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Chain 010: Demolition Man
Location: San Angeles, California
Age: 25
Identity: Drop-In
Drawbacks: [+300] Cryo Prison
(Abilities: Savant, Durability, Regeneration, Hyperkinesis)
[Free]      Three Seashells
[50/1300]   I'm A Seamstress
[Free]      Language Violation
[150/1300]  He Said He Didn't Care
[250/1300]  I'm Good At Subtle
[400/1300]  Barbaric Behavior
[700/1300]  City Government To Run
[1300/1300] Schwarzenegger Library

Things that are distasteful: waking up to find that you're in a prison in an uncomfortable position, and are so cold that you cannot move, frozen in place. Can't even breathe. Can't get the blood flowing enough to even panic. And though I can't really close my eyes, I do at least seem to spend my time in what could generously be called a fugue state. And I can still hear things, muffled. Though not as muffled as they would have sounded in water, curiously.

Nearly thirty years of staring into a prison, occasionally overhearing conversations and seeing people walk past... and watching peoples' demeanor change over the years in curious ways.

(I almost wish my photographic memory hadn't returned.)

This puts me in an interesting position though, because while they're thawing out John Spartan... well, it seems someone asked a question that they don't usually ask. That being, 'if John Spartan was frozen right after Simon Phoenix, who was this guy that was thrown in between them and what did he do?'. The answer, of course, is... no one knows. And rapid searching of the records returned nothing as well. People don't just end up accidentally locked in cryo-prison... do they?

(Apparently, I do. No one ever bothered to ask who I am.)

On the plus side, I got a nice little exoneration gift of an apartment and a stipend from the San Angeles city government. No one has the faintest idea who I am, at least none that survived the Big One. Much of my spare time was spent trying to get the feel of the local scene and blending in, though I was noticed early on and given a small position with the city administration. Assistant to the assistant, more or less - which meant that I spent my spare time as a liason to the San Angeles police department.

Of course, this proved to be a very interesting job with Simon Phoenix out and about, condensing the information they shared and couching it in appropriate terms for Cocteau to read, but it seems I was fairly good at that. And dealing with John Spartan (if rarely, fortunately) left things interesting as well.

The night that Phoenix and his men decided to kill Cocteau, I had the joy of being present. It was amusing to me to see them running around in Mad Max chic, with myself in a deliberately dated but still stylish suit; when Jesse Ventura - sorry, I mean Adam - shot him. His personal assistant, one Associate Bob, was browbeat into working for Phoenix. And then he asked what sort of screwed up society needs an assistant to the assistant.

I laughed and told him, "The kind that starts brainwashing their kids in kindergarten with the same things they used to program you into being the perfect killer."

I gave him a copy of his personal file, then walked toward the door; he shot me in the back. Didn't like my attitude. So I lay there and bled while they walked out.

He was a little surprised to see me show up at the cryo-prison in his wake, as he was trying to arrange for everyone there to be thawed. He was irate when I proved to be enough of a distraction for the staff to flee before they could begin preparation to thaw anyone else, in terms of actually keeping up with him in hand to hand combat. He was kind enough to shoot me a few more times, before John Spartan came in and they brawled.

Phoenix ended up frozen again, and Spartan was good enough to kick him over - he shattered like a meatier T-1000.

As far as what came after, for San Angeles... well, I already had the keys to the city for all intents and purposes, didn't I? De-programming the brainwashed masses in a gradual way seemed a good thing, even if the dregs of society couldn't go all-out as they wanted. But at least people accepted that a city that polices morality so tightly surely has a few things wrong with it.

Oh, and it turns out that San Angeles was kind of a pariah, and the rest of North America didn't exactly take it seriously. Sure, the city encompassed the better part of the California coast, but once you got past the coastline... it was, without question, not in line with most of the country. Apparently, Governor Cocteau took emergency powers after the quake and ran crazy with it, locking the city and state down indefinitely.

At least I had plenty of time to read the contents of the Schwarzenegger Library. Those brain-programming devices were very interesting, even if they work best when the brain is pliable - meaning, either in youth or when someone is unconscious. The ones given to Phoenix were an early model - the current-day versions were MUCH more effective... especially when it came to deprogramming.