tampered | LOG; EXCLUSIVE PARTY; ON-GOING

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LOG; EXCLUSIVE PARTY; ON-GOING

When; Saturday evening, June 07, 2008 There was no ~~spoon~~ 6 here.
Rating; R to NC-17 for violence, language and other batshittery related to this plot.
Characters; Jack Harkness (

handsomejack), the Corinthian (

bitingnightmare) and Amanda Young (

notjigsaw)
Summary; Climatic ending a-go-go, is happening during the final traps.
Log;

She'd purposely sealed herself away from the network. There were people far better than she at technology, and from what she heard buzzing around amidst attempting to get her next round moving, they had already located her publicly viewable activity. They were better than the idiots back home. Not once did it occur to Amanda that worldly differences accompanied by her rash behavior in prior traps had pulled them in so quickly. That, and frequency. She'd lost the fact that quality far outdid quantity about a week prior. John had always taught that the safest route was the slowest route, but what the fuck did he know? she figured. He was dying, he didn't have enough time to take months like he used to.

It was fairly relieving, though. Watching the pain. Hearing the screams. Pain in others caused her to avoid inflicting that on herself in response to the growing lump in her chest from the conversation prior to her arrival that she dwelt upon day in and day out. Why did he always test her? Why?

More traps. More traps that week than ever back home, and she appreciated the liberty involved with John's absence. She sat in her control room, placed amidst a rundown building that appeared to once serve as a drug lab once upon a time, and that was at that time littered with sketches for traps, notes about various citizens, and even trap prototypes with their accompanying tools covered the room behind her.

Her cameras were focused on the double-trap initiated not too long ago--Toshito and Tony--and she stretched her arms up and back over her head, as though what was before her was nothing more than a sports game she was only partially fixated on. In mid-stretch, fingers wiggling ceiling-ward, she realized she was getting kind of hungry and patted herself on the stomach while biting on the thumb of her opposing hand. Maybe she could get her wig on and contacts in and go for something to snack on... That was a dangerous idea, but she ran out of food a day ago.

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Aww but Amanda dear, the Corinthian was such a good cook. By all means, you should let him fix you something, I'm sure your own intestines would taste lovely fed back to you with some black beans.

Yep, Captain Jack Harkness was in a mood. He was in an ice cold, socipathic, cunning mood. Two of his team. Two of his team, this woman had taken, had -and was currently- torturing. Jack had shot right past the emotion of livid and gone straight to a mental place he hadn't visited since World War II.

They knew where she was. Not long after Owen, the pieces had come together and they knew where she was. For such a large man, Jack's boots made barely a sound as he strode along the corridors of the building, his coat fanning behind him like a nervous pet. He was following the telling signature of electronic equipment as picked up by his wrist strap and if that happened to fail him, he was certain the Nightmare with him would be able to track her.

The Corinthian was indifferent, and that was likely more dangerous than were he emotional (which was rarely, or so he liked people to think). His own steps were like a feline's in the fog; light and gentle, predatory. He swore they were being followed, but the nightmare didn't particularly care. Carrion, he'd say, and in this case the jackal waiting in the wings had every right to carry out his vendetta. For the Corinthian this had little to do with revenge or justice. Amanda Young was a serial killer, the supposed protege of another, and the Corinthian hadn't attended a convention in such a long time...

No. Jack had asked for his help and the Jedi owed him for this silly favor. Toshiko was Blue's friend too, he couldn't stand to see the golden boy fret.

"The walls are hollow," he mentioned to Jack after running his fingers along a rusting exterior. It usually meant the presence of excess wiring.

In her control room, Amanda veered away from the control panel in her comfortable chair and leaned back again. She kept her new ally's feed on rotation and open for him to look over the current array of events she had set up in various points in the City. The only downside to so many events in such a span of time was that she felt an odd disinterest in it all.

Disinterest was boredom; her denied bloodlust was tapering off to habitual sadism.

Her fingers tapped rapidly and loudly on her chair arms, masking the sound of a very soft, wisping beep to notify her someone was passing through where they shouldn't have been. Cocky, Amanda was, and neglectful of her own security. John would have had the entire building riddled with security traps, but she didn't have the time or the finances for that when she was busy working on and funding the events.

Should she work on another trap, she wondered? This time, a hand tapped idly on a knife she kept tucked under one of her jean-clad legs.

No. She had to focus on the events, and back around she turned, away from the large area filled with the monstrosities of equipment and sketches, to focus on her subjects again.

Jack nodded to indicate he'd heard Cori but as it didn't seem to be something he needed to respond to, he didn't break his own concentrated stalk along the corridors.

He actually heard the tapping before hearing anything else and took a swift step to bring himself up against the wall, slowing in his approach. Oh but he wanted to get his hands on her, he wanted to get his hands around her throat and hurt her up one side and down the other but he wasn't so blinded by rage that he was being stupid.

Instead, he kept things cold and calm, as if this had nothing to do with Owen or Tosh.

Motioning to Cori to take a flanking position as they approached the doorway while Jack went on point, it was just second nature to slid into 'Captain' mode, even though he didn't have any legitimate say over what the Nightmare could or couldn't do.

Peering around the doorframe, Jack took a quick survey of the layout of the room and drew back. He mentally blotted out what he'd seem on the screen of Amanda's current victims, having to compartamentalize away the image in order to do his job.

With a nod to Cori, Jack went back around the door frame and quickly closed on Amanda.

The images on the screen failed to bother the nightmare. He bore witness and orchestrated such visuals every damn night. What difference was the Waking World? Ah, besides the fact that blood spilled in the Waking World was real and flesh couldn't be sewn back up so easily outside of dreams. He could feel an itch, a memory of a Russian winter when an old peasant caged a young soldier and slowly ate him, because all of Stalin's men were worth the same; horseshit. The man's eyes tasted sour, the boy's eyes were divine.

Once Amanda's silhouette came into view, the Corinthian steeled himself, muscles relaxed but his senses on guard. He didn't doubt that she would have tenacity on her side. Jack was taking the lead here, so Cori followed him paces behind, making sure that once the Captain made the first move the nightmare would be available to make sure she couldn't escape.

Why didn't she have her gun.

Her cocky attitude about the entire situation diminished the moment the glare of one of her monitors picked up the reflection of the current leader of the duo. Normally her gun was fastened behind her in her belt, but she had been a dumb shit right then, hadn't she? But she had her knife, and so it was important not to get up until she knew she had him in her reach. She'd cut his fucking throat.

Whipping around in her chair and shoving it tight against the console, the dark haired woman's eyes broadened for a moment, spying the second of the two. What the...

"--the fuck are you two shits doing here?" She didn't recognize them. No... that was a lie. The "leader". She recognized him in association to two of the victims. John... Josh... Hell if she remembered. Her hands clutched the arms of the chair tightly, her body clenching tight as though ready to make a move, but she didn't. She wasn't giving up the position of the knife, and neither one was close enough.

Seeing her, framed against Tosh's suffering, part of Jack just wanted to jump for her throat, right there and then. Strangely, it was the man he'd become with the Doctor who wanted to just snap her neck but that wasn't who came to the surface.

Jack forgot about the Corinthian behind him and with a wolfish smile, he began to stalk towards Amanda, the hem of his coat swaying softly against his ankles, framing the breadth of his shoulders.

"Hello, little one," he purred softly, skillfully staying out of the way of her legs, no racking please but calmly mimicking drawing his fingers up along one of her thighs, just shy of touching.

"So, you're the little lassie who's been playing all these wicked games," he continued softly, moving off to the side and then pacing back along in front of her. "Trying so hard to be him but so painfully incapable."

Stopping, Jack hunkered down off to the side, the way a man might kneel adoringly at the side of the object of his affection but careful not to be too close, yet.

"What is it, Miss Amanda Young, that you want from him? Daddy's approval or a lover's strong sex?" Again, Jack drew a finger along through the air, as if he were stroking her arm.

He said nothing and remained a sentinel at the doorway, sunglasses still covering his eyes. Jack wanted this, he could recognize the personal investment in it, and that meant Jack could (not necessarily would) go off the deep end. The Corinthian wouldn't say it, he hadn't mentioned it to Harkness at all, but he was watching them both. His own knife remained tucked in his pocket but he was as quick as lightning in drawing it out if necessary.

...to say that Amanda was a bit surprised at the behavior was an understatement. Firstly, man had serious balls to just sashay right on up like that, but secondly, the manner of tone he spoke to her in... frankly, Amanda just didn't comprehend the sheer venom of the words, with how they were masked in such a kind set-up.

But the realization of what he was saying came with that last phrase, and she recoiled to the side of her seat, her leg digging on top of that blade, as she scowled at him. Well, and looked at him with a bit of shock. The hell. The hell was he--

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she snapped. Her eyes flittered over to the form in the doorway, and back to the closer danger that she pushed sideways in the chair to get from him. "What the fuck do you think you know?"

Who was he? What was his name? Too many profiles, too many chosen people. He wasn't one of them, but she should've known his name.

She took his team and didn't even know who he was? Jack felt a twinge of fury at her arrogance but it was quickly followed by cold satisfaction that he seemed to have the upper hand in this because of her oversight.

Standing, Jack lazily followed the motion of her chair with unhurried steps. Letting her see that for whatever reason -namely the Nightmare standing sentinel- he had no concern for her escaping him.

"Oh, no no no," Jack tsked, wagging a finger from side to side. "You don't get to ask questions here, little girl. You've been very, very naughty."

He scolded her softly, as gentle as lover lightly fussing a loved one.

"And very very stupid," he followed in the same tone. "Let your emotions get in the way of your art, well ... we can't really call it art, can we? There's no art to this."

He waved a hand in the direction of what he assumed was her planning area, at least that's what Jack thought those papers represented.

"Just heavy handed games, with no finesse. Little girl who hasn't learned the most important lesson of her chosen craft. What a disappointment you must be to Jigsaw. Oh, the imagination was there but you just let your emotions get too carried away."

Pausing he gave her a dismissive shrug.

"Jigsaw's fault really. Choosing you to try to teach such a delicate art to. Too much emotion really, there was no chance you'd ever measure up."

The Corinthian quirked a brow, almost almost wanting to counter Jack's statement that there was no art to Amanda's work. It was art all right, but like art there were good painters and bad painters, fine sculptors and mediocre ones. It all came down to the skillful execution of the method. Amanda Young had gotten a little sloppy with her emotions, perhaps that was how the Torchwood captain and the nightmare managed to find her in the first place; paint trail. He wouldn't argue with Jack that her emotions were the cause for the fall.

"She's armed," Cori said to Jack in a manner that seemed most nonchalant. It was information from which Jack might benefit, but the Corinthian didn't seem too concerned with the prospect of Jack getting stabbed himself. He was a big boy, he could handle it. Right?

Amanda was rocking a bit in her seat, her eyes narrowing further and further and her teeth grinding against themselves. He knew shit. She was better than any of the other fucks John chose to work for them. They did mediocre creations without absolutely no beauty; all they did was follow John's rules. She did too. Maybe not at the finishing point, but--

And then that figure in the doorway called her out. The straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak.

Fast movements. She grabbed the knife under her leg and was launching from the chair to bring momentum in her swing. Her target areas were first to try to get him across the neck--not unlike her mentor with that stupid detective--and whether she was successful with that or not, her next jab to follow was to slam it around into his neck, just between his collar bones. "Show you art, you fuck," she growled as she moved.

Jack had had his throat slit in the past. He wasn't a big fan and thus reared back away from that particular attack. The collar bone attack was an inspired one however, and Jack gave a grunt as it sunk into his flesh.

He hated the feel of steel against bone. It was like nails on a chalk board.

However, in letting her get that close it allowed him to catch her shoulders and that long pretty dark hair. Whirling with her momentum, Jack's intention was to smash her head right down into her pretty little control panel. Not hard enough to fracture her skull but enough to daze her if he could manage it.

Normally the Corinthian wasn't one for getting into a fight that didn't belong to him, he figured Jack's pride wouldn't appreciate it see. But in this case, this case that was supposed to be 'business' Cori decided to make an exception. He swiftly moved forward, lunging down to kick his leg out in a clean floor sweep to better enable Jack Harkness' attack on Amanda. If he could knock her off balance it'd give the captain a bigger window of opportunity to smash her face into the panel. As long as damaging the equipment didn't set the traps off early for chrissake!

Yeah, Amanda knew this was about to suck to epic degrees. What the fuck was it with people and her face? (She should have figured that they'd want to bash in the face of a terrorizing killer, really.)

She was bracing herself and stiffening for the impact, trying to push back on Jack when she was knocked off balance by the other who moved in fast from the door, and her face landed against the console with a loud thwump. Vision turned white, then black, then red, and her front teeth panged after they cracked against a lip on the console. No blood yet, though, and only her survival instinct--the one that earned her her place with John--kept her moving.

One hand slapped against the panel and she pushed backwards, while she grunted out loud and reached back with her other hand to maniacally grope for that knife that she didn't manage to pull from his upper shoulder from the out-lashing against her. She was trying to grab, to twist and throttle it in an attempt to get it off, but after a failed attempt--her fingers only glanced its hilt--that arm was devoted to swinging around to try to nail Jack in the ribs with her elbow. She couldn't even begin to consider the second man, with this one in direct contact with her.

Aware of Cori's involvement, Jack was more than happy to share. In fact, he was beginning to formulate an idea. An idea that became even sweeter when she nailed him in the ribs with her elbow.

Unfortunately for Amanda, Jack was in that zone where pain was just a damn turn on and he laughed, a thoroughly filthy noise and reached his arms around her, trying to pull her up off her feet and pin her from behind.

"Now see, normally I enjoy a nice rough time, just like the next guy but we don't have time for that sweetheart."

Was there still a knife in his shoulder? Blood running down his arm? He didn't really care, his mind was locked on his next course of action.

"See, I want to know where you have Toshiko. But you know what? It would be much too easy to ask you outright. Cause we'd have to go through that whole song and dance wouldn't we? 'Where is she?' 'I'll never tell you' and so on and so on. While I enjoy a good dance, I want this over with."

Reaching up for her head, Jack braced his feet apart and began to put that big body of his to use in both subduing and pinning Amanda in his arms. Large hands reached for her head and while usually Jack downplayed his size, he was using it to every advantage he could get.

"You took two members of my team and hurt them. I don't like that much," he spelled out in soft, clipped words. "Now, I'm going to find them. Corinthian, would you care for a snack?"

Cori stayed out of the way of swinging limbs, able to maneuver and dodge their scuffle with finesse. He moved like a ghost sometimes. Then he pulled Amanda's knife from Jack's shoulder, quite unceremoniously, then examined it for a moment, eyeballing... well.. teethballing the metal from tip to edge to handle. Cori wiped the blood off with his t-shirt then pointed her own weapon at her.

"Don't mind if I do," said the nightmare, ready to advance. "Hold her head still," demanded the Corinthian. It wasn't a two-man job, but they had efficiency in mind, or at least Cori did.

Honestly, Amanda had no idea what the fuck was going on. She had no idea as she fought against being pinned by the larger man. It was in just a way that the woman had no leverage for any sort of fighting without jeopardizing herself further, as she saw it. Which was partly laughable, considering what was about to happen.

But again, Amanda had no idea. Her eyes widened though, because none of the things playing before her in that room could possibly equal to anything good for her. She tried to draw slack, like dead weight, before screaming at the man in front of her. "What the fuck are you talking about?! 'Hold my head still'--the hell!"

Never let it be said that Amanda ever could go down doing anything but fighting, as she decided to make it as difficult to hold her head still as possible.

Jack was used to wrestling with things that were larger than he was and things that were smaller than he was, though Amanda definitely had fight in her no one could deny that.

Getting down on one knee, he pulled her up against his chest, almost like a lover's cradle, only he brought his arm up across her throat in a choke hold, seeking to lock her trachea with his elbow. He then curled his hand up to grab on a fist full of hair, yanking her head to the side to make it hard for her to struggle period and definitely without the risk of breaking her own neck.

It was all about torque and pressure.

Alive or dead, didn't really matter to him.

"One or two..." his teeth eyes hissed in question. Once Jack had Amanda relatively immobilized, the Corinthian removed his sunglasses. His ivory whites were sharp and the tip of his left eyetongue glossed over them in anticipation. Two would be nice, but he had to get one out first. How much she struggled would determine how clean the gouge would be.

"Look at me," the Corinthian urged, and before she could reply or swear or spit in his face, he brought the knife down on hers. It took three gestures to cut the eyeball out with minimal damage to her eyelids. This was an old routine for him, but it never got any less messy.

That was one feeling that Amanda had never thought she would experience. She had felt a lot of things entering her flesh in her past, from needles to blades, but never there. Never in the eye, and frankly, Amanda was too surprised initially to even think about flailing. But as the blade sank through and severed the shielding muscles and broke through the optic nerve, a rather horrifying wail escaped the young woman.

Her hands quickly grasped and clawed at Jack, warmth rolling over her cheek as the eye was freed from the socket. A couple of times, she attempted to scream out actual words, but the pain overrode basic speech as she fought against the man behind her, holding her. Her breathing and screaming burned her throat and she sputtered a cough or two as she choked on saliva.

To Amanda, this wasn't at all something deserved; for Amanda, there was no room for the phrase starting with 'do unto others'. This was torture, and something completely undeserved.

Jack wasn't at all concerned about the mess and when Amanda started to thrash, he firmed up his grip to hold her steady for Cori to do his work.

He'd seen Owen's video, in his mind torture was exactly what Amanda deserved and Jack felt not even a twinge of guilt over what was happening. Maybe in a week, a month he might look back and wince but not right at this moment.

At this moment, he wanted only to impress upon her the idea that you did not fuck with his team and walk away unscathed.

Torture, interrogation, weren't the two related? One could make the argument over excessive force, then they'd have to wax philosophical on the means justifying the end or does the end justify the means? The Corinthian wouldn't make a judgment on that categorical imperative. He wasn't human to begin with, how did any of that affect his function? Leave such matters to human beings like Jack Harkness and Amanda Young. Hell, for the most part at this very moment, Cori was a means.

He stepped back when he had one eyeball in his fingers, teeth shining in the dim. One was enough, and with that shadow behind them, the nightmare figured revenge would be a dish best served when Amanda could see her host. He pushed the eyeball into one of his eyemouths to read the images captured by her retina and cornea, everything that formed her experiences in existence. This included the location of her prey, but the Corinthian's posture suggested Jack not disturb him till he was finished.

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LOG; EXCLUSIVE PARTY; ON-GOING

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