, his voice low and dangerous, but filled with hatred. The droids raised their weapons, and he turned his withering glare on them. But the doctor just gave a cackle and waved them aside, turning and walking to the door, which opened with a hiss. ::"Move it":: A deep voice emitted from the droid as it pushed him forward. OH just wait, you will feel my wrath soon enough.

5 minutes after​

​

He was again shoved into his room, the door slamming shut behind him. As soon as it did, he tuned and threw all of his weight into a punch, leaving a crater in the door, and him with a broken hand. What goes around comes around. Then, like a slap in the face; he remembered the effects of his operations, and the broken bones in his hand reset them selves, the skin reforming over them. Screaming, he fell to his knees, watching his curse yet again unfold. "Ah! Fething... DAMMIT!" Finally, after the torture, he did the only logical thing, punch the wall again. Over and over again, until the far wall looked like the execution squad was there, taking feint shots. Passerby's stood in shock, awe, and terror as they watched his two shattered, dis-formed hands repair themselves. Oh, Lt. Authellia would not be happy to hear that one of her prisoners had not only tore up his room, but also punched through the window and the durasteel supports. How he missed his friends; one of them being [member="Bryce Bantam"], who was probably still in a stretcher, the list went on too long... [member="Jakkor Kess"], [member="Azula Feanor"], [member="Ria Misrani"], [member="Kimiko"] even that red haired [member="Joza Perl"], whom he didn't even really know, but he had saved her life, and that counted.

[member="Rocu"]

OOC:

Spoiler

[member="Jansal Corego"]
Was this too much? If so i can edit it.
Don't forget the Lt.

 

[Rocu]

Cell Block C
Equipment: Forced to fight in a loincloth

Rocu clutched the dying body of his opponent, feeling the struggle of life leave the warm body he held onto dearly. His right hand held a large swath of hair whilst the other was gripped firmly around the victim's throat. His legs were wrapped around the poor man's torso and his tail reached around and repeatedly stabbed the man in the heart, stomach, ribs and any other reachable section of body to bring the opponent down. His face was very much locked in grimacing focus, causing saliva to drool onto the man's neck when he wasn't whispering in the guy's ears.

"The flesh...The flesh of fallen angels! You and I are so alike. We're both dead inside!"

His Chiss eyes unblinkingly stared into the man's own eyes as a wicked grin lit up Rocu's face. He even forced the man to stare back by tilting his head painfully to the left. He continued to speak his fever dream thoughts aloud.

"The streams will cease to flow; the wind will cease to blow; the clouds will cease to fleet; the heart will cease to beat..."

His left hand slid up to seize the man's jaw, rather than the throat. His harder-than-durasteel tail came up and pierced through the prisoner's throat. He managed to nick himself a little with the end of his tail being so close to him, now. Then, he twisted with both hands to detach the head from the half-severed neck. He relinquished his legs' grip on the spasming, bleeding torso and stood up while clutching head in his right hand. The head dangled in his hand by the hair and Rocu stared into the criss crossed eyes of the previously traumatized (and living) man he had slain.

"...For all things must die." With that, he dropped the head to the ground and was subsequently dropped to the ground by security guard stun darts amidst the rumbling cheer of the virtual crowd of people. He awoke in a much more cognizant state than when he had been driven to murderous rage in the middle of that stimmed-out battle. He was lying limp atop the bed but, as consciousness regained control of his mind, his muscles tensed from the pain of his consequences, both mental and physical. The immediately noticed light did nothing to help him. Because of his "special status", they kept him cordoned off from the rest of the prison population except for when they stole him away occasionally for entertainment. The only connection to he and them was a thick pane of transparisteel.

The only solace that remained was that they had installed and given him the right to have a light switch in his room and jungle gym bars attached to the ceiling, in which to hang from. He used the switch to keep the lights off every chance he had. His tail lifted and flicked out at where he guessed the switch to be. After the third attempt, a clicking sound was simultaneously paired with sweet release from the harsh light.

Tomorrow was another day; another session in which to fight boredom and depression. The past was far behind him. The future didn't exist. That could all wait, though. Sleeping was foremost on his mind...and then, nothing played on the rewind as he drifted away.


[member="Jynx"]

 

[Jynx]

Location: Cell Block B
Equipment: Prisoner Jumpsuit

A blade in every inch of her body. Some were blades of pain, the others were of metal - expertly slicing through her muscles and flesh. A dissection, and clearly whoever was doing it liked to spent their anaesthetics budget elsewhere. Perhaps if he knew what species she belonged to he could have a had peek into the unexamined physiology of a Shi'ido. But years of projecting the human image had imprinted itself onto her mind - she did not even remember her original form.. if she had one to claim. What was to be observed under her skin was everything human - mediocre. Nothing seemed lacking nor exceptional and though her ability to retain the shapes of the organs and human-innards wavered, the telepathic projection did enough to cover in that aspect.
​"How disappointing. This one's no fun. She'll be the first to die."
And the numbness of the pain took her away from that place.

Location: Cell Block A, Isolation

The chamber was tiny - not that it mattered to her. Adjusting her body size underneath a thin fleshy facade was natural to the shapeshifter. At first it was screaming Big deal, lots of people scream when they die.. then it was a familiar scream - one of a memory. He was neither a guiding appearance nor a neutral manifestation but screaming. The worst part about him? The memories. Then he was gone again. And Jynx was back alone in the chamber. In a way she almost missed being so close to that memory - missing the screams in the silence. When the screams came again she would feel guilty for wishing to see the suffering of a loved one.

---​

One day left. Or was it still the first hour in. She could vaguely judge from the last meals she had, but one after the next her judgement became further from the truth. Now Jynx as lost in whatever time existed within the chamber. She counted until she reached the tens of thousands or perhaps counting down towards the inevitable return of the screaming.

[member="Jakkor Kess"]

 

[Dax Perl]

Location: Shower Hall
Equipment: Prison Jumpsuit
Dax punched another guard in the jaw and kicked a second in the chest as they tried to strip hik of his jumpsuit. He looked behind him as back kicked another. He glimpsed a door labeled "SHOWER HALL". There was no way he was going to become some guards bosh'tet! After a few more minutes of fighting the guards had finally stripped Dax of his atrocious looking jumpsuit, and after several more minutes, and the dishing out of a few broken jaws and ribs the guards threw Dax into the Shower Hall. He popped up off the floor ready to hit someone else but instead saw the door slam shut. He waited a couple moments waiting for something to happen. "If you wanted me to take a shower you coulda just asked! Not like I woulda said 'no'!" He yelled. Dax looked around a little before deciding he may as well clean up...it had been a while anyways. As Dax showered he felt another prescence...one that was watchig him. He turned to look through the windows and saw a woman in red...actually almost everything about her was red, her dress, her hair, even her eyes ([member="Kevros Kovani"]/Vixen)...then Dax had another thought...should he keep showering? Or should he...try to be somewhat decent...Dax finished quickly and looked around. Finally he yelled, "Well I'm done! You guys wanna come beat me up or something now?" No sooner had he said it a guard came in and deposited clothes at his feet. "Get dressed" said what Dax could only assume to be a Duros, judging by the shape of bis helmet. Dax complied, "Now what?" The guard produced some durasteel handcuffs and attempted to restrain Dax. "Fark no!" Dax tore off the guard's helmet and proceed to beat the poor being with it. A red flashing light appeared and several more guards charged through the door, tackling Dax to the ground.

---

Location: Cell Block B, Operating Room
Equipment: Prison Jumpsuit

Dax woke up to cold durasteel surrounding him. He lay on an operating table, his hands and feet bound to it. He would have struggled, had he the energy to do so. Last thing he remember was a swift boot to the head. He tried to gain his bearings. The only source of light came from directly above him. "Hello? Anyone here?" No reply. Instead a small being, dressed for surgery stepped into the light slowly. No words were spoken. "Uh hi? Yeah, uhm, mind telling me what I'm doing here?" No response. "Okay, that's cool, thanks." The surgeon shifted to and fro, making ready for whatever was to come. After a few minutes the surgeon turned around holding a rather large needle with a pistol like handle. Dax immediately began to struggle "You are not sticking me with that thing! Get it away from me! Get it-AH!" The gun let out a loud hiss and clank as it shot an odd metallic object into Dax's neck. "Oh...well that wasn't too b-" The screaming began. Whatever the surgeon had just injected into Dax felt as if it had begun to dig into his spine, attaching itself to him, igniting every nerve in his body and burning them out. The pain was brief. Dax, too dazed to move on his own, was strapped into a hoverchair, and carted off.