Captain Rex (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ct_7567) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
capencowl20202020-01-19 02:27 pm
ct_7567) wrote in capencowl20202020-01-19 02:27 pm
Entry tags:
[ OPEN / CATCH-ALL ]
WHO: Rex - brainwashed into being a good government enforcer - and YOU.
WHERE: Throughout the City
WHEN: Throughout the event!
WHAT: Rex's chip malfunctions a little, he does his job by stamping out those pesky rebels, and then he does a lot of lingering around.
WARNINGS: Violence, death. If you'd like something or to plot something (hey, if you need your character caught, killed, or otherwise injured by a government enforcer, he's your man!), feel free to PM me or contact me on plurk @ wisdombitch.
A: GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS. (A GLITCH).
[ Rex is, at this point, a relatively well known government enforcer. In full armour, he's been known to lead dozens upon dozens of successful raids, capturing rebellious metas, storming their bases in the dead of night, blasters a blazing and loud, imperious voice the herald of many a man's doom - or worse, their switch to the other side. He's gained his fair share of medals for it too, though little emotion seems to cross his face whenever it's been televised.
Sometimes, though, it's in need of some extra enforcement. He'd just cracked down on some people spraying graffiti on the walls and they're seen being carted away by a government vehicle when Rex, helmet off, pauses. A muscle in his cheek jumps. His pupils dilate, his eyes roll. His shoulders shudder as he takes a step towards the car, and then freezes in place as the petty criminals inside shout and bang on the windows of the vehicle. ]
Good soldiers follow orders, [ he mutters like a mantra, again and again, lips twisted, then slack. ] Good soldiers follow orders. Good soldiers follow orders.
[ None of the other agents seem to pay him any mind. This is, it seems, not an uncommon affair. ]
B: ENFORCEMENT.
[ But when he's not in throes of his chip re-asserting control, he is, after all, the perfect soldier. If you're a fellow government enforcer you may well be in his team as he strides up and down the briefing room, giving orders and planning strategies with severity and brutality.
Or, of course, you could be a rebel. Your base could be stormed by men in armour, Rex leading the fray, blasters akimbo, or perhaps you'll come home to your base being rummaged through. Maybe you've even been caught on the street, primed for rebellion. Be careful - Rex's orders are to take who he can alive, but if they resist, he doesn't hesitate to kill them in the street. He's done it before. He's been rewarded for it before.
Don't take it personally. He's only following orders. ]
C: ANYONE HOME? (NO).
[ But the thing about brainwashing of this caliber means that what would remain of Rex's personal life has suffered. There is little joy to be had in the humble things in life he used to embrace, nothing to do in his off-hours, any re-emergence of who he once was bitter and painful. There's a part of him that knows what's happening, that's beating at the edges of his skull for freedom, but it's as though he simply can't get his body to do it.
It's an eerie thing, seeing him during his time-off. More than anything, he seems to stand at the side of the street, staring unblinkingly, idle and waiting, nothing there. He needs some reprieve. Some orders. Anything else is little more than nothingness. ]
D: WILDCARD.
[ You know the drill! If you want anything else, feel free to toss up your own top-level, ask me for one, etc., etc. ]
WHERE: Throughout the City
WHEN: Throughout the event!
WHAT: Rex's chip malfunctions a little, he does his job by stamping out those pesky rebels, and then he does a lot of lingering around.
WARNINGS: Violence, death. If you'd like something or to plot something (hey, if you need your character caught, killed, or otherwise injured by a government enforcer, he's your man!), feel free to PM me or contact me on plurk @ wisdombitch.
A: GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS. (A GLITCH).
[ Rex is, at this point, a relatively well known government enforcer. In full armour, he's been known to lead dozens upon dozens of successful raids, capturing rebellious metas, storming their bases in the dead of night, blasters a blazing and loud, imperious voice the herald of many a man's doom - or worse, their switch to the other side. He's gained his fair share of medals for it too, though little emotion seems to cross his face whenever it's been televised.
Sometimes, though, it's in need of some extra enforcement. He'd just cracked down on some people spraying graffiti on the walls and they're seen being carted away by a government vehicle when Rex, helmet off, pauses. A muscle in his cheek jumps. His pupils dilate, his eyes roll. His shoulders shudder as he takes a step towards the car, and then freezes in place as the petty criminals inside shout and bang on the windows of the vehicle. ]
Good soldiers follow orders, [ he mutters like a mantra, again and again, lips twisted, then slack. ] Good soldiers follow orders. Good soldiers follow orders.
[ None of the other agents seem to pay him any mind. This is, it seems, not an uncommon affair. ]
B: ENFORCEMENT.
[ But when he's not in throes of his chip re-asserting control, he is, after all, the perfect soldier. If you're a fellow government enforcer you may well be in his team as he strides up and down the briefing room, giving orders and planning strategies with severity and brutality.
Or, of course, you could be a rebel. Your base could be stormed by men in armour, Rex leading the fray, blasters akimbo, or perhaps you'll come home to your base being rummaged through. Maybe you've even been caught on the street, primed for rebellion. Be careful - Rex's orders are to take who he can alive, but if they resist, he doesn't hesitate to kill them in the street. He's done it before. He's been rewarded for it before.
Don't take it personally. He's only following orders. ]
C: ANYONE HOME? (NO).
[ But the thing about brainwashing of this caliber means that what would remain of Rex's personal life has suffered. There is little joy to be had in the humble things in life he used to embrace, nothing to do in his off-hours, any re-emergence of who he once was bitter and painful. There's a part of him that knows what's happening, that's beating at the edges of his skull for freedom, but it's as though he simply can't get his body to do it.
It's an eerie thing, seeing him during his time-off. More than anything, he seems to stand at the side of the street, staring unblinkingly, idle and waiting, nothing there. He needs some reprieve. Some orders. Anything else is little more than nothingness. ]
D: WILDCARD.
[ You know the drill! If you want anything else, feel free to toss up your own top-level, ask me for one, etc., etc. ]
no subject
[ He hates her. Hates that she won't give him the satisfaction of a good fight, that she won't fight back when even now, even when he is the way that he is, he does not care for killing someone who's made themselves intentionally defenseless. He hates that wry curve of her lip, like she's making some private joke between the two of them when nothing remains, when she's a traitor of all. His teeth grind, his left eye twitching, the muscles in his cheek jumping and spasming in a way that doesn't seem wholly underneath his control. ]
But it must be done. You're a traitor. Traitors need to be put down. This is my duty.
[ The barrel of his gun trembles against her temple. She can feel it, the way it rattles against her skull, twisting in his grasp. He's fighting that incomplete control these people have over him, trying to listen to that part of him that still remembers her for who she was, not how she's been twisted in his mind, trying to assert some control.
His expression crumples in on itself when he realizes that now, as ever, it's not a fight he's going to win. And it's that face and that face alone that's the last thing Andy sees before he pulls the trigger, splattering her brains against the pavement. He can feel the force of the bullet entering her skull from where his other arm is holding him, the spray of skull gathering in the folds of his clothing, the smell of viscera raw in his sinuses.
He straightens up and steps off of her, shoulders held rigid and face impassive as he radios in. ]
I've got her. Andromache is dead.
[ He doesn't bother turning around to check again. ]
no subject
It must be awful.
It must be so awful, and she's so sorry that she couldn't stop it. That all her cursed power wasn't enough to keep them together. To keep him safe, by her side. He deserved that — to be protected. And she'll make it right. She'll atone. She has to.
Her hand twitches toward him, reaching for him as her lips part —
(It's okay.
I love you.
I love you so fucking much —)
— right before he pulls the trigger, silencing the futile sentiment in a splatter of gore and gray matter. ]