Log 0013

[keeps_a_cool_head]

[Video]

[a wretched-sounding hacking is heard from down in one of the lower levels of the Barge. In the remnants of a broken lab works Scorpius, who is literally smoking from the head as his brain works to cook him alive. He's finding it difficult to stand now, and keeps coughing up some horrific yellow bile, spitting it near across the room at times. Burnt meat is the smell that permeates the dark workspace, as he bends over something and works with rigorous focus]



If I might have...


...a volunteer.



[Scorpius is affected, an inmate close to graduating, who has decided that the only way off this ship is by graduating. Volunteers may be subjected to imperfect mind-probing and brain liquification since he's working with substandard tools]

Comments

[keeps_a_cool_head]

It was not a mistake. It was a plea for much-needed assistance.

My graduation will. I have full confidence.

[walkingmeltdown]

My, don't we have faith. Seems to me that was the kind of thing that got you here in the first place.

[keeps_a_cool_head]

How I arrived here is inconsequential. How I am leaving is not.

[walkingmeltdown]

For once, one of the dregs says something with which I can agree. This really is a current state for surprises.

[keeps_a_cool_head]

Your belittlement does nothing to either bolster your argument or diminish my willpower.

[walkingmeltdown]

It amuses me. It passes the time. Do I really need any further reason for anything?

[keeps_a_cool_head]

Do you find it suits you, having no real capacity for deep thought?

[walkingmeltdown]

[That gets an ugly growl of his own, in response.]

And you think that calling me stupid somehow makes you more clever? Because trying to get me mad at you, just right now - that doesn't seem very particularly smart.

[keeps_a_cool_head]

By all means: educate me.

[walkingmeltdown]

I've tried. In the past, though, you've always ducked your head and run. Good survival instincts.

They seem to be fading.

[keeps_a_cool_head]

[A vicious hatred is burning deep in Scorpius' eyes. To continue to antagonize while courting a torturous death, or to let matters rest and survive another day?

Lowering his head in clear submission, Scorpius grips the arm of the chair he's sitting in, and murmurs through gritted teeth]

Then I retract my statement, and ask for your mercy.


[As always, he will continue to bet on survival]