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damned_lounge1970-01-09 05:26 pm
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Oktoberfest '08 Entry - Day of Rest by GreenCat3
Late-breaking Oktoberfest entry! (Damn I'm good.)
Title: Day of Rest
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
greencat3
Beta (if applicable): None. It's all my fault.
Word Count: 2026
Rating: PG-13 for language. And some violence.
Character(s): Jason Bourne, Javert, Faux-Marie, Martin Landel, Dairine, Nny, Zexion, Simon Tam, random orderlies, Jason's sanity (fleeting as it is)
Pairing(s) (if applicable): Jason/Marie. ;(
Summary: Jason's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad Sunday. (And a sneak preview of what he's doing tonight, lolfish.)
Notes (if applicable): APOLOGIES TO EVERYONE'S CHARACTERS I MURDERED KTHX <3 Also SORRY ABOUT NEVER THREADING SIMON-MUN. DxI know the HTML is crap. WILL FIX IT LATER. Now I need to return Harry Potter's Capslock of Doom.
“Mr. Kane? Mr. Kane?”
It took Bourne a long moment to realize the nurse was talking to him. Normally he would be quicker on the uptake, but he was still reeling from the events of the past twenty-four hours.
There was the matter of the car he’d stolen yesterday in Doyleton, which had mysteriously decided to cease functioning entirely before he’d even made it two blocks. There was the matter of escaping the Institute, only to end up in the room (he refused to think of it as his – that implied he’d be sticking around) when dawn broke. There was the matter of the girl and boy who’d been hiding out in the ruins. There was the matter of the other girl (why were there so many children here?) who had seemed to read his mind,
And then there was the matter of Marie. Or Anna, as she was calling herself now.
She thought he was crazy, and that was a terrible blow. He almost found himself wishing she had died after all and not come back under someone’s control to torment him like this. It wasn’t fair. He could have lived with…something else. Anything else. But not Marie.
He looked up at the nurse. “Yes?”
“It’s your free time now, Mr. Kane. Some of the other patients have visitors now. You wouldn’t want to keep them from seeing their loved ones, would you?” God, he hated that smile. It was too saccharine, too false. Nobody could be that happy when surrounded by mental patients 24/7. He wondered idly if there was something in their food that made them so damn peppy all the time.
As he was being led out, he glanced around the room. Some of his fellow prisoners looked as shell-shocked as he felt right now, not the least of whom was an older man with sideburns. One of the nurses was talking to the man, calling him ‘Mr. Hunt’, and saying that it was a shame that his meeting with his visitor hadn’t gone well. Bourne was kind of irritated with himself for not paying better attention to the rest of the visits – he might have learned something – but the sight of Marie, who’d been dead about two months, had been enough to shake his concentration.
The nurse led him to the Sun Room, and he immediately steered himself to the nearest couch and sat down, too boggled to do much of anything else. He wasn’t going to try and escape again right now – he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to. Not yet. Not until he found out what this place was and brought it crashing down around Martin Landel’s ears.
He had a purpose again, which he’d been lacking for far too long. Yes, he’d wanted to get out, but that was just so he could continue his crusade against the corrupt elements that had made him into what he was. But now...they’d made it personal again, whoever they were in this instance; if it wasn’t Hirsch’s people, then the Head Doctor was responsible.
And if Martin Landel knew anything, he ought to have known that you did not fuck with Jason Bourne. Especially not with his Marie.
But to brainwash her? What kind of sick fucking monster would…
…well, that question answered itself.
Bourne looked down at the picture in his hand and scowled. It was so much like the last picture he’d refused to burn, but this was different. This was a fake. He couldn’t remember his days in the Army, but he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he, Marie, and his uniform had never, ever, ever been near enough to photograph in the same frame.
Despite the picture’s chilling fakery, it was comforting in a sick and twisted way. This was how they had been, once. This was how they could be again. He’d free her – they had to be holding her somewhere, because they wouldn’t want to lose track of such a valuable tool to break him. He’d find her and free her and help her remember who she really was.
The irony in the situation’s reversal did not escape him. He had to help her now, the same way she had helped him for years. She’d never given up hope. Neither would he.
The plan, whoever’s it was, had backfired. Rather than devastated, he was determined. He knew what he had to do. His resolve hadn’t been this strong since Marie had been shot. He couldn’t afford to mess around anymore.
Tonight, he’d put his plan into action. Perhaps ‘plan’ was too strong a word – he had a goal, but no method yet. It didn’t matter. He had an entire afternoon to plot and scheme, and he always needed to allow for unexpected changes and complications.
If he worked hard, he could have the Institute in ruins by dawn.
----
Ah, yes, it was that time again. Special Counseling night. It was, even if he did say so himself, a move of absolute genius.
Take a few patients, the ones he’d had to power down the most, and return their clothes, their weapons, and their strength to them, for just one night.
Except…and this was a very important except…they would be working for him. It was always fun; not just the night itself, but the aftermath, the self-doubt it left behind on the lambs lucky enough to be chosen. That part was always delicious. It wasn’t enough to break them physically, with demons and monsters and his favorite special pets that he released on occasion. There had to be lingering mental pain, emotional distress, that would slowly but surely destroy them. It was the poison tip of his scalpel, a move that he was particularly proud of.
However, there was always the problem of deciding who to play with.
Martin Landel had several files spread out in front of him, and he was frowning. He couldn’t pick the same person twice – it would get boring too quickly, and if there was a pattern, some of the smarter patients would jump on it immediately.
He immediately dismissed the first file he’d picked out. Though the girl could be powerful if her wizardry was returned, her pesky Oath would forbid her from causing enough ruckus for his liking. He glanced over another file. Too unpredictable and psychotic, though he would be entertaining, certainly. He didn’t want the chosen ones to break his little toys, and this one played rough.
Hm, that one’s power of illusions, fully unleashed, could create some interesting possibilities. But not tonight. He was looking for something a little more blatant this evening, more dangerous, more destructive.
And then the perfect file landed on his desk.
It was almost unfair, springing so many nasty little surprises on him in such a short period of time. It nearly gave him pause – for half a nanosecond. Then again, that was the point of this whole game, wasn’t it? Testing to destruction.
It would be interesting to see if Jason Bourne (or was it David Webb? Honestly, he didn’t even care) could take this most recent test. If it broke him, too bad; if it didn’t, he’d only come out of the fire stronger, like a tempered sword.
And the stronger they got, the more fun they were to abuse. Never did it cross his mind that one day some of the patients might get too strong, and destroy him. He was the chessmaster, and they were all his pawns.
Landel smiled and closed the file. Yes, he would do nicely for tonight. A beautiful mix of power and ingenuity would certainly provide an obstacle for the wandering lab rats.
Oh, and it would be so much fun to see his anguish in the morning.
----
Bourne barely tasted his steak, instead focusing on the route he was going to take tonight. He hadn’t interacted much with his roommate – Simon, was it? – and he resolved to be more personable in future. Just not tonight. He had all of this pent-up energy in his system, and if he didn’t use it he’d go absolutely berserk.
Not like that would be a bad thing, of course. But when he was in a rage, he didn’t think – and as tempting as the prospect of causing grievous bodily harm to all involved in the situation was, it wouldn’t be productive enough. He had to use guerrilla tactics; strike quickly and disappear. A full-on frontal assault wouldn’t work. He knew that much. He had to plan for contingencies.
Like the door opening before the final intercom broadcast of the night. Like the orderlies coming into the room and zeroing in on him. Like the fact that a plastic steak knife wouldn’t get him very far, but dammit, he could try.
One of the three spoke. “Mr. Kane?” They sounded wary – they knew the stories about him.
He tossed the tray at one of the orderlies with surprising speed, and his roommate got up in alarm, only to be blocked off by one of the orderlies.
They weren’t going to try to do this peacefully, even before he’d thrown the tray. They sure as hell weren’t going to now.
Bourne took advantage of the orderly’s distraction with the tray and attacked him, swinging down with the knife and scoring a shallow gash in his arm. It may have only been plastic, but he’d put some force behind it. Enough force to break skin, at least. Now all he needed was for the damn orderly to expose a vulnerable patch, some eyes, a nose, a mouth, something he could stick the knife into and twist, hear him howl in agony and drop to the ground. If he could disable them, he could start his escape plans early…
But they were wise to his tactics, too clever for him this time, because the other, unoccupied orderly had grabbed him. Jason tried to throw him, but it was like being held by a bear.
He twisted in the other's grip, to no avail. The first, injured orderly had moved to his other side and taken a hold of his arm. He could try and take them down, but then the third decided to drop by and help. He was definitely screwed now. Bourne looked over at Simon, who seemed wary, confused, and a little frightened. He figured that his roommate would have tried to do something, but they were outnumbered. He continued kicking and punching at them, but they seemed mostly unconcerned. "Don't sedate him!" one of them yelled as they dragged him out into the hall, biting and scratching at his captors.
That was strange, Bourne thought. Why didn't they want to sedate him?
Eventually, though, they managed to catch him enough blows to the head that he was knocked semiconscious, and ceased to fight.
----
They were doing things to him, things he half-remembered from his Blackbriar days. He remembered the near-drowning, the sleep deprivation, the slaps, the kicks, the shouting. It had been awful, but he'd come out of it stronger in the end, more deadly.
He'd never been strapped down, surrounded by shadows and doctors and shadowy doctors who stuck things into him and injected him with fluids that fogged his thoughts. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe...he was drowning, drowning all over again, only this time there wasn't a fishing boat nearby to save him. He was losing himself, back to the man he once was, the man he'd been...before Marie. Before he'd gotten his life back.
----
No longer fog-headed, Jason Bourne strode out from the Special Counseling cell. His orders had been very strict, directly from his handlers. Do not kill, they had told him. Disable them, send them back to their rooms, but do not kill.
It was an odd order to give an assassin, and one he chafed at, but he would obey. He was a soldier. He was loyal. And nothing would ever change that.
Now, to NaNoWriMo! *flies off*
Title: Day of Rest
Author:
greencat3Beta (if applicable): None. It's all my fault.
Word Count: 2026
Rating: PG-13 for language. And some violence.
Character(s): Jason Bourne, Javert, Faux-Marie, Martin Landel, Dairine, Nny, Zexion, Simon Tam, random orderlies, Jason's sanity (fleeting as it is)
Pairing(s) (if applicable): Jason/Marie. ;(
Summary: Jason's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad Sunday. (And a sneak preview of what he's doing tonight, lolfish.)
Notes (if applicable): APOLOGIES TO EVERYONE'S CHARACTERS I MURDERED KTHX <3 Also SORRY ABOUT NEVER THREADING SIMON-MUN. Dx
“Mr. Kane? Mr. Kane?”
It took Bourne a long moment to realize the nurse was talking to him. Normally he would be quicker on the uptake, but he was still reeling from the events of the past twenty-four hours.
There was the matter of the car he’d stolen yesterday in Doyleton, which had mysteriously decided to cease functioning entirely before he’d even made it two blocks. There was the matter of escaping the Institute, only to end up in the room (he refused to think of it as his – that implied he’d be sticking around) when dawn broke. There was the matter of the girl and boy who’d been hiding out in the ruins. There was the matter of the other girl (why were there so many children here?) who had seemed to read his mind,
And then there was the matter of Marie. Or Anna, as she was calling herself now.
She thought he was crazy, and that was a terrible blow. He almost found himself wishing she had died after all and not come back under someone’s control to torment him like this. It wasn’t fair. He could have lived with…something else. Anything else. But not Marie.
He looked up at the nurse. “Yes?”
“It’s your free time now, Mr. Kane. Some of the other patients have visitors now. You wouldn’t want to keep them from seeing their loved ones, would you?” God, he hated that smile. It was too saccharine, too false. Nobody could be that happy when surrounded by mental patients 24/7. He wondered idly if there was something in their food that made them so damn peppy all the time.
As he was being led out, he glanced around the room. Some of his fellow prisoners looked as shell-shocked as he felt right now, not the least of whom was an older man with sideburns. One of the nurses was talking to the man, calling him ‘Mr. Hunt’, and saying that it was a shame that his meeting with his visitor hadn’t gone well. Bourne was kind of irritated with himself for not paying better attention to the rest of the visits – he might have learned something – but the sight of Marie, who’d been dead about two months, had been enough to shake his concentration.
The nurse led him to the Sun Room, and he immediately steered himself to the nearest couch and sat down, too boggled to do much of anything else. He wasn’t going to try and escape again right now – he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to. Not yet. Not until he found out what this place was and brought it crashing down around Martin Landel’s ears.
He had a purpose again, which he’d been lacking for far too long. Yes, he’d wanted to get out, but that was just so he could continue his crusade against the corrupt elements that had made him into what he was. But now...they’d made it personal again, whoever they were in this instance; if it wasn’t Hirsch’s people, then the Head Doctor was responsible.
And if Martin Landel knew anything, he ought to have known that you did not fuck with Jason Bourne. Especially not with his Marie.
But to brainwash her? What kind of sick fucking monster would…
…well, that question answered itself.
Bourne looked down at the picture in his hand and scowled. It was so much like the last picture he’d refused to burn, but this was different. This was a fake. He couldn’t remember his days in the Army, but he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he, Marie, and his uniform had never, ever, ever been near enough to photograph in the same frame.
Despite the picture’s chilling fakery, it was comforting in a sick and twisted way. This was how they had been, once. This was how they could be again. He’d free her – they had to be holding her somewhere, because they wouldn’t want to lose track of such a valuable tool to break him. He’d find her and free her and help her remember who she really was.
The irony in the situation’s reversal did not escape him. He had to help her now, the same way she had helped him for years. She’d never given up hope. Neither would he.
The plan, whoever’s it was, had backfired. Rather than devastated, he was determined. He knew what he had to do. His resolve hadn’t been this strong since Marie had been shot. He couldn’t afford to mess around anymore.
Tonight, he’d put his plan into action. Perhaps ‘plan’ was too strong a word – he had a goal, but no method yet. It didn’t matter. He had an entire afternoon to plot and scheme, and he always needed to allow for unexpected changes and complications.
If he worked hard, he could have the Institute in ruins by dawn.
----
Ah, yes, it was that time again. Special Counseling night. It was, even if he did say so himself, a move of absolute genius.
Take a few patients, the ones he’d had to power down the most, and return their clothes, their weapons, and their strength to them, for just one night.
Except…and this was a very important except…they would be working for him. It was always fun; not just the night itself, but the aftermath, the self-doubt it left behind on the lambs lucky enough to be chosen. That part was always delicious. It wasn’t enough to break them physically, with demons and monsters and his favorite special pets that he released on occasion. There had to be lingering mental pain, emotional distress, that would slowly but surely destroy them. It was the poison tip of his scalpel, a move that he was particularly proud of.
However, there was always the problem of deciding who to play with.
Martin Landel had several files spread out in front of him, and he was frowning. He couldn’t pick the same person twice – it would get boring too quickly, and if there was a pattern, some of the smarter patients would jump on it immediately.
He immediately dismissed the first file he’d picked out. Though the girl could be powerful if her wizardry was returned, her pesky Oath would forbid her from causing enough ruckus for his liking. He glanced over another file. Too unpredictable and psychotic, though he would be entertaining, certainly. He didn’t want the chosen ones to break his little toys, and this one played rough.
Hm, that one’s power of illusions, fully unleashed, could create some interesting possibilities. But not tonight. He was looking for something a little more blatant this evening, more dangerous, more destructive.
And then the perfect file landed on his desk.
It was almost unfair, springing so many nasty little surprises on him in such a short period of time. It nearly gave him pause – for half a nanosecond. Then again, that was the point of this whole game, wasn’t it? Testing to destruction.
It would be interesting to see if Jason Bourne (or was it David Webb? Honestly, he didn’t even care) could take this most recent test. If it broke him, too bad; if it didn’t, he’d only come out of the fire stronger, like a tempered sword.
And the stronger they got, the more fun they were to abuse. Never did it cross his mind that one day some of the patients might get too strong, and destroy him. He was the chessmaster, and they were all his pawns.
Landel smiled and closed the file. Yes, he would do nicely for tonight. A beautiful mix of power and ingenuity would certainly provide an obstacle for the wandering lab rats.
Oh, and it would be so much fun to see his anguish in the morning.
----
Bourne barely tasted his steak, instead focusing on the route he was going to take tonight. He hadn’t interacted much with his roommate – Simon, was it? – and he resolved to be more personable in future. Just not tonight. He had all of this pent-up energy in his system, and if he didn’t use it he’d go absolutely berserk.
Not like that would be a bad thing, of course. But when he was in a rage, he didn’t think – and as tempting as the prospect of causing grievous bodily harm to all involved in the situation was, it wouldn’t be productive enough. He had to use guerrilla tactics; strike quickly and disappear. A full-on frontal assault wouldn’t work. He knew that much. He had to plan for contingencies.
Like the door opening before the final intercom broadcast of the night. Like the orderlies coming into the room and zeroing in on him. Like the fact that a plastic steak knife wouldn’t get him very far, but dammit, he could try.
One of the three spoke. “Mr. Kane?” They sounded wary – they knew the stories about him.
He tossed the tray at one of the orderlies with surprising speed, and his roommate got up in alarm, only to be blocked off by one of the orderlies.
They weren’t going to try to do this peacefully, even before he’d thrown the tray. They sure as hell weren’t going to now.
Bourne took advantage of the orderly’s distraction with the tray and attacked him, swinging down with the knife and scoring a shallow gash in his arm. It may have only been plastic, but he’d put some force behind it. Enough force to break skin, at least. Now all he needed was for the damn orderly to expose a vulnerable patch, some eyes, a nose, a mouth, something he could stick the knife into and twist, hear him howl in agony and drop to the ground. If he could disable them, he could start his escape plans early…
But they were wise to his tactics, too clever for him this time, because the other, unoccupied orderly had grabbed him. Jason tried to throw him, but it was like being held by a bear.
He twisted in the other's grip, to no avail. The first, injured orderly had moved to his other side and taken a hold of his arm. He could try and take them down, but then the third decided to drop by and help. He was definitely screwed now. Bourne looked over at Simon, who seemed wary, confused, and a little frightened. He figured that his roommate would have tried to do something, but they were outnumbered. He continued kicking and punching at them, but they seemed mostly unconcerned. "Don't sedate him!" one of them yelled as they dragged him out into the hall, biting and scratching at his captors.
That was strange, Bourne thought. Why didn't they want to sedate him?
Eventually, though, they managed to catch him enough blows to the head that he was knocked semiconscious, and ceased to fight.
----
They were doing things to him, things he half-remembered from his Blackbriar days. He remembered the near-drowning, the sleep deprivation, the slaps, the kicks, the shouting. It had been awful, but he'd come out of it stronger in the end, more deadly.
He'd never been strapped down, surrounded by shadows and doctors and shadowy doctors who stuck things into him and injected him with fluids that fogged his thoughts. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe...he was drowning, drowning all over again, only this time there wasn't a fishing boat nearby to save him. He was losing himself, back to the man he once was, the man he'd been...before Marie. Before he'd gotten his life back.
----
No longer fog-headed, Jason Bourne strode out from the Special Counseling cell. His orders had been very strict, directly from his handlers. Do not kill, they had told him. Disable them, send them back to their rooms, but do not kill.
It was an odd order to give an assassin, and one he chafed at, but he would obey. He was a soldier. He was loyal. And nothing would ever change that.
Now, to NaNoWriMo! *flies off*
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