A Second Chance

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Psychedelic, Feb 20, 2013.

  1. Mike Buchanan was hardly a name befitting one of his calibre, but apparently his parents hadn't known the bouncing baby boy was going to grow into the poster child for ruthless justice. They had not even known of the powers that lay dormant in the boy, and had indeed lain dormant in the male gene for many generations. The great grandfather had displayed some minor abilities, perhaps stunted at this stage due to the intolerant culture of the time. Even during Mikes childhood, he had needed to ensure he was not too open with the powers he held, although it was fair to say he had used them in public far more than his surprisingly tolerant parents would have liked.

    All this was irrelevant though, as that somewhat anarchic young lad had now grown into the stoic and often brash man that was at this moment driving towards a high security prison. His jaw was set in place, the tension already beginning to show. Mike was only doing this idiotic trial because the government had enough dirt on him to turn his life upside down, or perhaps put him in the slammer along with those scumbags. Deep and cold brown eyes glanced at the clock, he was running half an hour late. "Heh, not like he's got anywhere to be." He muttered, flicking the radio off at this point, feeling he wanted to complete the rest of the journey in silence.

    Soon enough, the foreboding concrete structure came into view. The razor wire topping the fence was rather unpleasant, as was the electrified fence beneath it. All this was a last effort, should the initial security of the deadlock doors and occassionally brutal guards fail in their jobs. So far, that had never happened, and now the morons were letting one of those lunatics out scot free. Mike really couldn't fathom this, and yet he found himself caught up in it anyway. He shook his head, passing through security without too much difficulty. By now everyone knew he was.

    Firefly had been his alter-ego, a name chosen by the media, certainly not by the man himself. Eventually the secret had come out, and now the brunette was well known by the public in both his crime fighting get up, and the usually drab everyday clothes he wore. His jawlength hair hung limply, he didn't really take much care of his appearance, as was confirmed by the rather grimy leather duster he also wore, along with equally battered jeans. Getting this guy in a suit was a feat in itself, and had been managed only three times in the course of a decade long crime fighting career.

    Once out of the car, the tall and muscled - but certainly not burly - man approached the last of the security points. "I'm here for the maniac." He spoke shortly, showing no graciousness towards the guard who seemed to be a little star struck, and also trying to do his job without fumbling.

    "Go right on through, Sir." And with that, the claxon sounded, signalling the opening of the main doors. Mike entered, blending in quite well with the cold, dead surroundings. In another life he would have made an excellent criminal, but thankfully the side of law and order had claimed him before he had travelled too far down that path. Some might have said he was a bad guy, but those were far fewer than those that viewed him as a true modern day hero.
  2. The criminal Mike had come to collect today was currently sitting in the corner of his cell at the far end of one of the prison blocks. He knew today was the day some so-called hero was coming to get him out of this hell-hole. The guards had made sure he knew, and not in a good way. Even the other inmates knew, and they were greatly pissed off as a result of it. They'd made the past few weeks absolutely hellish for him--more so than the rest of his time here had been, which was really saying something--and he wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible. He couldn't let himself come back here. Never. If something went wrong in this trial and he was to be sent back here, he'd take his own life. He wasn't coming back, no matter what. Just the thought of spending the rest of his life in this place made him feel like he was going to be sick.

    He heard the sound of someone approaching the cell--probably Jameson, judging by the rate of his steps, the volume of them, and the sound of his breathing--and that person stopped at the door. "It's your lucky day," the guard said. Yup. Definitely Jameson. "Your ride's here. Such a shame that you're leaving us so soon. I'm sure everyone here's going to miss you."

    "Go fuck yourself," was the villain's reply, and Jameson laughed.

    "Right, cupcake. Like I'm going to do that." Jameson was silent for a moment, probably looking around, before speaking to the villain again. "He's coming this way. Be on your best behavior for him. I'd hate for you to fail so quickly." By the sound of it, he'd actually love that.

    The guard looked over at the hero who was striding along the prison corridor in their direction. Other inmates were shouting at Mike, taunting him or otherwise making their displeasure at his presence known. Jameson had his own call to add, "He's right over here, Firefly. Say hello to Mist. He's your problem now."

    Inside the cell, Mist lifted his head upward to look in the direction of the cell door. There wasn't too much of a point in him doing so, though, since he was blindfolded. It was a safety precaution the guards here had taken. Mist couldn't create his illusions if he couldn't see, so they'd kept him blindfolded for the extent of his stay here. That made it really easy to control him. Otherwise, Mist probably would have escaped within a week.

    Mist was a skinny young man, only twenty years of age. He'd been in this prison for the past six years of his life. Fourteen. That's how old he'd been when he'd been arrested, put on trial, and sent to this place. Fourteen. Just a child, but that hadn't mattered to the justice system. What mattered was the fact that he was a bank robber. He'd stolen a lot of money, and he'd even killed a few people in the process. They'd been accidental deaths, but all of that crap together had been enough to land the kid a life sentence. If not for this new law in the works, Mist might have never gotten out of here.

    He was wearing the normal orange prison garb, which looked too big on him. The blindfold wasn't your typical fabric blindfold, easy to remove if one's hands weren't restrained. It actually locked in place, with a keyhole mechanism in the back. None of the guards carried the key. It was kept in the prison warden's office, but Jameson possessed the key today so he could hand it off to Mike.

    Mist's eye color was obviously a mystery beneath that blindfold, but his hair was black. It was also in need of a trim. He could tie it back if he wanted to, and it was hanging down in his face. Not that it really mattered with the blindfold on, though. He couldn't see anyway.
  3. Walking through a prison was an odd experience. Seeing as he didn't believe in the prison system anyway, Mike had never once had any need to be in the place. He never even went to taunt one of the men or women he'd had incarcerated, seeing as the most he ever did in terms of imprisoning was tying someone to a railing in a burning building. It was brutal, but as far as he was concerned it was far better than they deserved. Despite the alien environment he was in, he took it all in his stride, even bothering to threaten one or two of the inmates. It was all bluster on the part of all concerned, but that was what prison was about, right? Intimidation. That was the single most important thing in the life of anyone either visiting or staying in a jail, dominate and you've got a relatively easy life - fail to do so - well, everyone knows what happens to those guys.

    Soon enough, Mike turned his attention to the guard, grunting nonchalantly as he shifted his attention to the prisoner they called Mist. "So, this is your super criminal? I thought he'd be taller." He looked the young man up and down, sneering in disgust. Although he knew all but nothing about this guy, he still hated him. This prison wasn't easy to get into, and anyone who had themselves a lifetime pass to live here, well, they were invariably pure evil. Clearly, Firefly wasn't the most progressive of men. If he had his way, corporal punishment would be far more common, and he'd relish the opportunity to publically burn people at the stake. As it was, he just did similar acts in private. They all deserved it, they deserved more, really, but unfortunately there wasn't enough time in the world to give them the treatment they really deserved.

    "So, anything I need to know about him?" He addressed this guard, feeling the need to take hold of Mist's arm. It was his claim of responsibility, that strong and perhaps ever so slightly painful grip on the others arm. He began to move back towards the entrance of the cell block, not particularly wanting to spend too much more time in here. Although he was not intimidated by the men clamouring behind the bars, Mike had never been one to enjoy loud places. This environment was likely to trigger a breakdown if it continued much longer, and so if he went, wanting to get the hell out of this place before he went mad.
  4. Mist was startled when his arm was suddenly grabbed, making him tense up out of instinct. He didn't resist, though. There was no telling what might get his ass thrown back in that cell, so he'd do what he could to refrain from pissing this guy off. Firefly, as Jameson had said. Mist hadn't been told which hero would be taking him, but now he knew. He also knew next to nothing about this guy. He'd heard his name thrown around a few times, but that was all. He didn't know that Firefly had a habit of cremating villains alive.

    "Don't take the blindfold off," Jameson answered Mike's question, walking alongside him and Mist. "So long as you keep the brat blind, he can't start making his freaky illusions. Oh, and he likes rough treatment. Have a blast with him." The latter bit wasn't true at all, and hearing Jameson give that open invitation made Mist try to pull away from Mike out of fear. Some of the inmates had heard that last part too, and they shouted out their own agreement and encouragements. Sick, sadistic bastards...
  5. Nodding in response to Jameson, he glanced at the well secured blindfold. So, that was how they kept the bastard under control? Would it not have been easier to just remove his eyes completely? Had Firefly been the first on the scene, that would have been his first target. It was cruel, and he readily acknowledged that, but it was also the only way to be one hundred percent certain that Mist would never reoffend. It was just common sense, and although the majority of the public wouldn't admit that they agreed with it, Mike reckoned that deep down they wished more people had the guts to do what was necessary to ensure their safety.

    When Mist began to pull away, the response was immediate. He was jerked back without warning, and then pushed forward once again. It was wholly unnecessary, but this so called hero felt it was important to make no bones about the fact that he was in charge here. Mist would do nothing unless directed do so, he would probably end up with even less freedom out in the wide world than he had ever enjoyed prison. "Well, aren't you a popular fellow." Mike eventually grumbled amidst the clamour of the rather excitable prisoners. He wished he could torch them all. Oh well, there were plenty of other fish in the sea, or so the addage went.
  6. Mist gasped in pain as he was jerked around by that strong hand on his arm. He really wished the guy would loosen his grip a bit. Mist bruised easily, and he was sure he'd have a bruise there by the time that hand was removed. Just what he needed, another mark on his body to go with the collection he already had.

    He gave an involuntary shudder at the hero's remark. He'd hoped he could avoid that subject coming up entirely, but Jameson and the inmates had ruined those hopes. They were going to make Mist's time outside prison as bad as his time inside was, and that filled Mist with despair. What was he getting himself into? This "Second Chance" thing was supposed to be good...

    "He was the belle of the ball," Jameson said to Mike with a cruel smirk. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a key. "This goes to his blindfold. Don't use it." Of course the blindfold would have to come off sometime. The law did call for Mist helping to fight crime alongside Mike, after all. He couldn't do that blind.
  7. It didn't take long for them to exit the cell block, something that all of them could be glad of. Mike took the key from the guard, and hastily signed the last of the god awful paperwork. Thank god that was over. "Be seeing you, Jameson." He said as he waited for the door to the outside world to open up. The magnetic lock was inpenetrable, unless of course someone with power over polarity got to it - that would be a damn disaster, and incidentally, something that Firefly would relish. Unfortunately, that had not yet occurred, and so he had to keep his rather violent nature under wraps for a good long while.

    Once outside, Mike did not bother waiting for his charge to get his bearings, instead immediately stepping off towards the rather nondescript car. It was a decidedly average vehicle, as most of his possessions were. Had he wished to, he probably could have commanded plenty of sponsorship deals, and consequently lived a life of luxury - but that just wasn't him. Although he could be an arrogant son of a bitch, he was anything but a show off.

    Anyway, the only warning Mist got about the car, was the distinct clunk of the door opening. He was then rapidly deposited in the car, half pushed, half thrown down into the seat. The door was slammed behind him, whether or not the young man managed to get his limbs out of the way. Wasting no time, Mike went round to the other side, seating himself with little grace. He was in a pretty bad mood, which seemed to be a permanent feature for him. "So, what makes you so special?" He spat these words, but did honestly wonder a little bit about the guy. Mike hadn't read any of the documents he'd been given. He had instead left it until now to take an interest in the crimes Mist had committed, as well as why he had been granted this opportunity.
  8. Mist knew right away once they were outside. He could smell the fresh air, feel a breeze against his face... It was amazing. Wonderful. It actually felt like freedom, but he knew he still had a ways to go before he was truly free. Assuming that ever happened. At this point, it was seeming really unlikely. This so-called hero was already seeming like a death sentence for Mist.

    He luckily managed to get all of his limbs inside the car before the door was slammed shut. If he hadn't, he imagined this guy wouldn't have cared. That was very scary for Mist. Concerning in the extreme. He hoped he'd even survive a day with this guy.

    "I have no idea," he answered honestly. What made Mist special? He could think of some things, yes, but he had a feeling Firefly was referring to traits that made Mist worthy of being the guinea pig for this program. Then he had no idea. "Maybe someone finally took pity on me." He sounded a bit disdainful of that idea. He didn't want pity.
  9. "Well, at least you haven't got delusions of grandeur." He muttered in response. As long as Mist didn't think he deserved this opportunity, then perhaps this wouldn't be a complete disaster. Of course, there were plenty more factors to consider, and lots of time for things to go terribly wrong, but Mike had no doubt that he would be safe. His charge was utterly powerless without his eyes, or so he believed. He had no idea how he fared in ordinary single combat, and had no particular desire to find out, if he was honest. Whatever the case, if the man was foolish enough to attempt any rebellion, he would be felled pretty damn serious.

    The drive continued in silence for some time, aside from the low drone of the radio that buzzed somewhat annoyingly in the background. It was a welcome distraction though, Mike was not sociable at the best of times, and having this bastard sitting right next to him just wasn't making things any better. Even so, after a time - when they were almost back at the place the elder called his home - he spoke once again. "While you're with me, you do nothing unless I tell you. Understand?" He paused, soon going on to add, "If I get even a hint of an escape attempt, you're dead. An unfortunate accident in this little pilot scheme." He spoke with clear derision, not bothering to hide his hatred.
  10. Mist kept silent during the ride to Firefly's home, not wanting to provoke the man. He wanted this trial period to be a success. He wanted that more than anything. It was the only way he'd be free again. But it looked like he had one major obstacle to deal with before he could have that freedom: Firefly's attitude. The man was already frightening to Mist. He'd dealt with too many people like him in prison. It didn't make him feel comfortable at all.

    "Fine," he said to the man when he made his threats. "I'll behave." He wasn't happy about it, but he'd do it. "And how could I possibly escape? This blindfold isn't a fashion statement, you know. I. Can't. See." An escape attempt would be incredibly stupid, and Mist was no fool. If anything, he had an above-average intelligence. If he'd actually gone through life the proper, lawful way, he might have made something wonderful of himself. But fate had had other plans for him.
  11. Firefly scoffed at what his charge had to say, "Criminals are usually stupid. More than that, they're arrogant. That's why you get caught. The second you work out you're not untouchable, maybe then you'll be successful." This might have been true of many of the super criminals, but it didn't seem to be in the case of Mist. By the standards of those he was jailed with, he was barely even a criminal. A fly in the ointment at best. Still, Mike was a fan of tarring them all with the same brush. Even petty thieves, he hated them all. Anyone who broke the law and made someone suffer because of it, well, he made it his mission to make them suffer infinitely more.

    Not long after this had been said, the car pulled up in the driveway of a small detached house. It was the only true statement Mike had ever made, and even that was for practical reasons. The neighbours in his old apartment had driven him to distraction, and so he had bought this place, a relatively modern two up, two down house with very little in the way of bells and whistles. "Get out. Come with me." Mist would have to navigate on his own from now on, there was no way he was going to have his hand held for the entire time he was under the watchful eye of Firefly.
  12. Mist frowned at that. "Most criminals are stupid," he said, "but I'm not like most criminals." He wasn't stupid. He'd been careful. He'd done everything he could to keep himself from being caught. It wouldn't have happened at all if not for that accident. The hero he'd been feuding with hadn't meant for it to happen, but it had resulted in Mist's downfall. It had also resulted in the general public finding out that Mist couldn't make his illusions if he couldn't see.

    Upon arriving at their destination, Mist wasn't pleased that the man wanted him to manage walking around on his own. The guards had led him everywhere in prison. If they didn't, someone else did. And not always to places Mist wanted to go.

    He humored the man, getting out of the car and trying to follow the sound of Firefly's voice. Of course, he ended up tripping on his way out of the car. He barely managed to throw his hands out in time to keep himself from face-planting on the sidewalk. Still, the fall hurt and he could feel that his hands were scraped up from it.
  13. Needless to say, there was absolutely no trace of sympathy or concern in Mikes eyes. He didn't see why he should help Mist out. It was up to him to prove that he could be a good citizen, and as far as he was concerned, that meant getting about on his own too. If he fell down a few times, more was the pity. It was no skin of Fireflys back, and so he just allowed it to happen, pausing and turning at the sound of the man very nearly falling face first on the concrete. "Watch yourself there, you might hurt yourself." Very funny.

    After pausing only to say this, he unlocked the front door, stepping inside, and at least holding it open for his unwanted guest. It was perhaps more than could be expected of him, but of course it was only happening because he couldn't just lock this man outside. If he had been allowed to do so, no doubt he would have chained him up out there like a neglected dog, but unfortunately that was taking things just a little bit too far. What a shame/

    "Hurry up there, I haven't got all day." Well, he sort of had, but he had better things to do than stand there waiting for the bumbling fool to get inside. Once they were both in, he had no idea what to do, in all honesty. He felt uncomfortable leaving the other man to snoop - even if he was incapable of looking at his things. But equally, Mike had no desire to spend time with Mist, though it would seem that had to be the case. They needed to at least know a small amount about eachother, if they were to stand a chance at working as a team. More than that, this downtime was Mist's chance to attempt to win this hero over. It was a difficult task, but certainly not impossible. Everyone knows that arseholes like Firefly are invariably fronting some sort of soft shell - or they're just complete pricks. Who knew which one of these categories this one fell under.
  14. Mist slowly got to his feet, trying to ignore the stinging in his hands. They'd need to be cleaned with some kind of antiseptic, probably, and that wasn't something Mist could do on his own. Not with the blindfold on. He doubted Firefly would help him with that, though. The guy wasn't exactly giving off caring vibes.

    He followed the sound of Firefly's voice again, moving slowly and being very careful about where he stepped. Falling again would really, really suck. His hands hurt enough as it was. This time, though, he managed to reach Firefly without further incident. That saved what was left of Mist's pride.

    "Would have taken a lot less time if you had just helped me to the door, asshole," he grumbled.
  15. He heard that, but he did not respond with a swift punch to the gut - thank god. Instead, he responded with calm words, showing very little emotion. "You're free now, you don't need to rely on help anymore." It was almost true, but said with such bland hate that it was impossible to take in any way but an insult. It was a shame really, not that either of them were likely to see it that way. "Just get yourself acquainted with the place. You're staying in the room immediately at the top of the stairs." It was pretty much a box room, but would do for Mist's purposes.

    Still showing little or no interest in the man with which he was being forced to live, Mike discarded his leather coat, slinging it over the back of a chair in his small kitchen. He set about making himself a cup of coffee, something he really felt he needed - perhaps even an irish one. Of course, he made no effort to offer Mist one. It was pretty damn petty, not that he had yet noticed this.
  16. "But I'm not free, now am I?" Mist asked under his breath. If he was really free, he wouldn't have to keep wearing a blindfold. He'd be allowed to see again. It had been far too long since he'd been able to do so. He hoped his vision hadn't been trashed from having to wear this. That would be awful. Taking off the blindfold, thinking he could see again, only to find out that he couldn't...

    He started feeling his way around the room, searching for the stairs. It was true that he might as well start learning where everything was. He'd go up to his room, first. See if it was any better than his prison cell had been.
  17. Although small, the room was pretty damn nice - all things considered. The single bed was squashed against the far wall, and a wardrobe had hastily been slapped up against another. Someone had taken the liberty of arming the furniture with clothes that would probably fit Mist. Of course, the owner had not had a part in this. Someone else had sorted that lot out. Other than that, it was entirely empty, for there was nothing anyone expected Mist to do but sleep and dress in there. Other than that, he really ought to be under the supervision of Firefly, not that he was overly happy about this.

    "Don't fall down the stairs." Mike called up, now leaning in the doorframe of the kitchen, listening out for anything untoward. He was always on alert, something that really wasn't healthy. In truth, the guys immune system was shot, thanks to all the stress he put himself under. Thankfully he rarely got ill anyway, he was one lucky bastard. "And don't go in my room, not that I should need to tell you." It went without saying, Mike was the one that got privacy. Mist would have to attempt to earn thar privilege.
  18. "I wouldn't know which room was yours anyway," Mist called down the stairs after he'd found his own room. "You seem to keep forgetting that I'm wearing this thing called a blindfold. And that, with it on, I can't see." He could wander into Firefly's room and not even know it. "I don't know why you're even bothering to tell me not to go in there. Even if I did, I wouldn't find your secret porn stash or anything."

    He felt around his room, noticing the clothes stocked in the wardrobe. He examined the clothes, feeling jeans and t-shirts. They seemed to be his size, so he opted to get out of those orange prison clothes of his. He definitely didn't want to keep those dirty, ugly things on.
  19. Did he care about this little technicality? Of course not. If the blind could learn their way around the world, then so could this scumbag. No doubt, they received a helluva lot more support than this man was getting, but that was beside the point. The two groups were entirely different, and would be treated as such. Maybe it was a little bit harsh, but it was unlikely that the one making the decisions around here would realise or even care about that.

    Whatever happened, Firefly only responded to Mist's shouting with yet more grumpy rumblings. "Didn't you ever learn not to answer back? Damn, your parents must be pissed." Feeble, but suffice it to say, that his ability to come back with nothing but words had always been limited. Luckily, it was at this point that the phone rang. It was a call out, a hostage situation. The police were struggling to keep it from descending into chaos, so they'd called Firefly - and his new best friend.
  20. "My parents are dead, asshole!" Mist shouted down the stairs at Firefly. He hadn't exactly intended to give away that piece of knowledge, but he didn't want the guy to make a bunch of parent remarks and whatnot. Though what Mist had said wasn't entirely true. His mother was dead, yes, but he had no idea about his father. The man might as well be dead, for all the difference it made to Mist. The man had been absent from Mist's life either way.

    He was unaware of the phone call, instead focusing on getting dressed in normal clothes. The jeans were easy enough to put on, but the shirt was giving him a hard time. He managed regardless, and he checked to make sure the tag was in the right place on the inside. Hopefully he looked presentable enough. He didn't like looking like crap. A shower would have been nice, but Firefly hadn't exactly pointed out where the bathroom was.