((OOC: in case you couldn't tell: this is a Romanian Internment Camp thread. It takes place directly after the Senate Bombing. Enter at your own risk.))

This... was not what she was expecting.

From the moment she awoke in this strange place, she knew it was all wrong. For starters, she had a collar. A shock collar. This neck thing was... well, it was offensive (that was probably the point). And hers seemed to be malfunctioning. In the American camps they had the grace to outfit her with a much less obtrusive wrist thing

No one would talk to her. No one seemed to know English or Japanese in her cell. Or, rather, no one knew very much English. They had to be speaking Romanian unless she'd moved countries while she was out. They all looked at her like she was trouble.

A low level shock seemed to be going all the time. And it was cold. Ghost didn't normally feel the cold as bad as most, but her fingers were freezing all the time. She was glad she had been wearing a coat and pants when she was out for the bombing rescue.

Her head throbbed. Yes, This was nothing like it was supposed to be. Didn't they know prisoners were supposed to be kept in humane ways?

She cleared her throat which proved to be a NOT pleasant feeling. "Excuse me." The guard walked by her crowded cell as if she hadn't spoken a word. Ghost looked back into the cell at the worried faces. From the sounds, there were other cells and other people, all equally miserable. Shouldn't someone say something?

"EXCUSE me." Ghost reached out from between the bars this time and got a wholly unwelcome response in the form of a tensing of all her muscles starting with the neck. White starbursts formed in front of her eyes. There was a fresh flush of cold from her fingers. By the time Ghost was picking herself up off of the cold floor, the guard's footsteps were farther away on his rotation again.

Her voice was a bit gravelly, but it would have to do. "Anyone speak English out there?" Ghost's head hit the bars in front of her as another mind-numbing shock went through her system. Apparently being loud was a punishable offense.

It was a struggle; a struggle for survival and it was a losing battle for now. Two held his arms while one was trailing behind if he managed to make a break for it. Sam continued down the dark hallway as the putrid smell of decay filled the air. His throat tightened momentarily as he tried to breath in to get the air back into his lungs. The collar was a nice touch in his opinion, it wasn’t like he was going to try and break out now anyways, all his friends were captured and he felt responsible for their well-being. It wasn’t the first time he had a collar on but he had to admit this one was a lot slimmer than the first one he had on a few years ago. It was clear the one he had on back then was just a prototype, mentally adding ‘Collars’ to the list of why T.A.T. needed to be destroyed.

The cells all looked the same, small dark and dirty, other than the dirty part it could have been called home in a past life, however his old home didn’t have roommates like this one. As he passed cell after cell he eyed the inmates and captives to try and see if he knew any of them. No luck, none were the familiar warm faces of his teammates he had come to know and love. A door flew open as Sam’s face and chest were slammed into it, wincing and wrinkling his nose he was forced forward. Obviously it was becoming crowded there because every time he passed a cell there was anywhere from two to four people in them.

Wondering how they separated the inmates he heard a familiar voice and grinned slightly but said nothing. "Anyone speak English out there?" the pace slowed and all he did was look down at the ground. The man behind him yelled something and he felt a sharp pain shoot through his back. ”Really?” thought Sam as his body locked up then quickly went limp. He felt himself being tossed then quickly felt the pain as his body was tossed onto the cold ground. "Dicks…” muttered Sam thinking that he could have escaped if he wanted to.

Wiggling around on the could ground Sam looked up "Dibs on top bunk,” muttered Sam as he rose and rubbed the back of his neck, "Well at least I found someone,” said Sam as he looked at Ghost. He wasn’t happy about it well happy he had found someone not happy it was in a place like this."You alright, Ghost?” he asked trying not to sound to sarcastic seeing as the question he asked was somewhat of a rhetorical one. He had a hunch that she was as good as him.

His scarf was missing. He neck was cold. His head hurt. The ceiling was concrete.

Slate’s first thoughts upon awakening were lacking in both length and complexity. That was okay: his head hurt. Who had taken his scarf? Where was he?

He turned to puzzling the first question. First and foremost, because he had thought of it first (and his head hurt). Secondly, because his neck was cold. Thirdly, because it was the more important of the two.

Calley had given him that scarf. It was slate gray—it said so on its tag. It was made of wool, and he liked the way its thick folds scratched at his face. It was not the kind of scarf that let you forget you were wearing it. He had been wearing it, he was quite sure, when he had—

Ah. Had he passed out? He seemed to recall police, but he did not recall if he had said anything to them. His head had hurt then, too. Because... he had healed too many people, too fast? (And, perhaps, done something else to them while he was at it.) Yes. That explained why his head hurt.

It did not explain his missing scarf.

Slowly, Slate pushed himself upright, edging himself higher on his elbows. He was on... the floor? It was of an average comfort level, as floors went.

Voices began to register in his ears. They had probably been talking all along. Their voices did not help much, with the issue of his head. And the hurting. There was something cold on his neck, where his slate gray scarf should be. He reached up to touch it, with one hand. It was metal, and bulky. Ah. That would be a shock collar, yes. He had heard of them. The police must have brought him to the Camps, then. The Romanian mutant internment camps.

Oh, and look.

They were throwing Sam.

(The noise he made when he hit the ground, in the cell across the hallway, was not pleasant. It was too loud: it made Slate’s head hurt. More.)

>> "You alright, Ghost?”

Ghost? That was not good. He slowly stood, using the wall as support to totter his way closer to the cell’s bars. He leaned against them, and looked across the hall.

“Ms. Csendes?” He asked quietly. “Why are you here?” If it was the Kabal’s fault, Sebastian would be most displeased with him. After a moment, he lifted a hand, and gave a small wave to his fellow Faction Leader. His hand looked very pale, and very cold.

...It seemed his mittens were missing, as well.

The metal bars opened and Ghost's head slipped toward the ground. It was a near thing that she didn't slap hear forehead against the floor. The guards made a little shoo motion as they tossed… oh Sam. He didn't exactly look like his normal spiffy self.

Ghost scrambled backward until she was close to the wall. Poor Sam didn't have the softest landing.

"Quiet better."

The broken English from a slightly green looking Romanian was a soft reminder. Maya nodded to the man with worried eyes. She would try her hardest to make this better for all of them rather than worse.

Sam asked if she was alright and her lips mashed together as she nodded. "Sam, I messed up." Surely he would understand if he was here too...

“Ms. Csendes? Why are you here?”[/color]

Blink, blink. She leaned forward to see through the bars into the cell across the way. Calley wouldn't call her Ms. Csendes, surely. Did the other-Calley have blue eyes? Calley had blue eyes. He really looked like Calley… except in the eyes.

Ghost shook her head to clear the thoughts. That wasn't important. Calley or not Calley, they were all in this together.

"I… I hit someone." She straightened her back with all the decorum in her body. She wasn't proud of it, but she wasn't going to take it back either. "Are you okay Mister Schwartz? Sam?" She pat Sam on the temple and the cold in her fingers only seemed to feel worse. Ghost tried to keep her voice low for the electric ache in her throat and for the sake of keeping their conversation from interesting the guards.

”You messed up?” Sam asked curiously doubting she could mess up any worse than he did by getting his team stuck in this place in the first place. Her hand found it’s self on his temple as she seemed to be talking to someone Sam could hear the conversation and he wondered if Calley was here by the way she said Schwartz, but then again that didn’t really sound like Calley it must have been Slate.

”Your hands are freezing…” Sam said as he felt her fingers on his head, he disliked feeling cold, it made him feel far less of a man than he normally was a shadow if that, he felt weak and he didn’t like this feeling what so ever. ”Please tell me that wasn’t what you did to get in here?” he knew Ghost wasn’t normally a violent person but if she hit someone they must have deserved it.

”Not the greatest at the moment,” Sam sat upright and looked across the hall into the other cell where Slate was standing, ”You get picked up right after the rescue?” he paused and sighed, ”You think they would be a bit more grateful, did you see anyone get away?” Sam asked curiously and hoping the members of his team that he didn’t see get captured managed to escape. It defiantly wasn’t easy being an X in that kind of situation. He didn’t normally condone violence but in a situation like that he wouldn’t be too upset if someone got a broken bone or two in the process.

"I am a little cold, but otherwise unharmed." The blue-eyed teenager replied. "Who did you hit? And with what?" Whatever it was had landed her in a mutant concentration camp. He blinked his curiosity across the hall, to the white-haired elemental.

>> ”You get picked up right after the rescue?”

A nod.

>> ”You think they would be a bit more grateful, did you see anyone get away?”

A headshake. "I did not. I think I was unconscious by then."

The teenager stood quietly for a moment, then asked, quite tentatively:

"...I don't suppose the X-Men had a contingency plan in place, for if their leader was captured?"

The Kabal did not. He did not think that would stop some of its members--he was quite counting on it to not stop some of its members--but it still seemed like something of an oversight. In hindsight.

He would really have to correct that, the next time he set about acquiring a sovereign nation.

"Who did you hit? And with what?" These questions she ignored with equal decorum. It helped that Sam was hissing at her for her cold fingers. It was so cold that it felt like burning. So cold that it felt like it wasn't from outside at all, like it wad coming from somewhere inside.

Did Ghost see anyone get away? Survivors. She hadn't really met up with too many X's before... well. "Sam, what are we going to do?" She sniffled her little pink nose and looked at the faces of the others in the cell. Their sudden cringes told her that someone unfriendly was near.

"...I don't suppose the X-Men had a contingency plan in place, for if their leader was captured?"

The little whisper tickled across the floor in the wake of an approaching shadow. Ghost had learned her lesson. Her lips zipped. Her hands dropped from Sam's bruised head and she looked at the boots. Snowy boots. Boots that recently came inside.

He asked a question. Ghost hated not knowing what was happening. It made her feel stupid. No ones seemed to want to look at him or answer him. Maybe there was no good answer. But he asked again, louder, to more than just their close huddle of cells and cellmates.

Something about... vindecatoarea? Ghost rubbed her lips together and closed her eyes. If she just heard enough of it, wouldn't she pick some of the language up? A little? Maybe?

Sam frowned slightly at Slate as Ghost dropped her hand from his head. Sam fully rose into an upright sitting position and then stood up. Walking closer to the bars and away from Ghost, his eyes trailing over the bars in front of him then the hallway, ”All depends on who is left, we work with a chain of commands usually, if I’m captured or out of the picture leadership is passed down to the next member, I don’t know if Streak or Shin got caught and seeing as Ghost is in here with us those two our are best bet.” he sighed and leaned forward placing a finger on the bars in front of them testing it to make sure it wasn’t electrified.

It wasn’t, which meant a good spot to lean on. The bars didn’t budge as Sam leaned forward, ”I’m assuming you guys don’t have much of a plan for this kind of situation either?” he asked curiously, before his attention turned to someone entering the halls.

Sam blinked once then looked to Slate not being able to see his face due to the angle of their cell, ”I’m guessing he is yelling at someone, you have ay idea who?” Sam asked to slate before backing away from the bars knowing that would only get him a beating if they walked by while he was there.

”We play along till I think of something…” Sam said his teeth clenched not really knowing how to answer her. Walking back and crouching down Sam placed one hand on the ground and thought of the situation they were in. Any fool could tell it wasn’t a good one to be in, what’s more there were to many unknowns, like who escaped who was captured, whom else could they count on for help?

”Too bad Pacfica is out of the picture…” Sam said loud enough for Slate to hear, ”She could have come in pretty handy right now…” Sam looked up to the guard who’s face was still turned, again he yelled repeating what he was saying before only sounded more determined this time.

The answer was no. No, the Kabal was also lacking in a plan, for this particular contingency. Like the X-Men, though, they did have some manner of command structure: not all of Slate’s advisors had been at the bombing, nor had all Kabal members. There were certain members he quite trusted to do something about this.

Theoretically.

“He is yelling about healers,” Slate translated quietly, through Dragon Speak’s gem. He wondered how many days its effect would continue to last. “He wants to separate out the healers.” Slate did not step forward to volunteer. There were two distinct reasons he could think that one would wish to remove the healers from the other prisoners: to make use of them elsewhere, and to make sure they were not being useful here. There were also several varying levels of action one could use, to ‘remove’ them.

The guard got a simple, impassive blink. That was Slate’s opinion on the subject.

"Who's Pacific-YIPE!" Ghost scooted a good three feet away from Sam and away from the buzzing stick that had been jammed through the bars and between them. Apparently she hadn't really learned the no-talking rule yet. And certainly there was to be no talking at this time in their processing.

Everyone was standing up while Ghost was looking dumbly at the guard. Sam said to play along. So Ghost got to start standing too.

Another whisper from the opposite cell. Healers. Well, that definitely wasn't her so she could continue to look utterly confused. Why would they want healers? Weren't they in the business of hurting people, not helping them?

It wasn't impossible to both jump and cringe at the same time, Ghost learned as the shouting escalated. No one seemed to be moving forward willingly. How did they expect to separate out the healers involuntarily?

The door to their cell opened and Ghost and her zipped lips scooted back toward the wall. Must have been instinct because they all did it. Like they were shadows and the three guards were the candle light they ran from. The cell door closed behind them and more guards pressed in from the outside to watch.

Another shouted command. People didn't move. Bark, bark, bark. They jumped and put out their hands. A bit belatedly Ghost followed. One pulled a knife while the others went on high alert. He went down the line pricking their hands. Some a small poke with the sharp knife, others a small slice.

Oh. One way to see if they were healers was to watch them heal.

Ghost got a little poke on her palm and her collar lit up like Christmas. Her hands flew to the collar. The sudden move was not appreciated. Somewhere along the way she'd been spun around, kicked in the back of the knees so that she would fall on them and kneel facing the others in her cell.

Something sharp was at her eye level. Wide eyes. Spasming collar. Fast and shallow breaths. Must. Not. Twitch. She really didn't want to be made into an example.

They wanted the healers? That worried Sam, not only because it was Slate but also because there were only two reasons they could want healers, either they wanted to use them or dispose of them. One was obviously better than the other but he didn’t act yet, there was little he could do at the moment and he didn’t want to make things any worse.

When a few more guards entered and started to do finger pricks he tensed as Ghost got pricked and then fell to the ground not only from her collar but also due to someone forcing her down. Sam watched as a few of the guards grinned and watched Ghost get shocked. Sam took a step closer to Ghost and was immediately spotted. The knife was in icy gaze as Sam licked his lips like a hunter does before it pounces on its prey.

One of the guards yelled something at Sam and lifted a small device and pointed it at him. Unfortunately for the guard who had Ghost in his meaty hands his fellow guard was a tad too slow to react. Sam was upon the guard who had the knife in one hand and Ghost’s hair in the other and before there was so much as a reaction from the knife wielding guard. The hand with the knife found its self lodged in his other arm forcing his grip on the Ghost to break.

Glad his action had the desired effect he clenched his jaw as the collar lit up around his neck. Trying not to fall on all fours Sam managed to land on one knee and two hands only to be forced down on the ground by a pair of hands on his back. Sam felt his arms jerk around to his back as a cold metal clasped around them. ”Ghost, do exactly what they say!” Sam struggled and was forced down again only managing to turn his head, ”Slate, translate!”

(OOC: I was thinking this might be a good time for CS to be dubbed as one of the workers who do all the grunt work outside on the prison grounds)

Their test for healers, Slate noted, was crude and ineffective. Not all healers did so involuntarily; not all involuntary healers could heal others. They were not going to get good results going about things that way—

...Though apparently they were going to get Ghost.

Blink. Slate stared across at the opposite cell, quite curious. Since when was Ghost a healer? He had heard she was an elemental (and seen some evidence to that effect). Those sparks crawling over her hand looked oddly like her husband’s.

And then Sam went somewhat insane. Slate was not an expert at surviving concentration camps, but he did not think that attacking guards was the best way to do it. Nor, necessarily, was leaving them alive: Slate quite sympathized with the man who had been stabbed. And he remembered what he had done to the man who had stabbed him.

No. If he were Sam, he would have attempted a more fatal hit.

>> ”Ghost, do exactly what they say! Slate, translate!”

The guards were cursing, primarily. They apparently had a ‘job’ for Cold Steel, and his little white-haired... Slate did not think that was an appropriate term for Sebastian’s wife. The stabbed man was more eloquent than the rest. One of the men left outside the cell insisted, however, that the white-haired... that Ghost be taken to the infirmary, as per the orders of their superior.

One of them glanced at the cell across the hall. Slate took his cue from the other prisoners, and shuffled backwards slightly. After a moment of observation, he directed his gaze to the floor, as well.

He did not translate.

It did not strike him as wise, to be associated with Sam.

There were times when Ghost was forced to remember that Sam was young. That she was young. And that they did not always know what was best.

A "h-URK!" was yanked out of her throat at the same time that her hair was yanked back suddenly. Sam was being young and foolish. It had been a prick. A prick would heal. Assaulting a person in power, though was not something Sam would be guaranteed to live through. Or herself.

The hand in her hair was gone, but she was still on the ground, her legs folded awkwardly beneath her. One guard had something pointed at her, but she wasn't moving. Everyone else was moving though.

Pulling at Sam was Ghost's guess, but she didn't look. She was trying very hard to be like a rock. Or a rug for all the accidental stepping she was getting. Slate was not translating so it must not have been anything too important. Being unobtrusive seemed like the best course of action after Sam's ... whatever.

Shouting. Lots of Shouting. Rug Ghost was grabbed up and onto her feet and shuffled out of the cell. Goodbye, Romanian friends. Goodbye Slate and Sam.

Ghost gulped.

Hello purplish, shouting, bleeding man who was around the corner of the cells. They put her hands on him and she was back on her knees, hands held firmly against the wound.

Sam was pinned and the collar was still turned on. He struggled but it was useless, Slate wasn’t translating or talking at all. Sam bit his lip and looked up briefly to look over at Slate and he frowned slightly, he wanted to know what was going on but couldn’t overcome the language barrier. If only he grabbed one of those gems he was given before but unfortunately he left it at the hotel not really thinking he would run out of his current one.

He was being lifted his legs flailing from under him only to be caught after they met their targets. He frowned and stopped struggling there was no point to fight it now the collar was still turned on and a few guards were holding him. He looked to ghost and frowned she wouldn’t be too happy with him for causing such a ruckus but she would get over it. After all he did what he set out to do the guards defiantly weren’t holding a knife to her eye anymore.

He looked over to Slate and frowned again; even if it would have been suspicious if Slate were talking he figured the emotionless mutant would have said something but nothing at all? Sam was irritated with him now far irritated he had ever been with him but of course like most things in life he didn’t have time to express himself for he was being dragged/carried off out of the cell and down the hall all the while eyeing cell after cell trying to see if he could spot anyone he knew.

Another bright side to stabbing the guard he now had an opportunity to scout the camp knowing the layout was an important piece of information he knew he would be great full for later down the line. Even if they were bringing him somewhere he had a feeling they weren’t going to kill him. If they were going to do that they would have offed him then and there in front of everyone, nothing like killing a troublemaker to set an example. The doors closed behind him and he quickly eyed the area he had recently been, hoping it wouldn’t be long before he was reunited with his friend Ghost and maybe even Slate.

(OOC: This is CS’s exit to the thread, had to write my self out of this thread so I could get tortured!)

And so Sam was removed.

And so Ms. Csendes was being made to... heal someone? Like most of the prisoners, Slate stared at the ground. And a bit to the side, watching her. How curious. He suspected that she had just passed their test for healers. Somehow.

He had a feeling he would not see either of them again, for quite some time.