[M] 'Hunted'; the interrogation / IC

[Auki]

The walls were smeared haphazardly with achromatic paint, flayed with a brush that knew no direction or restraint. It was bright - painfully so - but where attention to detail had been abandoned, one could see the black of the stone beneath, hidden between the strokes of alabaster cream. No spark of colour, no flash of hue. Monotony, by its very nature, cloaked every breath of the room.

Did you care? No. Not then, not yet.

Awareness crept up slowly, fingers and toes twitching feebly as feeling returned.

The only furniture was the chair you found yourself perched upon, a beautiful amalgamation of deep mahogany and indigo velvet. The back arched up to your shoulders and twisted in ways that tricked the mind, but at least it provided support for your body, slumped as it was. No beams were present to rest your arms upon, and so you contended with them falling limply at your sides. It creaked as you tried to get up but, with the curse of weakness, you remained trapped within its grasp.

Why didn’t you care? Not yet - not quite - but why?

Your mind thrashed in a bout of panic, mentally tearing at its emotional confinement, yet settled almost instantly.

Once again, you were calm.

You did not care.

Your eyes fluttered shut for the whisper of a second, and they were there, in pair.

Monstrous in height, but not threatening to your current mind.

Their words were like drops of acid, fluent in pace yet deadly in tone; their voices carried the shadow of a harmony that rented upon your soul.

“Do not try to move,” they told you in a unison imperfect, “You can’t.”
The sound of their squawking echoed around the room, buzzing in your ears even as it faded. With their faces masked by metal, you could detect neither mirth nor malice, the expressions that might have given them away stolen from your sight.
“Muscle control will return to you eventually, depending on your compliance. You will notice you cannot feel anger or panic; this is normal.”

You blinked again and suddenly they were standing over you.

“You do not realise it now but you cannot lie. Alongside this, the capacity for intentional omission, twisting of context and denying the truth to yourself have also been removed.”

You started to care, just a little, as their proximity became intimidating.

“First of all, we need you to tell us your name. Some of our clients struggle mentally from the drugging, but this will not yet be held against you. Resistance will get you nowhere.”

For the first time, you realised you could speak, although the will to move still managed to evade you.

[Sickly]

Paralyzed, screams abound.

Bright, binding light.

Release and capture.

She sat there, unflinching, static dread filling in her gut. Every lie she told herself in her own mind was now reversed and truth lay bare to her. She did not look at it. The creature took away her defenses, her only escape from a reality that did not favor her. It called for her name. A name? A spark of pride, If she was to lay herself bare before these stranger's then she would cling to every part of her that held strength.

Her pride was strong.

"A name is not given, it is earned. I do not deny you the truth, I simply regulate its strength. I am Dame, a name given to me by queen and country. The rest will be earned in due time." She snarled. Inappropriate, yes, but now was not the time for pleasantries

She could feel their intent and it was true. They did not lie. She wondered if this was enough, she did not dare to even think her name to herself in case they could force a betrayal of the will. An unearthly presence made the Dame worry for her very soul.

"That is my title, what is yours?"

[Tune]

The blinding light as her eyelids flickered open would have caused her pain - if things were under normal circumstances. There was a dull ache in the back of her head, but she ignored it. She, too, ignored the momentary feeling of vertigo, though she hadn't bothered to stand up. Her mouth felt dry, and her body numb. Or was it numb? She could not tell, save for the fact she could move her fingers and toes, feebly at best. Though move as they might, it brought her little comfort, and little despair.

Green eyes met the metal covered faces of two impossibly tall humans. Were they humans? They certainly spoke English, but that didn't signify their species. All that was signified was that they were a pair, standing tall before her, explaining things, gazing down at her behind their... masks? She still felt groggy. They explained the paralysis and many other things, save for the fact that she was here.

They asked for a name. A name? She struggled to comprehend the mention of a name, why it would be so relevant to their purpose. A name was supposed to signify importance in everyone's daily life. A name to be called your own. A name that you were addressed by. Names lead to nicknames; misspellings of your name; mockery; jokes; bored expressions when they heard something so boring as her name. She remembered it. Remembered why she was named it, though disagreed with its importance. It wasn't important. Her name was important. She wasn't important.

But these two creatures inquired her name. Were they interested? Were they deeming her important enough to ask her name? Quietly, she spoke, directly looking up at them. "A name is important to its self, and to the person who was given the name at birth. I am unimportant; my name is unimportant. You said I can't lie, so am I lying now?"

She didn't fear the repercussions. A slight uneasy feeling crept up in her stomach, though it easily subsided, faster than it appeared.

She was. She is. She thinks. She remembers being Jane. Jane; what kind of a name is Jane?

[Kris]

He took a deep breath, adjusting to the sudden light, or more to say the sudden realization and awareness of who he was and where he was; It was like recalling of yourself after a long time you were prated of who you were and what you were, either by will or by force, it still felt like being reborn and at the same time the page wasn't blank enough to start anew.

And as much as exciting as it felt, and as much as his mind screamed for him to awake and move, nothing stirred his emotions or caused him to feel any 'need' of any kind.

Nonchalance... apathy...

These expressions of careless were not new and definitely not foreign to him, and they turned to be reflected, almost naturally, upon the sad, yet wise beyond years eyes of Nathaniel as he gazed up at his warders. His blue orbs were wide and focused, trying hard not to miss a single glimpse of any change in their movements, even somewhat fighting against the urge to blink.

His lips hummed softly, but the noise he uttered was so weak it could have otherwise been unheard if it weren't for the fact that nothing aside of him made any sound. He looked somewhat confused, maybe surprised, he sure was a difficult person to read, but whatever expression that his face must have reflected, it still looked like, or more to say 'felt' like, that he was rather unbothered by the fact that his limbs were frozen, and that no will stirred any emotions to fight against this cessation.

It wasn't the first time he found himself in this position, bound within an isolated void, chained to a chair, (certainly of lesser quality, but a chair nonetheless) as some figures loomed above his head, gazing at him as if he was some kind of a creature that belonged within a cage in some tropical zoo.

Then again... he enjoyed being a beast so much....

"My name?", he chuckled.

It was rather absurd question. Whoever they were that got a hold of him, they should have already know much of him by now; his identity and any other relevant information that they may wanted to have on him....

But this game amused him and he decided to... play along...

Besides, he just didn't care anyway...

"Nathaniel Welsh", he said slowly, feeling like he shouldn't have even bothered to speak. He just really didn't care at all.

But at the same time, his eyes narrowed again.

Maybe some instincts were just too hard to kill after all...

[Snotgirl]

Gregory opened his eyes and waited for his eyes to adjust.

“Where’s my music?” He murmured. “Is it time for school already, mom?” He usually left either his computer or his stereo on, playing any music. He listened to just about anything; rap, rock, and even country.

He was still groggy so he blinked to clear his eyes. What he saw almost shocked him. Two things stood there, hiding behind metal masks.

“Do not try to move,” they told you in a unison imperfect, “You can’t.”

Greg tried anyway. It was true, no matter how hard he tried to move he couldn’t. It felt as though he were encased in steel.

“Oh man.” He muttered to himself. He was immobilized in a chair and yet, he wasn’t panicking. Why…?

“Muscle control will return to you eventually, depending on your compliance. You will notice you cannot feel anger or panic; this is normal.”

“Oh that’s why. Of course. The extra dose of whatever chemical you injected me with right now must come in the ‘Kidnapping Kit.’ What’s going on? Is Costco selling chemicals by the crate load now?” Greg said passively.
Greg knew for a fact that if it wasn’t for muscle whatever he would be panicking. A grin slowly spread across Greg’s face.

“Holy crap. Does this drug make me sound cool? Maybe-”

“You do not realise it now but you cannot lie. Alongside this, the capacity for intentional omission, twisting of context and denying the truth to yourself have also been removed.”

“So I can’t lie huh? MY MOTHER IS A WHORE!” Greg screamed, “Whoa, I guess this isn’t a lie then-”

“First of all, we need you to tell us your name. Some of our clients struggle mentally from the drugging, but this will not yet be held against you. Resistance will get you nowhere.”

“Who said I’m resisting? My name is Gregory Springer.”

Gregory tried to remember what brought him to this place. Being a wiseass would only protect him for so long. He was walking home from school then….what?
He couldn’t remember.
His kidnappers would know. Maybe they would tell him why he’s there.

[Kiall]

The little girl groaned waking up. She felt a sense of alarm which quickly fell away..leaving only apathy and a curiosity that would have quickly turned to fear if she could feel it. She struggled trying to move her arms or legs and succeeding in neither

I can’t move! She cried out mentally

“There there I know,” replied a male voice inside her, “just stay calm and let’s try to figure this out, okay Suz?”

“Where are we?” said a feminine voice also inside the little girl’s mind.

“Not sure Bethany…These walls sure are creepy though,” said the male voice in response to the one called Bethany.

“Black stone…hidden between strokes of alabaster cream, no sparks of colour, no flash of hue! Monotony cloaks the very breath of the room, Grant!”

“Stop saying weird stuff Beth,” the voice called Grant retorted, “it’s creepy and it’s scaring Suzy!"

“Tis not weird!” Bethany retorted huffing, “it’s poetic and it helps me think!”

The little girl Suzy looked around, seemingly still in a trance as her mind with its strange passengers slowly processed her surroundings. She watched as two creatures appeared, bearing the face of birds looking very much like something out of a nightmare. Any other situation she would have screamed and cried and tried to run away but there was nothing…no fear, no panic. She simply listened to the creatures.

“Oh god oh god oh god!” Cried Grant his own emotions unaffected by whatever had affected Suzy. “Those eyes! Dead soulless eyes! They’re going to kill us! Devour our flesh with their freakish beaks!"

“Shut it Grant!” Bethany cried, “cooperate with them for now honey, tell them your name, no harm in giving them that right?” Her voice turning calm and motherly, a voice of comfort for the very confused little girl.

“S-Susan…Susan Peterson,” the girl said softly looking up at the two creatures, “but everyone just calls me Suzy.”

[Isis]

Where am I. Not a question. It didn't seem to matter, just a thought brushing by her consciousness, perhaps spawned by the room itself. Whether her eyes were open or not, she couldn't quite have said. Unfamiliarity tainted the very air, the feeling of the chair beneath her. No... no, she could see. Barely. The woman wished she could pull down the glasses probably perched on top of her head, but when she tried, her fingers twitched like a dying spider's legs. Nothing less. Nothing more.

Still, though the haze of aging, white and black asserted themselves, and she fancied herself in a chiaroscuro world, perhaps a painting. It would not be a terrible way to spend the rest of her life, if she must spend it in delusion. A blurry, artistic world, but this didn't feel like a dream. Oh well. She'd heard insanity didn't.

Insanity? Like a bolt of clarity pierced it, Corinne's heart and thoughts raced for a moment of pure animal fear, so dense she could almost smell it,. I don't want to be insane! I don't want to spend the rest of my life in delusion! My family... But if I am in my mind, what can I do about it?

The lull returned, steady pumping of blood the only soundtrack in the room and two were there, from nowhere. She didn't remember blinking - you never do - but that could be the only explanation. Humans cannot so come and go, though they seemed more like birds, but not magical. Such thins did not exist. Even so, no sense of organicness came to her from the two, no feeling that she sat with real beings. Ah well. Perhaps she was drugged, which might account for the slowness of her mind.

"Do not try to move. You can't." A new soundtrack cut in, this one much more discordant than her own pulse, but it did answer one question. Drugged. Certainly. A contrarily apathetic relief stole over the woman. Her mind retained function.

"Muscle control will return to you eventually, depending on your compliance. You will notice you cannot feel anger or panic; this is normal.” As if she'd only been waiting for their say-so, curiosity crept into the verges of her consciousness. No anger, no fear, certainly, but who were they? A question mark now. Progress.

She resolved to keep better track of her eyelids when the pair towered over her, perfectly out of sync. Much taller than she'd thought. The room might skew depth perception. Still a bit blurry, but clearer. Like witch doctors.

“You do not realise it now but you cannot lie. Alongside this, the capacity for intentional omission, twisting of context and denying the truth to yourself have also been removed.” An interesting revelation. She wondered, could that quite be accurate? She knew, now, at least, that she could not lie. It did not occur to her to distrust those words. If she could not lie, why would they have reason to do so?

“First of all, we need you to tell us your name. Some of our clients struggle mentally from the drugging, but this will not yet be held against you. Resistance will get you nowhere.”

Corinne. It came instantly, easily. Corinne, her. The second part took a few seconds more as she dredged about in her brain, casting a wandering hand to seek that elusive information. Anderson. "Corinne... Anderson. Corinne Sylvia Anderson."

She had not been sure she wanted to answer. The pair of them, looming over her, casting cold shadows across her skin, did not inspire much confidence, but resistance, as they said, would be ineffective. The part of her that would scream but could not whispered, ever so passively, words of self-preservation. To respond, to obey perfectly. Save yourself.

By nature, Corinne was not a rude person. "And may I ask your names?" She simply couldn't help herself.

[Mysteria]

The bronze skinned brunette was aware that she was alive. Other than the fact that she was staring at her feet because she had not the capability or desire to move, she was aware of little else. She couldn't tell where her feet were, only that they were on a floor beneath her. Or was it a floor?

“Do not try to move,” they told you in a unison imperfect, “You can’t.”

Her long hair fell into her face, her head bobbing and rolling ever so slightly as she made an attempt to look in the direction of the voice she'd just heard. Much to her dismay she could only sit like a rag doll, that is, if she were even actually sitting. She couldn't rationalize anything, reality, fantasy, life, or death. At this point nothing seemed real to her, not even the sensation of blood moving through her fingertips, coursing lightly allowing her to believe that she was still alive.

“You do not realise it now but you cannot lie. Alongside this, the capacity for intentional omission, twisting of context and denying the truth to yourself have also been removed.”

She heard the voices, could make out the words that they were saying but something was wrong. She felt as though she were stuck in the mind of a character from on the Criminal Minds T.V. Series. She couldn't focus enough to determine what the words they had spoken even meant. Maybe she was dead after all. Maybe someone had given her some of that LSD stuff that her Uncle Bob had told her about having taken back in the sixties. Maybe that was it, why she couldn't focus, why she couldn't....she was what he'd described as Fuck what had he called it....tripping?



“First of all, we need you to tell us your name. Some of our clients struggle mentally from the drugging, but this will not yet be held against you. Resistance will get you nowhere.”

Her chest tightened as she tried to understand the words that they were saying but she couldn't get them to register. They all sounded to her like they were being spoken in slow motion. Only certain syllables and words were discernible to her you, name, cli, strug, drug.

The combination of mixed vowels and letters sounded like a foreign language to her and she forced herself to try to focus as she expelled air from her lungs "I.." She breathed in deeply then trying to form another word and pull her head up so that she could see the voices speaking to her but it fell forward aonce more, she almost biting her own tongue in the process "I...Bre eze" the second word being almost whispered in two parts her from what felt to her to be a dry and pasty mouth still trying to finish the last word "Ryd..."

Her head lulled forward again, Breeze Rydell feeling as though she may vomit at any moment.

[SmileyCassandra]

Melena blinked her eyes open slowly, and they slowly glanced around the room. Where am I? she thought, as she looked around the bare white place. Her eyes fell on two people, more like creatures then anything. The metal on their face; made her tilt her head. Who are they? she asked herself, and glanced around the room again.

“Do not try to move,” they told you in a unison imperfect, “You can’t.”

Melena blinked to those words, and tried to move. They were right; she couldn't bring her body to move like it used to. She was confused, and unsure of what was going on. Why am I not angry? Why cant I move? Why am I not panicking? she asked, all of the questions going unanswered.

“You do not realize it now but you cannot lie. Alongside this, the capacity for intentional omission, twisting of context and denying the truth to yourself have also been removed.” they stated, and Melena raised a brow. I cannot lie? she asked herself, and tried to move again. She soon gave up; after realizing moving wasn't an option.

“First of all, we need you to tell us your name. Some of our clients struggle mentally from the drugging, but this will not yet be held against you. Resistance will get you nowhere.” they said, and Melena grimaced. Why my name is important I don't know, but I simply don't care to say the least.

"Melena, Melena Jones"

[SandQueen]

Jazmine blinked. She didn't try to struggle. It wasn't the first time she'd lacked muscle control and been told specifically to not try to move right away. The same procedure had happened after she'd given birth. Only then the intent was to not rupture a fresh C-section. This situation was clearly much more sinister. She swallowed and replied "Dr. Jazmine Hiyam Farahani. Arabic. Translates to 'the Hopeful vine with beautiful foliage that climbs the House of Farahani'. Doctor of Psychology."

That seemed the most acutely correct response to the question of her name. Name, first middle and last, as well as the title that society and education had assigned her as well as the origin and culture of said name as well as the meaning. Her response had been similar to when she delivered although she could recall swearing more. These individuals didn't seem as lenient towards vulgarity and her daughters were not being withheld from her so displaying a degree of calm seemed appropriate. She was uncomfortable but no moreso than she had been at other times. She'd been grilled by both the IRS, BATFE, and even a pair of suits that actually thought they could threaten her with deportation. All of those were uncomfortable by in no way frightening. Hopefully this would be the same.