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| The One-Eyed leading the Blind; Scott's Challenge | |
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| Topic Started: August 12, 2015, 7:43 am (176 Views) | |
| Marc | August 12, 2015, 7:43 am Post #1 |
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Date: March 14 Time: Evening Place: Scott's room of Murderworld The room Scott’s door lead to was small, only five feet by ten feet. It appeared to be the vestibule entrance to a library. There was a bulletin board on the door to his left that held notices about upcoming events like craft days and magic shows as well as things like suggested reading lists. To his right the wall contained two chutes, one labeled ‘Books’ the other ‘CD and DVD’. Across from the door he came in was a set of double door with a television screen attached. When the door in to the tiny room closed, it locked and at the same time the screen before Scott came to life. I showed a red haired man in a white suit sitting in a control chair that looked like a throne with control panels on the arms. “Greeting Mr. Summers, and welcome to your personalized Murderworld experience.” His smile was wine and rose thorns and displayed perfectly straight white teeth. This first room is very easy. All you have to do is drop your visor into the book return chute and the door will open. Take as much time as you need to think this through, but I should warn you, the air in there will reach toxicity in a little over a day… but there are other people counting on you to help them get out.” Arcade waggled his fingers at Scott, then the screen sent black. That time the door lead to the catwalk of a rundown storage facility. The rusty mesh metal floor clanked and flexed under Scott’s feet as he moved. The safety rails had crispy bits of paint peeling off of them. The room was utterly quiet except for the sound of the floor. For a few disconcerting minutes, he’s all alone. Then the door he entered through opened and five of the factory workers cautiously crept out. As soon as the door was closed Arcade’s voice rang out through speakers. “Mr. Summers and terrified factory workers, you could all make it out of this room alive. Down below you is the crumbling remains of an old warehouse. Among the broken shelving units and piles or rotting junk, are several bull’seye targets. If you hit all of the green ones with your eye beams, the door out will open. You can’t see, but I’ve given you five helpers. Oh and there are plenty of red targets. If you hit those they will trigger the collars your helpers are wearing to deliver lethal explosions. Have fun folks. Oh and you have a ten minute time limit or the door locks forever. Ta ta.” A screen on the door at the far side of the catwalk displayed “10:00” and started counting down. As Arcade’s words started to sink in to the civilians, they started to panic. One of the women started to wail and a man pounded desperately on the door they had come through. The other three approached Scott. “Are you Mr. Summers? What was he talking about, eye beams?” One of them asked. Tag: Cyclops Edited by Marc, August 12, 2015, 7:44 am.
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| Marc | August 12, 2015, 7:50 am Post #2 |
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Character: Cyclops Date: March 14 Time: Evening Place: Scott's room of Murderworld The decisiveness with which Scott strode into the room he had been assigned hid the insecurity and concern he felt inside. There was nothing to be gained by letting those pulling the strings see how he was really feeling. The room was .. not what he had expected. It was small, to begin with, and it was not threatening in the least nor did it contain anything threatening. Unless one was afraid of bulletin boards, books or DVDs, that was. Hmm .. It was then that the screen sprang to life, displaying the same strange man as before who now gave Scott the run-down on what was expected of him. Drop his visor. People counting on him to get out. A shiver ran down his spine. Drop his visor. Render himself blind. Helpless. Defenseless. Everything within him screamed not to do it. Not to give up his eyesight in the face of this mad-man running the show. But .. people depended on him, the guy had said. And Scott just couldn’t .. well. He couldn’t leave them hanging, whoever they might be. It might as well be his comrades, his friends. He felt selfish for hesitating even as much as he did but .. He positioned himself before the drop-off chute and took a last good look around the room, to orient himself as fully as he could. With trembling fingers, impossible to still no matter how hard he tried, he then removed his shades, folded them carefully and dropped them into the appropriate chute. Next to him, the door indeed slid open, and Scott felt his way into the room that lay beyond. His steps were cautious, slow, his hands held before his body but his arms not outstretched before him– an amateur mistake that made people more often than not run into things like tables or chairs, as raising one’s arms before oneself placed them at a far higher position than ordinary furniture. Also, raising them and stretching them forward as far as they would go rendered them unusable for the first few moments should he need to defend himself. In order to bring up his fists and defenses, he’d have to waste precious time tucking his elbows in first and readying his stance. Instead, he kept his hands at about waist-level, only a few inches in front of his body. He was straining his hearing and vestibular senses for whatever input they might provide in regards to room size and location of nearby objects. He seemed to be up high somewhere. Somewhere unsteady yet metal, like a bridge that was swinging somewhat freely. When his hands found a rail, he could feel paint flaking off, indicating that the upkeep of whatever facility he was in was not well-maintained. He could not hear movement or speaking in his immediate vicinity. It took a few minutes for the door through which he had originally entered to open again. He could feel feet shuffling, slow movement. Several people. Were they blinded like he was? Who were they? What was his business with them? Questions that were answered for the most part when Arcade spoke again. Scott sighed. Frightened baseline humans, trapped in a potentially deadly situation with one mutant who might or might not be able and save them from a gruesome death. Yeah .. he could see that go swimmingly. And indeed, 2 of the humans did not even listen to Arcade’s statements before they turned right to panic mode, beginning to pound the door and scream, rant and screech. Rendering Scott’s auditory input basically nil. Factory workers. Terrified. Targets. Killer collars. And Scott responsible for not getting anyone killed. Great. Yeah. This could only go terrific. He forced himself to concentrate on the most important bits of information. 5 helpers. 10 minutes. Green targets. Go. Tag: none Edited by Marc, August 12, 2015, 11:47 pm.
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| Marc | August 14, 2015, 10:29 pm Post #3 |
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Character: Cyclops Date: March 14 Time: Evening Place: Scott's room of Murderworld Turning his face in the direction of the one approaching him directly, with blunt and to-the-point questions, Scott gave what he hoped was a friendly, approachable and entirely not scared smile. “Yes, I’m Mr. Summers. Scott, please. Call me Scott. Listen .. listen – you heard the man. I can help us all get out of this alive, but I am going to need your help. Everyone’s help.” Addressing the man who had approached him directly, he suggested “I will answer your questions in a moment, but do you suppose you could help round everyone up here, ready to listen?” Eyes still firmly closed, he turned his attention towards a woman he could smell standing not far off to the right. “Do you suppose you could go and calm the gentleman pounding against the door? It seems doubtful that the man who trapped us here leave the door unsecured against break-out attempts. Your colleague though might need a woman’s touch to convince him of that.” “Also ..” He took one, two careful steps in the direction of the woman he could hear wailing with despair. “Hey ..” His voice was gentle as he addressed her, one hand reaching towards her palm-up and his tone quiet enough to indicate that he wanted only her to hear what he was saying. “Hey. I know this is scary. Look .. look at me. I cannot open my eyes, not yet, not until I can hit those targets he mentioned, so I’m basically blind. I understand how scary this is. But .. we need to work together. I need your help. I hope .. I’m hoping that you might understand, perhaps better than all the rest, how terrified I am. I have a confession to make, a big one, and I’d appreciate if .. someone was standing by my side as I did so. Do you suppose I could count on you for that?” He still let his hand hover towards her, hoping to calm her enough to stop her crying. To the left of him, he could hear the decisive man assembling the remaining base-line humans, and Scott swallowed a sigh. Now to the hard part – the part that might just as well end with him helped and helping as it might with him heaved across the safety rails to send rushing to his untimely death by concrete-floor impact. Tags : none, pre-written JP |
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| Marc | August 20, 2015, 5:07 pm Post #4 |
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Character: Cyclops Date: March 14 Time: Evening Place: Scott's room of Murderworld The man before Scott looked over his shoulder at the guy pounding on the door, then back to Scott. "I will try. We're all really freaked out but... this isn't the first time I've been a hostage. As strange as it sounds, I got stuck in a building during a riot a few years back, something about a mutant. It was nowhere near as bad as this but, I know how to cope. My name is Trevor. It’s... reassuring to know someone is taking charge." The woman Scott had sent to calm the man banging on the door was talking to him and making slow progress. He wasn't pounding as loudly as Scott addressed the other woman in the room. Through her sobs she managed to get a good look at Scott. "Blind?" She asked through her tears. "That's horrible." She hesitated a moment while her gasping subsided and eventually she got beside Scott and put her arm behind his back. "My name is Lucy." By that time the man banging on the door had stopped and joined the rest of his coworkers around Scott. The rest were introduced as David, Marco (the banger), and Sophia. A glance at the clock on the far end showed they had already used up one of their ten minutes. Trevor cleared his throat. "We’re down to nine minutes, but we can make it out of this. We just need to help Scott hit those targets... uh how exactly are you going to do that?" Oh yeah. This was going to go .. swimmingly. Scott wanted to scream. And cry. And scream and cry and possibly even puke all at the same time. But as neither of these things were an option, he swallowed what fear Trevor’s words put into him, tried not to feel terrible about having sort of misled Lucy and shored up his confidence for what he was going to have to tell these people. These people who could kill him – or at least, try to kill him. Not that he planned on letting them but .. oh well, either way, they were running out of time. “9 minutes. We can do this. I know we can.” “Lucy. Thank you.” He offered her another smile for her having led him to his current position. “Marco. Thank you for joining us. Sophia. Thank you for the calm you bring to this group. David. I hope you will want to be a part of this team. And Trevor. Thank you for .. please not shoving me off this catwalk. We have 9 minutes to get out of this alive. Together. You have proven yourself the most level-headed before. If we are going to win against the mad-man, we are going to have to trust each other. I will have to trust your instructions, and you will have to trust me, despite the fact that I’m ..” He steeled himself for their reactions. “.. a mutant.” “As soon as I open my eyes, force-beams shoot out. These force-beams are meant to hit those green targets. The ones I can’t see first because I cannot open my eyes. I’m good with spatial calculations, with banked shots, with following directions – just be as clear as possible. Please, Trevor. I know you can do it. Please. I’m sorry for what you went through before but .. please. Let’s work on this together.” Tag: none, pre-written JP |
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| Marc | August 26, 2015, 2:34 am Post #5 |
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Character: Cyclops Date: March 14 Time: Evening Place: Scott's room of Murderworld All of them listened with hopeful attention as Scott started talking. That changed as soon as Scott revealed he was a mutant. Marco backed away from the group. "Oh fuck no. Not another mutant. That’s why we're in this shit position to begin with. I say we toss him." The other people seemed to disagree with him. Sophia, who had calmed him down before, broke off after him. "This isn't the time for that Marco. You heard that crazy man. The only way for us to get out is if Scott hits the right targets. I won't let you kill him and doom the rest of us." Lucy seemed uncomfortable, but she didn't leave Scott's side. Trevor pondered the situation a little. He looked around the room, taking note of the position of all the targets. "A lot of the red one are close to the green ones. You should probably do some practice shots away from any of the targets so we can figure out how to aim you." He picked out a pile of junk that wasn't near a target. "Ok, over here. There's something white down in that pile of stuff. Aim, uh..." He got next to Scott and tried to keep his eyes pointing straight forward as he pointed his head at the target. He then adjusted Scott's head so he was pointing likewise. "Ok, I think I have you aimed." Now probably was the wrong time to mention that he had a near phobic reaction to being touched while visor-less and blind, and even more so if such touching occurred around the area of his head, right? Scott held his breath, counting slowly from 10 to 0, biting his lower lip, fighting to keep his shoulders from rising up protectively around his ears, all while Trevor touched and positioned him. “A practice shot sounds good.” he forced himself to say in agreement to the man’s assessment. “Though with a mad-man like that .. well .. I wouldn’t trust him not to set off one of you guys’ collars just for a practice run as well if we did that. I’ve .. known crazed people like him in my life-time, and their games follow rules that are always bent in their favor. So .. I’d suggest aiming me right at one of the green targets.” Another deep breath later, he added “I’d appreciate if you thought of the area around us as a clock-face. Imagine you are holding a pocketwatch in your hand. 12 o’clock is pointed straight ahead, dead center in front of me. 6 o’clock would be right behind me and to hit that, I’d have to pivot and turn around fully. Now .. if you want me to turn a little to the right, go by 5 minute increments. Say 1 o’clock, and I turn slightly to my right. If that’s too far, have me turn back by 1 or 2 minutes. Alright? Got it? Direct me to the first target, one that’s not directly next to a red one, if possible. The moment I open my eyes to hit the first target will give me some time to get oriented in the general layout of the room. That will make directing me easier from here on out.” As he was telling them all that, he was reaching out for Jean with his mind, hoping to perhaps get her to forge a connection between his mind and the mind of one of his co-prisoners. If only he could see through one of their eyes, he’d be much better at aiming. When he got no contact whatsoever, he feared for the worst. There was nothing he could do for now though except concentrate on the challenge that had been presented to him. Tag: none, pre-written JP Edited by Marc, August 26, 2015, 2:39 am.
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| Marc | August 31, 2015, 2:21 pm Post #6 |
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Character: Cyclops Date: March 14 Time: Evening Place: Scott's room of Murderworld Trevor felt Scott freeze as soon as he touched him and, only after it had already happened, realized that grabbing a blind person's head would probably freak them out. He let go of Scott's head, but kept himself almost ear to ear with him to try and figure out where his eye beams would hit. The suggestion they try for a target on the first shot did not sit well with Marco. He didn't trust the red headed mad man that openly admitted to trying to kill them, but he didn't trust Scott either. Maybe he was part of it, working with Arcade. This could all be some ploy to get them to hope for escape so he could get his jollies off watching that hope be crushed right before we die. He rushed up to Scott and Trevor. "You just hold on there laser boy. All the green targets have read ones near by. I'm also pretty sure that Trevor has never aimed someone's eyes before. I feel like the chance of getting killed because you hit the wrong target is a lot higher than him deciding to kill one of us for a practice shot. This decision should be up to us. Its's us who's going to die after all." There was a moment of silence before David nodded. "I... I agree with Marco." Immediately Sophia chimed in her agreement too. Before anyone else could say something, Marco took control again. "Thats's a majority vote. Practice shot away from the targets." His voice contained no small amount of fear and had a notable tremble in it. Laser boy? Really? Scott's mouth set into a thin line as he tried to hide his annoyance. It was better than mutie scum any day so he'd take it. Marco. his auditory sense told him, and Trouble. But before he could even open his mouth to protest that he couldn't have known that all the green targets were in immediate vicinity to dangerous red ones and to tell Trevor he was doing a great job, aiming him, Marco was already rallying the troops against the suggestion Scott had offered. He gritted his teeth because YES, they were the ones who'd die if they messed up this challenge but he'd be the one responsible for them getting killed and... He took a deep breath. There was nothing he could do, nothing. He hated feeling so helpless, hated being forced to hand all decisions over to others, hated having no control. But blind as he was without his visor, thrown into surroundings he hadn't even seem once before, he had to rely on the others trapped here with him. "You just aim me wherever you see fit and tell me when to open my eyes." he said, sounding resigned and not a little concerned for their safety. "If you want to see a practice shot, I can do that. It'll give me a quick chance to survey the scene for myself too. I'll limit the punch of my powers by squinting but without my special corrective eye-gear, I have only limited control. Please make sure not to stand in front of me." He waited until he was given the go-ahead and then, forced himself to squint his eyes open, emitting a red beam of powerful energy in the direction he had been aimed. It cost him a lot to simply open his eyes like that, no safeguard in place. The area he was aimed at was far off to the side, away from any of the targets, but even the quick glance gave him a general feel for just how close the red and green targets were clustered together. Even at his best, hitting only the greens with not even a glancing touch to the reds would have been a feat. Going into this blind and unable to aim.. He shivered as he broke into a cold sweat. "Everyone ok so far?" he called out, anxious to hear them safe and sound, at least for now. "Please sound out with your names so I can hear everyone. Please." He hated being rendered blind, hated not only the situation but the bad memories he had to constantly fight while totally depending on others. Tag: STer |
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| Storyteller | September 6, 2015, 4:48 pm Post #7 |
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Date: March 14 Time: Evening Place: Murderworld: Scott's Room Everyone jumped when Scott opened his eyes and the pulsing red energy flowed out of them. Besides being taken hostage by a supposed mutant earlier that evening, none of them had ever seen a mutant power in person before and the raw destructive power being contained by his eyelids was terrifying. Even Trevor, who didn't consider himself to have a problem with mutants was taken aback and had to fight the urge to pull back from Scott's side. "Oh holy fuck!" Marco shouted as he scrambled to get as far away from Scott as he could. He had been expecting tiny laser lines like Superman's heat vision, not a ragged torrent of energy. David joined him and the two cowered together. Lucy and Sophia clung to each other but kept their ground. Trevor could see how shaken Scott was and realized how stressful the situation must be for them. He had to worry about dying, but in the end all of them would either be alive or dead. It was possibly Scott would survive but have to live knowing that he could have saved them if only he'd been a better shot. "Its ok Scott, we're all fine. Trevor." He motioned for the others to do the same and after a moment to process what he wanted, his name was followed by, "Lucy," and "Sophia." David started to say his name but was cut of by Marco. "Hes a fucking monster. Our lives all depend on this freak. Why don't you just blast the door open and we can all go back. I'd rather take my chances with the poison." The situation was getting out of hand and Trevor was worried that Marco's fear would end up dooming them all. Scott needed to be a calm as possible if he was going to have any chance to hit the targets without killing any of them. He didn't have time to think, he just acted. In a few quick steps he closed the distance to Marco, pulled his arm back and then punched the man as hard in the face as he could. There was a horrible crack and pain shot from his hand up his arm. He stifled a cry and watched as Marco fell backwards into the door and then slumped to the ground. His chest was still rising and falling and Trevor made sure of it. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, he was going to get us killed." He tried to explain to everyone as he went back to Scott's side. The women and David clustered around Marco, trying to help if they could. "Marco won't be bothering us for a bit, I think I knocked him out." Trevor informed Scott as he tried to move the fingers of his hand and gasped at the shooting pain from the movement. "Ok, if you are still lined up at the place you shot, the nearest target is 30 degrees counterclockwise and 55 down from horizontal." Trevor was used to reading technical draftings and setting the machines in degrees so he completely forgot about Scott's request to use clock directions. After Scott had adjusted, Trevor tried to look down his line of sight and double check the aim. "I... I think that's right. Go ahead and fire." Tag: Scott |
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| Marc | September 9, 2015, 5:39 am Post #8 |
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Character: Cyclops Date: March 14 Time: Evening Place: Scott's room of Murderworld Having his eyes open right then, Scott didn’t miss – from the corner of his eyes – the way the man and the woman beside him (Trevor, right? And .. Sophia?) jumped at the burst of his powers. It was always the same. Any display of mutant powers resulted in .. Three, Two, One – yup, there it was. Screaming, cussing, hatred, all being sent their way. It wasn’t like he could help what his powers manifested as, hadn’t chosen to be a mutant! Who in their right mind would, what with the wave of bigotry and hatred, with the oppression and prejudice one was drowned in the moment one’s nature as mutant was revealed? One would have to be one hell of a willful, oppositional bastard, tough as nails and with a complete anti-societal streak hidden inside to choose such a life! Sure, it was one thing making peace with being a mutant when one happened to have been born as such but he doubted there were many even amongst their own ranks who had actively wished, hoped or prayed for turning out to be a mutant before they had known what they were. No matter. He was a mutant, and the safety of these people had been entrusted to him. He held the means of saving their lives from an insane mad-man, and he would do everything in his power to do right by them. Even – and above all – by Marco, for only good-will and displays thereof would ever change a hater’s mind. He breathed a sigh of relief when, after Marco’s earlier cursing, Trevor, Lucy and Sophia also sounded off to let him know they were alright. That only left David, but not matter how hard Scott strained his ears to hear a trace of him over Marco’s yelling, there was nothing. Like a blind person, eyes firmly closed again, he was moving his head from side to side, searching, listening, increasingly worried, increasingly frantic. “David?” he asked, his voice laced with the concern he was feeling, the anxiety that was pooling in his stomach. Finally, even as Trevor dealt with Marco by knocking him unconscious, there was a male hand touched to his arms, giving him confirmation. So far so good. But now, on to the real challenge. He had seen how close the targets were clustered with the dangerous ones. It would be terribly dangerous, shooting at them, being aimed not under his own power but by someone else’s instructions. He took a deep breath, held it, then released it slowly. Time was running out. And either way, there were no other options. Offering Trevor a thankful (if rather wobbly) smile when the other man informed him that Marco had been silenced for the time being, he said “I heard.” Having trained himself to be able and function when blinded by the loss of his protective eyegear, he had a very acute sense of hearing. “Unless you are a trained fist-fighter, your fingers or hand are likely to be broken. I would advise getting it checked out once we are out of here.” Not ‘if’. He was going to portray confidence, for their sake. He owed them this much. Alright. Trevor was once again helping him aim. This time at a target that counted. He was using degrees and angles. Despite not having plenty of formal academic learning, Scott knew how to translate these into motion – being a meticulously self-taught pilot, he had paid particular attention to the math needed to be done inside one’s head when it came to navigation. He remembered the target Trevor was directing him to. The closest red target was to the right-hand side of it, so he adjusted his aim infinitesimally to the left after Trevor had aimed him. Then, he stilled his breath so as to avoid being knocked out of alignment by an in- or an exhale. Once again, going against all instinct and better knowledge, he forced his eyes open, emitting a short burst of crimson force. He didn’t keep his eyes open long enough to see the beam hit, but he had seen, by following the line of the blast, that their aim had been true. The green target would be struck sufficiently. One down, four to go. He wasn’t even sure if there were cheers and hollers, if there were any reactions by the onlookers at all, so concentrated was he on working with Trevor. After every hit, he asked the man to direct him towards the next target, going so far as to request boards he had made out during the short moments of having his vision back, right when his eyes were open to shoot another blast. The first few were easy. Ish. Doable. With red targets only near the intended target. He chose those few that were available first. To the right, to the left, up .. It was on the fourth shot, the one for which he had to aim upwards, the one where the green target was not only framed by 4 red ones but where a red one had been hung to partially obstruct his eye-beam’s path no matter which direction he shot at it from, that they slipped up. That he slipped up. He hadn’t taken into account that the force beam’s passing so close to the suspended red trap-target might set it swinging just enough for his beam to glance off of its side as it shifted ever so slightly into the path of his blast, too quickly for him to close his eyes in time and cut off the energy flowing from them. While it wasn’t a full-on hit of a red target, he had hit it, partially, and there was no denying it. He swallowed, hard. No matter, nothing to do about it now. They were down to less than a minute left, and there was still one target he had to hit. “Help me aim.” he bit out through clenched teeth, when all he truly wanted to say was ’I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.’ They didn’t have time for that. “Please.” For that, he was making time. He hit the last target without a hitch. He clasped his hands around the railing before him to keep them from shaking -- he couldn’t let the others see how much this had taken out of him, just .. couldn’t. They needed to think of him as confident, or they might panic even more than .. He swallowed, hard. Even more than they already would if one of them was put to death now due to his fateful mistake. He had doomed one of them to their death. He wanted to vomit. Instead, he clung to the railing, breathing deeply, waiting for Arcade to make his next move. Tag: STer |
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3:20 AM Jul 11