Post by Red Echo on Dec 11, 2010 23:30:49 GMT -5
Edit: Not mine. Kobra Kid(Mikey)/Korse ._. Brainwashing and all that juicy shit.
He can see it in his eyes, no matter how he smiles, purrs, or moans... the loathing, its still there.
They never did figure out how to program that away.
Of course, Korba Kid, Michael was top of the line as far as the reprogramming went. It was more then the normal OCD submissiveness, the compulsions to fit in and fall in line. He was a full restructure, every gesture, every expression, every bounce was written into code and forced in him.
Since capture he has been the picture of reform, his smiling face on more then a few transmissions from BL/ind, voice soft and trust worthy in his speech’s of regret of his foul deeds. The cameras never get too close though, not without sunglasses, something to cover up that unmistakable hatred that seemed to radiate from his pupils.
He also was programed for more then just the media outlets, but personal use too. Superiors deemed Korse more then worthy of a reward after a heroic showing in the deactivation of the terrorist cell, the killjoy faction that had plagued them plenty. What is a better reward then someone to hang off his arm, to spend off duty moments with, to keep him warm on late night long term extermination ventures in the desert.
He could not walk into the same room as Michael without the Killjoy reaching for Korse, begging for attention or something filthier that made Korse wonder about the sanity of BL/ind’s re-education department. He aways obliged him, what ever Michael asked for, with a smile and gentle hands. It was worth it just to get that look up close and personal, to see that anger burn up in such pretty eyes. How it must be hell to hear his own voice say those slutty, vapid, stupid things.
The best part though, in those physical moments, was getting him to speak honestly, work around the programing. Michael’s body presses close to his, warm and soft and open, lips press to his ear, “You hate me don’t you?”
A murmur of “yes” and his eyes soften into something like relief, communicating something real.
“You’d ghost yourself if could, wouldn’t you baby, if your hands would listen?”
A moan of “please” and a jerk of the hips, the body is close even if the brain’s repulsed.
Korse smooths hair out of his eyes, getting a better look, “Party was your guard today, wasn’t he? You can tell by his walk, I know you can...”
Something close to sorrow flashes in those big expressive eyes before steeling back into loathing and traitors hands cling tighter to Korse’s back and vocal chords cry out in faux pleasure.
He can see it in his eyes, no matter how he smiles, purrs, or moans... the loathing, its still there.
They never did figure out how to program that away.
Of course, Korba Kid, Michael was top of the line as far as the reprogramming went. It was more then the normal OCD submissiveness, the compulsions to fit in and fall in line. He was a full restructure, every gesture, every expression, every bounce was written into code and forced in him.
Since capture he has been the picture of reform, his smiling face on more then a few transmissions from BL/ind, voice soft and trust worthy in his speech’s of regret of his foul deeds. The cameras never get too close though, not without sunglasses, something to cover up that unmistakable hatred that seemed to radiate from his pupils.
He also was programed for more then just the media outlets, but personal use too. Superiors deemed Korse more then worthy of a reward after a heroic showing in the deactivation of the terrorist cell, the killjoy faction that had plagued them plenty. What is a better reward then someone to hang off his arm, to spend off duty moments with, to keep him warm on late night long term extermination ventures in the desert.
He could not walk into the same room as Michael without the Killjoy reaching for Korse, begging for attention or something filthier that made Korse wonder about the sanity of BL/ind’s re-education department. He aways obliged him, what ever Michael asked for, with a smile and gentle hands. It was worth it just to get that look up close and personal, to see that anger burn up in such pretty eyes. How it must be hell to hear his own voice say those slutty, vapid, stupid things.
The best part though, in those physical moments, was getting him to speak honestly, work around the programing. Michael’s body presses close to his, warm and soft and open, lips press to his ear, “You hate me don’t you?”
A murmur of “yes” and his eyes soften into something like relief, communicating something real.
“You’d ghost yourself if could, wouldn’t you baby, if your hands would listen?”
A moan of “please” and a jerk of the hips, the body is close even if the brain’s repulsed.
Korse smooths hair out of his eyes, getting a better look, “Party was your guard today, wasn’t he? You can tell by his walk, I know you can...”
Something close to sorrow flashes in those big expressive eyes before steeling back into loathing and traitors hands cling tighter to Korse’s back and vocal chords cry out in faux pleasure.
