#on the Young Guns 2 album. At least his natural voice. I think he’d pull off a heavier sound too | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

decorous-biohazart · 7 years

Text

Background Log #2: “Butterflies Never Die”

The camera feed began with static before focusing onto the entrance to a suite. The door was one of the many like it in the barracks of Phoenix Nest. Various drawings, stickers, and carvings insinuated that this room belonged to Nova team of Dingo, Socket, Cell, and Decorous. Megan behind the camera let out a light sigh before speaking, “We’re here at the Nova Team home to record Cell’s video on her story. She doesn’t know I’m here so we’ll see if it’s a bad time.” The scientist chirped as her gentle hand reached into the shot and twisted the door handle open.

As she entered into the narrow entry way the light caused the lens to flare before adjusting to the fixtures placed in the ceiling of the room. Just around the corner of the entryway to the right was a well kept kitchen, straight ahead a living room complete with couch, chair, and coffee table. A map hung from the wall in front of the couch as well as files and bullets were scattered over the table.

Megan walked into the room, turning the corner around the far side of the kitchen towards a hallway. Two doors on the right, and three on the left. As she paced into the hall it became more clear which room belonged to who. The first had an assortment of electrical cords, unfinished machines in the building process, and a laptop computer. “Socket’s room.” Megan concluded.The next had an assortment of posters ranging from poetic lines from stories and other writings to nature shots and photos of skylines and album covers. A black tank top and cargo pants sat neatly folded on the unmade bed along with a pair of fingerless gloves. “Cell’s room.” Megan observed.

The last door on the left remained closed as well as the one at the end of the hall. The one on the left had to be Dingo’s room. He was most likely asleep after returning from a late night shift on the wall keeping watch. The last at the far end had to be Decorous’. The door was always closed, and he spent minimal time inside.

The door on the right was also revealed closed as Megan turned the camera towards it, but the sound of running water came muffled through the door. Megan gently raised her hand and knocked. The water stopped, and moments later the door opened. Inside stood Cell with half closed eyes and a toothbrush in her mouth. Her blonde hair, just at cheek length, hung loose and in uneven ends. She wore a black Metallica t-shirt along with a pair of flannel plaid pajama bottoms. Her brown eyes widened at the sight of the woman with the camera, clearly expecting someone else.

“Megan?” the woman questioned, the toothbrush causing her voice to be slightly stifled. “What are you doing here? And what’s with the camera?”

“Decorous asked me to get some video of our members for future reference. Thought it would be cool to keep it in archive to show our friends from other places and keep for historical purposes one day!” Megan explained, clearly giddy with the idea of the project. Cell narrowed her eyes with a smirk, taking the toothbrush out of her mouth before responding,

“Ah, I get it. He wants to keep them so we can tell our stories if we stop being around to. He was always very sentimental about that. Alright, I’ll bite, give me five minutes.”

“You and Dingo always have to make it so dark!” Megan complained, but could not help but giggle as the door shut. “Well, looks like we picked a good time after all!” the scientist observed before the feed shut off.

The camera switched on again and it was now a close up shot of Megan’s face. Her eyes were narrowed and lips pursed as she struggled to position the camera that was now on a bi-pod. Her glasses sat on the bridge of her nose and locks of blonde hair fell around her face and the rest sat up in a loose bun on the back of her head. She smiled with satisfaction before stepping away, the angle of the camera revealed now to be across the coffee table zoomed in on the couch where Cell sat with her legs crossed. Megan stepped off to the right and sat in the chair off camera.

“Go ahead, Cell, just how we talked.” Megan encouraged. Cell flicked her head to remove some of the hair in her eyes before dawning a slight smile and looking into the camera. “Um... Hey guys. My name is Cell. At least, that’s my nickname. My real name is Celia. I just never liked it that much so everyone calls me Cell. Speaking of which,” she jabbed a finger at Megan and another at the camera, “None of you better tell anyone that’s my real name or I’ll find you.” she threatened before Megan giggled.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I came to Phoenix Nest along with Dingo and Socket. We’ve been tight-knit since our days in N.O.V.A. I’m a spotter for Dingo when he snipes on large buildings but mostly I move as fast as I can between Point A and B to find us the fastest way to get there and plan escape routes. I’m sure Dingo told you about all that already, so I’ll just give you my story before N.O.V.A.

I grew up in the Big Apple of New York City. That’s where I fell in love with buildings. I loved how big they were, and how beautiful they looked at night. I started running at a young age, and of course as soon as I was good enough I started climbing buildings. Never got to jump across them like I do now but I always wanted to learn how. I took a couple of parkour classes towards the end of middle school, and they were alright... but they felt too controlled.

Going into high school, all of that changed. I started getting that stereotypical angst a teenager gets. You know, wanting to look like everyone else, act like them, go to the same parties, and idolizing all the fake people with enough silicone in their faces and chests to make a new line of awful plastic high heels everyone was raging about.

A man who looked like he had it all together and had money spilling out of every pocket approached me, fresh out of high school, and said he could offer me a job in the modeling business. My stupid, hormone raging high school brain thought it was a great idea. So I jumped on it, and went with him.” Cell’s eyes fell to the floor as she rested her hands in her lap, “What I didn’t know was he wasn’t telling me the whole truth... He was the head of the human trafficking ring in New York at the time and he scooped me up before I knew what I was doing.

I was rebellious and stupid, so I didn’t call or text my parents to tell them what I was doing and I ended up getting lost. Since the guy pulled up in a limousine instead of a rusty van I guess I wasn’t caught off by any warning signs until he already had me. He was charming, nice, and seemed like he cared. He had me brainwashed, and made me believe I was providing an honorable service.” Cell’s brow furrowed as she clenched her fists in her lap for a moment before relaxing as she continued.

“Day after day, night after night, in these awful studios I was forced to model for their buyers. I was degraded, abused, pushed around, and taken advantage of. When I was picked, my ‘client’ would take me to whatever venue they wanted. Whether that be their apartment with alcohol and blood stained carpets, or their million dollar penthouses. It didn’t matter, because I was just a plaything to all of them.” Her grip tensed on the cushions beneath her again as her piercing eyes rapidly scanned the floor as if she were remembering the faces of her abusers, attempting to strike them dead with her gaze.

“Between showings and ‘appointments’ I was taken to cheap motel rooms and kept in there for days at a time. I was told when to eat, when to sleep, and when to do my job. Sometimes they’d even starve me to make sure I ‘kept my figure’. Every night after jobs my manager would come in and leave a small wad of cash on the table. Sometimes he’d just come along for a chance to ‘test his merchandise’ or leave a few more bruises on my body to keep me in check. A year passed and the clients just kept getting more and more violent and controlling, so I knew if I kept submitting I’d end up dead.

When the next client came into that motel room and put his hand on me, I grabbed it and broke his wrist. He yelled, swatted me in the face, and reached for a gun he had in his waistband. I slammed my head into his stomach and pulled the weapon from his hands...” Cell trailed off for a moment as she raised her own hands up from the couch, red with irritation from the gripping the cushion. She examined her palms for a moment before they sank back to her lap.

“It clattered to the floor and he slammed into the dresser. He grabbed a letter opener on top of the table as I tried to wrestle from his grip and he stabbed me in the back. I bit his hand and got free, scrambling for the gun he dropped. I stood up and he charged me... So I shot him.

It was as if all of my anger, all of my disgust, and all of my shame that those men inflicted on me just fired in that one shell and killed that man. I was 19... And I had killed someone, and it didn’t feel nearly as good as I thought it would. I knew my time there was over, and I either had to run or they’d kill me. I dropped the gun as tears rolled down my face and in my small pair of shorts and tank top I stumbled over his body, out of that room and into the rain. My mind was swirling with a pounding headache, as if thoughts were assaulting my head trying to break free.

My back stung from the wound, blood sticking to my back and thighs where it ran with drops of rain. I called the police from a pay phone, and told them the location of the motel so they could get the other girls; but for some reason I didn’t want them to find me.” Cell’s expression turned to a look of inner reflection, cursing herself in her mind so loud it could almost be heard by the camera.

“I had a decently privileged upbringing but took it for granted. My parents tried to buy my freedom, but what they didn’t know is I wanted to stay there. Like I finally had the appreciation I longed for and never had but I couldn’t have been more wrong. I didn’t think I could call them after that and expect them to accept me back, they couldn’t have.

So, instead, I kept going off into the rain. The sick thought simmered within me that while as abusive as these people were, they gave me purpose. Some clients were caring and understanding, and even left me gifts. I felt like I failed them, as stupid as that is. As horrible as it was, that was my life, and I threw it away. I didn’t think I could go home and face my parents, and I definitely couldn’t go back and try to explain what happened. I was stupid...”

Cell trailed off as the burning fire in her eyes began to dim and was replaced by a hollow look of abandonment. It was as if she traveled back to that day and found herself lost all over again. She shook her head a bit before she picked up the story again,

“Next thing I knew cars were blaring passed me, and I was standing on the Brooklyn bridge. I thought to myself: ‘You just killed someone, and they were a buyer from the people that gave you a roof and a job all this time. You’re through.’

I thought my life was over... So I climbed up on the edge of the bridge...” Cell stopped again, exhaling through her nose and wiping a tear from one of her eyes with the back of her hand. “And I was going to jump, but then someone grabbed my wrist and pulled me down.

“I tried to fight back, I thought it was my keeper trying to drag me back to my cage and execute me like a rabid dog. But it wasn’t. I saw the patch on their forearm, a gold ring. It was the first rank of a N.O.V.A operative. Their insignia has three gold rings linked on top of each other, the top one with an N in the center. For each ring was a rank: One ring was a field unit, two rings were scientists, and three rings were special operatives, like we were, and other high ranking personnel. So he was a field unit, and he offered to help me. He said he could patch me up and get me to safety. At that point... I just wanted to go home, wherever that was.

They fixed me up, and reunited me with my parents. I didn’t know what to say to them after what I did, but they were overjoyed I was okay. It was emotional after being gone for so long, and it’s safe to say I was never trouble to them again.” The blonde remarked with a chuckle, wiping her eyes with the back of her wrist.

“I didn’t attend college after that, I just wasn’t ready for it. I’d been around enough raging drunks with nothing but women on their minds for one lifetime. Not to mention I was forced to attend therapy sessions on a regular basis. I started taking up parkour again, but I did it my own way. Something about what happened to me made me fearless.

I wasn’t scared about falling off buildings or getting hurt from a bad landing. Needless to say I got pretty good at it, and it turned into a regular hobby. My therapist suggested I take self-defense classes to prepare for the possibility of the ring leaders coming after me again. I was top of my class for a long time, mainly because I was relentless. To be honest, I was kind of scary to the rest of the class.” Cell said with a faint, proud grin.

“I was good. So much so that my instructor invited me over one night so he could introduce his family to his ‘star pupil.’ During that night I told him everything about that night at the motel, and he told me that ‘anyone will fight at their best when fighting for their lives. The discipline of survival is something that cannot be taught, for it is already ingrained within us. You fight like you’re always at risk of losing your life, it’s what makes you so strong.’

It made me think back to my encounter with that guy from N.O.V.A, and I knew what I wanted. I wanted to bring people like those who kept a young girl like me, and many others with their whole lives ahead of them, to justice.

I got a tattoo after I joined, I wanted to cover up the ugly scar left by the stab wound.” Cell stood up from her place on the couch, twisting her back around and lifting her shirt to show a tattoo of a butterfly on the lower right section of her back.

“I always found butterflies to be beautiful, because who wouldn’t?” She questioned as she sat down again, crossing her legs as she spoke, “Plus it did the best at covering the scar. Butterflies go through a metamorphosis and turn into something beautiful. I guess I thought of myself the same way. I vanished from society for awhile, and came out a whole new person. I met Dingo, Socket, and Decorous and that was it.

Of course we all learned the hard way that not even N.O.V.A was telling the truth about who they were. But now that I’m here in Phoenix, I feel right.” Cell said as her tone lightened, looking over to Megan.

“I’m surrounded by good people that I know will protect me, and I just as much want to protect myself,” her gaze returned to the camera again, “So I don’t let those days drag me down, and let the thought of those people rule my life. I’m not that little girl anymore that was locked away and abused, I’m a strong young woman fighting for what’s right, but I have something to those monsters for because they helped get me here.” She said with a taunting smirk,

“Was I scared? Of course I was, I was terrified. But I was a fighter, I didn't let my fear keep me down. Now I run towards my fears. Am I still scared? Of course I am, but you better believe my fears are scared of me, too. It’s hard to guarantee the safety of everyone in the world we live in today, but I’d be a failure if I didn’t bring as many people home safe as I can.

We’ve got a job to do here, and we won’t quit until it’s done. I found purpose and redemption, so I want to help all those people still out there in the Field with nowhere to go. Because what feels like 100 years ago I was in the same position: all alone living in fear. That is my real purpose: to save people, not suffer to please them.”

Cell reached forward and picked up a black and worn hoodie jacket with the Phoenix Nest insignia up off the table. She examined it in her hands for a moment, and her facial expression shifted as if the cloth breathed life back into her. Her brow furrowed and a wiry grin stretched onto her face, beaming with hope and determination as she held the insignia up to the camera. “My name is Cell, runner and scout of Phoenix Nest’s Nova team, and I am a Phoenix.” Cell finished, still holding out the armband with a proud posture as the video feed ended.

#Background Log #Character Development #Cell

1 note · View note