Scientific Fact (Honest!)

Subject: Scientific Fact (Honest!) Thu May 22, 2014 2:45 am

Time: 0335 hours
Date: 03-17

When Backlash arrived at STAR labs, there was a team waiting for her, and the first thing they did was gently accept the limp body of the silver haired youth from her arms. A sample was taken, and it was confirmed that her blood held the potentially pathogenic L-trait. She was borne away, then - decontamination could wait, for the girl at least. Backlash would get a full wash, and her own injuries cured and treated. Painful maybe, since they had to make certain she was not infected, but... A necessary precaution that needed to be taken.

Sophitia Michaels, pronounced braindead six years ago by Doctor Miles Vargo, pediatric neurologist, was dying again. Even as they hooked her into life support, Sophie was entering shock. Her body had endured so much punishment - it was finally shutting down, going toxic from the exposure to silver without the calories it needed to fight off the infection on her own. For a while, she was dreamless, suspended with her mind... Elsewhere. She had no strength to even form a coherent thought anymore. There was little to no hope for her survival.

Even so, the procedure was undertaken - bullets were pulled from her - twenty seven conventional bullets, the shards of another ten hollow-points in her skin and muscle tissues, and numerous bits of shrapnel. None of these made any difference in her condition, but the shard of one low-caliber silver bullet that had lodged in her chest cavity, the soft metal sheared against one rib. It had come centimeters from striking her heart, and it astounded the men how she drew a sudden, sharp breath... Even with her chest cavity opened as it was, once it was removed from her body.

But... Sophie did not regain consciousness. It was determined even so that the risk of exposure to the L-Trait and the girl herself should she awaken unexpectedly was too great - the rest of the procedure would be undertaken in a reinforced medical tube that had been designed for metahuman care and containment. Robotics would work their magic here. She was hooked in, and orders from on high demanded she be restrained in the tube, her hands prevented from moving, her legs bound as well, once sutures were applied to her wounds.

Once the healing process was complete, if she survived... Well, who knows. Why had she gone there? Why there? Why the Amici family? STAR Labs would have an answer.

Guest

The suffocating haze of a fever-dream plagued Katarzyna Dolinski’s subconsciousness as memories manifested in nightmarish scenes and damning regrets. Flashes of her life played like a fast-forwarded biopic as she lie imprisoned in her induced slumber, with visions of accidentally killing her mother, cutting off her own arm, and going into analeptic shock when a medical procedure went very, very wrong dancing around in her head like a series of taunts. As views of the past merged with the visions of the present, Backlash held her mother’s seizing, lifeless form in her arms as the daughter carefully tucked a strand of her mother’s damp hair behind her ear and whispered empty promises and false hopes that everything would be okay. But as she did so, the body began to twist and mutate into unnatural contortions, sprouting tufts of fur as bones broke and rearranged themselves. Now, a werewolf thrashed in the Katarzyna’s arms, clawing at her face and howling so loudly that it made her ears ring in protest. The supernatural beast tore through her shoulder, ripping flesh from muscle, muscle from bone, unleashing crimson floods from the deep gash that spilled onto the werewolf’s white fur. But before it could do more harm, Katarzyna thrust her prosthetic arm, now made of pure silver, into the beast’s chest cavity before gripping its heart. The beast faded from its grotesque form, now taking on a new body: that of a small girl, hair white and eyes that flickered from a vibrant violet colour to a muted, clouded blue. Choked words sputtered from the girl’s mouth, cloaked in blood and barely audible as her heart throbbed in her assailant’s shivering palm.

“It’s okay,” the girl whispered to Katarzyna, “we’re going to be okay. I’m on your side. We won.”

–––––

A piercing scream rang throughout the halls of S.T.A.R. Labs, shattering concentration and making staff members jump in surprise. The scream almost seemed electric, amplified, as if bursting with raw energy. Even though the scream’s owner lie trapped two floors under the facility, it reverberated through the ceilings and the walls, spreading like wildfire as it sought objects to destroy.

Katarzyna Dolinski, the Polish super-teen best known as Backlash, thrashed beneath her bonds that kept her strapped to a hospital bed. The IV that dripped precious life-saving fluids and sedating drugs was ripped from her flesh as raw energy pushed the needle from her skin, freeing her from its grasp of lethargy. The nightmare she had just fled still played over and over in her waking mind, shattering any sane thoughts and logical lines of reasoning. Her once-white hair and eyes turned crimson as the rage mutated into a hysterical frenzy when she realised that her prosthetic arm had been taken from her, leaving just the stump of her shoulder to twitch wildly.

“LET HER GO!” she screamed, “LET HER GO! YOU PROMISED, YOU PROMISED!” A team of medics burst into the room, a familiar face at the rear that sported a large bandage on her nose trailing behind. Dr. Brooklyn Gray didn’t need to be there––really, she shouldn’t be there––but her guilt of betraying Backlash made her gravitate to the cries of anguish. “SOPHIE!” Katarzyna howled, “SOPHIE! WHERE ARE YOU? PLEASE, TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE! PLEASE!” But before she could even hope for a reply, Backlash’s world was swallowed by a murky darkness as a new needle was thrust into her arm, cold and unforgiving, powerful and villainous.

“I’m sorry,” came a muffled voice. “But listen: she’s going to be okay, Katarzyna. You are going to be––”

Backlash succumbed to the blackness, witness to another litany of nightmares fueled by regret and horror and compassion for her fellow prisoner.

Subject: Re: Scientific Fact (Honest!) Sat May 24, 2014 4:46 am

Sophie jerked awake from a sea of featureless darkness, and struggled to take a breath - but none came. She couldn't feel breath nor the lips that parted to draw them, had no understanding of their existence... Couldn't see a thing. Was she... dead?

"No."

The thought would have made her gasp if she could have percieved doing so. But it came from a direction. She focused on it. There was... A man there, one-eyed, scarred and ancient, but not frail in his age. He was broad, sturdy, wearing dark blue that very nearly matched the black, his white hair an beard visible to her then. She felt him on her face, felt the heat of his presence. She could abruptly feel her face, her chest, her broken body... She was barely anything at all.

"No, you are not dead. That is the second time you've asked me that, my hound." he said, gentlest reproof in his voice, like a father speaking to his daughter. She was. At least, in a way.

Wodan. The thought had layers to it, and Sophie realized she had a second body, just adjacent to the first. One who struggled too to draw another breath. She reached out the hand she knew she had... And gripped a fistful of fur tight. Felt it from her hand and her coat, uncomfortable but so very welcome.

"You hunted well, my hound... I am not disappointed in you, for you are every inch as courageous and stalwart as I expect. You fight until you can do so no longer, and this is what I would ask of any of my children. Come to me." Wodan said, and she obediently moved to him through the dark.

It was farther than she'd anticipated... But four legs helped, and as she entered her presence, she was pulled into a single body again, made whole. Abruptly, she was in a great hall, cool and vibrant with song, laughter, scents, and presence that gave her shape, filled every inch of her form out, from the tip of her muzzle to the end of her tail. She felt... Complete, felt at once the beast and the girl in a way she did not know before. Sophie met Wodan's raised hand with her nose and moved under it, his touch completion itself. Companionably he pet her ears, and bid her sit before him, before his throne.

She did so, facing him, her eyes alert and ears perked high on her head, taking in his fatherly smile. No other hounds sat near him. She... was the only one who existed. The only hound of his hunt.

"Sophitia. Do you regret your choice? Do you regret being my child? Giving up your humanity, becoming my hound?" he said, and the words stabbed her heart with a thousand needles. Did she? The warmth fled her and she dipped her head, tilting it. The pains of her new life... they were inches away from her spirit, a breath from reality. She was indeed still alive... But... only barely. She could see through time, through space, her eyes alighting on her broken, bloody body on the operating table as white-aproned men pulled bullets from her flesh. She saw it... and her jaw set hard.

"You always have a choice, Sophitia... My dear girl. You never lost the power to choose." he said, an cupped her now human cheeks to look into her face. She gripped his fingers in her own tiny ones. He was so big... so warm. Her eyes stared into his own, and she shut them. She had to think. Did she? He waited for an age, patient and gentle, filling the air with his silence.

"I... Did lots of monstrous things to people..." she quaivered, and Wodan nodded.

"Yes. And then again, no. You are not one of those beasts, my hound... you are not the wolf that harasses the sheep, but the shepard's hound that chases those wolves away, that kills and destroys them on his behalf." he said patiently, and she blinked at him. He kissed her forehead.

"Amici... I didn't kill him... That...
that thing got in my way..." she said, bitterly. Wodan nodded again. "I... Who-"

"--saved you? I wouldn't be too hasty. Those people will try to preserve your life maybe... But save you is stretching a point." he said, and the annoyance was apparent in his voice. She could see then the faces of the women and men who worked on her battered and broken form, their apprehension, their fear. It was... Contemptible.

"Lambs that fear the shepard and run from his cane into the jaws of darkness. Real darkness - from which even STARs cannot escape." he murmured, his voice fallen into a deadly quiet. Visions of a doom flowed into her thoughts then, filled her vision and made her shake. Fire, lightning, and rains of hell from the sky... And the girl she'd seen before, her hair red once more, her eyes blazing with hate.

"Do you regret?" he again asked her, drawing her eyes to his face. "The choice is yours my hound. But if you choose to move on, there will be death and blood before the end... And the sheep will run into the rain, into the jaws of the Storm. Will you let them? Will you choose to die here?"

Sophie grit her jaw, and shook her head hard. "No. I want to be your hound. I regret not my choice." she said, and... Wodan jabbed a finger with a snarl against her breast!

---

The dream was pulled from her abruptly, like the lump of silver from her ribs. She GASPED out suddenly, sharply, and doctors jerked back from the operating table with oaths of surprise.

Sophie was conscious only a moment, all sensation hitting her suddenly between the eyes, her eyes wide open in a sudden tide of agony, then fell asleep once more. She didn't wake for some time... But when she did next, it was in a sea of green luminescence that felt... Less dreadful by a long margin. She felt so tired... but her ears twitched, and she lifted her heavy head to gaze dully outward.

---

A young man with unkempt red hair, a trimmed goatee and sharp green eyes sat with his feet up, a slice of pizza in his hand as he reclined in place, headphones about his neck. Doctor Jason Sterling was one of the team who'd worked on the wolfgirl as people were calling her around the water cooler. Sophie or something - Backlash came in with her. After twelve hours on the table, he'd done what he could for her and even now was amazed that she'd survived the procedure. %#!@, strange things right? He was just there six hours later to monitor her condition, make sure there were no problems. He was her primary now - if she died from a fizzle, it'd be his ass. So here he was. She wouldn't wake. He was almost certain of that.

So when there was a beep from the alpha brainwave monitor, he barely paid it any attention. There was another... Then another... Then a steady pulse. He looked up - was his cellphone dying? Then... Jerked out of his chair, dropping his magazine and pizza in one jerk of motion! It couldn't be! She was... Conscious?! Holy crap!

"... Holy crap." he diagnosed his machines, reset once or twice but nothing changed. She was conscious. He stood, and pushed up his glasses to look out into the gloom cast into the facility by the glowing green tube, and... Met a pair of dull grey eyes, staring right back. He froze. She stared. Then, he pressed a button on his console. In the room one pane of thick armorglass and a couple steel doors away, and in the girl's ear - a headphone maybe? she wasn't sure - came his voice, a reedy, somewhat nasal tenor brimming with youth,
A bit of nervous, and elemental keen.

"Hey, how are you feeling? Want some music or something?" he offered, and felt an idiot. But, Sophie blinked at him. She tried to speak, but all that came out was a little croak, then a torrent of coughing that felt like it would suffocate her, bubbles billowing into the tank. Doctor Sterling looked down at her vitals, and then up at her again, and waited patiently for her to resume normal breathing. Gods her chest hurt so bad... A bit of blood floated in the tank, but her vitals were recovering, well within acceptable parameters. Her lungs had been pierced, she knew. She gave up talking.

Sterling though, he caught the nod she gave in return, and smiled, and plugged his ipod into the speakers, playing, by chance, an old song that Sophie knew. Her mother used to love it - sang it to her long ago, and Sophie drank the old tune in. Breathed in each puff of air that came, and wrestled with pain and darkness that flit in the corners of her vision. She liked the good doctor's taste in music.

Guest

The day that Dr. Wesley Randell suggested another memory-wipe to his colleagues was the day that Brooklyn Gray decided she needed to take matters into her own hands. It had only been two days since both the werewolf and the metahuman had been confined, brought for the same reason but kept for entirely different ones. The werewolf––or rather, the girl called ‘Sophie’––had been kept for research, for study. She was a creature of the night that few humans had ever been able to behold, let alone survive. A treasure trove of new information and insight into the anatomy of supernatural creatures, but more specifically, shape-shifting creatures. For a metahuman to have the ability to alter their appearance had captivated scientists in numerous fields for ages, but doing so willingly versus doing so involuntarily was a more intricate, detail-oriented matter. Shifting with no control had to do more with primal instinct and ageless methods of defense than the modern-day standard where shifting was more mental, attack-based than the former. Boasting a werewolf amongst your collection of scientific artifacts demanded notoriety, respect, and above all––jealousy. People of all classes and species and motives would kill to have their own werewolf. Finding present-day werewolves was as difficult as proving that Bigfoot or Nessie or the Yeti existed. Even in this new era of super-beings, some things still held their own appeal and desirability.

And thanks to the troublesome meta-human known as ‘Backlash’––a girl whose destiny had been locked with that of S.T.A.R. Labs the day her tan skin was scorched black and her youthful blue eyes bleached white––a werewolf was S.T.A.R.’s to boast.

–––––

“Katarzynaaaaaa...” came a distant voice, seeping into Backlash’s subconscious as it tried to coax her from its clutches. “Katarzynaaaaaaaaaa! Wake up, kiddo. It’s a big day today! Your father has something special to show you.” A pause, a lovely silence. Then, “BACKLASH!”

Katarzyna Dolinski rocketed up to sitting position, gasping for air and screwing her white eyes shut as an unforgiving flood of light poured into them. “Urgh!” the girl practically hissed as she used her arm to shield herself from the garish brightness. “I’m awake, I’m awake, mom! Jus’ turn off that light!” Even with her eyelids shut, Backlash sighed with relief when she sensed that the light had been dimmed. But when she allowed herself to see again, a dread as dark as lightless-ness sank into her bones and weighed down her heart. She wasn’t at home, with her mom, back in Poland. It wasn’t the day the Katarzyna was allowed to help her father work on his next big invention; she had wakened from a half-dream, three years later, her parents dead, in S.T.A.R. Labs. Blood crept into her cheeks as embarrassment and reality gripped her tightly and the faintest beginnings of tears threatened to escape her eyes. She quickly dispelled the tears and the blush, setting her features to a hardened, angered expression. The low-lighting danced across her sharp cheekbones and jawline, casting skeletal shadows that made her look all-the-more-menacing.

“Hey,” said a soft voice, “I'm so relieved to see that you're awake. I was getting really wor––”

“Gray,” Backlash interrupted, “you have five seconds before I break more than just your nose.” She meant it, especially because she wasn’t tethered down like some rabid dog anymore. Katarzyna’s familiarity and comfort with violence stocked the notion with truth and solid threat. But even if she wanted to, Backlash was currently weak as a kitten. Her head ached, her shoulder throbbed, and she had no metal arm or lightning whips to make that threat a fact.

And Gray knew that, but she left out of respect anyway. In her place came a different doctor, one who was rather advanced in age but had a sharpness about him that made up for it. On his nose rested a pair of bifocals, and he carried what appeared to be a briefcase, but was too oddly-shaped to be one. Backlash noticed it at once, and couldn’t help but give away her curiosity with the way she stared at it.

“You brought me a present or something?” she remarked, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Or do I have to give something in exchange? I bet you want to know more about your latest catch.”

Subject: Re: Scientific Fact (Honest!) Tue May 27, 2014 5:06 am

During the time Sophie spent in his care, Doctor Sterling, as he had called himself, had been... Well, a kind sort of host. He wasn't rude, he talked to her even though she couldn't speak back for the moment (for reasons she wasn't entirely clear about), and generally was... Well, he was pleasant. She listened to him, nodded her head at him each time he gave his customary greeting.

"Hello sunshine!" he would say, and she felt a smile tug at her lips. It was the start of her second day in... Captivity? The tube was... Apart from the music he played, it was silent. When he wasn't in, no music filtered in, no sound at all. So in the break from the silence his cheerful greeting was met with one of her own. He moved around in that little armored office, hanging up his coat and doing a few little chores as he checked the computers inside, wrote things down, and made ready to do... whatever it was he did day-in, day-out.

But this time, he didn't hook up music in the chamber. He barely looked at her, apparently engrossed in whatever it was he was doing in there. Sophie felt a strange oddness about the situation, and, frustrated, she squirmed a bit. Why was he so quiet? It wasn't like him. But... he did eventually look up, and almost spoke before other men entered the room behind him. They were stern types - an older doctor, grey-haired and decidedly female, a man in what had to be a military uniform of some kind, his braid and rank obscure to the young shewolf, and a short-haired man in a suit that looked expensive, a briefcase in hand, that simply screamed out a distinct... lawyeryness field.

They had words - the four of them. Doctor Sterling looked... Angry, tense, frustrated in a way that was quite uncharacteristic of him. The uniformed man was quiet, just crossed his arms sullenly and spoke occasionally - quietly, his chest didn't heave. It was the other doctor and the lawyer who did the bulk of the... calm talking. Measured tones - gentle reproof, Sophie guessed. The lawyer handed Sterling a piece of paper, and it was received with incandescent red glowing fury that passed right through the other side of shouting... and into a kind of peaceful valley on the other side. He didn't shout. He just... Calmly handed the paper back, nodded, and sat at his station.

It was at this point that the other doctor sat too at a chair beside Sterling, and the military man leaned off the wall. He loomed over the red-headed Sterling, and apparently spoke calmly to him. The man Sophie felt she was growing to know shut his eyes, and shook his head. The young werewolf knew well what fear looked like... And seeing it in that face made her stomach roil with anger.

Sterling... was being put in fear. They were threatening him. With what, Sophie could only guess... but it was enough to make the good doctor blanche and pale like a sucked ice lolly. Sophie clenched her jaw hard, and the sound of her teeth grinding was the only sound she could hear amidst the bong~ bong~ in her ears from the liquid occluding them. The older doctor seemed to react to the noise, and spoke to the uniformed man, who promptly looked up, met Sophie's eyes, and saw the angry wolf inside of her... glaring right back.

He leaned closer to Sterling's ear... And pointed out, at her. The other two looked... And saw. It was at this point that Sterling won some brownie points. His cup of coffee was pulled from the sill of the armored window... And set on the transmission switch into her tube.

"I don't care what oath you took, that thing is a monster. It killed and ate - ATE - like thirty men, Sterling. Your hippocratic oath simply doesn't apply to man-eating horrors from beyond the pale, you stupid kid. She would kill you at the first chance she got... And besides - you know as well as I do that these tests will do no lasting harm." he said, calmly.

Sterling held her gaze. "We were told - *I* was told to treat her well. Cutting her open, breaking her bones, that's NOT KIND, and I don't care what you say - she's a person, monster or no. This is very, very wrong. Look at her, General - fukkin' look! See past all the crap - she's a kid, no older than your daughter---" and it was at this point the general hit him. Hard, with a roar of fury that came so suddenly Sophie was actually a tiny bit impressed. No thought could have been involved. Wham, bam, instant knockout. Even so, Sophie snarled and jerked against her restraints making the whole tube fill with a loud RAKK noise as bolts jumped against steel, bubbles cascading up from her mask. The old doctor looked up suddenly, and Sophie could hear a steady beeping getting faster.

"Stress levels elevated. Her waveform patterns are spiking - and there's a containment balance endangered!" she said, a note of panic in her voice.

The general drew himself up, looking startled, and met Sophie's eyes again. Suddenly... she could see how weak he was. He... was a bully. A man with power, but very little spine, who would recoil from an assault on strength, but attack weakness without mercy. The expression on her face made it very clear who was the weaker around here, who was the predator and who was the damp crunchy squeak in these parts... And she heard a tiny gasp ending in a squeak that was darkly, wonderfully satisfying.

Sophie jerked in her bonds again, and felt another inch of give, a creak filling the tube. They hadn't even planned for her being awake enough to struggle. The motion made the machine shudder harder, and a hairline fracture appeared in the glass of her tube. She snarled in another cloud of bubbles.

That... was when something filled her blood with a dull grey sort of feeling... like she'd been awake for too many hours and was only now feeling it. She felt it... but only felt angrier, at herself and the uniformed coward before her.

"Mephobarbital, 100mg administered."

She said. Sophie jerked again, even harder than before. The girl growled harder and more bubbles erupted from her mask.

"I-its not enough... Upping the dosage...!" she said, her voice giving Sophie the impression that she rarely felt the emotion, conveyed her fear. Sophie felt the heaviness grow, and her vision swim... But she only roared her defiance, and jerked again. Blood escaped her lips and the mask, but the glass was cracking up now before her eyes. She almost felt she was, too - it hurt so much...

"200mg!" she said, and Sophie recoiled as if she'd been struck with a lead weight. The anger abruptly evaporated... And... her vision swirled with color and the sounds changed, seemed... distorted somehow. Sophie saw hands reaching up through the chaos... and the floor. She saw motes of light dance around the general's head as a distant male voice... (Who was it?) spoke up.

"S-stop... You'll kill her... She's od'ing, Slate - s-stop..." Sterling... Yeah, sterling! He said that. What a nice man... so kind... and musicy. He got up, and gently took the older scientist's hand. She was shaking like a leaf, eyes huge. The general adjusted his jacket.

"Keep that damn animal subdued, Slate, Sterling, or so help me god, I'll have your asses on... silver plates. Do the tests. Do them yesterday. If I gotta come down here and do them myself, You'll regret it, eggheads." he said, bellowing to cover his own nerves. He trained his gaze on Sterling and sneered.

"And I know that the animal will." he purred. Like a kitty. Sophie saw him as a big, schmultzy tom cat in his uniform, and struggled to breathe for the sudden drugged giggle that threatened to choke her.

Sterling looked sullen, Slate merely nodded, and once the brass and his lawyer had left and Sterling's new egg from the blow to his head had been seen to...

... Pain happened.

The details and nature of that pain... I will not burden you with. But its purpose was clear enough. Her endurance was a thing of fascination. She'd shrugged off bullets and shrapnel, she'd endured terrible punishments at the hands of the outfit and as they tested the bounds of her abilities, Sophie fought not to scream. Of the two... the wrath of the mobsters was the gentler. At least their actions were acts of wrath, of passion. These... were acts of... interest. Cold... and sterile as a surgical knife, and about as friendly.

Guest

ooc: The { } I use indicate when someone is speaking in Polish. c: Also, A+ for creativity here and pretty much relying on dialogue. x:
bic:

{ I brought you something to tide you over until you are done having your hissy fit, } he began, speaking in perfect Polish with just a hint of mischief in it. Hearing her native tongue brightened Backlash up right away, revealing an almost child-like excitement once it registered in her brain.

{ You’re Polish? } she asked, fluent as ever.

{ No, } replied the man, { I’m Czech, but I speak Polish and have lived there for a while. I was all S.T.A.R. could wrangle after they had wrangled you. I think that they think you’ll be more open and trusting to someone who spoke your language. }

{ And what do you think? }

{ I think that your employer is getting desperate for answers, } he replied truthfully. { They want to know why you were at a well-known Italian mob boss’s mansion, mingling with gelatinous giants and creatures that you thought were nothing more than superstition. }

“Hmph,” Backlash grunted. { Do you think I’m going to give you an answer just because you can speak Polish? }

{ No, but I think you want to tell someone. I imagine it’s a great tale, one that would be a shame to not share with somebody, } he continued, { and I imagine you don’t want to share it with the nice woman whose nose you broke or the other physicians whom you terrorised earlier. Am I wrong? }

Backlash mulled over his point for a while, then shrugged, seemingly bored and without any sliver of cooperation.

{ Alright, } the man said after a short while, letting out a little sigh as he did so. { I'll give you some incentive: if you tell me, I will take you to see your friend. }

{ I was meeting with the Amici family in order to see an arms deal through. The werewolf interrupted, she killed a lot of people––but they weren’t very nice men and completely incompetent anyway––and I tried to kill her because, you know, I wanted to protect my investments. But then the head guy––Giuseppe Amici––turned out to be a disgusting bastard, so I practically wrapped him up in a nice to-go bag for the werewolf. But then that giant goo piece of work interrupted us, and I think it tried to kill the werewolf or something. I don’t really know; I was too busy trying to recover from having a stone pillar nearly hit me. Then Gray interrupted me and got all bitchy like she normally does, I went after the goo thing after saying something kick-ass to Amici before leaving him to bleed out and die, and that’s when... that’s when I realised that there was a girl somewhere in that werewolf body, and Gray shot her. Twice. You know the rest. }

“Yes, I do,” the Czech man said, now speaking in English. “Thank you for your cooperation, Backlash.” Wordlessly and unceremoniously, he opened his briefcase-like carrier and took out a standard-issue prosthetic arm. Bland and cheap and tan in colour, he took Backlash’s surprise and silence as an opportunity to attach it as quickly as possible, before she could think to fight it.

“Is... is this some kind of joke?” Backlash stammered. “I want my real arm back.”

“We aren’t jellyfish. Our real limbs don’t grow back.”

“You know what I mean! This thing...” she stared at the hunk of plastic as if it was some sort of abomination, “it’s... it’s not meant for me. Are you blind? I understand not giving back my metal prosthetic because you know I’d kill someone using it, but this? Tan!? Have you seen me? Do you even have eyes? My skin is the colour of pitch. It’s black. My skin hasn’t been that colour for over a year now. Who the #%!$ do you think you’re dealing with, jerk? Who the @!*# do you think you are?”

“I do know who you are, and I'm not blind. Perhaps you should take into the fact that prosthetic manufacturers usually don't make products that have a literal black skin tone. That's just what you'll have to deal with for now. It's fully functional. And as to 'who the @!*# I think I am, my name is Dr. Lukaš Kysely. I’m a nobody,” he replied in a frustratingly nonchalant tone. “I’m just a man who can speak Polish and pry secrets out of you when no-one else could.”

Katarzyna was to stunned to react. It was true. She had just word-vomitted everything for this guy.

“You really love that creature, don’t you?” he questioned, disbelief evident on his old features. “That... that thing? Even after it nearly tore off your other shoulder and killed you? It’s a beast, girl. Its primary function is to kill things––it killed over thirty men. It is a monster!”

“Sophie,” Backlash corrected. “Her name is Sophie. And I swear to god, if you ever call her an ‘it’ or a ‘monster’ again, I will make you wish you were one of those fifty men. Vyser si voko, hovnožroute,” she concluded, the Czech curse words laced with a familiar poison. “Now take me to Sophie, or you’ll be needing a prosthetic arm of your own.”

Subject: Re: Scientific Fact (Honest!) Wed May 28, 2014 12:27 pm

Sophie came to her senses some time later. At a certain point, the mind... just... cries out 'no more' and leaves the body behind, goes somewhere else, wanders to more pleasant places. She had no recollection of it happening... But as she looked down over herself, she could see her chest closing. Ever look at yourself and see... Your own beating heart? It was... well, it was horrifying, but it wasn't painful, as such. Even as she watched, her sternum closed over bone-first, each pulse of her heart making the injury fade. It was fascinating - she couldn't tear her eyes away as her breast reformed, as pale skin reshaped itself from a mangled mess to something whole.

Her left hand was numb. It registered to her some time later, once she was remade. She gazed down in its direction... And saw something like a melted wax sculpture, pushing slowly from a burnt stump, glistening. She furrowed her brow. What had they done? What had they done to her body? She looked up at the control room, but it was dark. The tube she'd damaged wasn't - it was whole again. Maybe while she was out they changed the glass? No matter. She'd break it again. Sophie jerked hard in the liquid tube, and felt something freezing hot press against her neck with a suddenness that made her gasp desperately and lock up, eyes wide! She couldn't see what it was, and as she reached up, another sharp shock of cold fire made her look at her good hand. A metal manacle... A thick doughnut of metal, too thick, and bound up with chain. Her other, reforming hand was similarly bound... But a quick inspection revealed her legs to have something similar about her ankles.

Sophie let out a thick sigh, a cascade of bubbles escaping her breathing mask, staring upward. She really, really didn't see a way she could get out of this. They were using silver to help restrain her. Just her brief exposures to it in the manacles and collar left her kitten weak and shaky. Better to... better to get her bearings. She felt stupid tears well in her eyes... She should be angry, not... what, afraid? She should be FURIOUS, and... and...

Sophitia hung her head. The drug was yet wearing off in her system, and with its fading came a dull sickly ache that permeated her bones. She was hungry... Exhausted, and sore beyond sore. The shewolf just wanted to curl into a ball, to sleep, to... what? Die? The thought came cold and clear as ice, inside her. She looked inward, and the wolf looked back, accused with her violet eyes.

Sophitia shook her head, and fought the tears that rushed her eyes. She was just scared and hurt, she wanted to sleep, to eat one of those burgers made by that guy in a bear suit again, wanted to breathe fresh air that didn't smell of filters and sterility. She jerked in her bonds again and yelped out as the bonds responded to the motion. Tears broke free like a levee bursting, and flowed from her in wracking sobs, clear tears mingling with the green metrial fluid of the tube... But not mixing, swirling into the dark goo. She didn't feel powerful now. The mighty werewolf felt... raped. Raped of her strength, of her freedom, her ability to choose her own destiny.

So when the rap-tap came to the outside of her tank, Sophie barely noticed. She looked up, eyes red with tears... and saw Sterling. He pressed his palms to the glass, and stared directly into her face, searching her eyes, his own green ones full of concern. She blinked slowly at him... and he blinked back at her, jaw setting hard. He raised a piece of paper to press it to the face of the tube, face solemn.

They can't drug you now.

the note said. Sophie BLINKED, and felt a flutter of hope form in her breast. He must have seen it, and smiled. What was being done to her was wrong. Up until today, Sterling would never have considered his colleagues capable of this madness. This wasn't a thing in a tube. This was a person. Cursed, maybe... dangerous, certainly, but a cursed dangerous PERSON, a girl no older than his youngest sister. They should be trying to help her.

So that's what he intended to do. He rapped on her glass again, and nodded to her. She nodded in return, and Doctor Sterling strode away and out of vision, lights flicking on in the armored office. Sophie saw him clearly in the room as he sat... Pulled out his Ipod, and plugged it in.

Sophie calmed as music flowed, her tears abating. Sterling was helping her. He was looking out for her. She felt a smile play across her lips... And watched as her hand finished reforming, and her body healed itself.

For his part, Sterling fingered his glock 9 in the holster on his shoulder. Protocol be damned - he was a doctor, not a mad scientist. That spineless coward would never lay a finger on him again. And soon... Backlash would be here. He'd heard a lot about her... He could but hope that what he'd heard was true.

Guest

“Backlash,” Brooklyn Gray began, “I can get you in to see the were––I mean, to see Sophie. You have to agree to some conditions, though. Otherwise, you won’t get a mile within her radius.”

It had been another two days, and after eighteen hours straight of going hysterical and having a myriad of seizures as her body tried to rid itself of the electrical energy that still surged through her veins, more threats than she had given in a lifetime, and after using every single curse word in the Polish dictionary––including the thirty-one variations of the word “b*tch”––she had given up on fighting. Her rages and lack of outlets to channel that raw energy that wracked her body with nearly lethal doses of electricity had caused her eyes to permanently flicker from crimson to white and crimson again nearly every time she blinked. Her bright-white hair had streaks of red in it that never faded, and her skin had darkened and lost its metallic sheen. Everything in the room that contained even a minuscule trace of metal had been replaced with plastic and everything else that suppressed all electrical charges. A specialised needle had been made just for her, and now lay lodged into inner crevice of her arm, feeding her a sedative that calmed her seizures and her mind. And for once, Backlash didn’t care. Or rather, she didn’t have the energy to care. Not cooperating didn’t get her any closer to Sophie, and neither did anything else she had tried. So, cooperation it was .

“Shoot, doc,” Backlash muttered, still drowsy but cognitive enough to make cohesive statements, “lay ‘em on me.”

There was a pause from Gray, and she wore an expression that clearly meant she was dubious of Katarzyna’s sudden compliance. Nevertheless, she didn’t think it was the best idea to question this bizarrely pleasant behaviour. “First, no whips. You can’t have your ‘real’ arm, either, and you’ll have to take out your piercings, too.”

Something told Backlash she ought to be more distraught about not being allowed to carry the things that made her feel complete, but her ‘copious’ amounts of piercings had never been removed––her eyebrow piercing, the thirteen piercings she had in her left ear, the seven she had in her right ear, her bellybutton piercing, nose piercing, and snakebite piercings. “They’re not even made of pure metal. Even I have some of those special days. One time, I woke up and my arm was stuck to my––”

“No piercings,” Gray interrupted, “that’s final.”

“Fine,” Katarzyna grumbled. “But if any of them close up or I get an infection, you pay for the new piercings and any disinfectant I might need.”

–––––

About five hours later, Backlash had convinced Wesley Randell to get her some black spray-paint for her new, clunky prosthetic. But it looked awful; even though Randell had offered to do the paint job, she refused and insisted she could do it herself. Eventually, she opted to go with no prosthetic at all. She would get stares, maybe even juvenile whispers, but part of her got off on the attention she reaped as she walked the hallways, sporting a pair of leather skinny jeans and a plain black t-shirt that had the words, “I’m having a %#!@ day, thanks.” printed on it in large letters. Every single pair of shoes she owned had metal in them, whether it be in the straps or buckles or spikes, and the generic hospital socks she had been offered were absolutely ugly. So, she walked barefoot despite everyone’s protests. As she Backlash passed everyone by, she smirked something fierce and made the sarcastic, sassy comment and retort every so often. But this spunk was just a facade; Katarzyna had never felt so vulnerable and exposed in her entire life. Her insides felt like they were being constricted, and she had a mighty high fever that plagued her brain, making her already lethargic thought process be even more muddied and fuzzy. With doctors Gray, Randell, and Kysely as her escorts, they passed through countless checkpoints and security measures and all that fun, super-paranoid stuff. After what seemed like hours but only lasted about fifteen minutes, they arrived at the door to Sophie’s cell. Just seeing the amount of guards the stood post at the entrance and the ridiculous number of steel reinforcements and other parameters made her stomach churn and made her second-guess whether she should really go through with this or not. But it was too late for that; she was so close. She was so, so close to what she had coveted most the moment she lost it. Her. Sophie.

A hydraulic hiss and the unmistakable sound of dozens of automated locks greeted the small party. Backlash held her head up a little higher, donned her fiercest poker face, and stepped into the garishly-lit room. It took her eyes a few seconds to adjust, and when they finally did, she wished they hadn’t.

There she was. Sophie. Her Sophie. No, not hers––Kat just felt responsible for her current situation. And in all fairness, it was at least partially her fault; had she not even been at the Amici mansion, the changes of S.T.A.R. detecting a werewolf would have been extremely low. And if Backlash had not been so blinded by the thrill of fighting a creature she didn’t believe existed and the greed that was responsible for her ties to such a powerful and infamous crime family, she might have been able to see past Giuseppe’s complete incompetence, disgusting behaviour, and morals that made Backlash’s appear pure as Jesus Christ’s.

Not being able to face her demons, Backlash focused her attention on the young man with unkempt red hair, a trimmed goatee, and sharp green eyes that stood before her. He reminded her of Neil Gaiman’s interpretation of the Norse God of Mischief, Loki Laufeyson, in an issue of Sandman. She distrusted him immediately.

“Hey,” she mumbled, visibly fighting her hatred and insecurities, her doubts of whether she should be there or not, but not doing a very good job at it. “I’m sure you know who I am, so I don't think an introduction is needed.” She outstretched her human arm amicably. “I believe we have someone on common. She’s the one in your sci-fi alien tube over there. Nice mix of Ridley Scott and Teen Wolf you've got going here.”

Subject: Re: Scientific Fact (Honest!) Sat May 31, 2014 9:51 am

The young doctor that met Backlash, Gray, Rendell, and Kysley gave Backlash a sleepless, but nevertheless fiery grin. Bags were under his eyes, and the work space... had been lived in - very obviously. He looked unshaven, somewhat unkempt, and maybe a bit unwashed, but how much damage could happen in two days? He also had a huge bruise on his left cheek, a black eye, and... a police style gun holster, loaded. Maybe backlash would notice, maybe not - but the holster's leather restraining strap was unbuttoned, and looked worn. Even so, he offered his hand to the polish teen, and pointedly did not look at the other three for the time being. He'd deal with them later.

"You like it? I thought it was more bond villain than Ridley Scott, but there's no accounting for taste I guess." he said with dry humor."It's like she's dangerous or something." he said, with cheerful dryness. And... a glare at the other three, gratis. Backlash... wasn't the only one who felt the way she did. Music played in the background, soft, but... there - hooked into the comm system. "But who am I to question policy? I like to look at it this way - she's in a sterile environment at least, and it's doing wonders for her recovery." he said, never breaking eye contact from the three doctors. It was like he wasn't actually scared of Backlash - it was Gray and the others he was wary of, them he did not trust.

He didn't turn - He backed back into the room, breaking eye contact only once he was inside and cleared off a chair for Backlash and the doctors. The console was very obviously locked down, the armored glass and steel walls overlooking Sophie's tube, the lights in the room and in the tube itself the only ones visible in the entire area.

Sophie's ears flicked as the huge, heavy door of the observation chamber shut behind the doctors and Backlash, and she looked up to see... the girl from before. The one who had attacked her... and... the one who fought the golem, stopped it. Even through the muddle of rage, she didn't forget. Odd.

No, not odd - that was just right. It was just that... she'd never before remembered with such clarity what she'd done when transformed in the moonlight. It was, she knew, because Backlash had impressed her beast side as well as her human side. It wasn't the lashes or the powers that did it... cheap tricks as far as the beast was concerned. It was... the rage. It was the determination - the red in her eyes and hair, the sheer animal vitality that radiated from her that impressed her.

A shard of that radiated from Sterling as he said, quite against policy "Want to talk to her, Backlash? I can connect you. She can't talk back - there's no speaker in her mask because it's regulation that we can't hear her, but she'll hear you, just fine." he said, arms loose at his sides as he stood in front of the door, staring at Gray, Rendell, and Kysley. There was the air about him of someone who had all the aces in hand now as he slid the bolts home on the door, locking it.

"So, Gray, when did we become bond villains?" he said. He'd wanted to get her and Rendell in here for some time. "I mean, pulling bullets out of someone, sewing up a leg, looking after a blown in chest cavity... that's my job, isn't it? Since when was it my job to play god? Since when was the military involved? Since when can I, my family, be threatened with legal action and death if I do not... let me see, how did they word it..." he tapped his chin theatrically, then raise his finger, eyes bright! Rendell tried to interrupt him at this point, but Doctor Sterling raised his voice nearly to a bellow to supercede him.

"Oh! Right! Extensively test her regenerative abilities, and remove a hand for, ahem, classified reasons? Did you know that they had Slate crack her open like a melon to see how a forced transformation affects her internal organs?" he asked brightly, and at this point, he drew the glock 9mm in the holster, his eyes grim. He was shaking with rage now, and he was an inch from violence - it was in every line of his body.

There was a brief, shocked silence. He glanced between Katarzyna and gray a bit.

"Or didn't you tell her that? I'm sorry, have I made some family discord? Oh I do apologize. But the buck stops here." and the sound of the slide on his pistol's click-clack was terribly loud. "No more lies. No more secrets. This is a human life we're talking about. I can NOT believe I am the only one apart from the polish antiheroine over here who can see that!"

Guest

ooc: Words, words, words, Polish words, words, words, important but copious words.
bic:

Backlash didn’t take the chair, opting to stand. She didn’t like sitting down; it made her feel... well, looked down upon, and at a disadvantage. As Gray, Randell, and Kysely took their seats, she remained standing, posture a little off-centered, but that’s what having no arm to balance you out did. Her position in contrast to the quartet of doctors lent her a sense of superiority and even a bit of pride. Little things like this––power plays of sorts––were the only things that kept her going at this low point in her life. Plus, her vantage point made it easy for her to keep an eye on all the doctors as well as maintain an inconspicuous line of sight with Sophie.

But things took an unexpected turn when the red-haired doctor suddenly drew his gun after ranting on. Instinctively and with a precision that should not be even possible for someone still under the influence of rather powerful sedatives, Backlash struck forward and punched the red-haired man right in the nose. She was fuming, absolutely livid, as she stood over him and flexed her fingers to counter-act the pain of hitting someone so hard. Gray and Randell shot up from their seats immediately and with such synchronization that it was comical, but stopped immediately when Kysely yelped, “Stop! She’s got his gun!”

And sure enough, Backlash had swiped the young, tired doctor’s gun just microseconds after her initial attack. She disabled the safety and stuck it straight in between his eyes, pushing it into the centre of the already-purpling bruise. “Say that again, creep!” she challenged, "Tell me what they did to her again, so I can know what to do to you, you self-righteous little bastard. You speak as if you’re at no fault. But who stood by when they did that? Who didn’t fight, but instead mewled like a kitten and ran off?!”

Dr. Gray had gone into action-mode, too. She drew her firearm, holding it with a steady grip and angling it to where she could shoot either Sterling or Backlash, whichever warranted such action first. Randell nearly had a heart-attack, but Kysely simply sat with a calm, unaffected demeanour until a few moments of tense silence had passed.

“Katarzyna!” Kysely warned, standing as he demanded her attention, { Drop the gun. He’s not the one you want to kill, } he continued, now speaking in Polish. { He is not responsible for what has happened to Sophie. }

{ Shut up! } Backlash cried in response, eyes flooding with tears as they turned red. { You know nothing, Kysely! He thinks he’s innocent, but he’s an enabler! He @!*#ing let it happen! }

{ You’re wrong, } Kysely countered, ignoring Gray and Randell’s puzzled looks. { But even if you weren’t, killing him would just get you killed, and someone far worse than he would take his place. }

The truth hurt. Backlash lowered her––well, Sterling’s––gun, but didn’t release her grip on it. “You’re lucky I don’t have my metal arm with me today, doctor,” she promised Sterling, “or I would have crushed your skull.”

“Gray, stand down!” Kysely ordered, and Gray stood down; she wasn’t about to go against her superior’s order. And Kysely was leagues her superior despite his previous claims to Katarzyna of being just a simple envoy. “You, Randell, get out of here. You don’t have jurisdiction down here anyway.”

Randell almost voiced his protest before being yanked away and out into the hallway by his female colleague as the reinforced doors opened and closed once again. With those two gone and the crisis subdue for now, he took his seat again and exhaled deeply, the burdens of age making his bones ache and lungs starved of air.

{ Just who the hell do you think you are? } Backlash demanded, reverting again to Polish so that Sterling wouldn’t understand their conversation. { And don’t give me that whole messenger crap again. }

Dr. Lucaš Kysely sighed, sat up a bit straighter, and met Backlash’s crimson eyes with his own beady, brown gaze. He hesitated, clearly wondering if telling the truth would be a good idea or not. Or rather, what would happen if he didn’t. Finally, he spoke.

“Fine. My name is not Lucaš Kysely. My name is Michael Rygiel, formerly of the Polish military, currently the head of S.T.A.R. Labs Biogenetics Division, and the overseer of the treatment of Sophita A. Michaels,” he explained. “Like I said: this man is not at fault. If you want someone to blame and kill, then blame and kill me.”

“Fair enough,” Backlash remarked flatly, and shot the old man dead. In retrospect, she figured that Rygiel had some plan up his sleeve to save his own ass or something of that sort, or at the very least didn’t even fathom that Backlash would actually, literally kill him. It didn’t matter to Backlash though, of course. Then she turned to Sterling and aimed the gun at him. “You have ten seconds to say something intelligent to prevent your death. Lie, and I’ll kill you in less than that.” 

Subject: Re: Scientific Fact (Honest!) Mon Jun 02, 2014 2:11 am

In a blur of movement, Backlash turned on Sterling, broke his nose in a blinding flash of white pain and purple nausea spots, and rushed him against the wall, gun to his face. The action startled and surprised the red headed doctor, and as he was held at gunpoint, he went wide-eyed!

There was some excitement after that, but it was everything Sterling could do to prevent puking on Backlash, which probably woulda got him shot.

In her tank, Sophie BLINKED as Backlash lashed out at sterling. A doctor she didn't recognize and the woman who shot her the other night - she had no concept of time down there, she couldn't tell ass%#!$ from breakfast time - rushed out of the room on the older male doctor's command, and she had primetime seating to watch him get shot in the face. She BLINKED.

Sterling blinked too! And went wide-eyed as certain parts of the late Lucas Kysely that were never meant to see the light of day splattered on the wall. Then, the world sort of... Cleared up. The indecision, the fear, it was gone, even as she re-leveled the gun on him again and asked him if he wanted to die. The words were different, but the threat was real just the same.

Sterling held his streaming nose, and said
"... Okay, Ow.... Ow." and held up his hand a moment. Two seconds. He puked to the side a bit, coughing in his nausea. Six seconds. Then, from his wretched spot on hands and knees, he gasped out "I know how to get her out so she isn't killed by traps." he said, and sat back on the floor. "I also know the layout of the building by heart, and I wanna help." he said, and slumped against the wall. Ten.

"They designed this system so you specifically couldn't free her without killing her. One sharp electric charge through those bonds, and they cut her head off with silver blades. One good blast to the computer system and it pumps her full of neurotoxin. Try to hack it and the whole thing goes under, and this place is a maze full of men with guns who won't hesitate to blow you to hell backed up by turrets that won't be shocked down. Face it, your hands are tied - you need me." he said, his voice deadly quiet. He seemed to think a moment, then he swallowed, and looked very tired.

"And you need me to free her, because Gray and Rendell just called for reinforcements, Kysley had an implant that monitored his lifesigns so they know you killed him even if those two didn't tattle, and if someone doesn't hold them off while I work, they'll kill her rather than let her escape." he said, his voice surprisingly calm.

"Make up your mind, cupcake. You have nothing to threaten me with. Wanna shoot me? Go ahead - might as well kill poor Sophie yourself and eat my gun while you're about it - it'd be a lot better than how they'd kill any of us. If not, stop wasting time, get to the room, and protect her while I free her! Now!"

The ball was in Backlash's court.

» A scientific run-in (wolfiegal, others are welcome to join)
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» Honest ( Inactive )
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» Making New Friends (Honest)