Lux, Umbra. Vita, Mors. Concordia, Caos!

Subject: Lux, Umbra. Vita, Mors. Concordia, Caos! Tue Dec 11, 2012 7:35 pm

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Really, times like this made him wonder why he bothered sneaking around. Damn air shafts and their confining spaces and noisy surfaces that resonated around. It defeated the purpose of being sneaky! WHO THOUGHT THIS WAS GOOD IDEA IN THE FIRST PLACE? Seriously? Too tight to move freely, thus making you have to shamble your way across like a quadriplegic who may have broken something and in an attempt to escape the metal coffin suspended above the floor, drag whatever's left of his body in desperation.

But that was irrelevant considering he had managed to escape death. Twice. And he was in the safety of the metal womb from the ferocious Necro Macros that had attempted to run him over and fire their laser beams at him. Seriously, what the hell. Yes, he was still a prisoner, but why in god's name were Necro Macros chasing him? Just because the Bellows were off-limits to prisoners didn't mean HE couldn't use them!!

'Note to self: File a formal complaint to the egg heads in R&D that their latest combat drone apparently has its Identify Friend Foe system all jacked up that Undertakers who are still Prisoners do not register as Undertakers, i.e. Friends. After that, find the twit who did the programming and punch him in the face!'

It was at this point he had failed to notice a drop. Technically, leading down to an air vent that would circulate blessed sweet air of a sort in a hallway. Yes, in his mental rant about how he was going to get into the fabled Block E, where someone of his standing couldn't even possibly imagine it in the first place, he had somehow missed a small indentation in the metal womb. Needless to say, as a man who was unphased by many things, he took this quite well with his usual grace and stoic attitude.

"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA - OWWWWWW . . . Huh? OH CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ... OWWWWWWWWW." The grate itself decided it was tired and sick of its job, so it came apart as his body impacted against it. Which of course meant that he and the metal panel descended down once more and impacted against the floor. Technically speaking, his declarations of pain were less fulfilling their intended purposes and more of an emphatic expression of his enthusiasm for enigmatic surprises. Like landing face first into a metal frame after falling down from an air vent. Normal people would probably be not all too willing to be moving.

He, on the other hand, stood back up relatively quickly with a slightly reddish face from the point of impact. Apparently, despite anything he might say about his talents, this was a very common occurrence for him. Shortly after that fiasco, he began to calmly dust off his clothing. Off all the things to wear when sneaking around, he decided to dress in his usual clothes when on Undertaker business. Namely a white coat with a fur neckline, black leather pants and a few rings on his left hand. Footwear existed but wasn't as noteworthy as the above garments and, of course, he kept his hair spiked rather than it's more natural matted state. Nice clothes, but they were all dusty now. Which of course meant that he wasn't in any state to be seen by mortal eyes!

"Huh? Wuzzah?" A gruff voice now calls from behind him, awoken apparently not by the sound of a man having a pseudo-panic festival but at the sound of said man who, for all intents and purposes, should have been locked away and left to rot loudly dusting off his clothes. Anima Cremisi turns to face the voice, in time to see the uniformed guard who was lazily sitting in chair and looking at him with this drowsy, not very amused expression.

And while the two men looked at each other, silence hung itself in the air for a painfully long moment. A long moment in which nothing was exchanged but even more silence who also joined its older brother in hanging.

"So ..." the blond man or rather blond intruder began, clearly a bit bored that they had been standing there for the past minute or so not saying a thing, "Lovely weather we're having, ey? Gorgeous sunshine, a couple of light clouds ... what're you doing down here when it's so beautiful out there?"
And of course, Anima being Anima, couldn't resist not remaining serious in a rather dramatic moment. It was probably why his sentence had been arbitrarily increased so many times. For all his bouts of his insanity, his sadomasochistic tendencies, unusual cravings and utter disregard for his responsibilities, no quality stood out more than the fact that he could not resist making a fool of himself by refusing to conform to the atmosphere and speak appropriately.

After all, the guard was armed with what appeared to be a combat rifle. Which he so graciously decided to now aim at Anima with a snarl and shout, "Put your hands in the air and identify yourself NOW! OR I'LL SHOOT!"

"Hey, hey. Easy there, hot shot. Look. No collar." His hands are calmly raised and he even cranes his neck up to give the obviously not in a good mood guard a better look to see that he really didn't have a collar on him. Which of course meant one of two things. He was a prisoner trying to escape (doubtful) that had somehow removed his collar ... or he was one of the special interest group representatives that took out the trash on a disturbingly regular basis on behalf of the administration when morally sensible guards, like this officer, would possibly hesitate. And hesitation was bad when dealing with these sorts.

"Identify yourself!" The guard is DEFINITELY not happy. He doesn't even care that there was a lack of a collar, and instead wants a clear answer rather than something dodgy.

"Eaaaaaasy. Anima Cremisi, second squad leader of the Undertakers." The ex-prisoner is smiling gently, while he explains himself. Deep down, though ... he wanted to tear this guy to bits for his attitude.

"Yes, and I'm the King of America. Face the wall!"

"Oh COME! ON! How many blond-haired, crimson-eyed squad leaders could there be? Or better yet? How many blond-haired, crimson-eyed handsome guys come waltzing down this corridor claiming to be an UNDERTAKER?"

At this point, the Undertaker right now was getting a little fed up with this nonsense. I mean, he clearly wasn't a prisoner due to lack of a collar. And if he were a Deadman, he would have already killed the due to prior-mentioned lack of collar ... and therefore have nothing to lose! That and unless a whole swarm of red-eyed, golden-haired men happened to try to cross by this area by claiming to be an authority figure, he would have to go find them all and murder them in as painful a fashion as he could imagine. Fortunately, the guard did seem to be reconsidering after he mentioned his name, and after the second lapse in the conversation, finally lowered his weapon.

"Apologies, sir. But, well. Lots of prisoners have tried all sorts of tricks besides the usual attack methods. I mean. You have NO idea." the guard was quite a bit relaxed now ... gun was still at the hand and if needed he could resume a firing position in less than a moment, but still. At least he wasn't actively aiming that gun right at his face, which was always a good thing.

"Hrm. I won't bother asking. So, anyway. 'Tis my first time in G block. So, what're you guarding here?" Hate dissipated in favor of interest. Sure, G block was special compared to the others, but it wasn't often that one found a guard in a prison ward standing in the hallways guarding something. Or someone.

"Oh, this cell here is a special interest prisoner. Ordinarily we just leave the automated systems here, and that'll be the end of it. But, someone up top ordered that live personnel are to remain here at all times."

"So, there's sometimes more than one guy guarding?"

"Yeah, but it depends on the time of day."

"I see . . . . . who exactly is inside?"

"Someone who made the Chief furious, I guess. I dunno. Didn't really pay attention."

". . . You wouldn't mind if I had a chat with the prisoner, now did you?"

"Pfft! Sure, go ahead. Knock yourself out, just don't undo his restraints or that blindfold of his. Here, lemme get the door."

Lo, the door opened, at last, to allow him to meet his first inmate of G block! In utter darkness. Yes. It was pretty much darkness abound and aplenty within the cell, with the only bits of light shining in from out here in the already pretty dim-lit hall.

"Need a light?" The guard, helpfully offering a flashlight.

"N'aw ... when do the other guards show up?"

"Oh, 'bout five to ten more minutes from now"

"Alright, thanks. I doubt I'll take much time."

And so, the blond was locked inside the cell ... which was actually a pretty big cell, at least compared to the solitary ones in Block F.

"Damn. This is spacious compared to home." Anima mutters to himself, before moving to the closest wall and leaning against it, only a few paces away from the door. Fortunately, the only source of light seemed to be coming from that door over there behind him, so it would be easy to find the exit once he was done. But now came the more important part. Communication.

He didn't get a good look at where the prisoner was at inside this cell, so he was a bit confused on where to look at to find him. Or even speak to. So the next best thing was to just talk to the emptiness and hope for a response.

"Hello," he calls out with a smile. Who knows if his expressions could be seen or not, but at the very least it couldn't hurt to be polite and genuine about this.

"Dunno if you heard anything that was going on outside, but either way. I'm Anima Cremisi, ex-resident of the Wonderland. Do you mind if I talk with you?"

All the while, his eyes were looking on in the abyss. It'd take a few more moments before he could discern anything properly, assuming he could even discern anything. And whether or not the fellow who resided in here responded to his initial question, he didn't care. There was another question that was immediately weighing in for all its worth in his mind. A question he asked anyone who got stuck in Block F years ago, in conditions similar to this.

"What on earth did you do to get yourself locked in this hellhole?" It was a sincere question. Everyone had a different story to tell, some bad and others worse. At this point, he'd pretty much heard all the various possible mundane stories out there for prisoners above this place. And, lately, it was getting boring to hear variations of the same thing. So, maybe . . . this first guy (and he was just assuming it was a guy based on what the guard told him) would have a fascinating if unhappy story to tell. After all, it was rare for the fellows working on high here to take any sort of special interest or measures for prisoners ... even something as mundane as a mandatory guard at all times. Hell, not even the loonies in Block F got that treatment. They just left Necro Macros sitting in the hallway, along with the turrets.

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(DO NOT REPLY TO THIS IT IS WIP)

Sitting there in complete darkness, he heard the scurrying of rats, and a little bit of the guards outside when he was snoring softly. It made Zilo almost insane hearing the guard asleep on duty, as many times as they fell asleep he could get out, if he wasn’t bound like he is right now. These blasted chains made out of worm eater material. Sittin there thinking to himself he had an idea if he could find a way to make them open it up and let them out he would surely be able to make a escape attempt by kicking them and sending them flying in the air. Even though he couldn’t use his powers with these things on, he still had a strength that was abnormal to most. And he knew that if he could just get that chance then he would be able to… Suddenly some noise stopped him.

The sounds of something scrapping the vents up above, the sound was out of the ordinary, as long as Zilo had been here he knew every sound that was natural in this part of the cells, and this one was coming from the shaft, there was no rat’s in the shaft because they would die if they were in there too long. Especially since they clean the vents out every once in a while by sending down a blast of fire down the vents to make sure nothing was in there that shouldn’t be. But then suddenly the sound of cracking vents could be heard, the small sound of a grate coming loose and then there was a sudden sound of falling and crashing, he heard the screams or more of a yellow of pain and the smacking of into the walls of the floor, and the sound of metal bending.

The noise that was generated was enough to make the guard wake up from his deep slumber. Zilo didn’t know what was going on out there, but it sounded as if the vent in the ceiling had fallen out, but he could tell that there was something about it that was abnormal, those vents where stronger than most, they had been able to endure all the weight of the ceiling all these years, and to now give out suddenly without rust, or any other type of wear and tear on it? He knew something was out of place and his suspicion was answered correctly when he heard a voice begin speaking outside of his cell. And suddenly the guard was on alert guns pulled and the hostility filled the air, the feeling was unnatural to Zilo for his cell and so he sat up and swung his legs over the bed.

Suddenly he felt the air turn a little bit into a comedy and less of a hostility, and that was something he saw as a great relief, he didn’t want no fighting especially around his cell he had enough of the violence around him for now, he needed his peace and quiet from all the fighting. He heard the man ask the guard what he was doing down here? And the man’s name coming from the other voice his name was Anima, he said. He was an ex prisoner that had earned his freedom but had stayed here as an undertaker, it would seem considering he was still sneaking about, just like prisoners use to do till they were mostly slaughtered but to use the vents was a wise choice, considering the fact when the air kicked on, they’d rattle so someone might think it was just the heater coming on.

Sitting there smiling to himself he had to think about this guy he was definitely smarter than the average cookie. (This guy is certainly different to think of anyone would think to use the vents at night when the heaters kicked on, it must be unlikely for anyone to think about that besides for old prisoners, or someone that has been here for a while, and timed what time the heaters come on every night to allow them time to get through where they had to be.) Suddenly he heard him asking the guard who was in here, and he said he didn’t know that it was a special prisoner. Causing Zilo to snicker to himself a little bit while they were talking, no one knew why he was in here or on top of that what reason he was under such restrictions and why he was always alone and chained.

Suddenly he heard the man ask the guard if he was allowed to come into the cell with him, and talk to the man that had been imprisoned. And asked what time the next group of guards would be here, and that was what Zilo had timed down. They should be here in about fifteen minutes, they were always ten minutes late and he could always hear them fighting with the solo guard on the outside of the room because they weren’t at their posts on time. Though if anyone of them knew that this guy had always fallen asleep on watch they would make fun of him, because he was so trusting of this prisoner that he could die or something along those lines, but Zilo wasn’t much of a violent person he preferred to keep his peace in less it was necessary that he had to fight.