PsyKnight

@hound_of_war:

Jean’s sky blue eyes widened as he hear the voice. But before he could so much as question the sinister presence that had so adeptly avoided detection, his head was jerked back. He grunted in pain, his eyes flashing red for a second before fading back into his natural azure. The White Knight’s jaw tightened as he neck strained.

“Scream?” The laughter from the strained position came out as a gravelly cackle as he looked up fearlessly at the Black Bat. “I had no intention of giving you the pleasure.” His fingers gripped the edges of his chair until they blanched white as the dark intruder mentioned Xandra. “If you so much as touch Dr. Steele, it’s going to take more than a well-placed knife to stop me.” He snarled. Jean’s healing was in fact more impaired than usual since his self-induced starvation. But he was still dangerous, especially if the wound wasn’t fatal.

“The last person who tried to interrogate me had better precautions. I’m only here under house arrest because I choose to be. Maverick’s trinket just offers the officials a little peace of mind. A feeling of control.” No one quite knew how to contain mutants as well as the mentioned military presence. The shock would surely stop the doctor in his tracks should he violate his parole. But there was the slight chance he could outsmart the mechanization with his surgical precision and a weaponized thought. Still, he wasn’t about to take the risk. The masked vigilante didn’t need to know that.

During his first forceful interrogation, Kurt Pendragon's own efforts involved source particles that had managed to be used to shut down Jean's abilities. Had the Emerald Archer not had such technology, his kidnapping and subsequent interrogation wouldn't have lasted five seconds. Even then, Jean's healing was fighting away the effects, Kurt knowing he was on borrowed time. This man didn't have quite the same advantage even when Dr. Quentin was starved and secured with a tracker. In some ways, his hunger made him all the more unpredictable as he counted each heartbeat while the Bat leaned over him. “I don’t owe you anything, Black Bat.”

After the purple-masked man had fully purged any remaining vestiges of the unnamed demon’s control, Jean’s mind slipped into unconsciousness to preserve itself from damage. But before he did so, he made sure to keep his psyche locked tightly in case the psychic horror had left anything inside that could creep out and into other minds after Stark’s psychic inhibitor device was removed.

Instead of being transported to a hospital or prison, his care was instead taken up by the mutant psychiatrist, Dr. Alexandra Steele. She was an expert on the effects of psychic ailments. Finally safe, she was able to coax Jean back into consciousness, though he still remained hesitant to let Xandra inside his mind, a disconnect unusual for the clones. While his mind had repaired itself, he was still racked with psychological pain and had become more withdrawn, awaiting his eventual punishment whilst he sat under house arrest.

Jean stared out the window, watching the sun rise, a sight traditional vampires could not enjoy. His ice blue yes reflected the varying hues of yellow and orange. But he couldn’t feel an appreciation for the New York skyline as it was overwhelmed by the coming day. He was a vampire, after all. Having deprived many of their own daybreaks, their souls to be forever enshrouded in darkness, the White Knight believed himself to no longer be allowed to appreciate such things.

He sighed as he wonder what would become of himself. He had such plans, plans for good, for the protection of the weak. But everything had come undone. And worse, his hopes had been unraveled so easily. Jean leaned against the back of his chair, keeping his own thoughts to himself.

Alexandra approached her somber clone, resting a hand upon his shoulder. “Did you want anything, Jean? A tea? Anything? You haven’t eaten since you arrived here. It’s not healthy, Jean. You punish yourself enough. You could easily leave the country, start a new life.”

Jean’s jaw tightened as his gaze was turned toward the psychiatrist. “It was eating that got me into this particular mess. I thought I could manage, just living off blood bags… but this was not the first time I’ve slipped up. It won’t be the last. I can’t put others in danger wherever I might retreat.”

The psychiatrist’s face darkened. “To be honest, I might have hoped you would have stopped trying to care about others. They are beneath us. It’s natural, Jean. Predator and prey. But whatever happened to you many years ago seems to have poisoned you against your nature. And against me whether you care to admit it or not, whether I have access to your thoughts or not. You judge me for my lifestyle. And so you play dumb, fighting your own nature while pretending to ignore my own. Would you have me starve myself to be in line with your foolish notion of goodness? Should I wallow around in self-pity too? I’m afraid, darling, that just isn’t in my nature. Our nature.”

“I’ve had enough of sinister telepathic powers telling me to embrace myself as a murder.” His voice was chilled as he spoke. “I’d rather not speak about this again, Alexandra. Please, just leave me alone.” Dr. Quentin’s golden head turned away from her to stare back out the window once more, his psionic mind blocking their connection.

The words stung, piercing her heart more than traditional wounds, as Alexandra turned away. He had saved her a number of times, her White Knight. Her salvation never would have come had he not shared a telepathic rapport with her. Now she was alone, as alone as she had been when she was taken by the Third Society, severed from the person who could understand her best. But there was nothing that could be done about it now. She’d head to her office. It was clear she was not wanted. And so she left the fallen Psionic Saint to his own introspection.

@hound_of_war

@inner_demon: @quietus: @lichter:

A trembling overcame Jean for a moment, his eyes widening as he heard the masked man speaking of a presence in the room. No, he was here. Did these men have any defense against this telepathic terror? He needed to be free. His muscles tightened, staining once more with a burst of adrenaline.

Dr. Quentin spoke. “He’s here. You have to let me go. I’m the only one who can hope to defend against him. Unless you have some telepathic tricks up your sleeve. The more you resist, the more he can gauge your weaknesses.” But he knew quite well the group couldn’t just let the demon take over their minds.

Then his blue eyes flickered red, darting over to the Oscillator’s wielder as a metallic scent meandered through the air. Stark’s hospitality had been understandably lacking, and it had taken its toll on the vampire’s strength. “Get Stark's… psionic inhibitor… off me…” The enigmatic entity could easily poison them against one another, his ingress allowing for the further unfurling of the vampire despite not having access to his psyche. Without Jean’s help, they might be more vulnerable to the demon’s attacks. With Jean free… he wasn’t sure he was in the state of mind to keep from killing his potential fleshy allies. Either way, this could end very badly.

Jean’s muscles strained against the metal, sensors upon his chest ticking at the vital changes. This device was not meant to hold a biological life form but one of Stark’s creations. But the solid framework did the job of keeping the mutant vampire in place even if terribly uncomfortable. With is psychic abilities turned off by the mechanism encircling his skull and his body slightly weakened from being without an adequate supply of blood, the bonds could have been less but equally effective. The Titan of Technology was not about to take any chances in his mission.

It was a cold pang of loneliness that quite possibly ached the most. His face contorted. Not being able to connect with his clone. His condition made him isolated from people even while being surrounded by them. It was this emptiness that had made him all the more vulnerable to manipulation. The desperation, even if it was normal or noble, was enough to drive anyone to questionable decisions. Factor in a malevolent mind of devious intent… this was the result. Even the most powerful men could break.

The door to his prison opened. His cold blue eyes raised, his jaw setting. The doctor couldn’t be sure if his rescuers were in good will. After all, one of them was Secretary Jones who had seen a gruesome fraction of what the White Knight was truly capable of. Unseen sweat beaded at his golden hairline, his body warming with anticipation. If Stark truly had a plan for him, he would likely not easily let Jean go. And there was no telling if Julius’ companions would have the grace to spare a vampire whatever his previous station and goodwill. The PsyKnight was uncertain what was going to happen.

His lips curled into an emotionally undeterminable smile. There was something vaguely threatening or anxious about it, like a caged animal feeling expressing discomfort at being cornered. Regardless, such an expression would be judged according to the agendas of those who beheld it. No one’s vision was truly clear of preconceived notions.

“Julius.” His voice was low and dry like a hoarse growl. Azure eyes shifted from the Original Operative to the purple masked man. “And his associate.” The former president had very little interest in disclosing more than needed until he had gauged the emotional variance in the room, something much harder without his abilities.

@dreadpool10: Well, to be honest, it could be. :P He does use my computer a lot. But no. It's Psy. LOL

Nope. :P

:P

*hugs*

I need a brain transplant. Or like an injection of serotonin.