Christopher Bradley (bolts) wrote in marvel_united, @ 2009-08-21 09:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | bolt |
Who: Chris Bradley
NPCs: His cell mate Billy Bob, some FBI Agents
When: 19th August, 2009 (Backdated)
Where: Austin, Texas: Texas Rangers Holding Cell
What: Chris spends his time in a cramped cell with a man named Billy Bob these days.
Rating: PG
It was only a matter of time before he figured out how to get out of here. He had tried to escape on his first day using his powers, but had found that the collar that they had placed around his neck prevented him from doing so. Every time he tried to tap into them, an electrical jolt went throughout his body. But instead of the pleasant buzz that he normally felt, he felt a shock to his system that he hadn't felt since he had stuck a fork in an electrical socket when he was three.
It was rather unpleasant.
So he had sat like a good little mutant, bidding his time and memorizing guard shifts, behavioural patterns, and just how willing his cell mate was when it came to helping him get out of there.
"As long as you take me with you, little man, I'm in," Billy Bob would say, usually as he scratched his tattoo covered chest or did situps. He wasn't a mutant, but he pretty strong for a human and Chris figured he could use him as muscle. His three accomplices were locked up in their own cells, because they had given the Rangers everything they had needed to put them away in jail for a lifetime. But they didn't have anything on Chris, aside from his name and his body.
And thanks to Weapon X, he had no records either.
This day found him sitting on his little cot, thinking and plotting, while wondering what Zero was doing. He had heard about the Doom thing before he had been put away and he only hoped his friend was okay. Nessie, he was sure was fine without him, but he couldn't help the tiny feeling of anxiety that came with her associating with an X-Factor guy.
It was just instinct to distrust the good guys, especially if they were mutants.
Footsteps started from down the hall. Doors opened and closed and within seconds, three men in dark suits with FBI badges latched to their breast pockets came striding into the room. "Mr. Bradley, if you would come with us," one of the men said, smiling in a way that wasn't all friendly. "We have a few questions that we'd like to ask you."
And so it began, the repeated cycle of questioning, harassing, and then them leaving in a huff when he didn't cooperate.
No, they would not be getting anything out of him.
Standing with a smile, he held out his hands to be cuffed. "Lead the way, wankers."