βℓЄи∂ ιитσ тнɛ Ƨнα∂σωƨ {Full - Not Accepting}

[diamonds;;]

• a n n a b e l l e •

She was roused by the screeching sound of metal bars opening the cell. A man dressed in a long leather coat walked up to her. "Well this is a surprise! An baby! Well this makes things a lot easier cause I will only have to hit you once!" Her eyes had nothingness in them, just filled with empty gloom. Her laughter had ceased around half a year ago, thanks to this. Blood. Pain. Torture. That was it in this place. Annabelle choked on her dry throat, and just laid helplessly on the floor her upper body proped up on the bloodstainted wall. Dirt cover her face, hands and everything that it could find like a plague spreading around a town taking everyone as it's victim. Her faced was throttled to the side banging on the wall. She was broken. Blood ran from her nose and she closed her eyes to withstand the pain. Another day with no life. This was not living! This was a He'll-hole!

Her body seemed life-less as no engery flowed throughout it like it had those many months before. She was kicked like dirt, like nothingness. She would scream, but nothing was left in her. But then she thought, again. She must scream. She'd had enough. This was the end. Her petite body shuddered suddenly, faking that she was having a fit. She started to scream loudly with a painful cry that echoed in her cell. The man kicked her, and that was when She used the last remaining strength to push her way up the wall to a standing height. "I've had enough!" She yelled at him. Annabelle kicked him, hearing yowl of pain as she dropped down to the floor,weak with terror. Everything went black...

[the murph]

//Alec//
The sound of the city was like a symphony to Alec Landers, all the sounds and smells coming together to make a soft buzz. Alec enjoyed the buzz, it was easy to blend into; easy to flow with. It made it easier to hide yourself . It made it easier for Alec to live, but it also made it harder. There was always some sort of offbeat in the buzz, some hidden scheme; but that was what made it beautiful. At least, thats what Alec believed. Alec was good at blending, having nothing that striking about him. He was easy going, with nothing to impressive to offer the world. He was a more of a take kind of guy anyway, and he used that to his advantage.

"...And it will come with some sort of love, honey/No you won't understand, no no no...."
The music blared over the radio, the female's voice cracking with a high note. Alec sighed. This was the life; bad singing and escapes. That was what his life was, anyway. It was like hell, only more dramtic and secretive.

With another sigh Alec turned off the radio and turned onto a back street, guiding his car among the trash cans. He hadn't seen any of the others in awhile, not since he had escaped. Not since they had last met. Alec wondered about them, and hoped they had made it out ok. And if they hadn't, he hoped they found one of the others soon. This game was to dangerous to play alone. Without the help of eachother they could simply just go back to the CIA and submit themselves back to torture. Alec didn't want to do that, so thats why he did his searches; searches for the others that might be hiding in New York.

Alec's mind switched back to the torture. All it was was mindless pain, repeated until they finally broke you. The stronger you were, the harder it was. The more will you had, the more they tried to bend you. Bend and break you, that was their strategy.

[aurie]

R I V E R

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To River, freedom was like candy. You only got it if you were a good little girl, always listening. Sometimes it is given to you, and sometimes you have to find your way to the treat. She always got hers the hard way. If she listened to the CIA, she was not punished as severely. If she disobeyed them... Well, talking about it was worse than thinking about it. She had escaped merely days ago, and freedom she had gained. It was limited, though. New name, new ID, and constantly being on the run. Right now she was known as Miranda Bevels, a maid at a local diner. She usually changed her aliases every week or so, and if se was feeling brave, being two or three weeks. But the CIA was smart, and had already caught most of the escapees. She knew their real names but haven't seen them in awhile.

"Have a nice day, miss." The waiter told her. River smiled and quickly got up from her table after paying the bill. She left as quickly as possible, pulling her hood over her head and tightening the string. She had thought day and night about going to break her "friends" out, if they were caught. She did not know if they were, which made everything even riskier. River defiantly couldn't do it alone, and she had no way to contact the others for help. She would probably end up being killed, but that would be better than living like this. She couldn't be in a serious relationship without risking the other, and friends were positively out of the question.



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[Soriams]

Slumped in an alley next to a diner, Bob hardly looks up at the people passing by on the sidewalk. He had traded his clothes with a homeless man a few blocks away, and the rank, tattered clothes pretty much insured that no one stopped to look at him. He hadn't shaved and a scruffy week-old beard graces his chin. Clutching a bottle concealed by a paper bag, and stained hoodie covering his shaved head, he looks very much at home with the other run-down and tired occupants of the alleyways and overpasses.

While he had easily procured an apartment in Harlem after the escape, a place where they don't ask questions so long as you come up with the cash. Bob knows exactly how to travel the city without being seen. If you make yourself into something that people would rather forget, they tend not to look at you. New York was just like every other big city, it dwelled on the good, upheld the achievers and pushed the rest aside. The homeless weren't a problem if you pretended they didn't exist.

Somewhere behind him, a bell chimes as the door to the diner opens and a young blond leaves, pulling her hood over her flaxen hair. There, that's her. It has to be... Bob had been following RIver for days since she left the CIA, her movements were hard to track and it was only by chance what he ever really caught sight of her. Ever since he escaped, Bob would take the risk of hanging near the CIA building to wait for news of the others. He knew he needed the others if he ever wanted to truly live life again, there was safety in numbers. Like everyone who tried to make something out of this mess, River had a routine. He knew she would come to the diner eventually, it was the only secluded place to eat in a ten block radius. So he sat there, slumped in the dirt waiting for her to walk by.

Just as she starts to pass the alley, Bob gets up, stumbling and nearly toppling over. "Ma'am? 'Scuse me, Ma'am?" His slurred speech calls out, a heavy East Side accent can be heard over the unclear drunken inflection. He finally seems to get control of his feet and manages to walk over to her, holding out a grubby hand, he asks: "Ma'am, so-sorry to bother you, but this old Bobbie's tryin' ta get down to the River. Can ye spare some change fer the bus?" He stands looking at her, swaying on his feet as he holds out his hand. However, the dark eyes that look out from under his hood are clear, and show no sign of the drink his clothes reek of.

[raibee.]

● Jordan Frost ●

It wasn't an unusual experience for Jordan, being tortured. It was a routine, having the sh*t beaten out of him by CIA operatives until he was cooperative. And for Jordan, that was almost always a near-death experience. No, torture wasn't unusual, not in the slightest. It was almost like an unwelcome old friend that he couldn't seem keep away. Freedom, however, was a kind stranger. Jordan had longed for his freedom ever since he had fallen for the CIA's trap, and now that he felt the warm embrace of freedom, he wasn't sure what to do with it.

First thing to do was secure a new ID. He had plenty of aliases, but he needed one the CIA was unfamiliar with. Holt. Zachary Holt. He sighed wordlessly, reminding himself of his new name. He needed help, his team more specifically. But this was New York City and it wouldn't be easy to find them. Jordan sighed once again and eyed the people around him, trying to appear as relaxed as possible. He inhaled sharply and ducked into an alleyway. If he knew his "teammates" the way he thought he did, they would stick to the places no one 'normal' would want to look.

As he strolled nonchalantly between garbage cans and dumpsters, Jordan peeled off the brown leather jacket he had been wearing and tossed it into the dirt-ridden hands of a homeless man, an unusually well dressed homeless man. "Where did you get those clothes?" He inquired casually, listening to the man's description of a big black man who had traded clothes with him. Jordan smiled humorlessly and asked the man if he knew where the "good Samaritan" had run off to.

"He went that'a way." The homeless man jerked his thumb over his shoulder and watched as Jordan strode away, following the man's direction. Found one. Jordan grinned at his luck, and kept to the sidewalk. Before long, Jordan's search led him to a diner where he spotted a woman and lo and behold, an African American male. Deciding not to approach just yet, Jordan merely watched from a distance.

[kitten;]

{charlotte.

Faintly Charlotte heard a scream, and she almost shuddered. That scream had haunted her so many nights in this place...and she was pretty sure she knew who was screaming. Annabelle, that little kid. Blood trickled like a creek from the corner of her mouth. Her face was probably already bruised. She looked up at her captor, breathing slightly faster than normal. "You a**hole. That guy's torturing a little kid..." This time she felt a slap to the face, harder, and a wicked laughter. "She's too easy to be broken. He has it easy, like a game. Now, only if you would break so easily..." He leaned in close, chuckling. "You know, he and I could do a little tag-team with you and the kid, get things done faster..." Charlotte growled, the angry sound erupting from her throat. "Why would you, a CIA operative, want a little kid? She's still a minor. You can't do that--" Her head was thrown to the side with the force of the punch that hit her heavily bruised face. "Don't you dare call me a CIA operative," the man murmured, his lips almost brushing Charlotte's ear. "This has to be as real as possible."

Charlotte almost grinned, if not for the pain radiating from her cheek. So he wasn't completely insane; he actually knew what he was doing. He had tied her to a wooden chair in the middle of the cell, and for good reason--if Charlotte hadn't been tied up, she probably would've punched the guy. If it had to be as real as possible, she would hover an inch from death and desperately wish to die but no such relief would come. He would eventually break her, no matter how hard she tried. With this new realization, Charlotte said, a little louder than she'd intended, "Fine, then. Do whatever the h*ll you want. Break me in as many ways as possible and then some. I. Don't. Care. If it's going to happen eventually, why wait...?" After all, he could only do so much. He wasn't authorized to kill her, and now she was sure he wouldn't dare do that. Oh, he would come close, but that was it. It's just training all over again, Charlotte thought, trying to be brave enough.

This amused her captor. He laughed, the same wicked laugh that he had laughed every day for six months, the longest six months of her life. "You know, Charlotte, when you first came here, I thought I was going to have to really break you down. Like turn you into a giant mass of pudding. But no, you put up resistance. So I only had time to break you down just enough. But, this time, you will be broken down again and again until I can do whatever I want. Sound good, honey?" Charlotte limply nodded, pain and exhaustion suddenly taking over her. She had just thrown her life away, and for what? The reassurance that she would be at least alive at the end of all this? Charlotte mentally smacked herself. She was weak, too weak. That needed to change and fast. Her captor smiled slightly, and said, "Well, guess what time it is?" Charlotte didn't have to guess; she knew that question all too well. He slapped her, on the other cheek, sure to leave red mark in the shape of a hand. "Guess!" He was slightly irritated, Charlotte knew, but she had done this countless times before. "Torture time," Charlotte muttered, trying to keep herself from shaking in terror. The CIA had many different ways of torture, but he only used a few different ways on Charlotte, and they were painfully effective. When he asked that question, she knew he was going to waterboard her.

[the murph]

//Alec//

Alec turned into a vacant lot and stopped the car, cutting the engine. With a sigh he leaned back, thinking about the others agents that were out there; either suffering a great deal of pain or trying to hide from the pain. Alec didn't know which one he was a part of. He truly had just gone through a whole lot of pain, but then again he was hiding from it. Hiding until the pain found him again. That was how the game worked. They played mouse while the CIA played cat, hunting through their maze set with traps. But the players of this game were very smart. They easily got past these traps, or escaped them. Alec had been one to escape.

He still remembered his time, in that dark cell somewhere near the bay. He remembered the pain, what his captor looked like, how his captor had tortured and treated him. Bleeding and numb, Alec never lot thast part of him that fought. Fought until he could break free. He had been hand cuffed and tied in a chair, and Alec remembered telling his captor everything he hated and loved about him. Commenting on everything he said. Once, on an occasion Alec had been in a great deal of pain, he had happily listed off the things you should and shouldn't say to a CIA operative. Obviously what he had said you should never say to one.

Alec had practically let himself die, holding the valuable information that his captor had a slight anger issue. Something that had effected him greatly in his time there, but was also the key to his escape.

[kitten;]

{{ Hi everyone :3 Just wanted to remind you of something that I recently learned.

Hey guys, though I might drop a general warning here. (Nothing serious)
Just a reminder that in RP's you can't post pictures of your character in every post, it counts as spam.
If you want to do something like that, just link to the original submitted profile on the thread or a picture.
It's mainly a thing I see in semi-lit/+ RPs so just through I'd put it here. :B
(It also saves me from giving you guys warnings and stuff, lol.)

Nothing serious, I just don't wany anyone getting a warning. I had no idea it was even spam before Clowesia posted that.

Oh, and bump! }}

[kitten;]

{{ It's been almost a week. I don't want to classify this RP as dead :c

Bump~ }}

[Soriams]

((I agree, but I don't know what to post without a reply... ))