Blackgate Buddies

July 11, 2015:

A Blackgate Adventure Cutscene by Slade

Blackgate Pen


NPCs: Dr. T.O. Morrow



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Gen Pop in Blackgate is split into two different sections, those considered 'Villains', capital V, and those who're just bad guys, your basic run of the mill mobsters and the like. The Yard for the first group is vastly different then the Yard for the second.

Slade sits leaning against a wall of steel and concrete nearly ten meters thick, his gaze scanning the mas of inmates. A few of them are 'normals', but most are openly meta or enhanced in someway. The saddest are the one time cyborgs, now limited to wheel chairs and barest of components needed to keep the more intensive alterations alive. His eyes settle on a man with a small mustache sitting alone in his own corner, his eyes nervously darting around as he hugs his knees to his chest and licks his lips slightly. Slade shakes his head sadly, that one has 'mad scientist' stamped on his forehead. Might as well be raw meat in a shark tank.

He crosses the open space heading for the small man and his darting eyes, coming to a stop when a marge mountain of muscle and green skin steps in his way. He pauses, waiting. Large arms cross over an expansive chest, "They say you're the be-" the giant never finishes the sentence, Slade's stiffened fingers digging into the hollow of the creatures throat in a bluring motion, followed by a hooking of the fingers that tears through the skin under the jaw. Slade jerks his hand forward, using his grip inside the behemoth's mouth to hurl the meta into the Yard's steel lined floor face first, hard enough to dent it. He steps over the choking, gagging creature and continues on his way. Hushed conversations that had fallen silent pick up again where they left off. The guards don't bother to do anything, just watching from their towers with their specialized weaponry.

Slade stops in front of the curled up man, his shadow sliding over him, "Hello Thomas." he says conversationally. The man, who while thin is taller then one might first think, looks up, "Slade." he says with a voice that's half terrified and half hopeful. "W-What can I do for you?" Slade grins, aware that the patchless hole in his skull where an eye should be makes the grin garish. Thomas looks away uncomfortably after a second, "That my dear Dr. Morrow, is exactly what I was hoping you'd ask. Tell me, what do you know about pocket dimensions?"

Dr. T.O. Morrow looks up at Slade, gauging the larger man, and then relaxes considerably, a grin sliding over his lips, "Why Mr. Wilson," he takes up Slade's formal teasing tone, "I suspect that you… have a plan."

Slade's grin widens considerably.

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