Season 0 - "Meeting with the MILGRAM"

MILGRAM

When you awake, you feel the blood on your hands.

They're clean, in fact. Whether or not they were just moments ago.

What happened? You remember the details well. The dead body. Bodies, perhaps. But how did you get from there to here?

Where is here?

You're in a small squarish cell with only the most basic necessities. You're wearing a straitjacket—though thankfully it’s not exactly standard issue, so it's more mildly cumbersome than restrictive.

But still concerning. To be treated like such a danger to yourself or others, whether or not it makes much sense to you. But wherever you are and however you got here, you'll get nowhere fast by denying your situation.

Better to try and figure out what it actually is.

...Do you hear other people stirring? Speaking?

As good a place to start as any.

Chula - Suzune

When had she fallen asleep, Suzune wondered, as she felt a pillow on her cheek. She hadn't slept terribly well in a few days, so perhaps passing out somewhere made the most sense. With an exhausted expression, she pushed herself up from her bed, only cluing into something being TRULY wrong as she heard the clickclack of metal follow her, the straight jacket jingling like windchimes with her subtle movements.

Huh… What? Was this some new collection Haruki was experimenting with? Had he changed her into pajamas, or-- No. She still had her jeans. In fact, she was also still wearing one heel, as the other seemed to have fallen off and onto the floor during her moving around with a solid clunk.

That thought aside, as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and slipped her shoe back on, where the heck was she? Her eyes glazed over for a moment as she flicked her gaze from this detail to that of the cell. What… What was going on? Was this some kind of… ritzy… high glamor celebrity prison or something? … Had she passed out during-- Ah. Well. Perhaps this WOULD happen to her. She sucked in one, singular, tired breath, squinting her eyes shut and tapped her cheeks with her palms until they stung. There was no use crying about anything right now. Worse things could have happened than potential…. kidnapping?

She stood up and with a bright, yet forced, smile, shouted a "Helllooooooo~? Does anybody remember me, like, being brought in here? I must have crashed something awful." Of course, with her assumption being she wouldn't be able to open the door itself, she rattled and slid the door window open, instead, letting her smooth and sweet voice ring out through the hallway.

Actually, it was a little surprising the windows even opened at all from this side, now that she thought about it. That had to be a security risk.

Hikaru Suzuki

Hikaru's first instict when waking up is to wipe the sleep - and smudged makeup - from his eyes. The strange feeling on his hands prompts him to pull them away with a small yelp, though as he blinks himself awake he realises it was just that - a feeling.

Okay, he's had some bad hangovers before, but not "waking up in police custody" bad. Is that what this is…? He doesn't think people normally get put in straightjackets there, but hey. There's a lot of strange things happening right now. He'll roll on the path of least resistance with the easiest assumptions until something else shows up to change that.

At least this straightjacket thing looks kind of good on him, and his shirt doesn't feel gross and slept in. A mirror would be nice, but right now he imagines he's going to have to take what he can get. He ponders for a moment whether he should cover his tattoo. Chances are it's already been seen by anyone who would really care about it, so he shrugs it off as he finally rises to his feet, tucking some stray hair behind his ear.

Is that someone outside he can hear? Multiple someones? In terms of places he really doesn't want to make a bad first impression, this is pretty much top of the list. He puts on his best cute-but-clueless smile as he wanders over to the door, and is helped by the genuine surprise that he gets when it clicks open as he pushes down on the handle. Who - or what - waits beyond?

Shiori Yoshida

The last thing the chauffeur remembers is a familiar sensation. Hands on the wheel, the world rushing past in a blur of light and color. So to suddenly wake with a start on a surface much softer than leather interior is a shock to the system, eyes shooting open, limbs stiff and on high alert. This isn't her sleeping quarters. As she moves to sit up, the jangling of buckles prompts her to look down. These aren't her clothes. Not entirely, anyway. Belts are wrapped around her torso, her tie extended with a loop at the end. She unconsciously moves to fiddle with the fabric, only for her right arm to refuse her command. Raised in the air like a puppet on a string, Shiori's gaze trails up her arm to see what holds it back, a belt around her wrist buckled tightly to something.. or rather, someone.

What was once mild concern escalates into ice cold fear at the sight of her sister asleep in the bunk above her, clad in the same straightjacket-esque attire. Realization hits hard and fast. This is a prison. She and Nobuko are trapped. And if Nobuko is here with her.. A bead of sweat trails down her forehead as she stares at her sister's sleeping form, a pit in her stomach. She knows that she needs to see to their escape as soon as possible, to check for exits and ways to break the presumed locks on the doors, but with her locked to Nobuko's side, she's a sitting duck, stuck in place.

The voice of another breaks through her reverie, and Shiori turns to gaze through the bars, eyes scanning diligently across the room to the other cells and their respective occupants like a guard dog assessing potential threats. Though she couldn't fully see who had spoken as her view was partially blocked by the panopticon, whoever had called out seemed harmless enough, and seeing as she asked her a question, Shiori is required to respond. She keeps her voice low, not wanting Nobuko to have a rude awakening.

"Apologies, ma'am, I do not remember you being brought here, and I also do not remember being brought here myself." Any sign of the panic or concern in her heart is completely invisible behind her monotone speech and empty expression devoid of emotion. You wouldn't be faulted for thinking she was completely unfazed by the situation at hand. At least, not until she hears the click of a door handle from a few cells down, eyes widening slightly and head whipping in the direction of the noise. Had someone managed to break out of their cell? If that was the case, maybe all hope wasn't lost for the Yoshida sisters after all.

Emmy | Akemi

Surely this was a dream. Or a nightmare.

Akemi can feel the tell-tale stiff neck and sore shoulders of a poor night's sleep. Something about the bed she is in feels wrong. The air sounds wrong, smells wrong...even her sheets and pajamas don't feel quite right.

Akemi sits up and looks around the cramped cell she had been laid in, her eyes widening with a dawning horror. The mattress is uncomfortable, the lighting is dreary, the industrial smell, the bathroom...a prison cell? But- surely not. She couldn't have-- she didn't recall being arrested. Nor an arraignment. No lawyers, no police, not even arriving here. Just...what was the last thing she could remember?

Have I been kidnapped? Just what sorts of connections have I missed?

With a gnawing pit already formed in her stomach, she looks down at her outfit-- uncomfortable, restrictive, ugly, save for a couple of accessories she had mercifully been left with. She checks her hands...no bruises, no signs of restraint or struggle. She feels her neck...no signs of being injected with something. She feels as healthy as she had ever been, for better or worse. No phone...no wallet...no means to call for help.

Slowly, she stands up and approaches the door to her cell, noting the imposing and concealed watchtower in the center of the space. Next, her eyes drift to the other cells-- occupied cells. People. Voices. Cell doors being opened?

Other victims of this...kidnapping? Accomplices? Perpetrators?

Akemi says nothing, and opts to simply listen to the words of any other prisoners for the time-being. There is no sense in drawing attention to herself until she has her bearings.

Bow-wow

Jesus. What the hell was this place?

He didn't remember when he'd last slept- he barely did remember falling asleep sometimes- after all, who consciously remembers the minute they closed their eyes and fell asleep?

But to wake up somewhere entirely unfamiliar, it was unsettling. Especially with his vision partially obscured by the mask he definitely didn't wear to sleep usually. Well… at least they'd been kind enough to place it so delicately upon his noggin!

"Y'all ain't got no idea where this is? I ain't really a fan of bein' in the dog pound!" His voice wavers a little at the end of his words- like he's certainly a little uncomfortable- there's an almost 'kicked-puppy-esque' whine to it if you listen hard enough.

He presses his face against the bars of his cage with a soft 'clonk' of his mask.

Ellie Carter

Ellie's first thought is that this must be Heaven. Wait, no, no. It must be Hell. That's where murderers go, even if your parents had you baptized and did the whole rigamarole when you were eight or six or whenever the fuck that was. There's no real get-out-of-jail-free card like that. Not for Ellie.

Are you supposed to feel dead once you're dead? It feels normal besides the whiplash of changing places, but she's no stranger to the morning after a crazy night. They must have killed her, which she had expected to happen. Was she shot down? Head broken on the ground? Ahhh, she really can't recall. A deep, loud laugh can be heard from Ellie's cell as she lies back down and closes her eyes, simply listening to the others.

Erin | Vincent Churchwell

It takes Vincent Churchwell a moment to really come to, if you can call the daze he was currently in that. It takes a moment longer for him to gather the energy to sit up and look around at his surroundings properly instead of just staring at the ceiling, and when he does... Ah, so that's what this was. WHERE this was by the looks of both the cell bars and the decidedly straightjacket-esq clothing he'd been put into, even if he still had no earthly idea how he had actually gotten here.

This was prison, or perhaps only jail, since he certainly didn't remember any sort of trial or... well, anything else but the sight of [redacted] still fresh in his now mind. And that thought in itself is enough to bring the first real reaction to his current situation, as Vincent brings a hand to his face and laughs, voice echoing out of his cell and into the rest of the jail.

"Aha... ahaahahaahahahahahaha...!"

...Yeah, that sounded normal and well adjusted. If a little manic, and perhaps a bit deranged.

Abruptly, Vincent goes quiet again, as he hears the sound of other voices in his vicinity, and especially of cell doors opening. Right. Right, of course, he wasn't alone. He would... he would have to deal with that as he needed to. For now, at least, he was certainly in no rush to even try leave his cell unless prompted to, some of the haze of the situation settling back in as Vincent shifts to sitting hunched with his hands folded by his head on his cell bed.

Andrew Edgeworth

Andrew didn't know what to think when he came to, at first. For a moment, he almost thought nothing was amiss, the way he woke up with a migraine that took all of his immediate attention. He slowly inhaled and exhaled through his nose as he massaged his temples. One thing at a time.

Andrew certainly didn't forget why he was brought here. As for how…his memory wasn't nearly as sharp.

His vision cleared as the pains subsided. Look around, Andrew; where are you, right now? A simple prison cell - furnished enough to be humane, at least. The accountant reached out to feel the space, only to be inhibited by his clothing. Andrew looked at his hand, trailing down the length of his arm, and almost laughed when he felt the full weight of his current garb. The prison staff was kind enough to let him keep his fancy wristwatch, huh?

What a joke. At least it pairs well with his straitjacket.

His mind finally cleared and grounded at last, Andrew looked up when he heard the voices. Andrew hadn't been here long enough - as far as he was aware, anyway - to start having hallucinations, so those…must be his cellmates.

Sylas Grey

Yeah, that's right, isn't it? There's only a few logical conclusions that can follow when you kill someone. You run off, you get caught, you get tried… sent to prison, maybe you post bail, maybe you rot there for the rest of your life. It wasn't as if Sylas had the money or sway to dodge that type of charge.

So, realistically, waking up in a prison cell shouldn't be the biggest shock. It all seemed pretty routine, save for the fascinating choice in penal attire this place was opting for. It's just that, well. There was a little issue. A tiny little issue.

Sylas wasn't a murderer, you see. So there's no reason for him to be here.

(He's not. No, really. He's not. He's just an average guy. He has no idea what the problem is.)

"Um… G'day…?"

A nervous laugh. He shifts, uncomfortable in his new jacket, hands idly fiddling with the straps and tags. Should he be thankful or concerned that they let him keep his usual shorts?

"Can, uh, can someone lemme out? This is a real fun set-up, and I'm sure someone put a lot of plannin' into… whatever all this is, but I gotta- I gotta go, uh. Home. Kinda drank all the milk and have to replace it before my sister gets back or she'll throw a, a fit. So, um, just… show me the exit and I can, uh, I can. Catch… a bus home…?"

Robert McCay

Robert McCay woke with a start and a yelp, his heart racing as he struggled with the extra weight on his arms. Belts, straps, and buckles... A straitjacket? As he pushed himself upright, questions bounced around in his head, some with answers, some without.

What was this place? A prison, strange though it may be in its details.

How did he get here? That he couldn't say.

The last thing he remembered? He... didn't want to think about that.

How long had it been since then? Who had brought them here? Would there be due process? Would they have food and drink, or starve to death in this place? Questions, questions. One question that didn't need answering, though, was why.

Oh, he knew why. He could feel it. Justified or not, the things he'd done those years and years ago, that he'd built his entire fragile but happy life upon… it had all come back to bite him on the ass. Ain't that just the way?

But enough of that for now. He wasn't alone, after all. He could hear chatter from the cells around him, even a laugh…? He didn't dare speak just yet, but-- maybe if he made a good impression, whoever had brought them to this place would let him out on parole. Hah! It was a silly thought, sure, but better than listening to the raging pit of despair welling in his stomach.

With that teensy bit of hope in mind, he rose to his feet, fixed up his hair, and pushed gently on the cell door…

Tatsuko Onizuka

Tatsuko groans as she slowly wakes, sitting up and stretching, only to be suddenly shocked awake by the unfamiliar surroundings. Jumping to her feet, she whips her head around to stare at the strange place she found herself in. This was… a cell? How could she have gotten here? And how could she have just forgotten about it, either? She'd think that getting arrested/kidnapped/whatever would be pretty memorable.

More importantly, the more she looks at this prison-like environment, the angrier she feels. Indignation and irritation rise to a boiling point within her at the thought of being locked up. She wants out of this place, and she wants out now. Without paying any mind to who or what might be around her, Tatsuko stomps up to the front of her cage and begins loudly and violently rattling the bars of the cell.

"Hey! What the hell is going on here? Who do you think you are, locking me up? I want my lawyer! And my phone call!"

She gives the bars a kick too, just for good measure.

Nobuko Yoshida

It was an interesting experience, waking up not even realizing that you had fallen asleep in the first place. And then adding on to it the fact that you're waking up in a completely unrecognizable location wearing unusual clothes, confusion would seem a completely natural reaction. So, it was no surprise that when Nobuko awoke, she was quite startled.

"What… where am I? What's going on here?"

A slight resistance with the movement of her arm draws her attention to the side. Shiori, her sister was here as well. What's more, they were bound together.

She sits up, looking out to the area outside of what looks like a cell the two of them are in. "Hello? Is there someone I can speak with? I believe there's been a mistake."

Kaoru Naito

To those with the right angle, if they were looking, the large lump of a man in cell number thirteen had started to seem disconcertingly still so far. Struggling to pull himself to consciousness, he finally kicks a leg out over the edge of the bed, sitting up with the momentum. As the belts and constraints around him weigh down on him, he ignores the chatter outside of the cell and cranes his neck down to get under a number of the straps, trying to worm his way out of them for a moment before frustration gives way to futile aggression at the coat itself.

"Grrr— th' fuck's all this shit?!"

He stomps the ground with his boot as he yanks at the strap again, fruitless in his attempt to loosen it that way, pausing to grind the belt under his teeth to assess how thick the material is. Way too thick to chew through, he realize that much.

While the coat isn't cumbersome enough to stop him from moving, it's messing with his candor, especially given the groggy state he woke up in. He slings his head back to get his hair out of his face enough to look around. Listening to a couple more concerned questioning or clueless outcries, somethings make themselves clear: these people sound clueless and he isn't going to learn anything staying here.

With an uncomfortable croaking noise, he rises to his feet and moves to the cell's door, he casually kicks it open while still uncomfortably adjusting his sleeves, unconcerned about the noise it makes. Swinging one of the straps from the ends of a sleeve up to catch it in his mouth to yank on the square buckle at the end to grind that between his teeth, he strides out of the hall, past the observation tower and down the hall, eager to get moving.