-[return - two]-
((This narrative/rp is backdated. During the time Gabriel was droned, he went home and Things Happened. This post and this post may shed some light on the continued story below.))
Gabriel descended until he was out of stairs. Once at the last landing, he stood and listened at the door. He stuck one gun in his waistband and pressed his hand against the door, closing his eyes. Energy, just enough for his purpose, slid out and between the door and the jamb, through the crack and out the other side. He pushed his awareness into that energy, seeing through it. Everything was hazy, dim shapes and soft light and dark. It was difficult to concentrate with so little energy left. There was no movement that he could sense, so he pulled his teke back and slowly opened the door.
Another hallway, but this area was mostly free of destruction. It resembled an office building instead of the old, lush decor a few floors up. He closed the door quietly behind himself.
Gabriel felt something in his mind, like fingers lightly down his spine. It made him stop entirely and focus inward. Christ what--
[I like to think of myself as God, not his son.] The voice was in his mind. It held mild humor, little more.
A hundred feet upon the floor, nowhere to run. Men flood each end of the hallway dressed in riot gear and full-faced helmets, holding rifles at the ready. Gabriel throws up a teke shield on either side in a vain attempt to hold them back. What little strength he has left is ebbing out of him as the figures push against the barrier.
Are you the Mayor? The Milkman? he asked the voice. His defenses were shrinking, the men inching closer. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he could feel warm blood on his upper lip. He clenched his teeth and pushed with energy he didn't have.
[... how very odd. I've never been called such things.] A pause. [Should I tell you to give up, or did you want to be heroic and pass out first?]
Exhausted, the fields dissipated and he went to his knees.
Get out of my head, he sent back as the soldiers bore down on him. He never heard the voice again.
They were professionals, knowing how to inflict pain without breaking bones. It's not as if he could have fought back. They emptied out their frustrations on him, growling hatred of mutants and brutal but uncreative threats such as one would find in a prison exercise yard. He lost consciousness long after he'd hoped for it, after a kick to the skull.
What followed was a long series of fuzzy periods brought on by sedatives and a head injury from his beating. He remembered later that he'd been talking during some of these times, constantly asking, then demanding, information about a place called 'Mayfield' and a 'Mayor', a long list of names, people that could die and be returned to life, a hopeless stretch of television hell. After a while, he slept without waking.
Until he was awoken, days later.
The room was familiar in an unfamiliar way. Small, with stark white walls and a heavy steel door. Gabriel was sitting immobile in a chair, unable to move his head--he had no idea what was above, below or behind. Something was in his mouth, keeping him from opening or closing it, a gag of some sort. Most of all, he had no energy, robbed of it again just as he had in Mayfield.
His head ached, but his mind was clear. The last few days (were they days? They'd certainly felt like it) blurred in his memory, and he wasn't sure what was real or dreamed. His entire body felt like a bruise, so he knew the trip home had been true. Or they wanted me to believe it was true.
The door opened and a very thin, tall man in a white coat entered. He was older, greying at the temples, with thin lips and muddy brown eyes. His cheekbones were high and pronounced while his cheeks and eyes were sunken, giving him the appearance of a skull with skin stretched over it.
"My name is Dr. Napoli, and before you ask, no. I am not 'the Mayor', 'the Milkman', 'the bloody drone bitch' or the Queen Mother. What I do want to know is where you've been for the last few months, Mr. Grant. Wherever it is, it's obviously affected your mind." His voice was rough with a Swedish accent.
"We've had a telepath sifting through your mind, but he's not powerful, unable to read but the most surface of thoughts. This doesn't stop him from believing he's a minor deity, but," Napoli waves the random thought away. That answered Gabriel's question about who had spoken to him that day. Or at least, what they wanted him to believe. For all he knew, the man in front of him could have been the Mayor himself.
"Unfortunately we haven't any other spare mutants lying around to probe your cranium, but we do have another who might be able to help."
((there will be more storyflavin on this very post. stay tuned, kids.))