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[sup]________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/COLOR][img]https://i.imgur.com/7n3pcBv.png[/img][/CENTER][indent][sub][COLOR=silver][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [I]The Alexandria Foundation[/I] - [I]Atlantic Ocean[/I][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=silver][b]Dance Monkey #4.033:[/b][/COLOR] [I]Welcome to the Masquerade[/I][/right][/sup][/indent][COLOR=dimgray][SUP][sub]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sub][/SUP][/COLOR][INDENT][sub][color=silver][B]Interaction(s):[/B][/COLOR] [I]None[/I][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][COLOR=silver][b]Previously:[/b][/COLOR] [I]Dancing On My Own[/I][/right][/SUP]
[INDENT]The steady sound of the pressurization maintaining the walls and glass from imploding beneath the Atlantic provided a constant hum that felt like a railway spike driven into the frontal lobe of Summer Carlyle. The sterile white cell was a far cry from the accommodations that H.E.L.P. had afforded one of their own. Here she was treated as no better than the common power abuser, situated in cells alongside those who actually had blood on their hands.

The graying blonde took a drink from the tea in front of her, while feigning closed eyes, as her ocean-like blues followed the Foot Trooper patrolling the exterior of her cell. Soon [i]he[/i] would appear and once again they would go to his ‘playroom’ where Summer would be subjected to his games. A shiver travelled her spine, stopping to send a pulse through every scab where the needles entered her back. 

Once he had his fun, she would be placed in the chair before being shown the face of a student, and then another, and then another. Eventually one would be chosen and [i]he[/i] would leave again.

The part of her that craved revenge against those who allowed her to be caged like a rat would have willingly carried out his mission. It wouldn’t have been the first man that Summer allowed herself to follow. Yakob’s mission had been noble, his methods extreme. [i]His[/i] on the other hand was far more intimate, far more personal but yet, could benefit them all. 

The serum, she had gathered, was made from his first. Lover, child, it didn’t matter to Summer. What did matter was the universal applications of her powers, the effect it had on every Hyperhuman. Were Yakob here, he would have made her his right hand and left Miracle aside. For the true miracle was in the girl’s blood. 

The key was in the blood.

She had already broken so many for [i]him[/i], former agents, students, even the odd faculty member who had gotten too close to the truth. Memories were fickle and easily manipulated, [i]he[/i] was hardly the first to use Summer for her abilities. Yakob had made extensive use of her talents during his time, Jonas before him.

Men with missions needed the perspective controlled. Summer could control that perspective, make the people see what they needed to see, believe what they needed to believe and most importantly, only remember what they needed to.

Of course, [i]he[/i], like Hyperion, was untouchable. If Summer so much as thought about entering his mind, he entered her. It was an indescribably horrific experience that stripped her of her own will, as he dominated her and she became more and more detached from her own body and sense of self. 

Her hand absently wandered toward the nape of her neck, a finger loosely tracing along her hairline, over scar tissue that covered a phase painstakingly etched into her skin. Hidden from everyone, except the one who put it there. A script she didn’t read in a language she didn’t understand.

Σου δίνω φτερά

But she knew it marked her as [i]his[/i]. Yakob had done the same, her forearm still bore the mark of Hyperion’s Children, a tattoo only visible by power melding with another Hyperhuman. The symbolism of a bond, a union, a brotherhood. 

But [i]his[/i] mark was possessive. Ownership, dominion and submission.  

Summer opened her eyes, staring beyond the walls of her cell into the endless black of the ocean floor. The deafening nose of the ocean straining against the walls, threatening to swallow them whole was suffocating. She was frozen in time, her mind completely separated from her body, praying for the release the sea could bring.

Soon [i]he[/i] would come.

And another would play into his hands.[/INDENT][/INDENT][/COLOR]