candy_icon.gif lang_icon.gif

Scene Title Entertainment
Synopsis Rasoul's Colonel has plans for Candace Allard…
Date December 12, 2009

Muspelheim Bunker


It's the little things in life that can make even the most unfathomably hopeless situations survivable; rain in the middle of a desert, a cave in the arctic, a half-eaten power bar found at the botom of a backpack on a long hike, showering with Claire Bennet at the end of the world. For Candace Allard, there's some simple pleasures in life that are just enough to keep her going, but the old saying that "it only gets better before it gets worse" might well come true for her.

Escorted by two armed guards, that itching sensation of being deprived her ability has never left Candy in her time held prisoner. It's a wonder how they manage to keep it from her, how after all this time she still hasn't felt an inkling of her power yet. As she's escorted thorugh concrete halls, beneath flickering fluorescent lights those thoughts drift thorugh her mind, swim like fish in a sea that she is no longer given dominion over.

Down a hall and around a corner, Candy is brought up a flight of concrete steps, further and further away from where Rasoul and Claire are conversing. The bunker is largely silent, a haunted absence of words and noise save for mechanical sounds far away in the hangar bay. The two guards leading Candy bring her up to what looks like a barracks floor, where evntually the sussurus of conversation carries to her ears as she passes by large rooms filled with bunks and storage lockers. An armory is caught in her periphery; an enormous room filled with racks of weapons and body armor, where men not of the militia but of Rasoul's private army are arming themselves.

Not far from here, she is led into a large room filled with metal lockers, almost like the locker room of a High School gym. One guard stays at the door, and the other holds out a small key to Candy. "Locker three seventy six." He nods his crew-cut head towards the far end of the locker room. "S'clothes in there for you."

Apparently they aren't big on privacy here in Madagascar.

Candy looks over at them as she takes the key from them. The fact that she doesn't have her power and that Claire does is really starting to eat at the poor woman, driving her just as insane as being captured like this is. She shudders lightly while she walks towards the locker, eyes closed as she struggles to come to grips that she is literally helpless. She doesn't know how to defend herself well enough without her power to even begin thinking about trying to escape, without her power she's just another damsel in defense. When she reaches the locker and turns the key, she looks over towards the guards that are in there with her.

"I don't suppose you all can turn around," she asks of the men.

"No'really…" The soldier comments with a broad smile. "You jus' keep on entertainin' us." There's a raise of his brows, and the soldier shoulders his assault rifle and leans up against the wall, folding his arms and giving a lecherous look towards the young woman, head tilted back and dark eyes peering down his nose towards her, as if this were some sort of private show for him.

The soldier waiting by the door chimes in, "'Ey fuck off man, send her to a different locker I can't see 'er from here." That one sounds British, strangely. "C'mon this ain't fair did you see the size of 'er b— "

"Fuck off and watch the hall." The gyard watching Candy growls out, nose rankling as he shoots a steely look towards the guard who isn't getting to watch the show. "You'll get your turn." That— does not sound promising.

Candy narrows her eyes slightly, and looks around, for anything that she might be able to use if she needs to defend herself. She bites her lip a little, before she turns her back towards them. She blushes rather deeply as she stands there, not that the guards can see it with her face turned away from them. Opening the locker to look it and see what kind of dress she'll be dealing with, she slips out of the gown she was provided with, sighing softly as she just hurries to try and get the outfit on as quickly as possible.

A sharp whistle comes from the guard the moment Candy shrugs off that clean hospital gown she'd been wearing. Inside of the locker, a pair of well-worn but comfortable looking jeans, a black tanktop and a camouflage jacket look like clothing that was taken from someone else. Blood stains on the jacket imply that it probably belonged to someone else at one point, and the US Marines badge on the shoulder is an even higher indication. On the chest of the coat, a patch reads Cpl. Bentley. This was probably the clothing of one of the members of Bravo-One that was slaughtered by Rasoul's men.

Also inside the locker is a handgun in a holster.

That sort of catches her eye.

It catches her eyes just a little, as she ignores the whistle, and she begins to clothe herself. An escape attempt without clothing, is probably a bad idea. She takes deep breathes, working to calm her heart that is fluttering, as she feeds her nervousness to the fire that has consumed most everything in her. She seeks that calm, and with the calm, comes the realization that they wouldn't really let her have that if it was loaded. Then again, the guard seemed to be more focused on what would give him the better view. The young woman bites her lip, as she begins to slide the jacket on to her shoulders.

She shrugs her shoulders a little and decides that a chance is worth a chance, and she grabs the gun spinning around to aim at the guard and hit the trigger.


The guard flinches in the way someone about to be shot largely should. Hands go up to shield his face, a yelp of fear comes, and then when the click sounds off, his eyes grow wide and he jerks his head around with a baleful stare. "You little bitch!" The other guard is already coming around, both of them removing nothign as plesant as a taser from their hips, but flexible batons that are extended with a snap. The guard in the back also unholsters his side-arm, flipping the safety off as he shouts over the other guard's protesting. "You're dead! You're dead you little shit!"

She's cornered, the exit is blocked off by the approaching guards, one of them is bearing down on her with the flex-baton in hand and the other has a fucking gun. The only thing Candy has to defend herself with is the pistol and her bare hands, and there's two of them, they're bigger than her, she doesn't have her ability— this wasn't supposed to be like this runs through her mind in the way a bullet may soon be wont to.

She has to think quick.

Candy does have to think quick as she starts to move back, hoping to berak the guard with the gun's line of sight to her and by herself a few more precious seconds before a bullet slams through her, for the second time on this trip. Her eyes flick back and forth towards them, before she scans over the floor looking for something that she can use. She sighs when she doesn't see a thing, she smiles a little, "Come on… can't take a bit of a prank," she asks the man. Her eyes going to her pistol, and to her hands for a moment, before she loses all composure, and pulls a Huruma. The little Asian jumps at the man with the baton, hand with the pistol coming back to try and smash his head, even as claws her other hand and goes for his eyes with it.

It's an effective enough tactic as Candy's pistol comes down to whip across the short-cropped hair atop the soldier's head. He jerks back as skin splits, blood running down his brow and a scream erupts as Candy digs nails down his cheek. Struggling with her, the guard drops his baton, one hand grabbing her by the wrist and forcing her back with a hollow, metallic slam against the lockers. His forearm comes up to her throat under her chin, pressing too hard as spots appear in Candy's vision.

The other guard circles around a wall of lockers, gun out. "Get out've the way I'll fuckin' shoot her! Get out of the way!" He shouts to the other guard, chambering a round with that tell-tale click-snap of a handgun. A punch is delivered to Candy's stomach from the guard practically on top of her, followed by the slam of his forehead against hers, knocking her head into the locker again.



Is this how she's going to die?

Candy growls as she is slammed into the locker with a punch to her stomach, and then the headbutt that slams the back of her head into the locker. The pistol slips from her hand and clatters on the floor as she hangs there in the guards arms. The young woman isn't a physical brawler, to accustomed to being able to kill people with a mere look. She searches herself for that connection with the water around her, struggling to feel that dominion once more as a whimper comes to her lips. Her hands weakly trying to defend herself from getting shot, and getting roughed up anymore.

The guard with the gun disappears.

Or rather, his feet are swept out from beneath him. Landing on his back with a crash, a muffled yelp of pain comes quick as he's kicked in the ribs and sent skittering across the floor. Someone is moving behind the guard holding Candy, an arm wraps around his neck — thick, muscled and tattooed — and pulls him off of the tiny young woman. Someone's there, a flash of pale skin, black tattoos and a vest, a growl, and then the guard who was pinning her is kicked squarely between the legs so hard he doubles over and chokes hard enough to vomit against the tile floor.

There, with his back to Candy, a tall and toned man with dirt smeared up one shoulder stands with head bowed. "Ain't none of you fuckers listen to the boss!?" A swift kick is dealt to the nut-shotted guard, hitting him in the mouth and dislodging a tooth that tick-tick-skitters across the floor with a trail of blood in its wake. The shaved-headed man seems familiar, something about him resonates in Candy's mind as she tries to catch her breath, feel adrenaline pumping through her veins.

As he turns, the gruff individual who just saved her passes a blue-eyed stare with level delivery to her. A blonde goatee adorns his jaw, lips crept up into a smirk, a black tribal tatoo snaking around his muscled bicep. "Well hey there sugar, what's a girl like you doin' in a place like this?" He's American and he's also the man who attacked Mandritsara.

"You alright?" Brows raise, and the Butcher of Mandritsara cracks a toothy smile.

Candy is stunned and still trying to collect herself from her near death experience. Her eyes look at the man in front of her, and she gets that distinct feeling of having gotten out of the frying pan only to land in the fire. "Do I look alright," she asks of the man as she struggles to catch her breath. When she gets home, she's definitely goin to start training for when this happens. Her power getting turned off is turning in to far too much of a common occurance.

"A better question would be what is a man like you doing in a place like this," she replies, shrugging the jacket back over her shoulders a little more as she eyes the American.

"Big game huntin'," the Butcher notes with a flick of his thumb off the side of his nose. "Gimmie a minute girlie— " one finger is held up, and the Butcher turns back to the guards. "Alright stop your fuckin' cryin and get your asses the fuck down to the Hangar. You're both on shit-ppump duty until you hear back from me otherwise, y'got me!?" Spitting on the floor, the Butcher watches as the soldiers scramble to their feet, one cradling his demolished genitals and limping out like a whipped dog, the other holding what must be broken ribs as he scuttles from the man's sight.

Turning around with a sour look on his face, the Butcher cracks a smile. "Ah' work for the big dog, you can call me Colonel Lang." A hand is held out to Candy, grubby and dirt-smudged, caloused palms. "You must be that big ol' girl Ah' pulled in with mah truck the other day. Good to see the ol' Doc was able t'fix that broken neck a'yours. You made for some fine huntin' y'did." Lang's brows go up, shit-eating smile spread from ear to ear.

Candy eyes the man as she stands there, and says, "Glad to provide you with entertainment." She shakes her head a little, before trying to move past him and saying, "I've got to go get dinner." She wants to be gone from so many men, and the stares that she can feel whenever she walks around. She should be used to it, but, the stress of being captured, and the knowledge that at a single word she could be… Well, its enough to make her all the more concious of things.

A whip-snap of a hand comes out, grabbing Candy hard by the bicep. "Actually," he notes with an incline of his head, "Boss sent me on up here t'tell you that breakfast was cancelled on account of combat barbie not feeling so keen on it anymore. Which means Ah'm takin' you back t'your cell." There's a wicked smile on Lang's face as he takes a step closer to Candy, still holding her arm.

"But that ain't all you gots to worry your pretty little head about, darlin'." Leaning in, Colonel Lang takes in a deep breath thorugh his nose, then exhales a slow sigh, eyes halfway lidded and a smile spread across his lips. "See, Ah' didn't capture you just so you could be one of Doc's pokin' and proddin' experiments." Rolling his tongue over the inside of his cheek, Lang casts a stare side-long to the doorway, then back to Candy. "See, you're gonna get to get out some'a that aggression a'yours…"

Candy shudders as she feels the man close to her, and she shakes her head a little and replies, "Fuck off. If you're taking me to my cell then get me there." She knows that trying to struggle is pointless, she can't, she's simpley too weak, and without her power she might as well be a child for all the resistance she can put up. Or, if she could get her hands on something long and straight. All the same, she struggles to move past the Butcher, who evidently to her, as an Asian fetish that is not at all becoming.

Grimacing, Colonel Lang yanks Candy back when she tries to pull away, wrapping fingers delicately around her throat, index finger pressing down just beneath her jawline. "It ain't like that…" he intones with a raise of his brows, face brought close to the Asian's. "You ain't mah type, freak." Candy is pushed back, violently, into the locker with the hand around her throat, metal rattling loudly. Then, reaching down to his belt, Lang produces a large chromed metal apparatus in his free hand, it looks like an air-injection gun with a ring of needles around the mouth like some sort've mechanical lamprey. Candy's seen it before, the injection guns from Moab.

The bandage on her arm she's had since getting here is torn off, revealing a familiar scar mark like the one under her chin. That's how they've been suppressing her, they have— but how did they get—


The injection comes with a shooting pain, even as Lang offers a wickedly cruel smile with it. "Can't let'cher freak-flag fly," he growls against the side of her face, before dropping the injection gun and dragging her back by the throat, lifting her up with one hand and then slamming her against the locker again with a powerful smash.

This time, mercifully, she blacks out.

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