The Crowning of Enjolras

[etcircenses]

WHO| All Tributes and Victor, plus a few Capitol guests
WHAT| The Crowning of Enjolras
WHERE| The Tribute Center
WHEN| A few weeks after the end of the Arena
WARNINGS| Forced medical experimentation, needles.

The atmosphere surrounding the Crowning is both tense and secretive. The style teams flutter around listlessly, having received no information from which to draft their designs. Newspapers take bets on when it will be announced where the Crowning is being held, descending into grousing when no press release is given. Peacekeepers pour in and out of the Tribute Center, accompanied by scientists who occasionally pull Tributes aside and look at the veins in their elbows. Even the Avoxes seem jumpier than usual.

Aside from the Tribute Center's new giant marble statute of a nude Enjolras, posed like the famed David, one could almost forget the party is supposed to be celebratory.

When the day arrives, the Escorts and their assistants don't lead the Tributes to their style teams to be gussied instead. Instead, they hush the Tributes and bring them to their bedrooms, where a Peacekeeper, a white-coated citizen and several Avoxes await them. The Escorts instruct the Tributes to lay down in their bed and close their eyes, and a needle is inserted into their arms that the Escorts insist will 'take them to the party'. It's soon followed by a series of sensors taped to the forehead.

Just relax, the Escorts say, and they do their very best to make sure their Tributes feel minimal anxiety. If the Tributes resist too much, more Peacekeepers are called in, and the Tributes are forced into submission.

The first effect is a sort of paralysis - not the terrifying inability to move, but a signal to the brain that says why move? Moving is so much effort. It's quickly followed by drowsiness, and then a chill that radiates from the needle into the body, and finally, unconsciousness.

And that is when the party begins. The Tributes, now dressed in luxurious 1830's French clothing of a quality beyond even what their Stylists could manage, wake up in the front row of a large stone theater setting reminiscent of, simultaneously, Greek and French architecture. The floor of the theater is filled with buffets of every imaginable sort of food. Rose petals fall from the sky, which displays a sunset worthy of award-winning photography.

For his part, Enjolras sits in a throne made of books on the ring of the amphitheater, flanked by Marius, Cosette, Eponine, and bizarrely enough Venus Dee Milo and Ellie, seated on lush pillows and carpets made of dinosaur skin (with the heads comically attached and eyes lolling).

"Welcome, welcome, our Tributes and Mentors, to the first ever somnofestival, sponsored by Hypnogogia!" Caesar Flickerman, noted talkshow host and Games presenter, appears in a fabulous sequined toga in the center of the amphitheater. He doesn't need a microphone; the acoustics here are flawless. "And congratulations to our Victor! Let us hear it for Enjolras!"

He awaits applause.

"As you may have noticed, you're inside a shared dream, due to the just fantastic technology from the Capitol and certain, ah, biological contributions from our dear favorite Aunamee." He holds a hand out and gestures to Aunamee, anticipating wild applause. "We thought that for our most philosophical Victor yet, we should celebrate in a way that's a little bit…cerebral."

Caesar laughs and gestures at all the food, then puts a cheeky finger to his lips. "By all means, enjoy yourselves. Even the most indulgent desserts here won't show up on your hips tomorrow. The party only last three hours, so you might as well get started!"

He vanishes into thin air, leaving the Tributes to celebrate. Occasionally, the Tributes will hear voices in their heads - chatter from the Peacekeeper and scientist and Escort still in their room, in the waking world. Otherwise, this is a party like any other, if somewhat surreal in nature.

-/-

The party begins the same way for all the Tributes. For an unlucky few, however, it soon diverges as they come under an unfortunate glitch in the system.

They'll look around and find only a handful of their fellow Tributes around them. The sky, rather than being a magnificent splay of color, is now blank white, and yet the lighting in the theater seems dim. A sense of panic, detached from any conscious thoughts, surges forth in them like the tide.

For them, this isn't a shared dream. This is a shared nightmare.

Comments

SHARED NIGHTMARE

[etcircenses]

Wesker, OTA

[president_evil]

He didn't like it, of course he didn't, but to resist would be reveal how little he trusted them. Would be to give them a reason to distrust him.

Would be to undo all the hard work he'd put in thus far.

So he settled, without a word, and let them work. His only reaction to the needle and the unfamiliar solution sweeping into his vein, a tightening around his jaw.

Finding himself at the party, seemingly mere moments later, he had to give them their due. The technology was truly astounding and he couldn't help but immediately turn the possibilities over in his mind, wondering just how much he would be able to do with something like this....

It was just about the time he was imaging being able to wipe the endless waste of hundreds and hundreds of broken clones from the books that he felt the first stirring. The first hard stab in his throat.

Something moving beneath his skin.

A familiar pain, despite how long it had been.

The virus - his virus - coming to life inside him. Fighting back. Fighting him for control.

[alldeduction]

Sherlock ran after the shadow, but it had melded into the creeping darkness and he had lost it. He cursed under his breath while he searched, trying to ignore the panic under his skin. Then- suddenly- there, a figure, and he ran towards it with an arm stretched out before he realised that it wasn't him.

"Wesker, Victor," The label slipped out from his lips. "You aren't him." Obvious. "Where is everyone?"

[marcato]

He fought. Oh, of course, he fought. In the very beginning it had been easy feigning loyalty, but as the arenas stretched on, Aunamee's mind crumbled, and as his mind crumbled, so did his control. As he was led to his bed, he felt like a cow being led to slaughter -- and he feared he was, knew he was, and so when the darkness finally descended, his legs were sore from kicking and his wrists were bruised from the restraints.

Normally he would recover quickly. He excelled at it. In one moment he could crush a chair with his bare hands, and in the next, he could smile as brightly as a movie star. He was prepared to smile, he was prepared to get it over with, but then --

biological contributions from our dear favourite Aunamee

When the sky darkened, so did his eyes. He crumpled his hand into a fist.

[savedbyasong]

There were bees everywhere. Shion was running, but there were also corpses. Mountains of them, surrounding everyone. Cutting off any hope of retreat.

His eyes were wild with panic as he ran, and he ran towards Wesker when he saw him. "Are you alright?" Looking around him, fear cloying up his throat, making it hard to speak.

Sherlock

[alldeduction]

One moment he had been talking with someone at the party, the next he was suddenly alone. He was still at the party - the setting had not changed - but the hall was empty. The ringing sound of people chattering to each other all through the party disappeared. He was alone, and the shadows stretched and twisted in weird ways all around him.

He frowned, taking a step forward, and heard a chuckle behind him. He recognized that voice. He recognized it.

His blood chilled as he turned - just enough to peer behind him - and saw the figure. Tall, dark, and the light wouldn't seem to touch him - bending away before it could illuminate his features, but Sherlock already knew who it was. Knew who held the knife in his hand, knew who laughed before pulling up a finger to his lips and making a low sound. Shhhh.

Knew who it was when the figure turned away to look for prey.

It was him.

"No!" Sherlock called out after the shadow as it slipped away, and he lunged after it. "Stop!"

if this is not okay just tell me

[deafscythe]

Three hours. Three hours. That's all Justin can let himself think. In three hours, all this will be over.

It would be much easier to calm down and accept it if he had some way of keeping track of time. Instead, there's just the constant noise, hundreds of voices screaming and laughing and whispering directly into his mind. Then the overwhelming pressure of someone watching, a predatory attention to his soul that sets all his instincts on edge.

The teenager is folded up against the wall, hands pressed to his ears like that will do something to keep the noise out. Until Sherlock rounds the corner and Justin has to jump to his feet to avoid being stepped on. Without thinking, he lashes out, throwing a punch at the stranger's face.

Re: SHARED NIGHTMARE

[gardienne]

Eponine had never realised how tight, how restrictive a corset was, and for the first few minutes of sitting uncomfortably in the high seats near Enjolras, she regretted all the time she had wasted wishing for such a dress as this. For Eponine, for once in a way, had got her wish exactly. She ended up dressed in a pretty pale pink silk, with short puffed sleeves and a wide belt that emphasised a waist pulled scarily thin.

But she had been glad of the dress. It meant that her stylists had listened to her again. It meant that things were starting to go her way at long last. At least, until the sky changed and disappeared, along with the majority of the tributes.

Almost immediately, she seems to sink into the earth, or perhaps the stones from the amphitheatre grow up around her, forming a small building around Eponine. A wide doorway forms, but it's barred completely. Eponine soon appears at the door: the room she's trapped in is small, after all, and she clutches at the bars. But gone is her pretty dress: she's in her old rags from Paris now, and her feet are bare, aside from the heavy manacles set with chain. Her right wrist wears a cuff to match the Capitol one still fastened to her left wrist, and another chain dangles between them. Eponine is in jail again.

"Eva? EVA? Monsieur Sigma? Monsieur Aunamee?" She cries out for help, trying to reach her hands through the bars of the door. "Please! Please, he's in here. Let me out. LET ME OUT. Please!"

From deep inside the room, Draco Malfoy hisses profanities and slurs against both Eponine and the men (and Howard) that she loves.

Re: SHARED NIGHTMARE

[polyturtle]

"Eponine?"

Don heard her. As did Don. And just as quickly, a shadow began to quietly fill through the bars of the cell. It was not a human figure, either.

A slow growl began to emanate from the outside - a warning. No, not a warning, a song. It was a tiny banquet, but a banquet was a banquet.

It figured. He just couldn't stop victimizing her, could he.

[swill]

He had run from the storm and the front, but the helmet was still secure atop his head, the chin strap tightened almost to the point where it chafed and bit at the skin of his throat. But it was there. And his hands didn't run with blood but the blood had stayed and become dried and sticky and dark, like rancid honey. Hawkeye had run from that corner of his mind and now... and now there were bars, up from the ground, stuck there too neatly. He wouldn't have stopped if he hadn't seen the girl- and he didn't hear her shout the first times and his head felt empty as he just stood, exhausted, watching her cry out in desperation, thinking she looked like a caged cat he had pranked a friend with back in junior high.

And he can't read lips because he never practiced but the idea, he thinks, he understands. And maybe he shouldn't just walk up when the girl was strange to him. And maybe she swallowed a grenade and that was why she was safely tucked away in this place he didn't know. There aren't keys but he had been so sure a second before that he'd find them just there, on a hook near the cell, like in the movies. He had been convinced. His hearing returns with a blast, and the barefooted girl is screaming please and Hawkeye hisses out a shush and recoils. Tired and sluggish and he could swear he hears another voice. His right hand begins to drip blood again. But it's not his, he thinks.

"How do I-" Hawkeye walks back to the girl, bangs his hand against a bar and doesn't know why. "How do I get you out?" Assuming she was real and not in his head (and wasn't that a funny thought?) she'd reply with... well, he didn't know. He didn't know. He didn't know how his hands held so much blood, didn't know how he could be so alive in a nightmare. Things just happened.

Re: SHARED NIGHTMARE

[acroodawakening]

A shirtless young man ran by, screaming at her in a voice filled with panic.

"Get your hands behind the bars before it gets you!" he cried. "It'll get your arms!"

Then he ran through the door into a cell opposite hers that may or may not have been there before and slammed the door shut.

As soon as he did, a horrible furry creature came running down the hall, something that was a terrible mix between wolf and bear, its body striped with red-brown stripes. It let out deafening roar, one that seemed to make the very stone tremble.

Apparently their nightmares were blending just a little bit.

[swill]

He hadn't kept quiet at seeing the statue of the victor, all the schmuck's glory, and had even once tried to slip a decent sweater and skivvies onto the marble. It distracted him from the tests that were going to come, because veins weren't of interest to people in uniform unless it was for that reason. The air was tense and heavy and he didn't know what was coming, though he sought out answers and was told what usually came next was the big party, the crowning. Then the big day came and the peacekeepers and Escorts and the man in the white coat tried to get the needle under his skin and he had pushed back until reinforcements were called for, until he he saw he'd be overpowered, and then Hawkeye complied and sat still and scolded himself and cursed and even rushed the procedure, because he figured that he'd rather fight the drug without broken ribs, or a broken nose, or broken arms. He just hoped it wasn't an injection to stop his heart, because that'd be a lousy way to die. Because then he wouldn't have even fought back to save his life. To his surprise, he survived the ordeal and awoke in a new place.

The party was grand. He saw the victor and yelped out a sharp laugh, a mix of nerves and guilt and that had won the death match? And what a rotten thing to think, and the laugh dissolves in a fit. He steps forward and knows it's in his head that he's stepping forward, and he feels vertigo. Familiar faces swarm around he can't believe this is 1953 anymore, can't believe it's the old France, either. Hawkeye looks down at what clothing he had been suddenly wrangled in, in this state, and when he finishes tinkering with buttons on his jacket the room was warped.

And the faces around him had changed, depleted. He felt exhausted like an old man would and his back felt pained and stiff. There was a weight on his head and his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and he found his combat helmet resting there.

And the color was- the color was gone, Hawkeye noticed. From the party. And he took it back, you know, the way he had cursed at it before. He missed the vibrant colors desperately. The colors that remained were muted, the air was thick and hot and his wool coat with its intricate embroideries was only constricting. "Monsieur," he calls to no one, "You forgot to pay the electric bills." He moves, he steps back in fear of the blackness that was ahead. It marched forward steadily. There were footfalls, all in sync and heavy. And his hands were bleeding but the skin wasn't torn and he didn't feel woozy from it, so he let them run. "Hey!" And the shout was directed this time at the bastards who drugged him, rising in panic in that single word. There's a roar, ear splitting and earth shaking like the T-Rex's and it transforms to whirring and it comes closer still. Hawkeye's shouts turn to warnings- "Move." Clipped and high and urgent and frightened. "No, no, they're not going to stop." The tanks, he means, and the barrage that comes with them. And how the hell did so much suddenly fit inside the theatre, anyway? Lovely party, by the way. Lovely party.

[acroodawakening]

He just stood there, jaw hanging open. He just stood and watched and did not comprehend.

How could he? How could he when he had no frame of reference, no grasp of scale? How could he take it all in when even men who knew war, who lived war, sometimes reached that point of incomprehension, too?

Lights flashed, thunder cracked, men fell bloody and shredded, and all could do was stand there, eyes wide, jaw hanging open, too terrified to scream.

Shion, OTA (warnings for even more creepy medical stuff)

[savedbyasong]

Shion had fought. It had surprised the scientists and his escorts. They had never seen him fight, not in the arena and not outside it. He had argued yes but never once lashed out, or even seemed like he would ever do such a thing.

But then there were wires and scientists and needles and all Shion could think of were tubes, wires, conveyor belts of brains, he struggled, fought, nails and teeth and it took two peacekeepers to restrain him.

Soon the paralysis began and he stopped fighting, though there were tears in his black purple eyes.

He calmed a little bit when he heard the words, the crowning, new technology. It would be alright.

Except it wasn't, the colours faded, the lighting dimmed. He felt stirings of fear even though he had just convinced himself it would be alright. But it wasn't, the faces changed around him. Corpses, all of them, somewhere in the distance he could hear screams and a baby crying. The smell of rotting flesh almost overwhelmed him and he staggered backwards, panic flaring.

Re: Shion, OTA (warnings for even more creepy medical stuff)

[clarityinchaos]

All he could do was run. In this nightmare, he wore his uniform and the maneuver gear, but the gas was empty and all he had for a sword was two broken sections attached to a handle. So all he could do was run.

What was he running from? A Titan, 10 meters tall. Armin seemed to have started with some sort of ground advantage, but he was losing it quickly to the Titan's long strides. It was bald, bearded, and slack-jawed. Blood dribbled from its lips into its beard. Armin's face was deep, deep panic. He had no concept of where he was running, only that he was.

He tripped on a leg somewhere at the bottom of the heap and went down onto the floor hard. The blade holders clanged and clattered, but the mechanisms stayed together. That was it. The gap had been closed in just that moment.

All he could do was turn over in time to see a hand reaching for him. He screamed, tears running down his face.

OTA

[polyturtle]

To say that Donatello was horrified was an understatement.

Not only were the bodies of his family - and all of him - strewn around him and covered in blood, but he himself was no longer himself. At least outwardly, he was the horrible the monster he'd been in that Arena. Snarling, hunting, looking, growling, roaring, and hungry. The beast, still alive in that nuclear wasteland, was still alive deep in him. Now, it was alive here, with a batch of new meat to be feared on.

But the worst part was that, inside, mentally, he was still himself. His body, on the other hand, was almost fully autopilot, ignoring his attempts to reign in what was going on around him. The pain of his transformation, almost immediate upon opening his eyes in this strange virtual landscape, had started again in his leg, going into levels of utterly unbearable within seconds. And then, suddenly, he was watching. Detached, but still conscious. Conscious, but without faculty, as he ripped through his family as they tried to reason with him, tried to sacrifice themselves for the sake of the others.

It didn't work. In Panem, it never did.

So Don could only watch in horror, screaming, as he outwardly rampaged on and the bodies disappeared into the horizon. His eyes were the only outward sign that he was anything but that creature - they were wide with horror as he skulked through the fog, looking for his next meal. But otherwise, he had no control.

As usual. As usual in this horrible place, which stripped him of everything that had been his...

beck - ota!

[amplifying]

This couldn't be happening.

When Beck finally managed to open up his eyes, he saw nothing but black. There was no light at all, except for his circuits glowing white and blue, a beacon for everyone to see. Beck struggled to move, but something kept him in his place. He could see a new light shining from his wrists...- wait. That was where Cyrus had tried to leech him of his energy. The burns went all the way past his skin then, revealing a patch of coding underneath.

Okay. He was a program again.

He could feel something hard and cold underneath him. The air smelled odd and musty. It even smelled like black-

A noise from ahead startled Beck, looking to the person ahead. Along with the color of his own circuits, a new color joined in. It shined a bright, golden yellow. And that's what really scared Beck. If this program's coding was yellow, then...

"It's Beck, right?" A deep voice asked. "Or do you like the Renegade better?"

That was Clu. He knew...

Beck was scares out of his wits. Fighting against Tesler was one thing. But not Clu. He couldn't...He wasn't ready......

"It's good to finally see you. I've been waiting for a while, man." Clu chuckled. "Might as well get to it; I don't want to waste my time on dysfunctional programs like you."

The sting of that hardly registered as Clu brought out a sharp looking tool. "Let's just see what you've got in there." The tool buzzed to life, and grew nearer....

Beck could only cry out as pain pierced him right through his middle, his screams echoing around the walls.

Shepard | Open To All

[earthborn]

She'd gone with only a token complaint. To resist now would be worse than counterproductive and really, there wasn't anything else to do.

When she opened her eyes, and looked down on herself it was with satisfaction— Cinna could stuff it, all Shepard wanted was pants. And as for the party...

It was beautiful.

Well, it was a dream, if an enforced dream. Hypnosis or simulation or hallucination or some hint of Reaper indoctrination; she hoped to God it was nothing like the last. It felt unreal, not like Legion's guided tour of the Geth Consensus, but rather more malleable.

Shepard moved among the milling tributes and the pale marble columns and wondered if even here it were possible to monitor the conversations. Some idle murmur caught her ear and she turned to try and find which of the frilled silken shadows had called her name.

Shepard...

"What the—" She turned again, squinting among the trees, like sentinel columns, dark and foreboding. Anxiety crawled up her throat like little swimming gnats along her peripheral vision. Movement out of the corner of her eye. Damn. Damn!

This couldn't be happening. No, this...No!

"Garrus?" She thought she heard him, or was it Pruna? No, it was...it couldn't be Thane, she whiled on the next voice, the movement shadow just outside of easily seen. It was too sudden, too near— a threat, to be struck down or killed!

Re: Shepard | Open To All

[polyturtle]

Then there was another shadow. One aggressive, reptilian, and very fast-moving shadow. And large. Very large.

Don kept trying to figure out how to control it. Every attempt had thus far failed. Which made the sight of Sheperd's approaching figure turn his blood ice cold.

"Sheperd!" He shouts, knowing its all in his mind his...mind's mind? and that he could not truly speak to her. Knowing she couldn't hear her as his figure drew up to its full height and let out a drooling growl. "Get out of here!"

Justin Law | OTA

[deafscythe]

Justin is dressed much the same as most of the other male tributes. Black jacket with long tails, pale tan pants tucked into shiny black boots. A white shirt with far too many ruffles. The buttons of his jacket are stylized skulls.

Despite the initial brief resistance, the dream wasn't too bad. He's never really liked France, they paid too much attention to his weapon form, and he had never really been comfortable with that. But the setting was amazing, and the food was incredible. So, for a half hour or so, he let himself enjoy the party.

The changes crept up gradually. An increase in the noise, a growing sense of uneasy restlessness. Something is wrong. The scenery doesn't change, but most of the other tributes vanish. Something is wrong. There's too much noise. Someone is screaming and someone is sobbing and someone is whispering right behind Justin but when he turns around there's no one there. But the noise doesn't go away, doesn't lessen, screaming and shouting and whispering and laughing playing in his ears like a waterfall of never ending sound, all vying for his attention, and he can't focus long enough to actually hear. Even putting his hands over his ears doesn't lessen the sound. There's noise everywhere and the feeling of being watched by someone (someone powerful, someone he knows, but which god is it?). When he turns around there's no one there, just blank white sky and colors gone dull, and the growing feeling of pure terror creeping up against his soul.

Three hours. Three hours.

He is so scared.

[orestes]

The boy looks the way he feels, but Enjolras is better (or would like to believe that he's better) at concealing it. The noises for him began slowly, distantly, almost imperceptibly. It was the paranoia that eventually got to him, the feeling of things moving around him, just out of reach, purposefully concealing themselves from him for some doubtlessly nefarious purpose. It was first unsettling, then crushing, then paralyzing. Still, he drew into himself stubbornly, holding his chin aloft with a haughtiness that was in no way genuine.

"Be easy, my friend." He claps Justin softly on the back, but his voice isn't quite right, it doesn't sound as it should. There's a harshness to it beyond even his usual abrasiveness and he's dismayed that he's seemingly incapable of being reassuring right now.

Guy

[acroodawakening]

The low-lying panic that had been flooding the coastal areas of his brain turned into a storm surge. That was the first clue Guy had that something had gone wrong. Fear with no source slammed into him like a wall. Then hot, humid air slammed into him like a wall, too and the lights went out, causing everyone to disappear from view. It was dark. There was only the faintest light from the stars above, which suddenly twinkled into view. Even they seemed sharp and menacing, as if they only existed to cast just enough light for the shadows to have form.

"Hello?" he called out, voice cracking and shifting like the earth had once done in his home. Then his voice slid away into the abyss as he stepped forward slightly and felt grass under his feet. "Is anyone there?"

He hated the dark. He hated the dark with every fiber of his being. He'd hated it in the arena the nights he couldn't get away with - or couldn't manage to make - a fire. He hated it here.

But he'd hated it the most as a child. Because he'd been a child that truly had something to fear from it.

Back then, there had been no fire to light his way. Just himself and his own thoughts and distant screeching in the night. Just the rustling of grass he couldn't see and low growls that felt as if they rippled through his whole body.

He heard that rustle of grass and those growls now. Here and now. Right behind him.

He was running before his conscious mind had even had a chance to process it, before his brain had time to wonder how he'd suddenly wound up like this, jumping and crashing through the underbrush, his heart fit to explode from the exertion and terror.

Any unfortunate souls that got in his way would be slammed into bodily, with him trying to pull them along, screaming a cry in their ear that was desperate and panicked:

"RUN!"

He had no sparkstone and flint. He didn't have the time to make a fire with sticks. It was all they could do to get away from the snarling thing with teeth and claws crashing through the brush behind him. Until he learned to live in the world instead of survive it, it's all he'd been able to do back then and right now, the nightmare had saw fit to recreate the darkest part of Guy's childhood and drag others in for the ride.

Re: Guy

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard's in a different sort of hell. The exact opposite, in fact.

He saw the footage from the 74th Hunger Games, saw the bits about how a kid from District 3 dug up landmines and rearranged them around the pyramid of food. Somewhere he lodged that idea in his head as a sort of option he'd have in future Arenas. It lay there, festering and dormant, stinking up the mental tupperware with mold.

And now it's back out. Howard's standing on the buffet table from the party, having come here for the food and realized that he can't leave, because he just knows the mines are buried somewhere. He's trapped here with all these hoarded riches of indulgent food, and he doesn't know how to leave.

And it's getting dark. He paces until he hears someone coming, and squinting through the night he can make out a figure, and then a voice. A voice saying something he definitely doesn't think is compatible with the dangers of this particular nightmare.

He waves his arms as highly, widely and quickly as he can, trying desperately to signal to Guy, looking against the dim, dim light like an animal trying to make itself scary by being bigger. "Stop!"

Re: SHARED NIGHTMARE

[justoutrunyou]

It was raining inside...why was it raining inside?

Sandy looked around at her surroundings as the cold cool water spattered down starting to weigh down her simple dress.

"Pruna?" She called into the emptiness.

"Mindy?" Again her voice echoed on nothingness.

"Anyone?!" She screamed at the top of her lungs till her throat hurt.

Her response was a rumble...then a crash as the ceiling exploded and a mass of black fell through the floor. The impact rippled the ground knocking Sandy off her feet and the entire room shattered, leaving the girl tumbling head over heels through the rain.

Pavement rushed up to meet her. She hit the ground hard enough to feel her bones rattle and cursed as she scrambled to her feet.

Tall buildings loomed around her in various states of decay. The buildings had started out as stone but now were some monstrous biological thing made of black slime and what looked to be jungle plants.

Eyes and teeth and slithering tentacles stretched out from walls and dark flashes of movement behind broken windows and doors that had been torn off their hinges warned of something still living in the corpses of these long dead homes.

It was New York...but it wasn't her new york.

The ominous dark sky cracked with lightning and she could see a familiar web of red that seemed like a cage, stretching through the clouds.

Before she could get her barrings any further, a snarl and a hiss made her spin about in place and confront the creature that had smashed through the room landing her here.

What had begun as a mass of black goo was twisting itself in a horrific fashion, stretching out to grasp at her, trying to curl a tentacle around her leg. She yelped and stumbled backward.

This just made the thing mad.

It heaved itself off the ground on thick powerful legs. Slime began to solidify into muscles making the legs as thick around as trees.

Where only a mass of shiny blackness had existed before a mouth tore it's way free and roared at her in an earsplitting show of it's intentions that left her head ringing and her blood cold.

With a scream that pierced the pitter patter of rain Sandy did what she did best. She turned and ran.

Mindy's Nightmare. Warning: This is a little graphic.

[hit_girl_mindy]

In the far recesses of her mind was a path not taken. She joked about it, laughed about it but it was there, dangling like some kind of treat on a string, the thing that would never come to pass, where she just stared longingly at something that granted her some rest. It had to happen one day.

So now she could see what happened when Hit Girl stopped. She couldn't do it anymore: they broke it from her, hammered her and crushed every bit of her spirit. She couldn't even get out of bed. She could feel the despair building up, as she now saw before her the other choice. She could just stop being the girl that went out and saved people, who could laugh through crushing a person's bones, killing them for the greater good, doing away with bad that was always there.

Now she sat, in her cell, as they piled the bodies. Dave, her Kickass. Dad, only because she knew the costume, decaying and rotting away, flung aside like some discarded piece of trash. Then came her new friend: Guy, his throat slit from end to end, his hands mashed beyond recognition. Sandy, strangled to death, her eyes open wide with pain. Ellie, bound tight and bit in mouth, apparently left to choke and die with no movement. The Doc, stabbed viciously through the heart. Even Katniss, the girl she heard about, the one she could admire, was here, in the middle of all of these bodies, impaled by several bones and arrows, her mouth open in a scream.

"You wanted this." The voice came from the shadows, sometimes sounding like that scum D'Amico, sometimes sounding like Timaeus. "It was a gift, to take the thing that makes you go on and on mindlessly. You did not want to kill for them. You didn't want to be a machine. Well, here you are. No catlike reflexes, no killer instinct. Normal. But that has a price to, and not just all this."

The scene changed and now she was out in an Arena, except it looked like a scarred landscape, like what Earth looked like without the Matrix. There was laughter everywhere and she could see the smiles on their faces, the relishing of hearing her break. She didn't have any choice. She had to run.

"Oh run, RUN, little warrior no more!" It was Azula's voice, and her fist clenched. "Swallow that bitterness! You thought you could have your cake and eat it? You'll be running in the Arena, again and again and again until forever, and be hunted like a dog to die and come back! Keep running!"