(OOC: Synchronizing with the Women's Side Hope no one minds, let me know if you do.

Yells and screams came from the Men's side of the camp, as well as another explosion, but from where she was in the Women's barracks, Neena couldn't see anything, except a flash of blue every now and then between the buildings. Whatever was happening had all of the guards' focused on the other side, and away from the women.

Looking around, Neena moved around the corner of the building, away from anyone that had followed her outside. She took a deep breath, bracing herself against the wall.

Unlike some, Neena's mutation didn't need to build or gather energy, nor was the process gradual. It could be activated instantly, which meant that the bracelet also reacted instantly. Concentrating, she activated Xray in one eye, and telescopic in the other. Her fist clenched as electricity flowed quickly into her arm, then through the rest of her body, trying to force her mutation into silence.

The two visions melded together, piercing the buildings, and giving her a momentary, close up view of the outer fence on the men's side; Jason skidding to a halt in an effort to avoid a pair of Stalker bots, a figure swooping down to carry him up and out of harm's way.... Was that Shrapnel? Hmm... nice trick. And how were they pulling this off while being cuffed?

Pain in her body dropped her to all fours, and her internal debate was cut short. Just before blacking out she mentally memorized the glowing blue figure still left on the ground.

Then the electricity won out, and Neena slumped to the ground, momentarily unconscious.

Holycrapholycrapholycrapholycrap!!!!! What the hell was that? Ted dashed poutside, to see what appeared to be the aftermath of a bomb. The something started forming in the centre of it all, and there was... Shrapnel? well, it certainly explained the name. Wait, was he naked? Weird. Then Shrapnel flew, repeat, flew through the air, exploding again, and then grabbing someone and flying off into the distance. What the hell? Was that Gore? No way would this work. But then an unnatural wind picked up, obscuring everything, and Ted had to cover his eyes.

Well that was certainly strange. The wind died down, leaving a lot of very angry and very confused guards. Ted decided that being seen by guards with that combination of emotions was not a healthy activity, so he ducked into the barracks, and sat on his bed. What had just happened? Had those two just escaped? Sure looked like it. But they hadn't blown a hole in the outer fence, and it wouldn't have helped anyway because of the damn bracelets. wait, the bracelets. How were those two using their powers? What the hell was going on!?

(OOC: Sry guys i haven't had interent for a long time. So if i get something wrong plz tell me and fill me in. I don't know when i'll be able to get back on so just act like i'm there if i can't get back on.)

Streak dashed out and saw that everything was complete chaos. He thought about taking advantage and decided against it because he thoguth about the girls on the other side of the camp. What about the gilrs? He thought. If we escape and have to hide how can we help them?

Shawn then thought that it might be easier to help the girls from the outside than from the inside. He Started running but he was weak from ehverything they had been doing to him. He joined up with the other guys and followed them out.

Shawn knew that his job in the quarry would help him find out where the others were so, without any notice he headed down to the quarry.

Mathew heard the shouting and commotion and his head snapped up. He looked around, wide eyed, just in time to catch the kid with the silver eyes run out the door. He heard another bang from outside. He started to panic, to get confused - terrified, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to ignore the noises.

Calm down, just calm down - it doesn't matter, let them kill each other... calm down

He sat up from the bed and hugged his knees. He started rocking, breathing rythmically, horribly conscious of the collar around his neck. He felt the confusion and the anger starting to well up in him, the tight feeling in his chest was getting worse and worse - he felt like he was about to explode.

Boom.

He let out a small cry and rocked faster, his eyes squeezed shut, just wishing, hoping... praying that he'd stay calm. He'd die if he lost control, this vile collar would kill him. He wouldn't be able to stop it, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop. God, why couldn't they just shut up... why couldn't they just shut up...

Oh, God no...

He felt the panic start to seep out, the confusion and the anger. The collar around his neck started to work, giving him his first warning shock. That only made him worse.

Jesus, I can't help it! Don't kill me!

He grabbed the lumpy, dirty pillow - the anxiety was building - and shoved it over his head, feeling like he was going to be sick. A dark, seething darkness started to seep into his mind and it left red hot rage, like lava leaving scorchmarks in its wake. He wouldn't be able to take anymore - it was too much... he bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, and he felt the salty metallic taste of it on his tongue.

Boooom!!!

He hollered and his back arched, his arms and legs splayed wide. The supressed feelings escaped like an invisible explosion, wracking his entire body as it left. He started to convulse and writhe, screaming - then the collar caught up with him and gave him shock enough to send him into peace.

The man in the bunk above him was having a conniption again, and what was worse was that Alan Haddix was awake for every god-awful second of it. He'd made it a point to keep to himself since being in the camp; the best way to stay alive was to avoid the infighting between the mutants. The explosion was bad enough; he figured someone would be dumb enough to make a run for it eventually. He'd laid very still throughout the ensuing commotion, trying his best to feign sleep. He wasn't sure why he did it, because the guards and everyone else knew that he didn't sleep. For some reason, that made people uncomfortable. Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer. The Pit Bull stood and hopped down from his mid-level bunk and made his way to the door. Many of the men were crowding around the window, and a few had leaked out the door into the yard, where the commotion was no doubt taking place. He threw his shirt on. The sleeves had been tattered by the spike-like bony growths on his knuckles and forearms, making most of his tattoos quite visible.

The guards were in a frenzy, almost immediately shoving him back towards the door. He was able to catch a glimpse of the carnage wreaked by the explosion, and he heard at least one Stalker. He calmly explained to the guards that he was on his way to his assignment and they curtly informed him that his new assignment was to make repairs to the fence. "We no you don't sleep, ya bastard!" The one in charge spat. "So don't stop 'till it's fixed, or we'll flog ya!" And then they stood back as Haddix began hauling rocks over to the site where the bundles of chain link were unloaded. He placed them on the on the open end of links and used them as weight as he began unrolling the fencing. He spent a large part of the morning, aside from roll call and meal breaks, mending the fence, reinforcing the fence, and adding the razor wire at the top. All of this was done under the close watch of the guards, to make sure it was done to specifications. Sweat poured off of his face and arms and chest. Blood was dripping from his hands and forearms from handling the razor wire without gloves. "Alright, ya lump, take a latrine break and get those hands wrapped at the infirmary, then back here after lunch. We got plenty more for ya!"

((Post continued in the infirmary.))

(OOC: Hey, I don't really know how long it takes to recover from a shock and I'm not sure who to contact to find out - let me know if this isn't possible and I'll change it.

Mathew woke up and slowly, coming back to consciousness with a reluctanct wince. He ached all over - he felt like his entire body was bruised. He lay still for a long while, his eyes still closed, thinking about his situation.

I have to speak to someone about this God damn collar... one of these days I'm not going to wake up, I just know it.

What had happened last night? Someone must have escaped - what else could all that commotion outside have meant? He pitied the escapees, because they'd most certainly be terminated now, but at the same time he hated them for two reasons; One, they'd left him behind. Two, now they were gone... the rest of the 'guests' were going to pay for their mistake. If there was anything which rankled Mathew more, it was paying for someone elses's stupidity.
What a fine mess he'd landed himself in now. America? Mutants? Why had that seemed like such a clever, enterprising idea at the time? Where were these X-Men he'd heard so much about?
He shook his head and climbed down from the bunk, flinching as his muscles bent - sore really was an understatement. He yawned and tried to wipe the sleep from his eyes. What to do now? He hadn't been in the camp long - he was pretty much a brand new addition, in fact. Judging from the state of some of the other guys he was more or less expecting a beating or two... that was something he had to sort out straight away. He couldn't be beaten. He wouldn't let it happen - all the will in the world wouldn't stop him from getting angry at that, and yet again he'd be shocked into nihility. He had the horrible feeling that every time that collar started it's sadistic little electric dance that he was drawing that much closer to just dropping dead - it'd happened so many times! He really wasn't ready to be here. He should have stayed in England... he'd gained a lot of control over his power, really he had, but this place just seemed designed to mentally torture people, to send them off the edge. Well, Mathew wasn't a person anyone wanted anywhere near the edge, let alone off it.
He decided he'd have to see a doctor, or someone - this collar had to be sorted. If he really did lose control his power wouldn't stop just because of an electric shock. If he lost control, it wouldn't matter if he was in a coma, the anger would still keep coming, so the collar would just keep electrifying, and he, unltimately, would definately die. Nobody could withstand the kind of voltage that collar could deliver - he wasn't superhuman, physically. He was just an average, run-of-the-mill guy.
He stepped out into the morning light and looked around. The scene was chaos - but he didn't dwell on that. It looked like someone had tried repairing the fence. He didn't want to get caught up in that.
He turned left and made his way to the work buildings. A guard was rolled on his heels, whistling, his gun held in both hands. He looked over, stopped rocking and made his way over.

"Where do you think you're going, kid?"

He stopped and closed his eyes, sighing.

"I'm going to see somebody about the lump of metal around my neck." He said doggedly.

The guard threw his head back and laughed, but it was a fake and cruel sound with no better purpose than to make him feel superior. Another guard heard him and looked over, then proceeded to make his way to the pair.

"What are you, stupid? We've got a strict dress code in this club, pal. What makes you so special?"

He was about to answer and try his best to explain, but the other guard had reached them and he was wearing a menacing grin.

"You're the new recruit, aren't you?" He said.

Mathew scratched his head and arched an eyebrow. It would be beneficial for them to think him stupid.

"Uh, I suppose so."

The second guard laughed and the first joined in.

"Ace. I heard you were British. I guess this is a far cry different from tea and scones in the garden, eh?"

Mathew gave the man a derisive smile, unable to stop himself.

"Actually, we'd drink tea in the parlour or the conservatory. Only the vulgar would partake of scones near where the dog sleeps."
Ha! He thought, as if I even know what a parlour looks like... and does anyone actually like scones?

He absently wondered where one would eat tea and drink scones as the guard spoke again.

"I read your file, mutie. Your a sick little thing, ain't you?"

Mathew plastered the dumb expression back onto his face.

"Why?" the second guard said, "what's he been upto?" There was a lurid look on his face, an ugly excited arrangement of features.

The guard looked at his companion. "He makes girls hot." He said, like a little boy in a schoolyard.

The second guard looked disgusted. "That's sick. What woman would wanna' play with a mutie? That's why you can do what you can do, ain't it."

Mathew debated explaining what his powers really did, but he wasn't sure they'd understand and he wasn't sure he understood himself. He was pretty sure, however, that a mutant didn't get to pick their own powers.

"Hey T," the first guard said, elbowing him in the ribs, "if only he didn't have that collar on, we could take him for a trip over to the oher side of the camp." He said, chuckling.

Mathew frowned. What?

The one called H seemed to find that amusing and began making explicit gestures with his hips and elbows, the gun still in his hands. It looked like an insane chicken-dance.
They both found this riotously funny.
Mathew felt sick inside. He wasn't stupid - he knew what they were talking about. The thought that his powers could be used to such an end made him veritably ill. Nevertheless, he forced a smirk from his lips and gave an ersatz, slimy laugh. It was a direct betrayal to his nature - the act of rape was a pet hate of his. However, he had to escape this. If that meant lying through his teeth and brown-nosing, that's what he'd do.
One of the guards started singing.

"You're givin' me fever, FEVER, in the mornin', fever all through the night..."

Mathew knew the song - he'd never heard it murdered quite so badly, though. This sent the other guard into fits and he almost doubled. Mathew laughed also, watching the guards carefully all the while. If they were stupid enough to fall for his deceptions, then they'd be the first to suffer when he got this collar off. Oh, they'd suffer.

"Say, you're not too bad, mutie. Go on, then, go see about the collar - but I can 100% guarantee ya', you ain't gonna' get that off, not way, no how. Ain't that right, H?"

"That's right as right can be, buddy."

Mathew smiled at them both and walked on, keeping his expression neutral. He'd find out just how many women those two had hurt. He'd find out. Then he'd make sure they felt every last bit of the anger those girls had felt, every last bit of despair and frustration. A man could go mad, with emotions like that inside of him.
Absently, he thought about the song. That name, Fever. As he made his way to try and find someone about his collar, he thought about all the other guys in here... they had weird names, like Pitbull and Silver Streak. He wondered if he should take on a name... Hm. Fever.
That was good.

(post continues in The Infirmary)

ooc: sorry for an OOC it can be deleted I just wanted to point out the park thread incase anyone on the men's side wanted to get involved in the cleanup:
theultimatexmen.proboards26.com/index.cgi?board=centralpark&action=display&thread=1201547851

Johnny’s head throbbed in an entirely unpleasant way. The world had become quite a dull, concrete place since they had slapped this metal monstrosity around his neck. No doubt his given surroundings had something to do with this newfound sterile viewpoint, but there was something far more disquieting to him. It was as if his brain had been locked into its very own prison, separate and yet invariably connected to the one that he now physically occupied. In this prison everything had suddenly become so unfavorably real. So distastefully tangible. Reality truly wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Johnny didn’t know how this collar did what it did, but he knew absolutely that he wanted nothing more than it off of him.

He sat on top of his newly assigned bunk, surveying his latest place of residence. How very bleak the idea of ‘the men’s side of the camp’ was. Indeed, in his short time here Johnny had seen more misplaced testosterone than all his childhood barbeques put together. He had been here one night and there had already been several beatings, and one escape attempt. Most men just couldn’t help flexing their god given strengths. Given though that the escape attempt seemed to in fact have worked, perhaps there was something to this violent barbarism that Johnny hadn’t calculated before. Brute strength really wasn’t his strong suit however, and the guards really did look so imposingly large. Mouth breathers all of them. Anyways, he was sure that he would have to pledge his undying allegiance to some testosterone-fueled cretin seeking to be the alpha dog eventually, and he did not relish the prospect. Oh well, he would survive nonetheless.

“Oh Johnny, how did you ever get yourself into this mess.” He spoke out loud to himself hopefully quiet enough that the other inmates wouldn’t hear him. “Other than being freakishly born of course,” he added as an after thought. “You could’ve just stayed where you were, perfectly comfortable and healthy, but no, instead you had to go gallivanting across the border to find more sideshows like you.” He flopped down on the stiff board of his bed, laying on his back and staring up at the bottom of the bunk located on top of him. “And now look at yourself mate, you’re talking to yourself. That definitely cannot be healthy. Christ’s sake it’s barely been a day, I thought you’d at least last a week before you’d succumb to despair induced madness. Keep in mind that it has been a particularly trying day, there’s no doubt. Johnny boy, you might be softer than you thought.”

They had marched him up out of his holding vehicle with a few other sad sack prisoners, collars and bracelets already attached and functioning, into the smaller building in front of them. He presumed that this was the much touted processing area. From here they took all of the prisoners possessions. Fortunately Johnny never had much in the way of material goods, and hardly anything they took could not be easily replaced. Indeed, the only thing that he now missed was his harmonica. If the guards would pay for anything it would be for that acquisition. Probably for the best anyways, he wouldn’t want to torment his cellmates with his playing. Besides, as he had abandoned his instrument, one of the ‘funnier’ guards had felt the need to prove himself a wise-ass and play an earsplitting tune for the prisoners. As such Johnny didn’t really want the harmonica back, he wouldn’t want to get troglodyte on himself.

Next they had been issued these drab gray outfits and forced to change before the prying eyes of their captors. Johnny didn’t particularly mind; if this is what the guards were waiting to see then they were in the wrong line of work. And more worrisome if they weren’t, then Johnny could foresee much worse consequences to come by being belligerent. However some of the other captive muties had seemed to take a great deal of offence at this proposed exhibitionism, and refused to don their gray apparel. Thus the beatings commenced. By the end of it Johnny was getting quite restless to get to the dorms, and wished the men would take their beatings quickly and move on. As they changed, the guards of course had made sure to heckle and catcall embarrassingly. Some of the men again reacted badly to this and had to receive more punishment, but to Johnny the guards seemed to more be making asses of themselves rather than their intended targets.

Eventually they were lead to the dorms and assigned their bunks, and he had stayed there for the rest of his duration at the camp, contemplating his lot. A hostile place filled with deprived and enraged strangers, and forced to do manual labor daily, which was never Johnny’s strong spot to begin with. This really wasn’t going to be a very pleasant vacation, but he supposed that was kind of the point. Oh well, he would try to lay low and do his part until a situation presented itself to improve his current abode. Overall, this was quite a dreadful place no matter how you looked at it. “Oh well,” Johnny broke his own silence with a chuckle, “it’s still better than Toronto.” With that, laughing Johnny leapt out of his bunk and went to find something to do to pass the time.

ooc: One more OOC post here:
The camps have been combined here