(no subject)

[mayfield_mods]

[Welcome to the Factory.

A blackened, dilapidated building sitting on the edge of town, it seems to have appeared out of nowhere overnight. It is surrounded by an electrified fence; should anyone on the outside (or the inside) try to cross it, they will find themselves repelled by the force with painful electric shocks. No amount of strength, size, magic, or flying ability will get you past the fence.

The Factory itself looks like it's been through hell. It's falling apart on the outside. Half of the building looks collapsed. The bricks are scorched. All of the window frames are rusted. It certainly doesn't look like a place that should be up and running, but it is. Dr. Johnson and her team are scurrying around the building, performing treatments, operations, and experimentations- making 'improvements'.

Following your treatment and/or surgery, you wake up- or don't- in a filthy room. It's nothing like the fairly sterile surgery room had been. You're crammed in there with dozen other 'patients', each in varying stages of recovery.

You're probably in moderate to severe pain. The pain might be so great that you are incapable of moving. Perhaps some of your limbs are missing or maybe you find huge gaps in your memory. Maybe you're very sick with some disease you don't recall developing. Either way, you were sent in for 'improvements', and you've been 'improved' as much as Dr. Johnson thinks you needed.

If they're lucid enough, the other patients will probably talk to you. You'll find that, like you, they're all non-drone townspeople.

You'll be contained here for 24 hours. Following that, you'll be released. When you leave the building, you'll find yourself outside the hospital in Mayfield with the Factory nowhere to be seen.

The Factory rooms are as follows:

Recovery: A large recovery room with dozens and dozens of gurneys and beds. It's filled with equipment like IVs and medical charts. This is where all characters will wake up. It's very unsanitary in here.

Operating room: Where you endured your surgery, treatment, and/or experiment. All operating and medical supplies are still here. Dr. Johnson is nowhere to be found.

Supply room: Standard medical supplies are found here. They include typical doctors' equipment, bandages, medicines, and the like. There's nothing particularly strong or lethal here, nor is there anything sharp which could be used as a weapon.

Lobby: The front lobby of the Factory. Designed like a hospital lobby, it also contains the waiting room. Dated 1950s magazines are strewn everywhere.

Today, January 30th, the following characters will be brought to the factory following their operations:


Rikku
Belphegor
Ilsa Higa
Terezi Pyrope
Equius Zahaak
Yukihina
Blue
Ivo Robotnik
Signless
Ichirin Kumoi
Bazett McRemitz
The Captain
Canada
Gamzee Makara
Poland
Hiccup
Dizzy
Mesousa
Flandre Scarlet
Haruhi Suzumiya



[ooc; The Factory post will be used for IC interactions for the 24 hours that your character will be made to stay. They are free to interact with other patients before their release. Only the above characters should reply to this post.

The mods will respond to the sign-up comments of the above characters to let them know the results of their surgery.]

Comments

[worstvikingever]

[Hiccup is lying on his side on a bed in the recovery room. His eyes are shut tightly and his hands cover his face as he tries to forget what just happened to him... except there's no possible way he can forget, because he was awake and conscious for every second.

All of the skin on the right side of his body has been replaced with shiny black scales. There is a black wing attached to his back on the right side, folded tightly.

Hiccup is trying very hard not to think about where Mrs. Johnson got all these things. Unfortunately it is far too easy to imagine her butchering his best friend to get his scales and wing.

He hurts. He's stiff. He can barely move. And he's trying his very hardest not to cry.]

[yvnyet_uv_mekrdhehk]

[Hiccup's not the only one in pain and barely moving. And the best way Rikku knows how to deal with trauma is through companionship. So:]

H-hey.... You're still alive over there, aren't you?

[frothymilk]

[Equius doesn't wake up screaming. It would be an appropriate response to the surgery he just went through, and the pain he was currently feeling, but such a thing is impossible.]

[You see, he was never asleep.]

[The terror of watching his body being taken apart piece by piece? He didn't really feel it. He'd spent the whole surgery watching, paralyzed with morbid fascination, as alien organ after organ was pulled from his body cavity, only to be replaced by far more familiar ones.]

[The pain? But a hazy memory now. Ever since thick, indigo blood had been pumped into his body, everything was hazy. Everything was miracles. And now that the paralytic drug had worn off, he could reach up and feel the goat horns that had been grafted to his head]

[Mother]

[fucking]

[yes]

I...

Am the highblood, now...

[With a wide, manic grin, Equius rolls onto his side and curls up into a little ball, giggling away]

[imbodytemp]

[Mesosusa stumbles up to Equius, looking a little bit out of it but]

B..Blood? You got blood? You gotta share some of that!

[miraculls]

[It's the sight of those incredibly familiar horns that manages to catch Gamzee's attention past the pain and depression. In an instant he's off the ground and in Equius's face, fangs bared in a snarl.]

Say that again, motherfucker.

[imbodytemp]

[Mesousa is stilling in a corner, staring at the wall while slowly rocking back and forth. His eyes are half opened and his mouse is in a lazy smile, which reveal a set of sharpened fangs. Occasionally, he giggles at seemingly nothing.]

Heh

Hehehe

[hisnameisthecaptain]

Great, another bunny.

What's so ☠-[He twitches a bit and then hacks and coughs. He finishes by spitting a quarter into a metal bucket labeled "Swear Jar".]

[yvnyet_uv_mekrdhehk]

[Rikku's one of the luckier ones, in as much as she doesn't remember anything from her surgery. Thanks to the wonders of modern(ish) chemistry, she was knocked out the entire time.

Of course, the trade off is that she's having problems coming out of the drug-induced unconsciousness. She's groggy and she feels sick to her stomach and she can barely string two thoughts together in this state. Plus, whatever was done to her stomach has her feeling quite a bit of pain, even through the drug-induced fog she's in. While pain is nothing new--she was a guardian, she's taken a few hits in her time--this is something else entirely. It's like something's trying to cut her up from the inside out; the first time she shifts in the cot, she cries out from how something seems to tear inside of her.

Also, she's having a lot of problems with her hands. They seem to be on the wrong wrists, and she's having trouble figuring out how they work.

So, she remains in her bed in the recovery room, curled in the fetal position and doing her best to keep her body movements to a minimum to keep the pain from getting worse. She stares at her hands and wiggles her fingers to try and make sense of the new alignment.

It's a distraction from the pain, if nothing else.]

[hisnameisthecaptain]

Hey, hey you.

Get up. We need to get out of here.

I don't know what the...

[He twitches and hacks, coughing up a quarter and spitting it into the bucket on his bed labeled "Swear Jar"

He is not sure if he wants to try and sit up..]

Oh, what? What the...

[He does it again, his one eye twitches this time and he coughs up another quarter into that metal bucket.]

[ooeeooahah]

[ Ilsa was wheeled into recovery with bandaging on her head, softly retching and whimpering. ]

[ In the hours after her surgery, the sounds decrease, but she still has not made a move. ]

[hisnameisthecaptain]

Hey, Ilsa.

Ilsa? Oh, what the...

[He twitches and hacks, coughing up a quarter and spitting it into the bucket on his bed labeled "Swear Jar"

He is not sure if he wants to try and sit up..]

[answerer_sword]

[A strange woman in a suit is sitting in the corner, staring off into the distance. A patch of hastily done stitches, some coming loose, circles around her head. However, she does not seem to notice the blood dripping from her wounds.]

No thank you Mrs. Cleaver, I really must be getting home. We're having squab this evening.

[As she finishes this sentence, she emits a strange, echoing laugh, as if it is the funniest joke in the world that only she understands.]

[But minutes ago, she was struggling against her restraints, trying to resist any attempt to perform surgery on her. She had tried as hard as she could to escape so that she could go back and protect her allies. But it was useless. No matter how she reinforced herself, no matter what spells she cast, she could not escape her binds or even knock her captors unconscious. Her screams, once of defiance, had turned into ones of pain as the "medics" cut open her skull. They had finally ceased altogether once her brain was pulled out of her body, leaving behind an empty husk.]

[And now, the once proud Enforcer, the woman who could defeat Heroic Spirits with her bare hands, the only living human who wielded a Noble Phantasm, had been reduced to this state. Her mind is completely gone, impossible to call back because her brain has been removed. Now, all she can do is quote sitcoms and laugh.]

[hisnameisthecaptain]

[The Captain is trying to sit up in his bed. Holding a bucket in his lap.

It's not going well.

He is muttering under his breath. Every now and then he twitches and spasms before coughing a quarter up into that bucket.

The bucket says "Swear Jar" on the side of it.

One might notice that he has yet to actually mutter a curse.]

[frothymilk]

[Equius is just watching this process with open amazement. Like seriously.]

Motherfucking miracles...

[mounties]

[The surgery was terrifying. It was beyond terrifying but she'll never admit that. The first few hours in recovery, she's groggy, but trying to keep stalk of things. Physically, she looks just the same as ever, but mentally, that's where the change is. She's not uncertain about herself, just about making sure that everyone knows who she is, and that she's going to take care of things.

By the time most people are waking up, the nation is already on her feet, looking around, for clues, for ways to get them all out of here and get back at that horrible wench who seems determined to use them as playthings.

If she seems you're up, she might approach, either to ask for information or to reassure you. Don't worry, she knows what she's doing. She's a heroine, after all.]

[destroytheblueone]

[It's taken the good doctor some time to finally find the strength to move... and so far, all he's done is roll in place. Stupid big metal ball body. He spots the nation out of the corner of his eye and tries to get his attention.]

Miss? Excuse me! I need some help!

[he'd be VERY grouchy right about now. Instead, his pleas sound like one of joy.]

[destroytheblueone]

[One might notice that Eggman's room doesn't have a bed. In fact, one might notice the only thing there is a large ball in there.

Where's the scientist you might ask?

Hidden behind the ball. With only his head.]

Help me... help me... [he laughs a bit] What a great experience...

[hisnameisthecaptain]

Great?

Are you crazy? What the...

[He twitches a bit and then hacks and coughs. He finishes by spitting a quarter into a metal bucket labeled "Swear Jar".]

[then_there_were_none]

[Odd.

Very odd.

Her wings felt strange. Her legs wouldn't work, or her arms--even when she asked them to. Or when she wanted them to, like now, so she could stand up--turn out the lights, they were too bright.

...what Flandre didn't realize yet was that they weren't there at all. Cut off completely, with only her wings remaining. It was almost hard to see Flamdre amidst all the wing, a small torso in a jumble of handlike bones and joints and suede-like membrane now twice her size.



She had to move. The lights were bothering her. Making her feel sick and dizzy and unable to think.

One of Flandre's wings flicks up, like the palm of a massive hand, and the now much bigger thumb-claw scrabbles for the nearest object in range.]

[uppercuts]

[Ichirin is already plenty miserable, more miserable than she can ever remember being, but seeing Flandre in her condition is enough to bring Ichirin to tears. She just wants to wrap Flandre up in a big, tight hug.

Tight enough to snap her spine in two.

It's a tempting idea, and just thinking about it makes Ichirin feel a little better. In fact, it just might be the best idea she's ever had.

She casually puts her hand on Flandre's wing, hoping to get her attention.]

[uppercuts]

[Ichirin is sitting by the wall, holding her head in her hands. She saw everything, was aware of everything. She couldn't feel it, but that almost made it worse, like it had never happened, and it was all just a dream, and maybe, just maybe if she pinched herself she'd wake up.

But no.

There's no waking up from this.

She lifts her head and scans the room, just once, before putting her head back in her hands and shuddering. She's already starting to feel the effects of her surgery - after a few moments, she looks up again, eyes darting nervously back and forth between a few people.

A great misery wells up inside her as she again forces her gaze toward the floor. She writes it off as despair over the situation, at first. She'll soon discover it's so much more than that.]

[frothymilk]

Hey.

Hey, why are you so sad?

[Poor girl's personal space is immediately invaded by a pale boy with candycorn goat horns cuddling up against her side. A hand grabs her chin to turn her face to his, and then he will gaze into her eyes as if her sadness is the worst thing he could ever imagine.]

[imperial_ray]

-Gone.

Not gone like they were before being regained. Just... gone.

Her wings. Her tail. Not just their physical manifestation. The very parts of herself. The essence of who she was a s a Gear.

Gone.

The emptiness threatened to swallow her up. She curled into a ball on the floor, feeling nothing but that emptiness...-

[then_there_were_none]

[Something brushes against Dizzy's arm; something soft and something warm, yet skeletally thin. Like fingers.

It happens again, and something behind her...chirps. Flandre has encountered an obstacle. She's not sure how to get around it.]

...are the lights over here? Is the switch there? [Her voice is small and slurred and her words sluggish, as if she was very tired. She certainly felt that way.

Things would be so much easier, if only her legs worked like they should...]

[nosigntospeakof]

[If Signless was from just a little further in his timeline maybe the surgery wouldn't have been so bad. Still horrible, more painful than anything he's ever experienced in his life, but only moderately worse than being tortured, strung up by red hot irons by his wrists, shot in the chest and left to burn in the sun.

He's being uncharacteristically antisocial in the recovery room, staying in or at least close to his bed. Part of the reason is because moving is so painful. His chest feels like it's going to burst, every few beats of his heart a new shock of pain. Even breathing is a chore, every breath he takes feels thick and leaves him gasping. He fell in a pond once when he was a wriggler. Would have drowned if the Dolorosa hadn't been there to pull him out. This feels terrifyingly similar to how it felt to inhale that murky water.

He hasn't caught sight of his reflection since his surgery but he can feel the outward "improvements" Dr. Johnson had made. The dry, aching gills running down his ribcage, the fins attached to his neck that feel like they're falling apart even without being touched.

But the worst part is what they did to his blood. He'd watched as they pumped out his mutant blood and mixed it with indigo, creating that one of a kind tyrian purple so many trolls back home would kill to have. He'd watched as they pumped it back into his body.

Blood doesn't matter, blood is blood, it's not who I am. He has to keep silently telling himself this, repeating his own teachings over and over in his head. It's only blood, it won't effect me, I won't become her.]

[frothymilk]

[Equius has sprawled himself over the Signless's back, giggling manically as he wraps his arms around his shoulders]

Hello, Father. Guess what color my blood is? Ehehehehe...

[timeinhishands]

[Everything seemed to be heard from a distance once he had been wheeled out from his surgery and into the Recovery room. Everything echoed, everything made him sick to look at anything, and most of all, something just didn't feel right.

He is looking up at the ceiling above his bed and just stared emptily, trying to piece the things in his simple mind what had just happened and where he was at? Everything is painful and hurts right now... so where is his part--

... it was then when a small whine was heard and he tried to push himself up from the filthy bedding. He was missing something. Somebody... there was supposed to be somebody there he had to be with. Why aren't they there? Wasn't that the role given to him in life? The feline ears above his head flicked above his head as if now the surrounding area had finally starting to get adjusted to hearing other people and other things.

He sniffed the air-- no, nothing. Nobody with a familiar scent at all. So, the fur-covered man tried to move, using his own teeth to remove the IV on his skin of course which resulted in a bloody mess in itself, and then started to go down on all fours on the floor... beginning his search for the one he was meant to be with. He was in pain, but couldn't convey it through it other than the yelps and a bark to catch his Master's attention, despite with a feline appearance, he was more acting out in domestic canine fashion.

Where is she? That's all he was concerned about... as he limped on one arm across the area, looking for his companion that he swore to stay beside. But who is that person he is looking for and why can't he remember a face?]

[then_there_were_none]

[Flandre had given up trying to find a lightswitch for now; she felt too sick. She had figured out a way to crawl faster, while her legs were being uncooperative; pulling herself along with her wings and stumping after with the remains of her torso.

But that was tiring.

So Flandre had just flopped down in place, wings loosely folded like too-big leathery blankets around her.

She made a rather lumpy obstacle.]

[foretaste]

[Terezi is curled up on her hospital bed on her side, her knees to her chest, her hands sealed over her ears and her eyes squeezed shut. Now and then she opens them as if agonized between the decision to leave them opened or closed; this is strange in itself, because anyone who knows Terezi knows that she is blind, and whether her eyes are opened or closed is inconsequential.

...Not any more, though. Her burned-red eyes have been replaced- not with the yellow sclera and black eyes of a troll but the white sclera and blue-green eyes of a human. They look bizarre and unnatural standing out against her grey skin, and they dart around fearfully now and then, but mostly they stay on a fixed point. Teal blood is dripping down her chin; her mouth is clamped shut, tightly.

Mayfield has hurt her before. It's hurt her friends. It's killed her more than once.

But it has never done anything to her as awful as this.

She can't smell anything. She can't taste anything. She can't feel anything.

Even if she were capable of speaking now, she wouldn't know what to say. Terezi looks nearly catatonic with shock.]

[frothymilk]

[Hello Terezi.]

[Right before your eyes, eight pink, thick fingers wrap around the edge of the bed. Then, slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, Gamzee's horns inch into view. No black, tangled masses of hair accompany them, however. Just smooth, slightly greasy strands of blond, followed by wide blue eyes, the whites laced with indigo]

[ S T A R I N G ]

[Right into your eyes]

[Right into your soul]

[princecreepshow]

[ Having been awake and aware during the surgery, Bel knows exactly what has happened. Does that make it worse or better? Because this way he knows exactly what's happened to him, but it also means he remembers every single second of the pain of it all. He knows his fingers are replaced with knives, that his eyes are gone. Also, there's a mink tail coming out of his lower back. And fuck his hands hurt. He can move them --slightly.

Pain's something he can like --if he gets hurt in battle that is.

And there's something in place of his eyes, he can feel that. But he has no idea with what. Makes him feel lucky that his bangs cover them.

So for a while he's just... sitting on the bed and trying to move his hands even through the intense pain, rendering them half paralysed and quite useless.

And he's listening. Listening to see if he can recognise any of the voices in the room. ]

[mounties]

[That looks mighty painful, so Belphegor will get company at some point, a woman standing at his bedside.]

Hey, kiddo... that looks painful.

[miraculls]

[For the first six hours he's in the recovery room, Gamzee is frozen immobile, the drugs coursing through his system keeping him paralyzed other than the slow rise and fall of his chest. Not that he cares, though - he's flying higher than he's ever had before, and even the agonizing pain of the procedure was worth this, this sense of euphoria and self-worth and everything is miracles and nothing hurts.

...until the drug wears off, of course. The pain hits him fast and hard - he can't even get enough breath to scream at first, jerking involuntarily off his gurney and crashing onto the floor. He tries to stagger back to his feet, retching as the world swims around him, and it feels like his skin is burning, like his stomach is trying to rip itself out, like he's being eaten alive all over again except worse because he'd been so happy just a second ago and now the world is motherfucking gray gray gray, all the colors are gone and the miracles are gone and he needs it back--

There's an voice in the back of his head, like that little voice that tells him when it's time for another pie, except it's not pie he's craving else but something else...something much, much closer. He unwraps himself from the ball he'd curled into, staring at his fingers and then at the rest of his body, revulsion warring with a desperate hunger on his face.]

[extraordinarily]

[ Haruhi is grumpily sitting on her bed, bored. She'll be staring at the wall aimlessly, bored out of her mind. It's not like her to be bored but she simply just is. Everything at the moment is just boring, dull, and it feels like her life is incomplete.

... But she doesn't know why. Of course she's paying attention, she's not stupid. She's listening to all the conversations to ease that boredom. To see if anyone would interest her with anything. It was better than nothing.

However, Haruhi doesn't want to talk to anyone. People are stupid. They're not worthwhile. After all, they were just one person in all of Mayfield. ]

[hisnameisthecaptain]

Hey, kid. Can you get me a glass of water.

This...

[Oh no, more twitching, coughing, then he coughs a quarter into that bucket he has.]

[likesottlyfab]

[The pain in Poland's neck was excruciating and made him feel sick to his stomach as he lays in a grungy hospital bed in the factory. The sutures around his throat sting at the touch of his fingertips while blood and pus ooze from the hastily sewn incision. They'd let it become infected.

He's hesitant to let his hands wander any further upwards, not with what he knows to be there replacing his head.

He knew everything that had happened, everything that they had done to him. They hadn't bothered to sedate him or numb him in the slightest for the procedure, keeping him awake so he'd remember everything. Radiation poisoning brought on by the destruction of the machine at the dairy had wreaked havoc upon him, leaving him physically weak and mentally drained. All they really needed to subdue his attempts at rebellion were physical restraints, and the occasional extra pair of hands or two to hold him to gurney.

Trembling, he allows his fingers to extend past the ring of sutures circling his neck. The sewn on appendage feels familiar in the worst possible way. They'd replaced it with decapitated pony's head.

Experiments like this weren't supposed to happen. Not again. Not to him. The atrocities he endured, that his people had endured, they were supposed to end forever. It'd been unethical. It'd been a crime against humanity. It'd been a mistake. A grave mistake.

A sob catches in his throat and equine scream tears through the factory.]

[mounties]

[Heroines stay calm. Heroines don't freak out just because some guy has a pony's head stuck on his shoulders. Even when that guy then starts to freak out and makes her cringe. No, she's going to be strong and approach him, to see if there's anything she can do to help, even when she knows there probably isn't.]

Hey... You make a pretty cute pony, you know.

[That would make anyone feel better about their gruesome experiments, wouldn't it?]