RP Another Cycle Finished

[div style="background-color:#3137fd;border-top:#3137fd 4px outset;border-left:#3137fd 4px inset;border-right:#3137fd 4px outset;border-bottom:#3137fd 4px inset;"][div style="border-top:#3137fd 4px inset;border-left:#3137fd 4px outset;border-right:#3137fd 4px inset;border-bottom:#3137fd 4px outset;"][div style="background-color:white;color:black;padding:15px;font-family:courier new;"]The current had, of course, stopped once he focused on it. It was a knee-jerk, a punch thrown blindly regardless of consequence, pain in the name of self-defense. It had saved him from the edge of black blades several times over the millennia, but he could not command it. It was a blessing in the name of his own protection, not in the intentional harm of others.

But the boy didn’t know that. Castor pulled against the web for a second before he realized that the counterpull wasn’t weight – the web was stuck to the shaft. He had made it halfway up, held to the edge with one hand, stretching the material it in his wake, before he decided to look back with eyes that had no trouble in the darkness. He studied his hand for just a moment before he saw the movement on the far wall.

[font color="3137fd"]“Oh, good, I didn’t kill you,”[/font] he managed, before the body went into motion.

The speed and accuracy were superhuman. He could give the boy that much credit. But the blue eyes that followed the arc were designed to take in movement faster than most human minds would process before they found themselves gutted on the floor or choking on their own blood. It crossed his mind that her predecessor would have sent Pollux to take care of problems like this.

It made his own presence something of a relief, as he was capable of taking it easy on the lad.

Not too easy, because he had a job to do, and the lad was proving himself to be very tough. He would applaud if his hands weren’t full.

His fist closed, and he yanked to tear the webbing attached from the webbing connected to the tunnel. Then he kicked his mind into second gear. Not much higher than that – he was to exhaust the boy, not simply outdo him. But, using the glue on his left hand, he got the traction he needed by slamming the palm into the floor and pulling himself up in a tumble of limbs, lucky to only catch one hard hit to the back. He barely even felt it, just had a sense of a growing stickiness that was thankfully nothing like blood. The pressure was there, but it didn’t fully incapacitate him. In fact it hardly limited his movements, even as it reached across his shoulders.

He took the time to look again into the shaft, and saw that the boy had to have launched into motion the same time he had, because he was firing from the air. Castor debated throwing himself into the atrium, then decided against it. He wanted to give the boy space to move at his own pace, maybe learn a few tricks from an old dog. He remained where he was as Sensation's feet touched the ground.

And so once more Castor was between the boy and the elevator, but this time he was ready. He did not emit another shock, because that would be rude, but he did reach out with one metal hand to seize the boy’s foot. If he managed to secure it, he’d counterbalance hard and throw Sensation toward one of the atrium’s closed doors, hopefully gaining some distance as he finally put some space between himself and the waiting mouth of the elevator.

He was actually enjoying himself, even if Sensation, who had been full of energy, decided to stay quiet. He seriously debated enjoying the quiet – but ah, for the gods’ sake, a little banter never hurt. He was used to not being answered, although he’d given up on clever words with that sparring partner a long time ago. But this one was new, a refreshing change who had provided a nice warmup.

[font color="3137fd"]“I did expect this to be a little more difficult, you know. That’s three times I could have simply hit you the right way and put you out. It’s almost like you don’t want to escape.”[/font]

He actually wasn’t counting, but three was a good, round number, a sacred number. He figured if it was that important he’d be corrected. Or continue to be faced with sullen silence. Again, such was nothing new, just a disappointment.
[div style="margin:0 auto;max-width:100%;background-color:#000000;color:#ffffff;padding:1%;overflow:hidden;font-size:10pt;"][div style="border:2px solid #ffffff;padding:1%;"][div style="border:2px solid #ffffff;padding:2%;"][div align="left" style="overflow:hidden;font-family:'Courier New';"]As Castor worked to tug himself free, the webbing is not what tore to allow him a greater degree of movement. If he kept tugging with his superhuman strength, the steel interior of the elevator shaft would rupture before large shrapnel from the wall began ripping free. Such webbing had been capable of being akin to steel cable and meant to hold superhumanly strong opponents.

And now with the suit helping out . . . let's just say Castor created a few new jobs of fixing the interior as the steel shrapnel hung suspended in the air.

Sensation ignored the remarks thrown his way. Any words he said would mean the air in his lungs would escape and instead focusing on his new plan of attack as he followed through with his kick. He needed it to land. Castor pulled himself up and about, and the webbing had been intended to restrict his movements to an extent. It did not help when half of that webbing was attached to his clothing and could be easily torn free from if one had the mind and careful coordination to do it.

Something Woody believed would not be too difficult for the cyborg.

A sudden jolt up along his ankle before following up his leg and into his spine. Woody's lenses widened his surprise as his leg was caught with one cybernetic limb. Fast. Castor proved to be fast too. Oh no. This is where he was going to sho-.


His momentary confusion at the change in tactics became interrupted with a slight shock running up and down along his back. Steel crumpled and dented under the force as Sensation's back slammed into the sealed steel door down the middle hall, barely hearing the shuffling mechanisms of the door locking into place. The crash irritating his back as a brief wave of inflammation ran across his entire spine as he fell to the floor. His breath held. Not the first time he'd been thrown into something hard or several somethings for that matter, but this was becoming embarrassing. Well, there was one advantage to this situation and Woody intended to capitalize on it.

Time to improvise and get out of here.

Aiming along the hallway, not only one strand of webbing left from each of his wrists. Four strands from each wrist would escape as he began weaving not one or two nets of webbing to cover the entire width and height of the wall. Five nets between them anchoring to the walls, ceiling, and floor of the entire span of the hallway within the span of moments. That should slow Castor down or, if he risked simply to rush and tear through the webs, Castor would find himself only wrapping himself up even further if the silk were torn from their anchor points.

Before Sensation turned around and unsheathed his talons. Every swipe of the limb and tearing of the steel door aimed at ripping apart the locking mechanism and providing an opening he could escape through.

No banter returned as Sensation's brow furrowed. Maybe I'm not trying to fight you as much as slow you down, you condescending prick.

Everyone and their overconfidence. The plan from the get-go was escape, not a drawn out fight, because at least one of them had to have a healthy estimation of their strengths and weaknesses.[/div][/div][/div][/div]
[div style="background-color:#3137fd;border-top:#3137fd 4px outset;border-left:#3137fd 4px inset;border-right:#3137fd 4px outset;border-bottom:#3137fd 4px inset;"][div style="border-top:#3137fd 4px inset;border-left:#3137fd 4px outset;border-right:#3137fd 4px inset;border-bottom:#3137fd 4px outset;"][div style="background-color:white;color:black;padding:15px;font-family:courier new;"]Another strong, silent type. Or, and it did cross his mind, the lad had decided to hold his breath. How long he expected to be able to keep it was hard to say, but if he kept opening new vents, perhaps the air would be cleared before he had to answer that question. Maybe he almost knew what he was doing.

What he did not know was that the door he'd peeled apart led to a hall full of administrative offices. A relatively long hall, that ended in another double-sealed door, with cubicles in the locked-but-not-sealed side offices. The lights were all out, without any staff in sight, but there was a small promise in the second set of sealed doors that unfortunately Castor knew would be a disappointment.

Castor had other issues at hand. Like how he’d hardly noticed the weight of one of the interior steel plates of the shaft, and it was still dangling, attached to the mechanical hand that had caught and thrown and hadn’t stuck to Sensation. Interesting. He watched the lad at work as he checked the counterbalance of the metal banging in the elevator shaft. Between – well, everything, maintenance security would be busy for the next several days.

The arrangement of the webbing was clever. He traced the lines with his eyes, understanding the pattern. Then he looked at the door that he’d inadvertently damaged, and that Sensation was very-adverdently damaging. Then at one of the cameras lining the hall, fully visible, as a second light came on under the pale green one.

Another set of eyes joined the Location Observatory, and Castor had a feeling they would not be happy with what they saw. It was not a very long flight between L-6 and The Mine at all. And if he came in to all this – hmm.

Technically, that would make Castor’s job easier. But given the current situation, he couldn’t exactly wait even the few hours the Councilman would take.

Ah, well, he could wait the few minutes the boy would need to explore the new hallway as the mechanisms buckled under his pressure.

Meanwhile, Castor looked back one more time into the elevator shaft, and with one yank he brought the sheet of metal up to eyeline. He’d worked with kite shields roughly the same size. It’d been a few centuries, but the same concept. He wrapped the web around his hand twice, which limited his finger dexterity but reinforced his grip, and yanked the metal sheet toward his arm, getting a feel for its weight before turning his forearm to let it stick naturally, metal on metal. He shook it a few times to make sure it was secure, and then looked back down at the webbing.

His arm came up, and the bottom of the steel came down through the longer thread connecting him to the makeshift shield with enough force that the tile underneath shattered into– well, spiderweb patterns. That was almost funny.

It was also almost funny that Castor already knew where those doors led, which was why he felt like he could take the time to experiment with the sharp, torn end of the steel plate with a few experimental swings that would carry through loose webs to the wall. Also causing hairline fractures, but not doing any integral damage. He figured he’d give Sensation a little time to get used to his new surroundings before becoming the lad’s problem again. It’d give him a little time to get accustomed to the improvised shield, as well.
[div style="margin:0 auto;max-width:100%;background-color:#000000;color:#ffffff;padding:1%;overflow:hidden;font-size:10pt;"][div style="border:2px solid #ffffff;padding:1%;"][div style="border:2px solid #ffffff;padding:2%;"][div align="left" style="overflow:hidden;font-family:'Courier New';"]


[div style="background-color:#3137fd;border-top:#3137fd 4px outset;border-left:#3137fd 4px inset;border-right:#3137fd 4px outset;border-bottom:#3137fd 4px inset;"][div style="border-top:#3137fd 4px inset;border-left:#3137fd 4px outset;border-right:#3137fd 4px inset;border-bottom:#3137fd 4px outset;"][div style="background-color:black;color:white;padding:15px;font-family:courier new;"]There was a great deal of noise from Sensation’s hallway. Castor listened to the clamor as he cut the webbing; the first few were admittedly a little excessive, but once he fell into sway, he caught the web without giving maintenance any more work than they already had to do. And once they were severed, he was very careful to avoid them, which admittedly took more time. For this sort of thing, patience was key, and he had all the time in the world.

That was why he made no attempt to enter the hall behind him. The passage had no exit from the location – many of these halls were deathtraps, if evacuation procedures weren’t properly followed – so, reasonably, Sensation would have to come back this way eventually. Once finished with the webbing, Castor looked up at the security camera and waved, then shrugged. Not the little shrug of his arms activating or becoming disabled, but the large visual cue of there’s nothing I can do at the moment, as you can see.

And then there was a butterfly on the back of the makeshift shield. He tilted his head at her, and she gently flapped her wings.

Apparently, since the lad wasn’t choosing violence – against Castor, at least – they’d decided to change tactics. Although, if one of the Councilmen was involved, some of the damage might have been… significant. He had to wonder what Sensation had broken or taken that would have this response, and which Councilman had made the call– his, the one in the camera, or the one behind the Butterfly.

[font color="3137fd"]“Ah, he wants it taken care of, does he?”[/font] Castor asked the bug, maintaining English. The monarch flapped her wings. [font color="3137fd"]“Alright then, son petit papillon, whenever he comes back through.”[/font]

And he came out like a demon. Castor instinctively adjusted his shield, but the young man was much more preoccupied with tearing at the next wall. He noted that his chest still wasn’t moving.

Six minutes. The breath control was comparable to professional athletes. He was almost impressed.

There would have been time, too, but then there was a butterfly on the boy’s hand, perched at the pinnacle of a bent talon. She had maybe always been there, or at least been there since he came out of the side hall, or maybe she had just appeared; the slightest pressure from her feet not-quite-touching his reality; not quite touching the suit that might have noticed her and reacted, but she wouldn’t have ever been on that talon if it did – there were nine more, after all.

Then, the world shifted.

Except something was wrong. When she brushed up against his reality, his self, there was something wrong with it. It did respond, it did react, but the shift was not so subtle and abrupt that it might have always been. The reaction was – difficult to describe. It was violent, but not violent, it just reacted violently and in such a way that rather than be gently transported he was thrown, and rather than a prepared bay on level B, he would find himself in a new, empty, and heavily secured hall outside a bay door much like the hall doors. It was larger, but not by much.

Meanwhile the butterfly was with Leviathan and always had been, and she relayed what she knew.

And somewhere on Level C, in Leviathan-class storage, a breach alarm went off. The hall doors began to close, and the lights began to flash red. All of that in the span of a few seconds.

Something began to hit the other side of the door, and through all the layers, and down a decontamination chamber, a weak human voice came through.

[font color="dimgray"]“Hello? Is someone there?”[/font]
[div style="margin:0 auto;max-width:100%;background-color:#000000;color:#ffffff;padding:1%;overflow:hidden;font-size:10pt;"][div style="border:2px solid #ffffff;padding:1%;"][div style="border:2px solid #ffffff;padding:2%;"][div align="left" style="overflow:hidden;font-family:'Courier New';"]The clash of metal and talon rang over his ears as he kept tearing at the metal door. Almost through, he thought to himself as his hands peeled the metal away to reveal a small pocket to glance through to the other room. No clear exit. At least not yet.

And, if he could not find one, then he would make his own exit. One way or another.

Woody senses a change. Behind him. Castor remained no longer alone in his pursuit, but there was a pause in his step. Good. The webbing on the floor had not been quite like the netting from before but an adhesive to keep him rooted to the ground. For all the good it might do against someone with superhuman strength, but it was better than nothing.

Maybe he would trip and fall along with his butterfly friend. His hearing and the vibrations in the air along his skin carefully making out the words over the clashing and tearing of metal ripped asunder into two. His arms arching overhead as the occasional glance and striking viciously without even looking back at the two potential threats to his escape. But he could see them.

And then the butterfly was gone. A few moments passed and in that moment Sensation knew something was going to happen with that insect. He stopped, freezing in place and contorting his body and arms into place. To leap, to duck, to fight. Then it happened.

The blue-winged butterfly landed on his finger. Suddenly there. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew there was nothing to done about that. Even if he adjusted accordingly in the moments in-between, it would do the same. A contest of extrasensory perception and an insect who could bend space-time at will. But Sensation could feel it. Sense it.

Like electricity racing through his entire body and sending every hair on end.

"Don't you-."

His talons reached for the butterfly. A cacophony of sound, color, and a lack of clear spacial perception assaulted his entire body's senses. His footing ceased to be and it felt like he was falling backwards and forwards at the same time before taking a deep dive into an entirely new direction. All for a split moment.


Before landing on hands and feet in an entirely different hallway. A few moments passed before he shivered and shook his body. One with a much larger sealed door than he had ever seen previously. The exit? No. He sensed someone beyond that door.

Or something. Just like Castor and the butterfly. And . . . and so many others. So many unnatural people and things. He had to tune it out to an extent before. Focus on other things. The conversation, getting out of here, fending off Castor. But now there was silence and Castor and the insect were no where to be found. They were . . .

Above him.

That butterfly piece of shit.

So that was the game now? Send him deeper into this complex and trap him? His eyes glanced around before turning left and right, twisting his gaze side to side. Doors were closing fast. Turning around to face away from the large door, his arms raised up and ready to aim. A slingshot should get him through the lot much faster than running, and the exit or the elevator shaft couldn't be behind that door.

A door he could sense had something different.

[font color="dimgray"]“Hello? Is someone there?”[/font]

Or maybe someone. Adjusting his footing quickly and firing, Woody's arms strained against the high-tensile silk lines before removing his feet from the ground and whisking through the air, stretching and flattening himself to become a human arrow through the doors before falling and rolling about about two-thirds of the path. A running start began as he hopped and volleyed over and through the closing doors. Another leap found him flipping mid-air before landing on three limbs in a perfect landing.

No one would blame him if he took a moment to sit. The previous exhaustion and bruises he got from who knows where, the workout of tearing through these doors, and the adrenaline that might wear out whenever it was least convenient for him. He was putting himself through paces he had not in a long time.

But he had to investigate this area. He couldn't leave someone behind.

But what if they're sealed behind this door for a reason?

Being . . . heroic--he hated that word--did not mean he had to be stupid. Tucking the talons away and slowly walking towards the large sealed door before leaping up and onto it, connecting all floor limbs to its surface, he slowly crawled along its service. Examining. Feeling with the senses. A heartbeat, movement, vibrations, or even something from the old sixth sense. Was a posthuman or anohuman, as Levi had so put it, be locked up in here?

Why? Why locked up someone? Dangerous? Experimentation? Not like anyone had told them they were the good guys. Sure, they could act like they cared, but all it took was one misstep of trust. Then they would lock him up in a chair or gurney for posthumans and stick needles into him. No thank you.

Searching around for a control panel or a terminal to access, Woody crawled slowly along the exterior before knocking a few times with his hand. Solid knocks. Loud and hard knocks. He kept a steady rhythm as he did so and pausing from time to time as he crawled along its surface before resuming again.

"Yes! I'm out here. Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Slow down. Don't speak too many questions. Start with the standard set, the first question.

"Do you know where you are?"[/div][/div][/div][/div]
[div style="background-color:dimgray;border-top:dimgray 4px outset;border-left:dimgray 4px inset;border-right:dimgray 4px outset;border-bottom:dimgray 4px inset;"][div style="border-top:dimgray 4px inset;border-left:dimgray 4px outset;border-right:dimgray 4px inset;border-bottom:dimgray 4px outset;"][div style="background-color:white;color:black;padding:15px;font-family:courier new;"]In large, black print, the door read: [font size="3"]CU-0-1616[/font].

The figure on the other side was a young adult male. Sensation may be able to sense him, a short distance away; not directly against the door, but down a hall lined with steel, leaning as though to hear against the thick glass of an interior door.

ACF-1616 pressed his ear against the inner door. It was so hard to hear into the hall over the breach alarm, and through the thick steel of the outer door, and down the short decontamination chamber that led into the bedrock of his room. But he could feel someone out there. He could hear them thinking, even if he couldn’t hear their thoughts. Dr. Levi said that it was okay, to be able to tell that someone was thinking and not know what. He was pretty sure it was because she had things she was hiding from him, but it was okay, because they couldn’t be dangerous things. Her thoughts were always so organized…

This new person wasn’t Dr. Levi. He couldn’t actually tell if it was one person, or two persons, or at least two thinking-things. There were other things here that thought and weren’t really people. Dr. Levi told him they were people, even if they weren’t human, but none of them thought like people. This thought halfway like a person, or maybe mostly like a person, but there was enough not-person there for him to recognize it as odd.

He closed his eyes, and focused on the loose gravel he’d knocked on the larger steel door before. Ten feet wasn’t very far at all, even with the containment measures, especially since he could see where he was aiming it. Dr. Levi had run tests, and she’d told him it would be easier if he could see. He liked being able to see into the decontamination hallway, even if he couldn’t see the main hall. He felt the cool stone under his bare feet, traced it to the rocks that had been trailed into the short hallway, and then forced one from one place to another.

The main door would vibrate again, struck by a small stone. The sound echoed strangely, faintly, but definitely resonated out of a singular point. Just to tell the person on the other side they were right, he was here. So they could still listen.

[font color="dimgray"]“I’m– not hurt.”[/font] He spoke English without a noticeable accent. [font color="dimgray"]“I’m in my containment unit. Sixteen-Sixteen, on the door, that’s me. My name is Simon.”[/font]

A moment of hesitation, distracted by the blaring alarms. When he spoke, it wasn’t exactly with agitation. Maybe a little hope, or a little excitement.

[font color="dimgray"]“Did something else breach? I can help. Dr. Levi says I’m getting better, I– I can help.”[/font]

Maybe, if he helped, Dr. Levi would see that he was ready to go outside. To see the sky again. She’d promised to take him to see it when he was better. Maybe if he could help, she would see that he was better.