Don't ever apologize for being the smartest one in the room

[itsamysterio]

WHO: Mysterio, OTA
WHERE: Billy's City
WHAT: Time to prove Beck's tech can change the world
WHEN: Mid/Late Event
WARNINGS: MUCH PSYCHOLOGICAL TRAUMA, UPSETING IMAGERY, ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK



Stark Industries

Super villains attacking the building was almost just another Tuesday at this. Not that Mysterio necessarily considered himself to be a villain. A strange green mist spilled through the halls, Beck couldn't help but play up the theatrics a little.

His ultimate goal was Stark, but that didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun with his coworkers as he made his way to his dear boss. Or any other unfortunate visitors to the building.

Before you had time to be surprised by whatever it was he was wearing, you were plunged into a world of illusion, your deepest fears and greatest traumas uprooted and unearthed into an unsettling hellscape.

The Masses

Why not spread the fun around? Mysterio ventured out into the streets, confident no one could stand in his way. After all, what kind of threat could you really be to him when he could twist the very world around you into a personalized hell?

That green mist ventured out, flooding the city block, chaos erupting as people went running and cars veered off course.

Just the Two of Us

It was just the two of you now, and Mysterio chuckled inside his helmet, palms raised in mock surrender.

"You really think you can stop me?" he asked. Sure- they'd put up a good fight, but Beck was barely getting stated.

That mist became almost suffocating, and the world seemed to shift, rewriting itself to plunge you directly into your very own personal hellscape. Even knowing none of it was real did nothing to stop your mind from reacting as though it were. You're just a puppet on a string, and Mysterio's going to enjoy playing with his toy before he breaks it.

Comments

Stark Industries

[dr_riley]

It wasn't exactly any ordinary Sunday for Drake. Normally, he would be trying not to think about work, perhaps relegating himself to grocery shopping or household maintenance. Today, he had a preliminary appointment with a Stark International consultant with the aim of determining whether he needed mental therapy for his strange flashbacks, or gene therapy for some more dangerous and unpredictable mutation. He was not looking forward to either outcome, but he may have preferred them compared to what was about to happen.

First, there were the muffled screams. He and the waiting room clerk both stood in alarm.

“Call 911.” He said immediately.

“And tell them what?”

“I don’t know! Active shooter! Tell them there’s an active shooter. How d’you lock this door?”

“There’s- there’s a pin hidden in the top hinge, you twist it in the the lock and it’s like a deadbolt.”

No sooner had he gotten the door locked than he noticed the green mist seeping beneath the door and cursed under his breath.

“Open that window!”

“It doesn’t op- sir! Sir, what’re you- Hey!”

Drake had grabbed the clerk’s chair and hurled it at the window. Next, he began cramming anything he could - his jacket, the couch pillows, Kleenex tissues - under the door to block the mist.

“Have you called 911 yet?!”

But the clerk was no longer there.

Instead, there was a tall man in a dark, military-looking uniform. He had a broad, handsome face and dark hair and was kissing a woman - or was she kissing him? The woman had fiery red hair and was wearing a transparent red gown with gold ornamentations.

He had no idea why, but something about this vision was unbearably painful. The woman broke away from the kiss and her eyes gave a strange white flash when she looked straight at him.

“Sekhmet.” Drake whispered, although he didn’t know who or what Sekhmet was or why the name suddenly popped into his head.

The woman - Sekhmet? No, that didn’t seem right. The woman wasn’t Sekhmet, something about the woman or in the woman was Sekhmet, but that didn’t make much sense - took two or three slow, swaying steps toward him, smiling knowingly when he tried not to stare, and in fact, made a valiant attempt to actively look away. She grabbed him around the throat and forced him to face her.

“She hoped you wouldn’t come for her.” The woman said in a deep, warped voice that was horribly familiar and frightening. “She likes it here, under my protection, enjoying the long life and decadence of a god.”

“You’re not a god…”

“And you’re not a man.” She gave a little smile and a little shrug, as if it were a quid pro quo. “In fact, you’re barely an animal worthy of sacrifice; what was it she said to you when you questioned her affection?” Her voice became that of a normal, human woman. One he knew very well. “I just miss the cats.”

She leaned in close, and in that beautiful human voice, said, “We are going to bleed you like a hog, and drink your blood. But it’s all right, darling. She never loved you.”

It’s not true. It’s not true, it’s not true, I saved you, we’re not happy, but we’re getting there, the kids visit every other weekend, you’re proud of them, I fixed your dishwasher, you died in…you died in a…

The next thing Drake knew, he’d fallen to his knees as a terrible, crushing pain splintered through his head, and all he could see through the haze of golden energy was Sekhmet, hand outstretched above him as the central jewel in the kara kesh that she wore glowed a bright orange. And all he could hear was the terrible animal scream wrenched from him by the agony.

[itsamysterio]

For a short time Drake seemed to be left to reflect on that, a stillness falling over the room, only his own breathing to keep him company. And then eventually, distantly- a sort of drip. It didn't demand much attention at first, until suddenly, there was a sheen of water seeping from under the door, those tissues and pillows soaked through as they struggled to hold it back.

[dr_riley]

Drake knelt there for a long while after the torture had abated, shuddering and gasping and hugging himself, not understanding what had happened or why it had been so painful. He didn't know that man or that woman. He didn't know what a Sekhmet was, or what that device on her hand had been. And he was about to wonder what kind of psychosomatic problems he could add to his long list of concerns when he heard a strange plip plop plip plip, which soon became a dribble, and then a trickle.

When he put his hands on the floor in a move to stand up, Drake felt how wet the floor had become and jerked them away. And when he finally looked to the door and saw the spreading pool of water, he stumbled to his feet and backed away, stammering and confused, "Wh-what...what-?"

This wasn't right, he was eight storeys up!

He kept backing away as it spread, bumping into and then climbing on top of the clerk's desk as if the water were some corrosive chemical, all the while, looking for another way out. But the only way out was the smashed window, and...it was eight storeys up.

Fine. This was okay. He was okay. The water would keep coming - nonsensically - and-and it would just...it would go out the window. All he had to do was not go with it. How hard could that be, grab onto something sturdy and wait for help, or... maybe open the door and hope the resulting rush wouldn't push him so hard he lost his grip.

So he waited. And the water rose. And it began to flow over the broken remains of the window while he knelt on the desk and held onto the edge.

Except...once or twice, he thought he saw a shadow...or a shape, moving around through the water.

But that was crazy. Wasn't it?

[itsamysterio]

It certainly shouldn't be possible. None of this should be possible. But it was easy enough to write off those shapes as tricks of the mind. At least until one of those shadows briefly crested the water. Not long enough to see exactly what it was, but enough to be less sure it was so crazy.

[dr_riley]

The second he saw the fin/tentacle/snout/what-in-God's-name-was-that, Drake snatched his hands away from the edge of the desk and reeled back. He reeled back so hard, he fell off the desk and into the water, and he was so panicked at this that he didn't even notice that it wasn't actually drowning him. Instead, he flailed and gasped and shut his eyes tight, but it didn't seem to help. He was still horribly aware of whatever was there with him, coming for him, terrible and unseen, but undeniably present.

"GENE! JACE!!"

He had no idea why he was calling those names, only that they were people who could help. Unfortunately, he also knew they weren't coming.