telepathic voice in your head;

[radiopalkiller]

[ Philip sits at his desk. He briefly considers setting the scene, tidying up the stack of papers, or-- What's the point? It's his office. Nobody is going to see him. But all of Genosha is about to hear him.

He clears his throat.

And rolls his eyes at the private joke, because even like that it's getting old. ]

Due to the series of recent events I'm forced to remind all fellow mutants to travel carefully, especially near the Ridgeback Mountains region. Do not travel alone. Do not underestimate what their misguided rebellion is capable of. And remember to listen to Her Majesty's daily broadcast for further updates and information.

Long live the Queen.

[ Because he sure as bloody hell isn't going to bother reaching out like this again anytime soon. He doesn't add as much, though. Instead Philip presses a tissue to his nose, and catches the blood. Shuffles around some papers, and takes the opportunity to pause, anyway, because when his mind reaches across the island again the message plays a different tune: ]

To all homo sapiens: Our world does not need to be like this. Why try to anchor us in the past, when you could be part of our future? We are offering our help to you. If you would like to accept it, report to the science faculty at Magda University to participate in our Human Evolutionary Advancement Research Trials. Don't let the coming days be your end. Let them be a new beginning for all of us.

Never forget this: You have a chance to decide your own fate, before it gets decided for you.

[ He combs through his notes. Nope, that's that taken care of. Jesus Christ, he'll need a stiff drink now. He fumbles for a bottle in his drawer, and the phone on his desk. ]

Private Text to Ford Pines
Since as usual none of what I'm saying gets through to your tin brain, get your bloody arse over here and give me a status report on the experiments.

[[ OOC: Plotting comment is here, my contact post is here. Philip cannot read thoughts, so any replies will need to happen through other means. He won't get his memories back until late on the fourth day, so feel free to post starters across all days accordingly (or contact me if you want to set something up!) ]]

Comments

[rosswood]

[He'd scream, but his airways are filling with things, and he jerks in an agonized, unsuccessful attempt to dislodge them, stop the maddening itch of tiny legs racing up his skin, scuttling into every orifice until he can feel it growing, swelling like overripe fruit, thick and dark and hairy and it had been just like this, the way it spun its silvery thread and orchestrated his every movement and his thoughts and his actions and his mind were never his own.

The thought is abstract, and he cannot trace its etiology, and he does not attempt to, and then there is silence.

There is emptiness, and there is void, and he crouches there, eyes flicking desperately to one side and then to another as he tries to track something that cannot be tracked. Everything is empty, an almost complete sensory vacuum but for the whispers of infuriating sound he cannot put a name to.]

Get out. [He grinds the words out and cannot hear them. He tries to scream them, and he cannot hear them. Everything is silent but for the hiss of wind over his clothing.] Get out of my head!