beneath the black, the sky looks dead

[couldbeavoided]

WHO: THE VOID and YOU?
WHERE: Around the City and the Brooklyn Bridge
WHEN: Sunday, 8/2
WARNINGS: Violence, death, chaos
SUMMARY: The Sentry loses control.
FORMAT: Quick.


[ There was no abrupt revelation, no struggle; when Robert Reynolds had opened his eyes that day, the Sentry was simply nowhere to be found. He'd flown from the mansion into the sky, a poisonous oily creature wearing Bob's skin and the Sentry's clothes until even that began to shed. Red eyes and an aura like fire and toxic ash, sharp tendrils coiling out behind and around him like sentient shadows.

Years. Years here, trapped, ignored, denied. Bob was done fighting, and hurting; his mind went blank so that someone else could use his body to fight back. But it was his body, too -- the Void celebrated his freedom by flying into the sky, raising his arms and calling upon the sky to darken in deep reds and purples. Clouds collected and rain started pouring; he raised his face to the rain and smiled, before he dropped from the sky and flew cleanly through the Brooklyn Bridge. ]

Comments

[aliveandticking]

She was sinking, down into the darkness that had always been there deep inside her-- until out from the depths rose a red wall of rage. It didn't mean she'd won, it didn't mean she was okay; it was just another half of the frustration and fear that she'd held while playing the ultimate game, but it was something she could use. When she was a soul living in a robot feeling nothing else she'd held onto anger and pain, and if she could only use that to focus herself on what she was fighting (besides everything, always--)

The tentacle is piercing, not binding, and her arms are free; she splays out the fingers of one hand and strikes them with the heel of the other, snapping two of them backwards with a crack and a shriek. She follows the pain back to her immediate reality, lashing out by kicking and writhing against the tentacle; maybe she can't beat it, but at least she can struggle, and maybe hold out long enough for a stalemate.

[couldbeavoided]

The Void's tentacle finally yanks itself free of her, slapping back and forth in the air, whipping at her and the ground and everything close. Hatred and anger seethe off of him, though it's not precisely personal; that will to overcome is something that's always disgusted him, it's been used against him far too many times.

She's hurt, and maybe that's enough. He can move on and leave her there to her broken misery until someone -- or no one -- comes to find her.