The Bellators

4:7:5

 Rays of black energy are suspended between their projector and the metal cuffs, those cuffs being the ones attached to the wrists of the prisoner, the cuffs right above the green surgeon cuffs. The arms are stretched similar to those rays, the black sleeves wrinkled and scuffed.

The head of the prisoner is low, letting the amber bangs shroud sight of the face, and on the other side the other arm is also stretched out and bound to that cuff attached to the black ray which connects to the projector device shaped like a reel, sitting against the brown rubber tiles.

Those rubber tiles cover the whole cubic room, the four walls, the ceiling, and the floor, for the two projectors are the only decor the room has to offer as there isn't even a door visible.

There is not a sound, instead pure utter silence, as though there is no world beyond the rubber room. The only entity that can be identified was the woman in the blazer and black leggings, the blazer open to show the white tank top underneath, though dirtied and grayed. Her black and white shoes are dangling just off the ground, so close to making contact but unable to do so, for her body is lifted in a cross.

Her face is obscured by the amber bangs from afar, her body slouched forward, beaten, sullied, exhausted.

Alone, between the thick amber bangs of hair is the face of the prisoner, one with a frown underneath those shimmering parakeet eyes, ones who in a present of nothing is subjected to the past of dread, one that she has to carry on with every day, every moment.

It was a past she has largely escaped from now that decades had past, as she was able to climb the ranks of a legitimate corporation, able to make a living helping others rather than taking from them. She had found other friends in this new world, and she was able to make a new life for herself, one full of new memories that perhaps would never overwrite those of the city under clouds but at least balance them.

Yet in this very moment she is not in that world, she is in another one, a dangerous one, one full of those who did live off of taking from others, and she was one of those taken. She is alone, without allies, unsure of how long she'd be held, unsure of what she may have to endure next. Furthermore, those who she sought to help within her own corporation are also subjected to horrors placed by her faults, as in fact she had stolen, but she had gained nothing in return.

Thus alone she remains the prisoner, instead the brown rubber room, chained up to the wall with her body stretched constantly. Her head hangs low, the world around her silent and cold, lifeless, for she is secluded from the greater universe yet again, unable to see beyond those clouds.

For she can't see beyond those rubber walls, through the other side of the wooden boards facing into the large prison room, the one that is the opposite of silent as there is instead uproar from just about every angle as all the pirates on guard shout to one another across all three layers, all of them facing one common direction down the hall, many of them further down even firing shots from their rifles or throwing fireballs.

Those gunshots and fireballs are directed for the far side of the prison hall, to the entrance and to the three who had stepped in uninvited: the woman in the hoodie surging with pink electricity, the man in the white mask whose hands burst with azure flames, and the older man in the overcoat wielding a makeshift handgun that smokes as the wires wrapped around the barrel are lit hot.

All three of them charge inside the prison car, already in action as the Spirit in the center throws his arm back, projecting a flame over the open door they stepped through where on the other side is a horde of attackers from the hub of the other room, yet those flames crystallized into a frosty wall that did not only cover the doorway but spread over the entire face of the car, more carefully reinforcing the barricade as the pursuing bandits are held back.