END GAME: THE COUNTDOWN STARTS

[sailmods]

[the prisoners wake up on cold, hard floors.

the lights are bright, glaring, a sterile cell with sterile bars facing a sterile hall. the prisoners with you, across from you, and no one else. no rocking of a ship in waves, nothing. just the prisoner and their prison.

time passes, one assumes. the rhythmic click of Friday’s heels down the hall. it’s almost like the ticking of a clock.]

Comments

[blacksludgeaffair]

It kept watch in the hallway as things went strange in the cells. As the bars fall, its mind spins to work analyzing the situation, forming a path out. It watches for who steps out, and for who doesn't. Strength in numbers.

It doesn't see Helena, from outside. Hasn't stepped out? It knows her, talked to her. Blind. Could be why. It should find her.

"Heeelena...? Do you need... assistance...?"

[blindwatchersees]

He's on his feet in a flash, scooping up a section of bar. He tests to see if he can break it over his knee, to give it a more jagged edge. If not, he'll settle for a blunt instrument, though that's not his preferred weapon.

The Prisoner is free, at least in a limited sense, and he's ready to mess someone up.

[freedomsuitsme]

Maxwell's at Wilson's cell as quick as a flash.

"Higgsbury. I... You're out. Good."

[besixdouze]

[Voyager couldn't say whether a shirt would help or not either, to be fair. Well, for that matter, he's actually not entirely aware of what the shirt's even intended to do...but being wrapped is a nice enough distraction from the pain, even if it's brief.]

Huh...reverse? That's--ehehe-- [Oh, laughing hurts quite a lot too, so it's a brief thing. But he smiles up at Okie all the same.] Okay...I'll hold on. Thank you, Mister Clouds. Take care of your weather...

[He still hasn't caught Okie's name, but that can be later too. Maybe...]

[takethatnature]

Wilson grabs onto Maxwell like the one solid rock between himself and the maw of a hurricane. Hope you weren't using those ribs.

"I thought we were about to get squished!" His hair's in disarray and there's a scrape on his chin.

[decrypter]

In this state, up is down and nothing seems right. But a voice is a beacon, what she imagines a lighthouse to be to a lost sailor on the waves. Hope, the tiny grain of sand turning into a beach.

She's still in her cell, close to the wall.

"I..." Saying it makes it so terribly real. "They took my cane. I'm so slow without it."

Without it, in danger, she's the closest she is to prey. And one doesn't need to read minds to know she's worried about being a problem to the others. A millstone around their neck, if they have to protect her.

[yournewsidekick]

"Boss?" she mumbles, not quite parsing all his words, then -- wait, no. "Ed."

His name comes out as half a sob. Nimona grabs hold of him as, together, they haul her to her feet. The broken bars register; she gasps aloud, instinctively tries to break herself apart into sparks and dust and the bright pink core of her heart so she can flee as fast as possible --

The pain rockets higher, and she doubles in on herself with a cry.

(She told Ballister once that she wouldn't die-die if she couldn't shift. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she'd just never been trapped for long enough to know for sure.)

[freedomsuitsme]

"It wouldn't be the first time. Come on, let's grab a few of these bars and see if we can do something with them. We can panic later."

[sabigoe]

[ Messages—records from everyone. Kind of like the world of memories that Fio once came from. Maybe Voyager would like to hear about The Cage someday. Even if it was a place that held records of overwhelmingly sad stories, there were still some stories of hope. That conversation would have to be saved for later of course.

Fio watches quietly as Okie wraps Voyager up with the shirt. "Mister Clouds"... A small burst of laughter, smiling through her tears when she hears the name. She doesn't know him well enough to know the reasoning behind it, but she approves of the nickname! ]

Mister Clouds! That's a good one! I think I might use it too.

[ Though reluctant to leave the astronaut's side, she knows she must move on to the bridge for Voyager... and everyone else's sake. She can't be of any use lingering around in one place. ]

...We're gonna free everyone. You, too. And you're... gonna move again. Next time, no fighting. I'm gonna be your friend ambassador, just like what we talked about before. I'll introduce you to Sparkles. We'll have so much fun together. [ And she gives his hand one last gentle squeeze, despite how cold it is. ] So... we'll see you later, Voyvoy.

[sabigoe]

... [ Starts looking around too... a little after pushing the colorful buttons that seemingly do nothing a few more times. ]

If there isn't one, then... maybe we can just make a way out?

[decohere]

Make a way... [Ava considers Fio's suggestion, glancing at the walls, the ceiling, the floor... then back at the screens. they seem to be the easiest broken thing in here.]

Anyone feel like smashing?

[redlightgreenlight]

[Valdis helps Natsuno unwrap the note, though she's not sure if she's please or displeased. The writing does look familiar, and she feels they have no choice but to trust Friday.

With a breath she also breaks off a piece of the cookie.]

Only one way to find out.

[She takes a bite alongside Fever.]

[neverleave]

I think Friday wrote the "not" part.

[She freed Siffluer, passed Fio a note and now this. Hadn't she always tried to help them through every loophole in her programming?

He takes a bite as well.]

[goodweather]

(One cry makes it above the rest.

Not Darcy. But. Still important. Still obligated. The little girl of his Lord and Lady, or—a Lady herself now, isn’t she?—obligated, no matter what, no matter if he can’t feel if anything’s hurt anymore, or if time’s folded into a single and inescapable point, or even if he feels impossibly weak and yet his body is still moving himself with a strength that makes him feel like maybe it’s not his after all.

Phil twists, bends, unfolds; he drags himself out and into the hall, pale and bloodied like ragged Icarus from the grave.)

[hate_gettin_older]

"Hey, no no no --"

There's a tinge of panic in it, as he bends with her to keep supporting her, keep an arm around her. He doesn't know what else to do.

[not_the_last]

Twelve years old, in the dungeons underneath her own home, seeing Percy pale and bloodied and ragged and barely able to walk; two secondary memories run parallel to the memory, being there with Crichton and being in a cell herself with Master Connors in the one beside hers --

As she did then (all the versions of then, as best she could), she pushes the horror and pain and panic back, shoves them down, closes a lid on them, keeps her mind on what she can do. And what she can do, here and now, is move toward him with her best Lady de Rolo face on: not the frightened little girl but the symbol, the banner, the figurehead people can look to in a crisis.

(She doesn't like the look on his face at all; it's like he's barely here.)

"Master Connors. Can you walk, do you need help?" A glance at Crichton behind her; he'll help support Phil if it's needed.

[yournewsidekick]

"It hurts," she sobs like a child, before punctuating it with a very unchildlike "Fuck."

Nimona forces herself to stumble forward alongside Edgar. Her fingers dig into his prison shirt for balance.

"Where's the exit? We have to get all the way out -- "

[hate_gettin_older]

"Yeah," he says, "we're going, we're getting out, all of us. I got you, bug, okay? Stay with me."

And he throws a quick look around, to see which way people are going.

[ring_for_giles]

"I... had similar concerns." I missed you. I love you. I'm terrified that we won't escape this.

He kisses Sharky. Slow. Quiet. Needing that contact to prove reality, to begin to calm the racing thoughts that never make their way to the visible surface.

"Are you alright?"

[goodweather]

(There’s a streak of white in his vision; it takes him a minute, but that’s supposed to be her, he thinks. Has to be. And… someone else? He only faintly recognizes them, but no one’s alarmed, so he won’t be either.

His hand smacks into concrete where cell bars used to be. So he has to lift himself up, then—or, no—hands on his, solid hands, helping drag himself to his feet. Oh. Oh…

“Thank you,” he hears himself say.

Phil’s not swaying on his feet, which is at least a good sign amongst the rest.)

[takethatnature]

"I can multitask!" Wilson's too rattled for the dry deadpan delivery he's aiming for; he sounds a little hysterical.

He lets go of Maxwell to pick up some more bars and the Flan braid slithers out of his hands. "I hate these pocketless prison outfits," he grumbles as he reaches to grab it. Is he sublimating his fear into irritation at something trivial? Absolutely.

[stormpirate]

[just kinda observing them with this expression.]

[configuration_birdwatcher]

// I don't.

[ They're all smashed out. ]

[ To Jenny: ] // Can you let us out?

[teethoftherisk]

[While Bastion asks Jenny for an exit, Siffleur eyes up the monitors and then crouches down, wiggling his back end as he gets himself positioned just right-

-and leaps at the screens, landing on the top edge of them, seeing if his weight on them will do much of anything.]

[stormpirate]

Oh, no, I'm sure you can all manage to open a magical door that I'm the only key to. Don't give up now.