2012-11-27 To Replay Mistakes

Silence reigns in Doom's dungeons. Either no one exists within them, or some other force is keeping his prisoners silent. Down in the depths of his castle, there's a small cell set aside, and within this cell is a single medical bed. Hooked up to this medical bed, is Shift. Unlike Doom's other prisoners, there is no collar on him, but instead a band of metal wraps around his forehead, connecting into the bed itself, keeping him from being able to look left or right, but only forward. His wrists and ankles are similarly strapped to the bed, and an IV is stuck into his right arm. Previously, it was administering sedatives, but as Doom prepares to deal with him, Shift was taken off of it.

Now, at around the time he should be waking up, noise fills his room, a woman's voice. Psylocke's voice. It emits from speakers in the headband it seems, but an image blinks into life above him showing her kneeling on the ground, holding his charred body on the drawbridge, an image of their earlier assault. She's in pain, obviously, and upset. Then image-Shift rises and takes a stand next to her. Several minutes pass before the concussion beams fire from image-Doom's palm and slam into Psylocke as she kneels there, magically gagged.

Then the image repeats, reliving the moment where she's hit specifically, and when it ends, it repeats again, on a loop.

Then more images pop up, the same scene, from different angles, in perfect sync with the first, which also repeats. The entire room is suddenly awash in the light of hundreds of screens showing not only Psylocke's 'death,' but the 'death' of Domino, and Carol. Over and over and over again. Endlessly.

Shift has never been dead before. Up until a couple of weeks ago, he'd never truly been injured, not since his X-Gene mutation first manifested when he was sixteen years of age. However, his psyche remains convinced that he has passed, for there are no dreams or waking moments in the darkness that lingers.

This unenviable assumption, however, is broken when the woman's voice begins to fill his mind in those strange, ethereal moments between slumber and lucidity. At first, he's content to simply let it linger, until his mind begins to discern the tone of fear and dead. This triggers the ugly recollection of his other memories, thoughts and experiences so terribly recent to him.

He's not dead.

Eyes flutter open and pupils focus, finding the first of many images shining before him in mid-air. He watches only with partial attention, for a simple test of his extremities introduces him to the could touch of metal, and the inability to move. Having never been placed into this sort of predicament, it is at first the most unnerving thing of all. His mind is still far too slowed by the waning effects of medicine for the thoughts and emotions to take full effect, but they do find their genesis in those brief, lingering moments.

Captive. Injured. Skin burning. Failure. Experimentations. Interrogation. The others. The others?

That's when he notices that the death of Psylocke is playing on a continual loop. He should have known better than to watch it, but he is no trained soldier, no mercenary, no man to have been put through conditioning to prepare him for this. And so, he watches. The waning effects of those sedatives are gradually replaced by the grief that takes hold of him as he watches, mollified by the realization that their failure has cost them all so dearly. In layers, he witnesses again and again the deaths of Domino, and eventually Carol, and all the while, that grief grows with layers added of guilt and fear.

At long last, with the shedding of a single tear that dribbles down his burnt face, he closes his eyes and refuses to watch those images any longer.

"The pain is great, I imagine."

Doom's voice fills the room next, but apparently he's not even there. The speakers, high-tech things to begin with, even for audio equipment, are precise enough to trick the mind into think Doom's voice is coming from anywhere in the room, and right now, it's directly in front of Shift. "To know that you failed so horribly. Their deaths... Their deaths were tragic, to be certain. Domino was the first. She died in the battle, of course, but Carol and Psylocke... They survived." The images suddenly shift, several showing Carol in chains, and several of Psylocke, unconscious on a table similar to his own. "Carol was the next to die... I tried to discover why you would attack me here, why you would besiege me in my own home, but her heart gave out before I could get anything from her." The images of Carol are replaced by Psylocke, and she's no longer unconscious, but awake, her mouth moving but the images do not relay what she says. "She answered my questions. Easily, in fact. She told me all about you Kwabena. Your past. Your present. She told me how she used her telepathy to worm her way into your mind. Trick you into believing she cared what happened to you. It was subtle, and ingenius. She knew you would protect her from me, sacrificing yourself to save her. That's why you were brought with her, to protect her long enough to film me and my 'cruelty.'" The images flicker to the destruction brought about by the team. Airships crashed into homes, hospitals without power, as those on life support slowly die without the machines needed to save them. "/My/ cruelty..."

"She was quite arrogant. My people enjoyed the public execution greatly." Another image of her, shackled to a stage as Doom snaps his fingers and two rods are applied to her temple, electricity firing into her body before she goes limp.

Unlike the others, Shift does -not- know what to expect next. Ghanaians do not imprison and torture each other like this, and he was never given to Hollywood films. The voice startles him, and he briefly, reflexively pulls against his bindings to no avail. His eyes peel downward in an attempt to see the enemy, but he can't see past his own body to determine just how far away Doom stands.

So he listens. Recounting the tale of their deaths does wonders for helping it to sink in. The loss of Domino stings, to be sure; he'd not even given it second thought to consider whether Doom was tricking him. His friendship with her had been unique, in so many ways. She touched on the 'thug' side of him, the side that didn't care or respect for the law and was willing to do whatever it took to accomplish his goals. Beyond that, there was a closeness that had developed between them, an unexpected trust. That she would die in battle though? That is comforting. Were he not so struck by the weight of it all, he might have even dared to smile.

Carol he barely knew. He wasn't given to trusting or respecting anyone easily, either. The thought of such a strong woman being so horribly treated is tragic, to be sure, but nothing that affects him too greatly.

Not nearly as the tale Doom spins of Psylocke.

Denial takes hold quickly. While he wasn't one to trust easily, he was also one who trusted ferociously once those walls were broken. Psylocke had not just slipped through those walls, she had shattered them. Memories flash while the voice spins its lies, serving only to strengthen a fresh conviction that such a betrayal was impossible. He nearly speaks in defiance, but the images catch him off guard.

Were they wrong? Were they wrong to not just attack Doom, but his people? They had certainly taken every effort to prevent what he's witnessing in replay from actually happening, but truth be told, everything was moving so quickly that Kwabena couldn't debate Doom's testimony with any sort of actuality. Lost in the ferocity of battle, he hadn't actually registered -just how bad- the destruction had been.

The African is given little time to truly absorb any of these thoughts, for Doom keeps spinning the chain along so meticulously. Every time he comes close to completing a thought, another idea is presented to him. This final one, however, is the one that strikes him so deeply. His best friend, executed, in spite of his best efforts to turn the tide and give them a way out.

Once again, Shift closes his eyes, not even registering the itching pain that crawls across his entire body, thanks to the burns caused by his costume of unstable molecules. Only then, after a few moments of silence, does his accented voice speak. It is filled with venom. "You gave them quite a show, didn't you."

Doom chooses to ignore the one thing spoken by Kwabena, continuing on his own. "To think she played you so well... Though, what else can you expect from a telepath trained in ninjitsu. Deception, I believe, is the most reliable tool of the Kunoichi. Not all of you were so easily tricked, though." An image flashes up, this one of Blink, and the sound played over the speakers in Shifts head band is of Doom, speaking to her, in full uniform, even armed with her quiver. "While you stay here, you will be treated and act as a citizen of Latveria. This means you will address me as, 'My Lord.' Is that understood?' Blink nods, following image-Doom, 'As you wish, My Lord.' is her response, 'I'll not test your patience any further. I need you...' The image pauses there, and Doom speaks again. "The telepath had less time to work with your teleporter. She sees that I do not lie, for she had less time under her influence than you."

Now, as he speaks, something slowly begins slipping through the IV and into Shift's veins. Something all too familiar to him, for the high it delivers is far more potent then any street heroine. It seems Doom knows quite a bit about Kwabena.

The initial response is a deep sense of betrayal. That difficulty in trusting runs deep inside Kwabena, and though he barely knew Blink, it was quite easy for his appraisal of her to turn. His eyes narrow and a cold fury grips him, visible in the way his fingers bend ever so slightly; not fully clenched into fists, but bend as such so that his fingers claw into the medical bed upon which he lies.

Like a snake, the supposed betrayal of Betsy slips upon him, cloaked behind the betrayal of Blink. For a first, fleeting moment, Kwabena begins to question her loyalty as well. What if Doom was right? What if he -had- been played? What if even the kiss was just a way of getting beneath his skin, convincing him that the forceful manipulation of his mutagene would one day be atoned for in the form of a deeper relationship?

The final transposition of useless hands into tightly clenched fists comes when he feels the hot poison slipping into his brain cells, causing his dopamine receptors to light up in a way they haven't in over a month. He had worked so hard to get clean this time, and Betsy's friendship had been a big part of that, but going back to the drug was the last thing Kwabena wanted.

He knew its grip all too well.

"No!" he suddenly cries out, trying to hold on to those last precious moments of purity. The African begins thrashing against his bindings, caring not for the way they bruise his already burnt skin. "No!" he screams out in both anger and terror. "STOP! STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING! I DON'T WANT THIS! I DON'T... want..."

Fingers relax, eyes flutter, and every muscle in the captive's body slackens. Heroin was a most vicious drug... one's first time using provides a feeling unlike anything in the world, but every successive high is progressively less potent, until the user is trapped in a vicious cycle of using -just to be normal-. This, however... this feeling is just like that first blissful moment. Defeated, the African releases a deep sigh of relief, and closes his eyes as he gives in to the drug with abandon.

The entire time, behind Kwabena's medical bed, was a pane of glass, behind which stands Doom himself, and as he watches the Ghanian relax, he allows the faintest of smiles to touch the corners of his lips. He leans over the mic again, ready to begin the next phase.

The second Kwabena gives in, the images stop. Silence reigns for a few seconds, before Doom's voice breaks it again. "Very good, Kwabena. Very good indeed." Doom's voice fades again, and he looks to the doctors in the room with him. "When he comes off the high, I want you to run the clips again, then adminster a smaller dose of the drug. Once he submits, turn off the clips and repeat, understood?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"Good." Doom looks back into the room again, before he says, "Tell me when he no longer reacts to the images, or he requests the drug." Once that happens, the nanites can be installed.

At this point, Kwabena doesn't have a care in the world. He's high. He's struggled to hard to avoid it, but now that he's in the thick of it, nothing else matters. He's floating, painless in every way, both physical and emotional.\

He's not even sure how long it lasts, but when he begins to come down, he feels the sickness coming on strong. His body begins to tremble, his stomach turning, his mind tearing at itself in desperation for another hit.

The clips only serve to give him something upon which to latch on to, something to pay heed to that isn't the sudden and violent symptoms of withdrawal. For a few quiet moments he watches them, and the lies feed back into his mind once more. The first time he tries to resist, going so far as to shout in anger as he had when pleading not to be given the drug, but when it is at last administered and the images cease, he once again fades into the few moments of relief that are granted to him.

On and on this cycle goes, serving to both tear apart his brain, frying his dopamine receptors, and searing the images and lies in place where the damage has been done. What makes it so masterful is that this was his greatest weakness of all, and it is exploited with almost surgical precision.

Kwabena has lost track of time when he finally reacts in a different way. The screams had first died down into quiet, pathetic whimpers of protest, when finally, he stops reacting to the images. Doom's request come in quick succession, for during the next cycle, he both closes his eyes to ignore the images, and makes a desperate request.

"Please... please give me more this time, I... I can't... I need more than last time."

Doom had been stepping into the control room, already alerted that Shift had stopped reacting to the images. It wasn't the preferred way to continue, he'd rather Shift request the drug himself, but as he does so, with Doom there to witness it, it only makes it sweeter.

"Excellent," he looks over to the doctors running the session, declaring, "Do as he asks. Make the increase noticable." He then singles one out, and gives him a hand signal to follow. "Get the nanites and follow me." Doom turns to the window, watching Kwabena, and when the high takes him again, Doom strides silently into the room, holding a hand out for the painfully large needle contained in the briefcase carried by Doom's assistant. Once handed over, he approaches Shift and simply plunges the syringe into the Ghanian's arm, injecting the nanites into the man's bloodstream. "This is your reward, Kwabena. These nanites will heal your wounds, and each one carries a potent dose of the drug you so desperately seek. Searching for heroin off the street will not help you anymore, for this is a special concoction of Doom's. You will find nothing works quite as well... and if you want to feel its affect again, you will do as I command." He gestures to the glass pane, and the final step in the process is brought out.

Psylocke.

She strides proudly into the room, defiant even now. When she's near enough for Doom to touch, he places a hand on her shoulder and forces her to kneel in front of Shift's table. A snap of his fingers and the Ghanian is released, handed a single shot pistol, and given a command. "Kill her."

In the throes of such horrid withdrawal, Kwabena actually goes so far as to vomit. Stuck against the bed like so, some of the vile liquid seeps down either side of the face, while the rest gets stuck in his mouth. He coughs, chokes, and spits, sending chunks of half-digested goop into the air only to splatter in various places, until his ability to breath is restored. With heaving breaths he sucks air into his lungs, trying to stabilize the nausea and spinning that takes him so voraciously.

He's not so far gone to not hiss when the large needle is plunged, eyes darting to the side in a desperate and fearful attempt to watch. He'd read about nanites during the days spent trying to learn about his mutation, having delved deep into thick tomes of scientific thesis on rent from the New York Public Library. The realization of what has just been done to him strikes him like a bus, and he closes his eyes in abject terror, too afraid to face the world in that horrible moment.

"What... what have you done," he shakily whispers.

His answer comes all too soon.

Released from the table, Kwabena can already feel the affects of the nanites as they rush to his skin, causing what can be healed to heal, and what cannot be healed to flake away. It's an ugly sight as he weakly stands, stricken by the odd clash of withdrawal and the soothing relief to his skin. The presenting of Psylocke only further seems to destabilize him, and he looks over toward Doom as she is made to kneel.

"But... but I thought..." He gestures toward her, confused. "I thought," he drawls, "she was execu..."

A cold touch of steel in his hand.

"...ted."

Kwabena turns and looks at the pistol, having not yet comprehended what exactly the tyrant was asking of him.

Doom shakes his head. "No. She lives. I executed a decoy to satisfy my people, but I saved her death for you. She betrayed you. Lied to you. Used you... The least I could do is give you the choice to end her life." He stresses the word choice, then says, "If you do, you will be given the drug you desire, and if you do not... well, I'll release you, deactivate the nanites, and you can die slowly from withdrawl as you wander the Latverian countryside. It is entirely your choice." Again, choice is stressed, but this time, Doom falls silent, waiting. His doctors, of course, have left. Doom is unafraid of a pistol, but if it were turned on one of the unprotected assisstants, they would not fare as well.

With a stark and vomit-stained frown, Kwabena looks down upon Psylocke. A myriad of thoughts go through his mind, ranging from turning the gun upon Doom, to blowing the woman's head off, to turning it upon himself. His hand shakes, the pistol trembling in his grasp. Her silence only seems to intensify his anger and betrayal, each playing against each other as they stack against his better judgement.

But then, he thinks of Michael Slean, the drug trafficker he'd destroyed in Brooklyn. He'd spared Slean's life, and done far more damage to his power, reputation, and organization than he could have had he just pulled the trigger when he had the gun against Slean's head.

Slowly, Kwabena begins to lower the weapon. Even as he does so, he glowers at Psylocke, hating her for her silence both real and intangible. No voice inside his mind, no soothing expression. Instead, he'll leave her as he left Slean. To rot.

His foot comes up with sudden force, connecting with Psylocke's face and throwing her backward. Then, he turns upon Doom, and the pistol comes up to his own chin. A maddened rage has filled the Ghanaian's eyes, for in a moment, he considers that when he pulls the trigger, he would finally blow his own brains out and end this.

Then, he remembers his mutagene.

Bloodstained eyes change, and the Ghanaian begins to laugh. It's a trembling, conflicted laugh, but it's a laugh nonetheless. If he pulls the trigger, his head will either turn to smoke, or it won't. Either way, there will no longer be a bullet in a pistol, which is a worthless thought but in his maddened state, Kwabena considers this to be all the more worthwhile to him than anything else.

The finger curls around the trigger and squeezes.

As Shift places the pistol to his chin, Doom's eyes narrow through his mask. He had kicked his decoy in the face, indicating that he had effectively shattered the man's connection to her, but his obediance, clearly, had not been gained. "That, unfortunately, I can not allow." Even as Shift pulls the trigger, Doom hand flicks upwards and the pistol flies to his hand, firing it's round up into the ceiling.

Doom sighs, as he stands there watching Shift, and with disappointment, his hand comes up and flicks at Kwa. Instantly a force, not unlike telekinesis forces himn towards the table, at which point the restraints lock around him again and Doom strides over to Psylocke, hoisting her on her feet. With a shove towards the door, the decoy manages to speak, a perfect duplication of her voice, "Pathetic." The words are spat at Kwa, just before the door slams shut and Doom looks down to him. "You will go without the drug for five hours. I can only imagine the pain of the withdrawal, and then we will repeat this. This cycle will continue, until you either obey, or die from the side-effects." With that, he strides from the room and leaves Shift to his fate.

"Fuck yourself!"

The answer was directed to Psylocke.

Trapped once again on the table, Kwabena glowers toward Doom mere moments before the device clamps down around his temple once more and the IV re-inserted. "I hate you," he growls toward Doom. "You won't win."

Twelve hours later...


 * BANG!*

The resounding bang of a discharging pistol fills the small cell, but Kwabena fails to even blink. His eyes are so distraught that blood has clotted at their edges, his face discolored and a bit lighter than it's usual sun-kissed black, his cheeks sunken and stretched with anguish. His very psyche is but a shell now, and naught but two thoughts exist in his mind. The need for the drug, and his vengeful malice. As Psylocke's decoy falls to the ground with a bullet hole in her forehead, his lips curl back into disgust. "Now... w-who's, p-pa-path-thetic." His voice quivers with the side effects of having his brain so horribly destroyed by the continued infusion of the narcotic, to a point where he can barely speak straight.

The pistol clatters to the floor, and he turns toward Doom with the subtleties of an expectant hope in his eyes, while his fingers tremble in predictable withdrawal.

Doom watches, and a smile graces his lips, hidden from view by his mask. The collapse of 'Psylocke's' body brings his hand up into a light applause, and he looks to Shift. "I'm proud of you... Your reward, as promised." He snaps his fingers, and several nanites release their drug payload directly into his veins. Once done, Doom gestures back to the window, and instantly several assistants hurry in, pulling the nonfunctional decoy out of the room as fast as possible before he notices the exposed circuitry.

"Come. I will show you to your new home."

Doom holds out a hand to Kwabena, offering aid in his drug-induced stupor.

He shouldn't go. He shouldn't. Unfortunately, everything is a blur of confusion for Kwabena in his current state, and he is, sadly, beyond malleable. He walks slowly, dreadfully slow as the drug comes to him again... he doesn't even show the signs of relief. "My... reward..." he drawls. "I... don't want... to be hooked... again." He takes Doom's hand like a boy. "I need... I need it... but I don't... I don't want to. I hope... you understand."

"Oh I do. Doom understands. Doom is here for you." He starts to lead him from the room, his imperial voice taking on a very good impression of a soft quality, "I wish it could be some other way, but don't you remember? She tricked you. She forced you to save her at the cost of your own life. It was all I could do to keep you alive... Unfortunately, the drug seems to be necessary for your survival now..." As the door opens and he helps him into a waiting hoverchair, Doom offers a few last words before it starts to carry Shift off to a waiting, luxurious room.

"I hope /you/ understand..."

Kwabena is no fool. Quite intelligent, in fact, but perhaps to a fault. Sober, there is no way such a pathetic attempt at misleading him would work. In fact, even in his destroyed state, he considers the absurdity of requiring some form of opiate to live.

Then again, he did throw himself in front of some strange energy weapon while in his gaseous state. Perhaps...

Perhaps Doom was right.

He slows for a moment, dumbstruck as the lie sets root and digs deep. Only when the door opens does he show some other reaction, which is to turn toward Doom with a look of confusion. Not for the news, which is still being rooted in him, but at the room. Such a luxurious room.

Doom watch Shift impassively, then nods to him as he looks back in confusion. "It is the least I can do. This will be your room. You can come back to it at anytime, even after you are well enough to leave the castle. I warn you though. The nanites will continue to release just enough of the drug to keep you alive and out of pain, without compromising your ability to think clearly," or at least as clearly as Doom wants him to think. He doesn't want just another robot, after all. "You will need to return to me every month in order to receive a new supply, or you /will/ suffer fatal withdrawal. As well, if you want to ever feel the high again, you will need to obtain new orders from me periodically, and fulfill them. Or, if I feel you have completed something commendable. These are the only things you must consider."

Kwabena looks from Doom and back to the room, swallowing nervously before the words take hold though the haze. Then, he seems to relax with a sense of acceptance, and nods his head slowly. He's about to thank the man, when he realizes just how odd that would be. Brow wrinkled in confusion, he turns to face Doom, frowning. "But... why?" he asks. "We came here, we tried to... we tried to ruin you. We caused so much death and destruction. Why help us?" He shakes his head, clearly not understanding.

"Not us," Doom replies, shaking his head. "Only you and Blink, for I recognized instantly the signs of manipulation. Psylocke used you both, paid off the mercenary, and lied to Marvel. Domino died in the attack, and Marvel refused to listen to reason." He sighs faintly, making a good show of being regretful. "My people will understand, they are forgiving to those who deserve it."

"Blink." Kwabena appears to be piecing it all together. "The other one who wasn't betrayed." A stalwart expression seems to come over his face, and he nods his head slowly. "Your... people.. must be good people." He turns and looks in at the room then, feeling suddenly very tired, as his ordeal starts to come crashing down on him. "May I go and lie down now?" he asks.

Doom nods to Kwabena slowly, "They are, and you may." His first comment, and accompanying look though, is noted, and as he closes the door to Kwa's room, he glances over his shoulder to the two guards that have entered into the hall behind him. "Watch him. Closely." With that, he turns and strides back the way he came, his cloak billowing out behind him.