Can't the mods delete the posts that have nothing to do with the thread?

So whats this all about lol ? it seems a very interesting thread, but a lot of comment is like nothing to do with the thread.

We were on topic untill he changed the OP .. Can't blame us

I'll start roleplaying by killing all the users who posted here, but aren't in T.EC.H. Except the mods. Jill Valentine mode activate!

Dylan Sommers

"Cooooome... together as one, cooooome... together as one..."

Lying on the floor and blankly staring at the roof, rythmically mumbling some incoherent nonsense, Dylan Sommers was now a shadow of what he was back then. The complete isolation from the outside world left him jaded and even more unhinged than his natural self, considering the amount of time he was in there. His bodysuit was gone, replaced now by a white prisoner jumpsuit, which he hated with a passion. But there were worse things than that. The cell walls were white and sterile, robbing him from a sense of visual depth and perception. He couldn't keep the count of how many hours he slept. Judging by his pronounced eyebags, he wasn't having enough. The food is horrible, and it was introduced into the cell without him expecting it. Whenever the wall got transparent, he violently leapt into the invisible wall and pushed his palms into it, staring furiously at the interrogator, teeths clenching like a rabid dog. As time passed by, there was less cooperation from Dylan and less communication with the exterior.

He finally stopped mumbling and rose his upper body off the floor and crossed his legs, resembling a meditation sitting position. His hair was longer than the last time, reaching further down his shoulders. He now stared at the blank wall.

Simon Kendrick

tap

"Theres something strange going on here. Not here as in this cell, but here as in this situation. Don't get me wrong, this cell is fairly strange. Why? Well, how exactly did they get this sort of technology, for one. Is that not strange? The entire world was busy sticking their head in the sand and sending their people to die, so when exactly did they have time to make this?"

tap

"Theres definitely something strange going on here, but I'm not talking about this cell. Lets see. How did I get here, for one. Is that not strange? Last I remember I was in the middle of the jungle hiding from aliens. There were some noises and then nothing. I wake up in this cell, I'm told that this is 'for the greater good' and then nothing."

tap

"Is that not strange? Absolutely nothing for who knows how long. Just silence. Don't get me wrong, I like the silence. In fact, there have been many times when I've cursed the noise but in here, the silence is almost deafening. I mean, what is silence without noise? I haven't heard anything for who knows how long, I'm starting to question if I'm actually alive. I mean, think about it. Is that not strange?"

tap

Simon looks up at the ceiling, exactly the same as the walls next to it and sighs. "Look, I know I said that I prefer to be on my lonesome, but this isn't exactly what I had in mind. I'm not exactly much of a conversationalist." Laboriously, he drew his hand upwards and let it fall to the floor.

tick

"Oh? What was that?" Drawing his hand up again, he tapped on the ground as it gave a strange sound, unlike anywhere else in the cell. He had tested ever square centimeter of this place for structural weaknesses or energy weaknesses and found nothing, but this was new. Turning to look at the unremarkable spot on the floor, he tapped it once again. "Is that not strange?"

Then, blackness decended on the room and sleep dragged Simon down into the abyss of his dreams where he remembered the days, weeks, months and years before this place and wished he had something more difficult to dream about. 

The next day, he opened his eyes to four walls and a ceiling and sighed. Laboriously, he drew his hand upwards and let it fall to the remarkable spot on the floor.

tap

In all his life, Chris never thought he would be on this side of the bars. As a former police officer, he put criminals behind bars. Now he was in a hypothetical one.

He wondered what Claire, Leon, and his other friends were doing for him. Leon would probably using his friends in the government to try to get them out.

The one good thing that happened before that battle was that he & Jill were engaged. But that didn't mattee anymore, because she could have been dead, without him knowing.

Chris was busy thinking about the BSAA. Without him or Jill, they wouldn't be able to function properly. He got up, and heard a squeak. He turned at the direction of the squeak and saw a mouse disappear into the wall.

Katya Petrov

"It was about this time that King Herod arrested some who belonged to the church, intending to persecute them," recited Katya, her eyes fixed on the shadowy figure who sat before her across the glass divide.

"Tell me more about your father Yekaterina," the interrogator insisted, his patience already worn thin by the other inmates, "Why would the daughter of the great Dmitri Petrov work for a group of terrorists?"

Katya smiled weakly, even for her the isolation took its hold, but she would be damned if she cooperated with a sinner.

"He had James, the brother of John, put to death with the sword," she said accusingly, pointing at the accuser, " When he saw that this met with approval among the Jews, he proceeded to seize Peter also."

The interrogator behind the screen laughed, readjusting himself in the chair.

"Even now don't you realize how doomed you are?"

Katya ignored him and continued to recite scripture, " Peter was sleeping between two soldiers, bound with two chains, and sentries stood guard at the entrance..."

For a moment, the interrogater appeared to be angry and confused, but then suddenly he smiled.

"Acts chapter 12...I know the Bible."

"So does the Devil..."

The man laughed again, "And which do you think you are Miss Petrov? Countless deaths you've committed."

"In the Name of God!" yelled Katya.

"God has abandoned you!" the interrogator mocked.

"Liar!!!" yelled Katya, baring her teeth.

The interrogator laughed once more, standing up from his chair.

"So you can talk?" he said, the transparent wall suddenly becoming white and indistinguisable from the others.

Katya sat at the edge of the cot and looked at her hands. She didn't recognize them. Clealy, she had been in this cage too long. Her brother Denis had been right all along.

Dylan Sommers

It would appear to have been hours for Dylan sitting down on the floor in the same position, with his head tilted to the front and hair curtaining his face. A pneumatic hiss made him to jerk his head slightly. As the wall in front of him turned transparent, Dylan slowly craned his neck back with his hair pulling back, slowly showing up his face; the prison time has taken a toll on his looks and his body. The interrogator was back, with a smug look on his face. On his left hand, he held a sealed padded envelope and a folder with "Confidential" stamped on it. He sat down on the chair and fixed his eyes on the frail prisoner.

"Good morning-- or it's evening? Heh, I seem to forget what time of the day is."

"Good one." Dylan muttered.

"Let's try this again. If you answer my questions, I'll let you go. Simple as that." Dylan had his eyes fixed on the interrogator, who grabbed the padded envelope and ripped the seal open. "Now, I'm really curious about this." he turned the envelope upside down and a bundle of black cloth fell off it. The interrogator grabbed what seemed to be his suit. He opened and inspected it closely. "What is your obsession with the suit? Is it how it feels? Is it that you want to show off? Or... is just a weird fetish of yours?"

Dylan was just sitting on the floor, being subject to the humiliation from the interrogator.

He left the suit on the table and grabbed a photo of the confidential file. "Oh, here it is." He got up from the chair and neared the transparent dividing wall, in which he violently slammed the image into it with his palm, "This guy here..." Dylan's eyes were as wide as platters as he immediately recognized the picture.

"Shaun Waters. Your boyfriend, right? As seen in here, killed by a slash to his neck by a robber. Now I ask you... who was to blame for his death? His stupid self, or his careless boyfriend?"

Dylan got up from the floor and limped towards the transparent wall.

"Ooooooh, are you gonna turn red, huh?" The coated man cackled, turning into the security guard, "Hey Paul, look! He's gonna turn red. Look, look. He's gonna do it! No... wait, he isn't. You know why, Paul?" His head turned to Dylan, "Because he's a fuck-up!"

The frail prisoner slammed his palms into the wall, leaning his whole body into it. Condensation accumulated on the glass as he violently puffed air off his nose.

"Dylan, Dylan... take it easy, man. You're gonna get yourself hurt."

"Fuck you!"

"This technology is amazing. But I can't wait to have green light to incinerate this thing." The interrogator now seemed to be more serious as he stuffed the suit into the envelope, "This shouldn't see the light of day ever again."

"MOTHERFUCKER!! YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!" Dylan yelled furiously, bashing the wall repeatedly with all his might.

The interrogator left without saying another word while the wall slowly opaqued. Dylan fell on his knees, forgetting he didn't have the fast healing properties anymore. His fists were bloody and a couple of fingers were out of place. He leaned his back on the wall and grasped one of his fractured fingers. After a deep breath, he pulled it back into its place, with stiffled screams ensuing.