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Fantasy The Asylum RP - IC

Sub Genres
  1. Dystopian
  2. Supernatural


Mother of Tiny Lions
Breaking News!
Another Damned has been captured, reports say they were found in deep within a forrest on the east coast. Details yet to come tonight at 6.

Day in and day out that seemed to be all the news would play anymore. Another damned caught, another damned turned into the Asylum. There might as well be nothing else happening in the world, because that was what overtook most people.

“Damn well deserved it.”

“Fuck those damned, they’ll kill us all if we don’t get it under control.”

“I mean, I feel bad, but they still scare me.”

“Isn’t that better for them anyway? They can just be around each other.”

Comments like this peppered streets, shops, restaurants. It was all there was to talk about or think about. It was all you heard, because every TV in the world was running repeating footage of the latest capture.

No one knew what happened inside the Asylum, though, not unless you were inside of it yourself.


The Asylum was cruel, to say the least.

At first it seemed like a prison, although “Asylum” would push forward more thoughts of reform or maybe therapy - although the word itself had some dark tones behind it. That was nothing like what it was though, not in the least.

The guards were militant in nature, barking orders and giving no second chances - or even first, for that matter. They were given the ‘privilege’ of using whatever they wanted to keep the Damned in line. It was abusive at the best of times, and torture at the worst.

The inside of the Asylum was dark and dreary. The overhead lights being blindingly bright but the place never seeming as well lit as it should be. The cells were dirty and barren, as no one bothered to clean them. There were two small cots and a toilet for each cell, and the cells were made out of a metal that no Damned’s power had ever been able to get through, if they were even able to use them. Each day the Damned would be injected with some kind of serum that would keep them ‘normal”, and physical restraints when necessary.

The day was comprised of two main things. Cell time, and yard time.
Due to it being considered an Asylum, things did run differently than an actual Prison, although it didn’t feel like it sometimes.

They spent the most of the day in the ‘yard’ - an area that consisted of a large indoor room, where seats and tables were (bolted to the ground), as well as the kitchen and cafeteria that would serve food at meal times - if you could call it food, anyway. There was a large open archway that would lead outside, into a large outdoor area full of mostly sand and dirt, and surrounded by electrical metal fences, and about 20 guards at any given time.

Your day begins shortly after wake-up, as the guards are transitioning into yard time. When you get to the yard, breakfast will be being served. It’s the same egg-gloop that tastes oddly like plain corn puffs and cardboard everyday.

There are three points of entry/exit from the yard room. The doors that lead to the cells, another door in the indoor section on the left side of the room - who knows where it goes, and a large fence gate, seemingly only used by the guards to bring vehicles in and out of the yard, occasionally.

The tables and chairs are all bolted to the floor, made out of the same metal as basically everything else. You are given a flimsy plastic spoon to eat with, and even flimsier paper plates and cups to eat and drink from. The kitchen is through another locked door, the only way to see into it being through the window the food is served from.

There are approximately 30 damned within the Asylum, including you.

Otherwise, as far as you can see, it is barren.


Cereal Thinker
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Senka Dedich sat with her back towards the sun. There wasn't much of it to be had-- even the windows in this place seemed to filter out warmth somehow-- but it seemed that the woman was avoiding even small traces of it. Truth be told, it was a carrot on a stick she grew tired of chasing weeks ago, when any hope of being released from this place dissipated like smoke. Any reminder of her old life and the mistakes that landed her here were... too painful to face. So she didn't.

Slender fingers itched to sketch something. Art supplies weren't exactly abundant in the Asylum though. It only took about a week for her to get creative and start improvising. At first, she'd etch doodles in the thin layer of dust that seemed ever-present in her cell. After that, she began using the incredibly unappetizing food they served at the Asylum as her canvas. She found that most meals were served in some form of slop. Not great for eating, but perfect for running the end of her plastic spoon through to create something that resembled art.

She began to do that now, sitting with her legs pulled up in her chair, one arm wrapped around them while the other hand lazily trailed her spoon through the egg slop. Her chin rested atop her knees, and a bored expression had Senka's already-heavy gaze falling just a bit heavier that morning. She somehow managed to pull off a sedated look without any actual sedation. It was hard to tell if she was just bored or if this place was slowly killing her. She wasn't sure she knew the answer herself. A combination of both, perhaps.

And while Senka might have been content to die in this hellhole, fear for her family and the hope of maybe seeing them again kept her going. She hadn't forgotten the trouble her father was in with the Bratva. She imagined that trouble only became worse after she did what she did. Senka naively hoped that fear of the "freak" would keep them away, but with her imprisoned like this... it was unlikely. They would target her family. She knew that, despite how much she wished they would come for her instead. Given the tight security in the Asylum, the Russian mob wouldn't be able to get to Senka to exact the revenge she was sure they had planned for her.

That didn't mean she couldn't hope, though.
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Hella/Tik-Talk (Hellion)

The girl sat up like a corpse waking on a Sunday afternoon. One dark eye opened and looked around without really seeing. One light brown hand reached up and rubbed the other eye.

"Dude. What time is it...? Is the pool open yet? I gots--"

"--'this sweet new sexy-chick-comin'-thru two piece I gotta bust out.' Yeah. Yeah, Talkie, I know. Welcome back. And how's the head...?" the skinny redhead licked a pale finger then turned the page of his ragged novel without looking up.

"Meh. Doin' alright. Actually... Ughs. Bruh. It's like my skulls on fire... For real though... but hey y'know how it is...? That kinda' thing--"

"--'happens all the time when you hot like me.' Yeah. Yeah, Talkie, I know. It'll pass. It always does. Now. What's the date...?" the boy's tone was rather bland as if going through the motions. Yet again.

"Wait. Wut? Why ya needs to know? Cuz the only date I know is--"

"--'is the one I took your mom on. Awww yeah. Ya gots 2 mommies now, son.'
Yeah. Yeah, I get it. Ha. Ha. Alright. Now. What's my name...?" he let out a disappointed sigh.

"What the actual eff in the face..? Dude! Ey, so you like a mind reader or sumpin'?! Oh! 'Kay! 'KayKay!! 'Kaaaaaay... WHAT am I thinkin' riiiiiight... Now?!" the girl held her temples, opened wide both her big dark eyes and stared with intense glee over at the redheaded boy.

"Uh. Let me guess: Your mom, Conchita, is Latin. And hot. Like MILF hot. And that I tried to hump her and put it all across Stories. Oh. And that I changed my user name to 'Milf-Milkin' Daddy'. Wrong. So wrong, bud. That's not even your mom's real name. Alright. Stop screwing around. Now. What's my name?"

"Daaaayaaaammm... dude you slick. That was hella accurate. But not all of it. Cuz, you wrong. Conchita is my mom. Oh, and she Latina alright. That and your user name was: Milf-Playin' Papi. Duuuude... 'Milf-Milkin' Daddy?!' Milf-Milker... Like what the actual eff in the face, Tricky?! Hahahahahahah!" both toned arms criss-crossed over taut tummy as she held it and laughed.

"Whatever. At least you know my name, Hella... Ahem. Now. You remember anyone elses' names?"

The girl pursed her lips then rattled out a series of clicking sounds as she dove into her cloudy memory for several heartbeats, "Ummmmm... no. No, I don't-- oh wait! Yeah, yeah, there's Rawr-Rawr...! Oooohhh! And Inky too! Aaaaaand... I'm sure there's more cuz I gotsta be the most popular kid in the Rec Centre after all--"

"Ohhhhh, this is NOT a Rec Centre... hell no. Far from it. Take a look around you, Tik-Talk..."

She did as requested and the colour seemed to fade from her tan cheeks. Dark eyes rested upon the metal bowl that served as a toilet a moment longer then her gaze lowered as she wrung out her hands. "Yeah. Sooooo... I take it, that ain't the pool over there then, huh, Tricks..."

"No. No, it's not," the young man let out a small, sardonic laugh. He did not have to see it in her eyes to know that her memory had come around enough to recognize at least the bare minimum of the gravity of the situation. The redhead dropped his ragged novel, slid off his bunk and shuffled over to the double-pig-tailed girl. He sat beside her and leaned in, an arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Slowly he rest his temple against hers. "Welcome back, bud. Welcome back to the shittiest show in all of Nextflits, Talkie..."

"When we last left the Damned losers locked up against their wills... Concentric, the red-headed nerd boy was trying to jog the memory of Hellion, the dumbass chick who talks a lot. Yet again. Okay, folks!! Stay tuned for more bullshit whether you don't want it or you reeeeeally don't want it...! The fun just never begins when you find yourself in the Ass-ylum. Balls deep right there in the shittiest place on earth... "


Both held fleeting hints of smiles at their lips. Both felt the moment pass. Both let out ragged sighs.

Suddenly, the multi-coloured haired girl turned and wrapped her arms tightly around the red-headed boy's shoulders. She wept softly, the full gravity of the situation hitting her like a tonne of bricks. Yet again. The red-headed boy just pat her back softly, blue eyes shining as he stared at the blank wall. Yet again.

The shrill ringing made them both jump. The cell door grinding open made them both pull apart from one another. The girl walked behind the boy as they both shuffled into the corridor. Past the yard they shuffled on before finally stepping rank and file into the line that served 'the most important meal of the day' at Devin Marque’s Asylum for the Damned.

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Daniel Reaving

Thirty Thousand Club

As the alarms rang out for wake up his eyes opened. The golden glowing irises of his eyes peered upwards to the ceiling. For a moment his mind was blank, void of all thought until he sat up and rose to his feet. Life was simple here really. Harsh yes but simple compared to the church. Despite that he was ready to be out, shit he would be if the world hadn’t been so cruel, if his freedom wouldn’t have cost the lives of the church. Either way though he was here now and all he could to was get through this.

As he stepped out and made his way into the yard he couldn’t help but take a slow scan over the yard and it’s people. His left hand slowly going into his pocket to clutch the rosary as he made his way into line like everyone else. The slow trudge through the food line seemed endless though eventually he made it through. Taking a few steps away with the food on hand he looked around only to find a younger person. Cowered in a corner, frail and clearly weak meaning he’d been here a while. It brought a frown upon Tirelius’s lips to see gods children in such a state due to these people and after a moment he decided. Slowly he made his way over and crouched down beside him. Without a word he held out his plate of food for the man to take.

He obviously needed it more. Way more than Tirelius needed it. Hell in honesty since he received the blessing of god he hasn’t needed food, nor water, simply his beliefs kept him fed. Surviving on his belief alone and so again he offered the weaker person his food. “Here my friend. Eat up you need it.” He said softly to the man.​


❛beauty is a knife ive been holding by the blade❜

"This is unacceptable. Do you know who I am?" Mandy looked down at the tray of food she'd been given before she looked back up at the man who'd handed it to her. "Just because we're trapped in this hellhole doesn't mean we deserve... whatever this is." She held up the plate, shaking it a little, watching as the egg crap jiggled on the plate. "Seriously, we're treated worse than inmates here!" Her voice rose in pitch, but the man just fixed her with a flat look.

"We go through this every day, Amanda. Eat it, or don't. Your choice."

Scoffing, she stared at him for a moment longer before she turned, taking her plate with her. Scanning the room, she found a nearby table and headed for it, slamming her plate down and then dropping into the seat. "Stupid asshole." She muttered, shooting the man a glare. Leaning back in her seat, she crossed her arms over her chest, looking at the others around. Truthfully, Mandy was lonely here, but she wasn't about to admit that. Going from her position on top of the world to this was bad enough, but here, nobody seemed to even care that she'd once been so much better than this. They didn't care who she was or what she'd done.

That in itself was almost worse than the food.

Groaning, she grabbed her plastic fork and stabbed the eggs, making a face down at them as if they were the ones who had wronged her. Resting her elbow on the table, she sighed, resting her chin in her hands as her eyes drifted away from the slop again. "Something's gotta give." She brought a bite of the eggs to her mouth, making a face as she tried to force the single bite down.​

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