In Your Head [IC] Part 1 – Inmate X

Scene: Inmate X's holding cell.

Manifest:
(In order of appearance)
Format: [Type] Character – Player
[PC] Inmate X – Maikuolan
[Voice] "Sir Doctor" Allistair – Redcoat
[Voice] Anathema – Chef
[Voice] Hannibal – BleachKing
[Voice] Erebus – Durandal/Ickus


OOC: As per previous versions of this, my first post in the IC will be the same as it always has been, as, well, this what I've used to introduce the RP at its beginning. However, as this will ultimately be driven by the influences of the "voices", I've got no concern about it having its own directions and etc. If it's a big deal, let me know and I'll tweak things a bit.


He felt sore and cold as he lay on his back against the low-lying polished steel bench he'd called his bed in the lonely and isolated cell he'd resided in, but dared not call his home. Blinking his eyes lazily, he awoke from his sleep – the lights were low and he could see very little of his surroundings, though, his surroundings hadn't changed for the better part of a week, so it didn't matter too much; In the background, the low electrical humming of the dulled fluorescents of his cells could be heard, and though it was one of those sounds most people would wish to be rid of while sleeping, he had grown used to it in his time there.

He stood up and stretched. He knew not who held him nor why they kept him there, but he knew to cooperate with their games. His cell was larger than what one would expect – two unseparated rooms joined as one, one of the, a 3x4 with a polished steel bench of either side, the other, a 3x6 with a large steel dining table in the center and a double-sided window for one of its walls; there were two doors that exited his cell, both, military-grade blast doors, neither, he had seen ever opened; presumably, his keepers entered and exited during his sleep or by some other means.

He looked at the table – fresh food. Lasagna and wine, neatly laid out on the table as if he were dining at a five star restaurant. For reasons he did not know, though his keepers were strict in many ways, they almost always gave him whatever he asked for when it came to food.

He sat down at the table, eying up his meal. Before he had a chance to get started, the overhead speaker, hidden somewhere in the corner of his cell, burst out.

« Good morning, Inmate X. I see that you're finally awake. »

They, his keepers, referred to him as 'Inmate X'. He did not particularly approve of this; However, not being able to remember his real name, he was in no position to suggest alternatives.

He looked with dull contempt towards the ceiling in expectation of further words from his keepers; For them to communicate a simple good morning and not follow with further words was not a familiar occurrence. A few short moments passed.

« What are you waiting for? We go to the trouble of preparing nice food for you, and you don't eat it? We haven't poisoned it, if that's what you're worried about. »

That thought hadn't even crossed his mind. However, bringing it up, did make him somewhat suspicious. He eyed up his food again, contemplating the possibility. A few more moments passed.

« Questioning continues in two hours. Be awake. »

Ofcourse; They always had a reason to communicate. He began his meal, silently, not responding with a single word to his keepers.

In the back of Inmate X's mind, a voice began to speak, clearing its "throat" before beginning slowly and carefully. An almost comical British accent accompanied the voice, as though X were listening to a bizarre psychological offshoot of Today or the BBC.

"What a fine predicament we've found ourselves in, aye?" he said aloud, some comforting laughter in his voice. "They certainly wouldn't plan to poison you, I reckon. They've already captured you; if they did intend to off you, it would be easier to do it by some other method. Trust me, ahh, X. Here we are safe."

The voice in X's head paused for a moment before resuming.

"Questioning, eh? I do wonder what they would want to know from us. Perhaps you were involved in something... quite awful, I reckon, from the state of this prison, before your captivity. But no matter. You should eat, calm yourself, and be ready. And do try to be honest--it's more important that we get out of here in one fully functioning piece than anything."

It went away for a moment, humming Rule Britannia, before coming back to introduce himself. "And whilst we're together, X, you may refer to me as Allistair. Sir Doctor Allistair, if you please! And think of your own bloody name! You ought to get back to me on such things. So rude to refer to a comrade by a single letter."

The voice fell silent.

Another voice came into existence in the back of Inmate X's mind. However, the intent of this personality differed greatly to the one that had just made it's introduction. The voice spoke, words almost as rough as gravel sounding in the prisoner's head.

"Well, X," the voice said, almost mockingly. "Look what you've got into now. Taken by God knows who and thrown into God knows what, and you're going to just sit down calmly and eat your food like this is normal and nothing bad is happening."

The voice suddenly got louder, as if anger was rising like a thermostat in the hot sun.

"Don't you want some answers, or is this peace good enough for someone as simple as you? I'm glad they gave you that simple name, X. It suits you. Someone as simple minded as yourself deserves something like this."

A sigh came from the voice as it grumbled.

"You can hate me as much as you like but that won't get rid of me. I'm here to stay, and I'm here to make you strong. You listen to me, I'll make you go far. You want to earn a name better than X? Well, that's going to take some work on your part, and you'll have to do more than thinking like an optimist. Once this questioning business starts I'm sure there will be plenty of chances to figure things out, but YOU have to take advantage of the situation, don't let them take advantage of you! Do NOT be content with this. Be angry; hate them. They put you in here, and you want out, right? If they won't give you answers, then you might have to resort to some... persuasion, if you know what I mean."

The voice cackled, laughing at the prospect of violence. The voice knew he would be a good influence on this fellow if he pried far enough. If it was necessary, he would even try to make the man's mind "snap" if he had to. That would certainly be a delightful situation.

"Now that I've given you my delightful take on this whole situation, I am done for now, until something actually happens in this hell hole. But, I have just realized that I know about you, yet you know nothing of me. Well..."

The voice laughed rather maniacally.

"My name is Anathema. You listen to me, or you die. It's as simple as that."

Anathema laughed, the voice going away slowly until the laughing ceased to exist. He would return, but for now he would wait and see what the other voices would have to say about this situation. He was deeply intrigued in their opinions.

X nodded in agreement; To his food, his wine, as well as both companions Sir Doctor Allistair and Anathema. Despite the obvious contradictions each had to the other's suggestions, he could understand and felt to himself, both their sides; On one hand, being both calm and enraged at the same time would seem like a logical contradiction, but, on the other hand, in reality, they were both voices trapped inside the same head, and in that sense, all their thoughts and his were of the same edifice.

He knew not his true name, but dearly wanted to - He felt like he would do almost anything to remember, or to simply find out - But what *could* he do? Pausing after a few bites, he looked around his hold - Unsurprisingly, yet still somewhat disappointingly, nothing had changed - His hold was as it always had been, and he saw little in way of what could be done. Though he hated it, he'd grown familiar to his hold, and knew it well, and though he knew little of the truth of what lay beyond those walls, he made care to analyse what was said every time they spoke to him. By not knowing who he was and as a matter of principle, he held deep suspicions and distrust about his circumstances and his keepers, and possibly, a hidden sense of fear he dared not reveal - and possibly, this hidden sense of fear in combination with logical analysis, kept him from becoming angry, kept him calm, kept him sane - though, that would be in the loosest sense possible, for clearly, he was anything but sane. But would an insane man admit to being insane? Nothing was entirely clear - Even his existence for that matter. I think, therefore I am; But his voices thought too, so what of them? Did that make them real? He could think, but he was still at the mercy of his circumstances, so did he have any real freedom? If his voices thought, but weren't real, what did that say everything else?

As if in response to his thoughts, the somewhat sickly glow of the halogen light that illuminated his hold flickered slightly, possibly from a small power surge, before returning to its normal state, followed by the return of the stagnant continuity he'd grown accustomed to.

He thoughts were many, but being far from comforting, he returned his attention back to his meal. Taking a sip of his wine, he knew that indeed, it best he remained calm. Cabernet Merlot. Unknown vintage, but has a refined taste to it. Not bad at all. Goes well with the meal.

He body relaxed a little, leaning back in his chair. Indeed, this questioning implied that he may have done something, and he wanted to be honest - He was an honest person afterall, right? He couldn't remember if he was, but he wanted to be; But, even so, how could he be honest if they asked questions he didn't know the answers to? He couldn't even remember he own name, afterall. And they always asked questions he didn't know the answers to.

Sighing deeply, he continued his meal.

In a proverbial flash of dark flames, a figurative devil appeared within the mind of Inmate X. As he looked out to what his new hosts environment was, he tsk'd. His eyes were dark, as he glanced around the dismal cell and to the iron melded bed and table that X sat at. He was a tall figure, wearing a long gray kimono with katana in sash. His head was covered by a straw rice pickers hat that just barely marred his insane grin in its shadows.

With a little "nudge", he attained the inmate's immediate attention.

"What do you think your doing... sitting in this drab cell? You do realize you have done nothing wrong to be in this place? In fact, the ones who are truly the criminals are those holding you here. That food is probably poisoned too or something. You know you don't belong here... X, was it? Great name, keep it."

The voice started to chuckle then continued on with his talk.

"Listen, the name's Hannibal.. and I'm on your side. That's why, I'm going to look after you... I'll help you get out of here, and enjoy TRUE delicacies. X... haven't you ever wanted to go to Italy and enjoy real wine? Once we're out of this hole.. we can go there. Do you want to know why, X? You can do whatever you want!"

Allistair's voice sighed in reply to Anathema and Hannibal. He, too, stepped out as vision. A dignified man, in his late fifties; armoured in some sort of steampunk or clockpunk-style garb, some sort of fantastic mashup from the realm of literature. He saluted comedically before continuing.

"Regrettably, friend, both of my comrades do seem to have the right idea. It would not be illogical or wrong for you to figure out exactly what is going on here. Nor would it be unexpected for you to fall into selfishness and hatred. But aren't you better than that?"

His tone changed, becoming more philosophical.

"Even if you have done something awful--or been the victim of something even worse--hatred only breeds and feeds upon its own self. It is your responsibility to be better. It is within your abilities to become greater. Such is the human condition."

The vision thought for a few moments as X's mind processed his words.

"Besides, if you truly wish to gain knowledge or freedom, you will apply your resources and mind in the most efficient fashion possible. This means opening your eyes--all of them, metaphorical as well, and staying above hatred and contempt. Do not dismiss a captor as an ally; work towards your freedom properly and with the greatest of designs in store. This requires a clear mind, focused regardless of external or... internal influences."

He was having great fun with this.

"Sanity and insanity are perhaps not as absolute or clear-cut as you may think, comrade. After all, no psychologist has ever declared a man insane. It is a legal term, handed down by the State, used to define criminal irresponsibility for one's own actions to discern contemptible villains from unfortunate victims. Clearly, you are responsible for what you do. You decide, my friend, to devour this marvellous meal, to listen to or reject my meagre power of suggestion. And this takes us to reality itself, since you doubt your perceptions so."

Allistair turned to answering X's doubts. Certainly, this was a philosophical goose chase of great interest and importance, but there were far more important things to worry about.

"It could be argued that Descartes' statement--for the record, if you wish to be fancy, it would be cogito ergo sum--irrevocably leads to solipsism. Things that do not think are also things you and I can clearly perceive, and perception is the best guide for what we can say is real. For our purposes, such an existentialist view of reality is sufficient to go about our daily lives, and in a situation such as this I highly recommend you not spend too much time discerning the meaning of Life, the Universe, and Everything. I am real, as are you, because you perceive me. I am real to others through my effects through you, if this is making any sense. My existence is not a common one, but it is there, and that is what ultimately matters."

Yet another voice, but this time without any real embodiment, spoke up in the hectic argument between the voices. His voice resembled a man in his late 30s, with a more Childish tone in his voice, resembling his equally and sadly Childish Behavior. His concerns, different from the others in the ways of being neither Good or Evil, were basic and neutral, and he made it clear.

"Survival before all things, X. No matter what, you must endure and survive. Although the others urge you to do something against these captors, we both know such a thought would possibly lead to death. Anyways, they supplied you with food and drink, and a place to stay. You can endure the questioning and wait until they release you. If they don't the way they treat you assures you that maybe this could be for the better. Hannibal and Anathema could get you killed X! All you need is..."

The Voice chuckled, his laugh becoming a somewhat disturbing one as he continued.

"A 'partner', and you're all set. Trust me, X, Survival means being Selfish, only the strongest survive. Take from others, feed only yourself! You can adjust, and even better, if you tell them what they want, they could possibly release you! Just Survive and Endure, Inmate X."

His voice seemed to convey slight reason, but his motives underneath were basic and clear, To survive and endure. All the voice cared for was that Food was delivered and so was drink, with a place to sleep, and other needs. Getting out was an objective if only it meant survival, but as it was currently, that was only an option. He didn't seem to intent on the evil or good the other 3 voices implied, but he still had a goal.

"Oh, and the name's Erebus, by the way. Looking out for your survival."

He said, chuckling briefly before he went silent, awaiting replies and the thoughts of X.

Anathema laughed at all of this nonsense being said, his voice coming out once more to address X and his other ids. These Allistair and Erebus voices were getting on his nerve. If he could kill them he would, but that wouldn't be happening.

"I have a feeling we will not get along at all, Sir Allistair," Anathema said, his voice deep and powerful. "In fact, I believe you are my opposite. Erebus I can stand, though I find his opinions rather cowardly. Now, Hannibal, on the other hand. There's someone I can agree with."

Anathema sighed deeply.

"If I were you, Inmate X, I would not believe this Allistair completely," he said. "He thinks like a politician. A businessman. I can't say you'll go far with that attitude. Intellectuals have no place in the world you are living in now. You do not have time to think about what is morally correct. Don't think, act."

Anathema was deeply enraged, though he held it in for the moment. You could tell by the way his voice shivered with anger each time he spoke a word.

"Hatred does not breed and feed only upon itself. Hate is power. You cannot survive in this harsh environment with only a calm exterior and your own personal thoughts and anger bottled up inside of you. Release it! Your hate will allow you to become stronger. Right now, you are weak. It sickens me to even look at you right now. In fact, I HATE you. You are as worthless as a child. These men who are holding you know this, and will take advantage of you because they are not afraid of the consequences. They know that they can control you without your opposition because you have the willpower of a coward! The weak are food for the strong. That is how this world works; and that is how it will always work. There is still time to become stronger... But that will take you listening to me."

Anathema laughed wickedly. If he could somehow get X to listen, he knew that they would be able to go far.

"In my opinion, your goal should be to escape this....this living hell. Nothing is worse than being locked behind bars where freedom goes only as far as what food you will be having for dinner. You want your name back so badly, right? You don't want to be stuck with something as pathetic and worthless as X? Well, I'm afraid to tell you that these men won't call you anything else as long as you are living in this dungeon. You want to get a name? Then go make yourself work to earn it. You have to survive like this Erebus fellow says. Take mental notes on your surroundings; do anything to figure out any way to escape and form a flawless plan, with help from me, of course."

Anathema changed his tone from gritty and deep to almost as if he were talking to a child.

"I know you are questioning whether I'm real or not in that tiny brain of yours. Even though this Allistair fellow may disagree, you are clearly insane. That's why I am here, after all. Do you think any normal person has thoughts like this. No. You're mad, and you're going to have to accept it. Sanity is overrated anyways. It's not nearly as much fun."

Anathema laughed until his voice went silent, holding his voice until some sort of response came from Inmate X or the other voices.

Hannibal nodded at everything that Anathema said. His grin was as wild as ever as he looked on as the dull surroundings of the cell. Laughing malevolently, he started his own rant.

"X... this is a pathetic place. I say we leave tonight! You see, they call you insane and lock you in a place like this... BUT THEY'RE THE INSANE ONES. I say you break that wine glass and keep the sharpest part on you... and when those inhuman monsters called guards come back in to collect the food... YOU BLEED THEM! They always have weapons on them, and with your cunning, and my help.. you can escape this dismal place!" Hannibal said with a demon's mirth. "Where do you want to go first after getting out of this dammed cage, X!? How about we start somewhere close... we can find the finest restaurant, eat the best food available... how does that sound?"

Hannibal gave a fleeting glance toward the other voices. The straw stalk in his mouth twitched a bit as he chewed on it between gritted teeth, still in a smirk. He stared at the doctor with an almost crazed glare in his eyes.

"That good doctor doesn't seem too good for me. His entire idea is pointless... I mean, he essentially wants you to wait out this sentence. But those insane people holding you will probably deem you mentally unstable, warranting a life in this dark cage. Are you an animal, X? No... you are a man, so grow some balls and let's get the fuck out of this place!"

With the dynamic chorus of his companions' words, words with conflicting opinions and views, each holding merit in their own right, each companion demanding his attention in differing ways and each demanding a different action, Inmate X suddenly lost his appetite.

Their words spiraled around in his mind, each seemingly holding a double meaning that X couldn't quite perceive...

"..Even if you have done something awful--or been the victim of something even worse--hatred only breeds and feeds upon its own self. It is your responsibility to be better. It is within your abilities to become greater. Such is the human condition.."

Where had he heard these words before? They felt ever so familiar.. But he couldn't quite work out why. Had someone told him those exact words before? It felt important, but X couldn't quite be sure why.

Where have I heard that before? Someone else said that once...

"..This requires a clear mind, focused regardless of external or... internal influences..."

Indeed, his mind had not been clear for quite some time. This, he knew well, and he could not remember the last time he truly felt like he had a clear mind. He needed to think clearly.

His mind felt clouded, but, atleast, with the Doctor's words, he felt calmer.. Somehow serene in his otherwise confused state.

"Sanity and insanity are perhaps not as absolute or clear-cut as you may think, comrade. After all, no psychologist has ever declared a man insane. It is a legal term, handed down by the State, used to define criminal irresponsibility for one's own actions to discern contemptible villains from unfortunate victims."

"I am real, as are you, because you perceive me. I am real to others through my effects through you, if this is making any sense. My existence is not a common one, but it is there, and that is what ultimately matters."

"Do you think any normal person has thoughts like this. No. You're mad, and you're going to have to accept it. Sanity is overrated anyways. It's not nearly as much fun."

One thing become very clear to X - Indeed, sanity and insanity was not as clear-cut as it may appear to have been. Maybe he was insane? In any case, did it really matter? If he was insane, he wouldn't have a way to know how fun the life of a sane person would be, so he didn't know about that.. But indeed, ultimately, this was his reality, regardless of how it may be perceived by others, and sane or insane, his reality was something he had to accept, regardless of all else.

Beyond that, with such things aside.. He simply had his situation; He could focus on dealing with that. But alas, the calm that the Doctor's words brought to his senses quickly faded, replaced by words of strong emotion, hatred and anger, from the other companions...

"Hatred does not breed and feed only upon itself. Hate is power. You cannot survive in this harsh environment with only a calm exterior and your own personal thoughts and anger bottled up inside of you. Release it! Your hate will allow you to become stronger. Right now, you are weak. It sickens me to even look at you right now. In fact, I HATE you."

He stared with a bewildered expression towards his half-finished meal, visibly alarmed and conflicted, his hands beginning to shake ever so slightly more than should usually be the case.

Calm exterior or otherwise.. They must know what is going on; His keepers always watched him, just as they always asked the same questions over and over again, just as they kept him here, nothing ever changing. He hated being here and he hated being watched. But what X hated more than anything else at that moment, was not knowing his own name. He knew he had one, knew there was a name given to him as a child, just as every child is gifted a name from their mother, carried by him through life.. Yet, he could not remember what it was. Along with being in his cell, that, made him feel trapped, and feeling trapped made him feel week.. But he did not hate his captors, know did he hate himself. How could he hate that which he did not know? He did not know his true captors, nor his true name. He felt anger bottled up within him, a deep, burning anger, hidden somewhere deep inside the farthest vaults of his mind.. But he did not know where nor towards what it sought, and more than anything else.. This anger scared him.

"In my opinion, your goal should be to escape this....this living hell. Nothing is worse than being locked behind bars where freedom goes only as far as what food you will be having for dinner. You want your name back so badly, right? You don't want to be stuck with something as pathetic and worthless as X? Well, I'm afraid to tell you that these men won't call you anything else as long as you are living in this dungeon. You want to get a name? Then go make yourself work to earn it. You have to survive like this Erebus fellow says. Take mental notes on your surroundings; do anything to figure out any way to escape and form a flawless plan, with help from me, of course."

X wanted to leave - Even if he could never remember his name or who he truly was, atleast, if he were to escape, he could form new memories by knowing what lay beyond his cell.

With all these thoughts, X momentarily lost focus on his surrounds or his actions, his expression slowly growing more bewildered and shaking growing more intense.

"X... this is a pathetic place. I say we leave tonight! You see, they call you insane and lock you in a place like this... BUT THEY'RE THE INSANE ONES. I say you break that wine glass and keep the sharpest part on you... and when those inhuman monsters called guards come back in to collect the food... YOU BLEED THEM!"

SNAP!

X's attention immediately shot back to reality as sharp pain jolted through his body, the remnants of the wine glass he'd been holding only moments earlier laying in numerous shards across the table, his lap, the floor, and most noticeably, as tiny shards jutting into the inner surface of the clenching fist he unconsciously formed with his right hand.

In response, his forked dropping to the floor with a soft thud of alum over iron, he sharply inhaled and looked to his bleeding right hand; Unclenching his fist and carefully picking out the small shards with his unharmed left, the damaged hand appeared to not be of any serious nature, likely to scab over within a few hours and be nothing but a scar within a day or two.

Somehow, the pain brought back a strange sense of calm once more, but his appetite was well and truly gone for the night.

Starring at the small double-mirror pane opposite his table with a hard expression, Inmate X was clearly not in the mood to ask his keepers for any assistance. A few moments passing, he stood up and lazily dragged himself back towards the uncomfortable steel contraption that could barely be called a bed, not visibly phased by his self-inflicted injury.

Inmate X still struggled to remember his past, albeit not for lack of trying. He could remember his time at this prison clearly enough, but before that... Nothing.

"..It is a legal term, handed down by the State, used to define criminal irresponsibility for one's own actions to discern contemptible villains from unfortunate victims.."

That's right.. But.. Something I think I can vaguely remember.. I think.. I'm here because of the state. Or, atleast, because of something else handed down to us from the state. But.. I'm not sure if we could call it legal or not...

He could not remember how long ago it was, nor exactly when it was.. But he knew he was younger when it happened, and it was when Inmate X, became Inmate X - He had been executed, but survived.

In memory, X found himself on yet another steel bed, albeit, strapped down, head to toe in leather and buckle, unable to move; Plastic tubes ran down from the length of his body to an array of oppressive automated pumps, each slowly forcing translucent liquid to invade his veins, a liquid intended to be the last to ever fill his body and bring him to his death.

He remembered thinking to himself, as his veins slowly began to weigh heavy on the surface of his eyelids and as his vision began to blur, not necessarily why he had neither friend nor family in attendance, but rather, why there were so many military standing in the observation room, some of them, high brass; The only people that needed to be there, aside from himself and the odd sadistic prison guards whom wanted to give their final farewells, each having faces and figures that appeared only as vague blurs in his memory, was a doctor to sign his death certificate, the prison officers operating the execution and the supervisor in charge of it.

Eventually, the pumps stopped, and the doctor declared a Time of Death... But if he were dead, why would he remember hearing his own Time of Death? Some short time after hearing this, the weight on his eyes lifted, and as he opened his eyes, a member of the high brass stood over his table, watching him with blank expression, shades hiding his eyes from view. "Congratulations; As planned by state sentence, you have just been executed by lethal injection. So far as the state is concerned, you are now deceased. Now, you two options before you. You will only have one chance to decide, and your decision is final. We can inject you with something stronger to finish the job.. Or you can come with me, where you'll survive, in exchange for working for our new program..."

As X recalled this fragment of memory, words continued to spiral in his head.

"Survival before all things, X. No matter what, you must endure and survive..."

He'd decided to live, no matter what, even back then - Knowing not what the future may hold, he chose to leap rather than die. He recalled something deep within him, wanting to survive no matter what, even back that. Was that Erebus..?

"...Anyways, they supplied you with food and drink, and a place to stay. You can endure the questioning and wait until they release you."

Would they ever released him? He somehow doubted it. He needed to escape somehow... But how? He wanted to escape, because he hated feeling trapped.. But he wanted to survive, too.. And he knew that to do that, that he had to remain calm.

Inmate X lay flat on his bed, staring at the ceiling blankly as these thoughts passed through his mind. Questioning would continue in two hours, meaning, he had two hours to think of what to do until then, or, otherwise, just lay there, as in reality, he could not see what he could really do until then.

Deep in thought, he closed his eyes. Somehow, the voices stopped, atleast, for a few minutes; He knew not why, but, it was enough for him to relax more than he usually would before questioning. Eventually, after some period of time, darkness and silence took over his senses.

Noticing, eventually, that light did not return the next time he tried to open his eyes, he panicked slightly. What? Why can't I see?!

The panic only lasted a few seconds as he realised he felt something covering his eyes. Am I... blindfolded?

Removing the obstruction, light gradually returned to his vision...


OOC: Enter dream-state, stage left. Whoever posts next, be creative and have a bit of fun, as you'll be setting the initial coming scene. ^.^

Scene: Fleeting dreams and dreamscape.

Manifest:
(In order of appearance)
Format: [Type] Character – Player
[PC] Inmate X – Maikuolan
[Voice] "Sir Doctor" Allistair – Redcoat
[Voice] Hannibal – BleachKing
[Voice] Erebus – Durandal/Ickus
[Voice] Anathema – Chef

Revealed to X was a vast, open plain, damp and field with fog. His vision could only pierce the fog to distances of a few dozen meters; far away, forests and hills were obstructed by the thick haze. All was tranquil, save the breath of a refreshing and similarly freezing wind. As they--all of them--entered the dream, X found himself garbed properly for the weather, and suddenly, staring at a light approaching slowly from the fog.

"I did not expect this to work as well as it has!" Allistair said, as he revealed himself, carrying a traditional lamp in his right. "It seems as though your dreams can be entered with the proper thinking, friend. Excellent system. Makes our correspondence much less taxing."

He approached. The Doctor was roughly as tall as his host's avatar inside of the dream; he approached and shook hands amicably. X found it strangely hard to resist this action; it was, after all, a dream, and lucidity--with its control--would take time to manifest.

"We do not have much time, though your dreams may deceive you easily. The others are on the way, and I find it difficult to fight through their cacophony; but as long as I am here alone, I may speak unfettered. Provided, of course, that you wish to hear my words."

A storm gathered to the East; the fog dissipated, revealing the vast distance of the plains, dotted with tors and small imperfections in the land--trenches, the odd crater, and finally the land's end, dropping off into the dark abyss of the sea. Across the ocean, and visibly approaching, was a wicked storm; its black clouds swirled threateningly as lightning of an unnatural crimson hue gathered its forces, occasionally spilling over and sweeping the plains in thunder and a flash of light.

"This land has seen trials and tribulations before," Allistair said, with a hint of sadness in voice. "Your psyche is already showing signs of weathering before these challenges. You must move and be free."

The storm approached them ever faster; the wind began to pick up, the temperature dropping in response. The rain had yet to arrive, but its immediate arrival was obvious.

"Your memories cast suspicion upon your past. Despite the well-known inaccuracy of dosage guidelines for American and, sadly, other similarly barbaric nations' lethal injections, we both know that your presence here is certainly no mistake, except perhaps that of the Divine. And Erebus, bless him, has made no mistake in bringing you here. All men would rather live than die. Such is immutable."

As the wind blew ever harder, Allistair found it harder to stand; he resisted it, as he had before, but it was visibly more difficult for him to continue.

"But I posit something else! A man should rather die than truly lack all that is good in life. You have no chance to grow or be what you can be. To rise above, you must be free. Above temptation, above insanity, above hatred--and, if I am to be most pragmatic, above those who would have you fall into ruin."

Suddenly, a break in the clouds, and a reduction in the wind, appeared where Allistair thrust his lantern into the sky.

"I've got a plan. I reckon that your captors are better armed and better trained than yourself. I have no doubt that in a direct fight, we shall be defeated and possibly killed, in which case we will have wasted time, energy, and life. But if we are crafty, we may gain information. We may gain enlightenment--don't you just love this symbolism, X!?--to support, barring extremely unlikely circumstances, a later escape attempt."

He could keep the other Voices from the dream no longer; suppression was difficult at the best of times, but he had said all he had to. His strength was fading and his hold on the dream slipping, as the imagery began to fade and crumble. The ground shook as the next voice prepared to remake the dream, either alone or as part of some coalition.

"Erebus!" he shouted to the emerging voice as he, too, began to disappear from view. He ignored Anathema and Hannibal, the nutters. "Desire and survival need not be short-sighted, need not be immediate. If you can trust me and my aims, and wait just a while longer, I promise you we can both save this sinking ship..."

And he plinked, out of "existence", for a time.

Just before Allistair disappeared, Hannibal slowly came into view, leaning against a gnarled, leafless tree. He could see the good doctor start to slowly dissipate. Just as they stared each other down, Hannibal suddenly swung his katana outward, cleaving through the air where Allistair had been. He snickered to himself, as he knew well that it was impossible to kill the other voices... as much as he wished to. Really, the only one's he would keep alive, would probably be Erebus and Anathema.

He sheathed his sword as he approached X. Taking off his straw hat that he wore, which he spun on a finger. As he reached X, he put an arm around his shoulder, almost what a friend would do. Looking to his now quiet and probably confused host, he started his own speech.

"Don't listen to that debbie downer, X. He probably wants you to stay in this gloomy place. He's a doctor... therefore he is a weirdo. In fact, I think he might be the insane one, Allistair caused you all this greif, and is trying to steer you down the completely wrong path. Never listen to him, X." Hannibal said with a friendly smirk. "I'm on your side X, you aren't under my power, and that's how it should be. Ever here of free will? Well... being in that jail cell... you have none. Isn't that a natural born right to all human beings? As soon as this dream passes, you know you must escape! I know you want to... and YOU know you want to. I say you follow that temptation and do what you can to get out. I promise you, if you do get out, all that stress that you have pent up right now... will just go away, and you can live the life of luxury, something you were meant to have!"

Erebus heeded Allistair's words and, before the Doctor plinked out of existence, told him "Fine, an alliance makes sense, but as long as I'm here, nothing to dangerous!" and before he could speak further, the Doctor was gone, replaced by Hannibal. He hated both of them, Hannibal and Anathema, both were the evil parts of X, both were out to turn X into their puppet, killing and other such crimes, totally unnecessary to living.

As Erebus had no real physical form, he appeared to the other voices and Inmate X as a ghostly, amoeba formed Black Mass, with two Glowing White eyes. He looked creepier than he actually was, but he was named Erebus for a reason. "Why do you insist on making him leave immediately, and killing in the process? You do know Inmate X, that if you escape prison the police will hunt you down and return you to this place, with a sentence even longer. If these people aren't police, then this is either a lab or something you and me do not understand or know. They will most likely kill you as soon as they can."

Before this Hannibal could retaliate, he continued. "Although I don't agree with escaping at all, and would rather being fed this way and live instead of risk dieing, Allistair seems to know what he's doing, through information we might escape alive. However, we will be hunted. Living in luxury is something you won't expect once you are free, all you can do after you escape is run, just run. Hannibal and Anathema are trying to make a puppet out of you, just look at them! Wait... That's a bit contradictory... OK fine, I might look a little spooky and mysterious, but you can't expect to trust these two voices, they bleed insanity. Given the chance these two voices would use you to slaughter for their own fun and enjoyment. Don't listen!" he yelled, in a clearly childish rage.

Anathema finally showed his true form, walking out of the shadows near Inmate X. He was dressed in an orange prison suit, spotted with blood, one of his hands cuffed. The other cuff was latched onto the forearm of a dead police officer, one that Anathema dragged across the ground, a blood trail following. His face was wretched and full of contempt. He had a grizzled beard and a bad haircut, accenting to his scarred and crazed looking face.

"Freedom never felt so sweet, right X?" Anathema said mockingly. "Oh wait, you wouldn't no the feeling. If you even knew what a taste of freedom was, you wouldn't be holding that pathetic name of yours."

Anathema laughed scornfully.

"You can't possibly be considering what this Erebus bastard has to say, are you?" Anathema said. "What the hell kind of life is it living safely and soundly in this cell void of choice or achievements? You cannot dwell here longer than you need to. Who cares if you die? At least you made some sort of effort to escape instead of being a coward your whole life. If you are going to live like that, you might as well kill yourself now and give in to the shame. This life isn't worth living. It's not fun at all!"

"If you think that I am trying to use you like a puppet, than you are exactly correct," Anathema said laughing. "You know why? It's because you....are weak. Your existence is disgusting. I want to change that. Make you have power. If you listen to this Erebus or fool of a doctor, you won't get far. Don't give me such pathetic excuses about what is morally correct. That's just pathetic. Nothing matters, as long as you get yourself out of here and make a name for yourself. If you don't ever grow some actual balls, you'll be 'Inmate X' for the rest of your God damn life."

Anathema laughed at X, turning around and starting to walk away, the dead police officer still being ground into the floor. He didn't have much else to say to this idiot.

"Consider everything I say, but it is your choice," Anathema said. "You want to live the rest of your life as a coward, or someone with power and a real name? It's your choice."

Their thoughts, much as his own, were torn for two and two; Indeed, Inmate X wanted to escape, wanted to taste freedom — to be free of his captors — But equally.. He wanted to survive, and wanted to do it properly. He needed to be free, to see what lay beyond his cell, not so much for desire, but more so, as a matter of instinct — His mind envied freedom, but his body lusted for it. But, if he were dead, what would be the point?

He hated himself for feeling weak, but hated hating himself, for hate in itself was weakness.

Lucidity, to that point, had not yet set in, and as dreams go, Inmate X found himself acting out as would any projection of his own subconscious — As each voice made its presence material within the dreamscape, Inmate X, in turn, reacted to each as an affluential figure — smiling and shaking hands with Allistair in a gentlemanly manner, the old friend and trusted colleague, an image of what Inmate X hoped he may one day be like; Looking much as would a confused soldier being politely scorned by a superior officer as he allowed Hannibal to, representative to getting done the dirty work that desire required, put a hand around X's shoulder; Looking deeply into the distance as Erebus, his internal survival instinct, his drive to survive, his guardian of self-preservation, let be known what X had to hear; Looking with a hard expression best described as a mixed muddle of scorn, fear, doubt, self-doubt and a deep sadness as Anthema, the representation of X's own ultimate negative self-image, addressed to X the darker side of that which his own mind foretold.

Inmate X did not speak out as each voice spoke its turn, at the conclusion of which X looked out and scanned the distance — Indeed, the dreamscape they'd found themselves in was a most appropriate one — Cold, bitter and isolated, trapped on a hard and ragged landscape that served as serenity inside what was an otherwise turbulent ocean, an impenetrable unknown that served to suppress and keep X separated from the beyond — Beyond the vast expanse, as X looked out, the storm continued to approach, gathering greater force and momentum as time passed by.

X pulled at his sleeves and wrapped his coat tighter around his body. The storm, an ominous and unnatural thing that seemed intent on devouring anything unfortunate enough to be in its path, continued heading in their direction as the rolling black clouds and the ensuing wind roared in an almost animal-like manner.

Lucidity began to slowly take root as X realised what was heading their way, but remained only partial at best as X found himself doing exactly what would usually be done should one find themselves in such a situation, suddenly looking around maniacally in the hope to find some form of cover.

"Wake up..!! Wake up!!!"

Spotting the forest in the distant hills, X took flight as fast as he could, an impressive albeit futile attempt to outrun the coming storm. Lighting struck the ground around him as thunder roared overhead and water poured down in all directions, harder and faster than it had before. Not knowing what else to do, X continued running, the storm becoming thicker and thicker the longer he ran. Eventually, a short time of running later, before X could reach the hills, X found the ground suddenly give way under his feet — Looking down, all he could see was an endless expanse of water; The coat, quickly filling up with water, began to fail in its purpose and weigh he down; He began sinking, and as lucidity grew stronger, his grip on the dream became weaker.

"I said, wake.. up!!!"

Darkness came once more...

Scene: Interrogation Room.

Manifest:
(In order of appearance)
Format: [Type] Character – Player
[PC] Inmate X – Maikuolan
[NPC] Sergeant Chang – Maikuolan
[NPC] Lieutenant ??? – Maikuolan
[NPC] Colonel ??? – Maikuolan
[Voice] "Sir Doctor" Allistair – Redcoat
[Voice] Hannibal – BleachKing
[Voice] Anathema – Chef
[Voice] Erebus – Durandal/Ickus

"WAKE UP!!"

Inmate X woke up to an irritable voice, his entire body feeling cold and wet. Blinking his eyes a few times, he found himself in a small room, tied to a chair. There was a man standing a few feet in front of him holding a bucket. X's eyes were filled with water, his vision, blurry at best, but he could make out that the man in front of him was about the same height and build and he, and wearing military garb; His vision remained too blurry to make out the man's expression. Two other men were in the room, one, standing rigid guard to the door, the other, sitting, observing from another chair in the far corner of the room opposite. The room was small, a mere three-by-three, with a small wooden table situated in the middle and a dim, flickering fluorescent light dangling precariously from its ceiling. Each wall was metallic, though his vision remained too blurry to make out any distinctive features.

Inmate X felt like being trapped inside a small metal box with enemies.

After a few moments of examining the room, the irritable voice seemingly satisfied that X was now awake, walked a few paces, placing the bucket on the table before returning to its former position.

"Good. You're awake."

"Why yes," Allistair laughed, "we most certainly are."

Allistair hummed for a moment--this time Scotland the Brave--before continuing.

"They must have moved you whilst you were asleep. Perhaps the food was drugged after all--certainly they could never hope to transport someone like this unless the subject were under the influence of some substance."

As X's vision cleared, Allistair's did also.

"Stay calm, X. Examine his words. Look for ways out of this, but don't be hasty. Patience."

X heard Allistair's words, and they resonated strongly in his mind. Indeed, if not anything else, X was a patient man, and examining the details was something he could do well. With more feeling than word, X acknowledged agreement to Allistair.

As their vision cleared, X's eyes remained fixed on the man in front of him, and with vacant expression, said nothing.

X couldn't be sure if the man expected some immediate reaction or otherwise, but in either case, he didn't seem to show it. Walking back and forth, both the man's and X's eyes remained locked. All three of the men in the room, excluding X, wore military garb; Where name and national insignia were usually stitched, was nothing but frayed fabric — it appeared as if the men each had their names and flag removed from their uniforms; Rank remained — the man that had spoken to X carried the rank of Sergeant, the man sitting casually on the chair in the corner carrying the rank of Colonel, the man guarding the door carrying the rank of Lieutenant.

X noticed that indeed, the walls were all of steel — against his expectations, unlike his cell and in previous "questionings", this room had no double-mirror on the wall. No double-mirror? There must be a camera somewhere or something.

Surely enough, as if answering his thought, X noticed a small, discreet, black CCTV camera positioned in the far top corner of the room above the Colonel's chair; Possibly, a second may be behind him, he thought, but, not being able to turn around, he could not confirm this either way.

The table looked old and worn, as did the bucket that sat on top of it.

The Sergeant turned to the Colonel. "Time check; Inmate woken; Questioning officially begins."

Once more, the Sergeant turned his attention to X. "Inmate X; What is your name?"

Inmate X did not respond.

The Sergeant repeated his question. "I asked you a question. What is your name?"

After a few seconds, Inmate X responded. "I do not remember."

X couldn't read the Sergeant's face — Some sort of emotion was being shown, but he could not tell if it was irritation of appeasement.