[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/CtdkgDX.png[/img][/center][hr]Keep going forward, keep going forward, keep going forward.

The black architecture of Apokalips seemed to at once sink under its red sky yet also loom endlessly in its tortuous labyrinth, the language of its construction alien to those with no power. Power in Apokalips was not mere brute effort, but intellect, wisdom, and freedom. To have the understanding to accomplish navigation was a privileged, while the servile were left to the whims of their masters, else left directionless, forced to cast themselves to the winding streets and paths that didn’t make any physical sense. And those left vulnerable to the streets of Apokalips would be consumed by them. A prison planet through and through,

Victor’s metal feet tramped through the vast and towering walls. None moved to stop him slave or master alike, only looked on in mocking derision or utter apathy. Stiff metal wings glided on the air far above him, parademons in the thrall of Dr. Bedlam watching and waiting. Victor’s breath came on hard even though he didn’t need it. His vocal systems operated based on his mind and mental needs rather than his biology, his biological throat long ago replaced. He panted not because he needed breath, but because his mind needed the noise, the sensation of his life as it fought for

something.

He didn’t know what he was fighting for.

A black cat crossed his path and the concrete at the edge of the sidewalk crumpled under his next step. He tumbled across the asphalt road, looking up as a set of headlights bore down on him. He raised his arms, shielding himself from the luminescence. Even as his blanket was raised, even as his eye shut, it continued to blind him. His arms hadn’t moved, they were lashed to his sides, straining against their bindings. A silhouette loomed above him. He hadn’t seen Bedlam in weeks. He hadn’t seen him in months. He hadn’t seen him since yesterday. He didn’t know, but he knew what he wanted to say. [color=b4ced0]“I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!”[/COLOR] His anger brought a flash of lucidity: he remembered leaving Apokalips through a portal to Earth. Not just earth, but LA, his home. But now he was back, the scent of the continent sized flaming vents of Apokalips permeating his every pore. He’d probably never left this table.

[color=84859A]“Language,[/color] [color=8E8992]child.[/color] [color=998C8B]You need[/color] [color=A39083]rest.[/color] [color=AD947B]So take[/color] [color=B79873]it. Take it[/color] [color=C29B6C]and be calm,[/color] [color=CC9F64]brother.”[/color]

He’d heard the voice before, he hadn’t heard the voice before. The silhouette raised their hands, reaching towards Victor’s temple. He snapped his teeth out, the bones only meeting air as the fingers found his skull. His hand changed into its cannon, firing off, the sound of shattering rubble being heard. He felt a numbness emanate from the fingers on his skin, those against the metal making up the other half of his face only felt as he pressed against their touch in his struggle. Then the numbness went deeper, into his brain. His jaw hung open, and his last sensations fled him.