ArchivedLogs:Making Monsters

Making Monsters
Dramatis Personae Malthus, Nox
In Absentia	2013-07-25 Post Morlock raid.
Location
The large armored vehicle is the size of a trashtruck. It's designed to function, in conjunction with its siblings, as a mobile military base -- the interior is sterile, resplendent with the sort of emergency medical equipment you'd expect from an ambulance -- including a gurney, a variety of chemicals, and a small comm station complete with mounted chair and several monitors -- to network with the other trucks -- and simultaneously monitor the situation with the troops. Malthus is sitting up on the medical gurney. His armor has been stripped off; his torso is bare -- exposing a harsh, masculine geography. Hard, rough lines -- old scars -- and a map of fresh bandages applied to the dozen or more injuries Nox scored across his flesh. Upon one arm, a scroll with 'DEATH BEFORE DISHONOR' in flaming script is tattoo'd; on the other, an identical scroll with 'Aut viam inveniam aut faciam' writ. Across from the gurney is a large, steel-plated 'coffin', standing on one end. The interior is actually somewhat spacious, with a chair mounted inside for sitting. There is also a small metal sliding tray through which objects can be passed into or out of the coffin. Nox is currently within this coffin. Near its center is a high-density shatter-proof glass plate -- one that allows only a /little/ bit of light to enter. It is actually much easier for Nox to see /Malthus/ than for Malthus to see her. It is through this plate that Malthus is currently peering. There's precious little to see. In situations such as these, Nox finds it best to remain incorporeal, and so she's remained since insertion and the onset of travel. Looking inside presents Malthus with a glimpse of the abyss--unending blackness, impenetrable by light. Don't stare for too long... Or perhaps he already has, because eventually the abyss does peer back. A small dark hand presses against the glass. It shows none of the whorls or marks of a normal hand, nor does it leave a mark of condensation against the window when it withdraws. It's replaced with a visible portion of her face--two immense black eyes that catch the light and seem to swallow it, a set of eyebrows lifted sorrowfully at the man on the other side, a nose. Her mouth isn't visible, to lend further nuance to her expression, but it seems clear enough. Here is Nox. Here is Nox, viewing her captor with melancholy. "--mmn," comes Malthus' reply. "I was wondering." He leans back on his gurney with a creak, followed by a grimace. The sight of that mouthless woman -- with her massive, light-swallowing eyes -- does not seem to frighten Malthus. If anything, it seems only to serve to /relax/ him. He reaches, then. Plucking up a metal briefcase beside the gurney, setting it down next to him. Finagling with the clasps that hold it in place. "--is there anything I can give you to make you more comfortable, Ms. Garrett? Besides, of course, your freedom." The eyes track his movement. To the gurney, to the briefcase. For a time it seems like Nox is disinclined to answer. Then--providing there are microphones within the coffin, to pick up and amplify her whispering--she asks him, "Am I to die or to be returned to the labs, Captain Rogers?" There /are/, in fact, microphones. "--I'm not sure, actually. My orders were to bring you in alive," Malthus responds, rather casually. The clasps on the briefcase are unlocked. "I would presume that, considering the amount of trouble my superiors went through to secure you alive, they want you to /stay/ alive." He pauses, before adding: "I did meet with your parents. I did not tell them about your condition." A much longer pause, here; Malthus' single functioning eye turns, then -- staring directly at Nox. "...would you like me to tell them you are dead, Ms. Garrett? Give them that closure?" Nox's eyebrows lift higher, this time in dismay. That hand returns as well, pressing to the glass beside her face. "...I was dead. To them. You made me alive again? You. Why. Why would you do that." And she vanishes. The mic inside of the "coffin" is treated to much the same keening that had echoed through the sewer tunnels, but this has nowhere to go and is louder as a result. And then? Then, there is a distressingly loud thump against the side of the container. It's immediately followed by another. If the structure isn't well secured, it might wobble. The structure /is/ well secured -- and yet, it still /trembles/ beneath the force of those blows. Malthus pauses, having just opened the briefcase; his face ripples with a frown -- one of genuine displeasure. It deepens at the keening sound. "...Ms. /Garrett/," Malthus continues, "please, control yourself. Your parents do not -- know. I only told them I was investigating your disappearance. But they may have attached a certain hope to my words. By informing them that you are dead, I can kill that hope -- if it is your preference." He is reaching, now. For the metal shelf. With a click, it withdraws from the coffin, locking into place. A third blow shudders against the side of the coffin, followed by silence. An ominous silence, perhaps? Nothing shows in the window. Nox makes no sound. The microphone won't pick up even the noise of quiet respirations. There is nothing at all. But inside, below the glass, she is exploring the seams of that shelf. How thin? How narrow? How much light lurks, just beyond. "Does my preference matter?" she asks softly. "Why does my preference matter. I am a laboratory animal. A created monster. We do not have preferences. Nor feelings. How many of my family did you kill?" It should be clear, by the gentle despair in her murmured tones, that she is not speaking of the Garretts. "--you are /not/ an animal," Malthus responds, and there is an unusual /sharpness/ to his voice, even as his tone remains so soft; a dark, gravelly whisper. "You are a woman. One who has born impossible hardship -- and /survived/. One who acted selflessly to protect your loved ones. No matter what is done to you, we cannot take /that/ from you." An object is placed within the metal cabinet. "--your friends and family are, as far as I am aware, alive. From the reports I have received, they all demonstrated remarkable valor in the face of adversity. More stunningly still, they /survived/." The shelf is pushed inward, then, locking into place. The object is, of course, the very music box Malthus lured Nox with -- secured with care, currently closed. "I expect they will try to save you. The valiant are not in the business of leaving their loved ones behind." But then, softer; with an apologetic tone: "And I expect they will fail. The valiant /are/ in the business of dying young. I am sorry, Ms. Garrett." Nox recoils when the shelf slams home. Or maybe it's that relic of her childhood. There's no avoiding touching either though, given the dimensions she's trapped within. A low sound escapes her, a whisper of unstable sorrow. "No," she whispers, and, "No," again. "She died. You and yours killed her. Captain. And then they made me." The coffin goes still and silent. To this rebuttle, Malthus has nothing to add. He frowns, staring at the window-pane... and then lowers his head. Before returning to his gurney, to rest.