[OOC]Keep in mind that the first four posts will be in a VERY SPECIFIC ORDER: After me, Chaos will post, then Clay, then Yevaud. After that, anyone who wants to can post, but until those three post, NO ONE ELSE IS ALLOWED TO. Understand?[/OOC]
A frigid wind swept through the desert, whose sky was now darkened with storm clouds. The rumblings of thunder grew louder. Then the rain came down upon the desert for the first time in years, lightly at first, but with increasing intensity.
In the middle of this Chaos of swirling sands and brutal winds stood a large building complex, featureless and intimidating. The rigid, stark outline of the buildings contrasted with the dynamic and spontaneous interplay of forces that surrounded them. The whole complex seemed to stand out as a bastion of order and structure amid the disarray that surrounded it.
Appearances can be deceiving.
There was a sign above the entrance at the front gate:
B. F. Skinner Memorial Sanitarium
for Mentally Disturbed Individuals of Exceptional Talent
est. 2000
"I never made decisions. Things always came up and made them for me. That’s what life is."
Within these walls lived the most powerful beings on the planet, whose combined might would make the havoc caused by the storm outside seem trivial in comparison. Part asylum, part prison, part concentration camp, the Sanitarium's goal was to turn the unfocused, uncontrollable mental and physical energy of its patients into something more precise and manageable. The doctors here did not want to turn these people into happy, healthy human beings; rather, they wanted to transform them into suitable weapons.
Lightning flashed intermittently around the compound, accompanied by rumbling thunder. The winds picked up as the storm grew in power.
***
Tom hated the examinations. He always got the impression during them that the doctors thought he was insane. Then again, this was the only human contact he had every day, so perhaps he should be grateful. There wasn't much else he could do in this small room he was confined to; he could read the books they gave him, he could watch the videos they provided for him, he could excercise using the machines and weights in the corner, or he could play various games on his non-internet-connected computer. And then there was sleep. Tom usually slept 12 hours a day; not that he really needed it, but at least it passed the time.
So it was with a mixture of relief and anxiety that Tom greeted the doctors when they came into his cell. There were two of them. Dr. Elborough was taller and bald with glasses, and came in with a tray on which was placed a glass of water, several pills and a syringe. Dr. Markus was much younger, with a beard and a clipboard.
Dr. Elborough placed the tray on a small table near Tom's bed. He took the syringe from the tray and injected it into Tom's arm. When he was done, Tom leaned over toward the tray, grabbed a glass of water and the pills he was supposed to take, and downed them all in one shot.
"What is your name?" asked Dr. Elborough after he was finished.
"Thomas Edward Johnson," he signed back. Dr. Markus scribbled something onto his clipboard.
"When and where were you born?"
"December 5, 1984, in Detroit, Michigan."
"What are your parents' names?"
"Edward James Johnson and Mary Ellen Johnson."
"Mother's maiden name?"
"Hammill."
Dr. Markus continued to frantically jot down notes.
"How did you lose your hearing?"
"I had an extremely bad ear infection when I was a child that destroyed my auditory canal."
Thomas answered these queries quickly and unthinkingly. He had been asked these exact same questions several times a day for at least three years.
"Where are you now?"
"I am at a secret military training base somewhere near Washington, D.C."
"What are you doing here?"
"I am undergoing rigorous psychological testing and training in preparation for a special mission to the Martian colonies, the details of which will be revealed to me when I am ready."
As the interrogation continued, Dr. Elborough began asking Thomas more and more detailed questions. This part of the session changed every day. For example, today the doctor asked him to recall his 15th birthday. Yesterday he was asked to describe his Uncle Rick. The day before that, they asked him about his third job. Tom still wasn't entirely sure what the point of all this was, but he accepted it as somehow necessary. It was their job to ask questions, not his.
The examination moved on once again to more general questions.
"Do you hear voices in your head?"
"Of course not."
"What do you think of music?"
"I haven't heard any since I was a child."
Dr. Markus continued to write on his clipboard.
"Do you ever feel the urge to hurt yourself or others?"
"No."
"Do you-"
Before the doctor could complete signing his question, however, all the lights went out, leaving the room in total darkness. About a minute later, Dr. Markus managed to find a small flashlight, and Elborough signed to Tom that they would continue the session later. The two doctors walked out of the room, leaving Thomas to his thoughts.
***
"A blackout. FUCK!"
Trent Ulman, head of security at Skinner, monitored the Sanitarium at his console, while the man across from him checked the progress of the storm via satellite.
"The worst of it seems to be over," the man said.
"Good," replied Trent, "but let's not get our hopes up."
"What do you mean?"
"This is a desert... There hasn't been rain here for years, and all of a sudden we're getting a thunderstorm. You know shit like this doesn't happen on its own. It's... that 'logomorph' thing. It's doing this. And whenever that thing is involved in something, you just KNOW things are going to go wrong."
"Maybe you're right... I sure hope not."
"Attention all personnel," Trent announced over the Sanitarium communication system, "Report to the Security center immediately."
***
"What the fuck just happened, Ulman?" Elborough shouted.
"A bolt of lightning struck our power lines." The answer came via a small microphone implanted in Elborough's ear. "Fortunately, we have a backup generator, but it only provides us with enough power for absolutely essential processes like security."
"So then why do you want us to go to the security center?"
"We have to prepare for the worst. The patients may try to use this as an opportunity for escape, and although, as I said, the security controls are fully operational, the patients don't know that, so they're going to give us a hard time."
"So, you're saying we should-"
"NO! FUCK!"
"What?"
"The generator. I don't know why, but... It just failed."
Last edited by IcyMonkey on Tue Dec 23, 2003 4:42 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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