PSI-005B (COLISEUM designation), Tartarus-1 (Tartarus Containment designation), formerly known as ‘Lady Cynthia, the Magnificent, the Wonderful, the Beautiful etc. etc.'
Miss Hall is a young adolescent Caucasian girl, with bright green eyes, fair skin and long naturally curly bright blond hair, extending to her waist. She is of a healthy, if somewhat undernourished physique, weighing 48.5 kilograms or 107 pounds, and standing 1.57 meters or 5‘2“ tall. She is noted to have few physical mars, though it is uncertain if this is due strictly to hygiene forced on her by her captors, or if this is some latent manifestation of her psychic powers.
Cynthia has always had a mind for the fashions of archaic times, and it was noted by those ordered to bring her to justice she loved to dress her thralls in a variety of styles from the distant past to a mere few decades prior. Even after capture, Cynthia enjoys dressing in clothes which emulate the style of past periods of greatness in human history. During warm weather, she is frequently seen dressed in clothes popular among the Victorian and Edwardian period, with long skirts with trains which extend to the floor, a narrow figure with a corset underneath to bring out her waist and hips, a bodice and fine shirtwaist over her corset with a view of her full low chest. She has numerous dresses in this style, often set with jewelry and embroidery, but prefers soft white clothing. Outside, she wears tweed jackets to match her dresses, often with scarfs and fox fur, or a mink coat. During colder weather, she wears thicker dresses, with long flowing velvet capes or a long fur-lined coat, usually light brown or white beneath darker cloth. She also wears a matching fur muff to keep her hands warm, light gloves, and a tall papakha (also known as a Cossack Hat), usually in a lighter brown or light grey. Often, she will wear flowers or jeweled pins over this ensemble, set over her left breast. When participating in sports, she prefers the style of 1920‘s sports clubs, featuring a loose shirt and shorts which extend to her upper thigh, usually in lighter colors, and white tennis shoes. Likewise, when swimming, she will wear a blue and white one-piece swimsuit, similar to the kind worn by young ladies of the Edwardian period. All her clothes are kept in immaculate condition, regardless of their value or function. As a child, she was known to burn an expensive outfit if she felt it were ruined, though now she is more inclined to give dirty clothes to charity rather than the incinerator.
Prior to her captivity and treatment, Cynthia had a reputation as a self-entitled brat with little empathy for others. She was known to be easily agitated and prone to sudden bursts of violence using her considerable psionic powers. After extensive medication and therapy however, Cynthia is closer to the psychological state of a normal girl her age. Cynthia is polite and empathetic, with a love of helping others, and has an enthusiasm for learning new things, in particular the classical arts. Literature, history, music and art are all things she enjoys. However she will readily indulge in modern activities, usually with a group focus, such as learning various sports, flying via helicopter, and playing Dungeons & Dragons. She will readily jump into new ideas and activities with little provocation. When questioned by her therapist, she responded ‘I missed the past five years of my life. I’ve a lot of time to catch up on.' When not engaged in learning new activities, she will often spend her scant free time volunteering at homeless shelters and soup kitchens, readily helping with fund drives. Though many who encounter her describe her as ‘haughty’ or ‘aloof’, this is not due to an intentional choice of hers, but is rather an effort to maintain her appearance as a proper, elegant lady. When questioned on her efforts at public service, Cynthia usually grows melancholic, explaining in subdued tones how she views it as some effort to atone for the atrocities she committed as a child, though it is clear from her interviews with her therapists that she believes it is something she can never properly atone for.
Born in 2004, Cynthia Angela Hall was the loving child of Alexandra Smith Hall and Major Richard Hall, an SAS operative and protege of the international PSI Initiative. Her parents, though estranged to one another, both dearly loved young Cynthia, and doted every available luxury and toy upon her. As she grew older however, her mother began to notice unusual incidents around the house. Silverware was found twisted in the drawers of the kitchen after her mother had spent several minutes away from the child, Cynthia’s mobile would spin against the wind when she was put to bed, piles of stuffed animals would surround her like a fort when she had bad dreams. These incidents became so pronounced Alexandra Hall began keeping a record of her daughter’s unusual behavior in a two inch binder--since appropriated by the proper authorities--however her husband advised her to keep Cynthia’s unusual behavior secret. Their doting behavior continued, her father often buying his precious angel extravagant gifts for her when not on duty, such as dolls, costumes or books. This is considered by her therapists to be the start of her self-entitled behavior as a child. Cynthia’s life otherwise proceeded as normal, though her unusual powers were secretly at work just beneath the surface. Playground injuries like scrapped knees would heal unusually rapidly, and any who would try to bully the girl would begin to experience vivid nightmares or hallucinations soon after. She was noted primarily as a loner, though she did have a small circle of childhood friends. Among these friends and her teachers alike, she would frequently demand to be addressed politely, often asking to be called 'Lady Cynthia’, and would show up in school dressed in archaic clothing appropriate to her age in past eras. She would try to maintain a dignified and controlled demeanor, even when confronted with her childlike fears, like nightmares and clowns. As she grew older, her teachers noticed Cynthia had a habit of undergoing sudden mood swings, quickly leaping to rage if slighted or intense happiness at an act of friendship. Though prescribed medication, it seemed to have little effect, her moods growing more and more pronounced as she grew older. Her life however would inevitably change the day her father was arrested for treason and terrorism, soon after her seventh birthday. Though in class some six thousand miles away, Cynthia is believed to have somehow sensed his capture, knocking away her classroom supplies and screaming loudly. Teachers were forced to carry the thrashing girl to the nurse’s office, where she was given a sedative and a bed in the nurse’s station. When the nurse returned twenty minutes later, a ten foot hole had been punched through the wall to the outside world, and the child was missing. No trace of the girl was found for the next two months, despite attempts by the local community and Scotland Yard to find the child. She was next known to appear in New York City after arriving there by unknown means, before tracking down the leaders of every major criminal group in the city, psionically introducing thoughts and emotions compelling them to obey her, with the aim of crushing her father’s captors and releasing him. For half a year, she allowed these criminals to continue their operations, allocating more money to weapons and secret bases, as she enslaved more minds for her personal army of ‘dollies’. At last, Cynthia launched a coup, attempting to mentally enslave the UN Commission in charge of the ARC Initiative that had taken her father captive. Though she succeeded in breaching the UN Compound, she was stopped just shy of victory by ARC’s Team Elite and elements of Team Alpha. She retreated into hiding, refortifying her hidden bases and rearming her followers. She was on the run for fifteen months, until Team Elite managed to track her down to a hidden base along the northern edge of the Manhattan waterfront. Cynthia was captured, after an extended fight, and delivered to ARC Tower in New York City. Scientists and doctors immediately began plying her with drugs to addle her abilities, frantically researching her unspeakable potential for power. Unsealed documents from the PSI Initiative suggested that the techniques used to unlock her father’s psionic potential may have left a lasting imprint upon his DNA, allowing him to pass it on to his children. Her father’s advanced psionic potential had in turn both created a mind optimized for psionics, and had caused her brain to expand in an effort to increase her abilities. This in turn pressed her brain against her skull, causing her violent mood swings and sudden bursts of psychic powers. She was given various medication to dampen her psychic abilities and counteract her abnormal brain growth, resulting in a decrease of her ‘instinctive’ psychic power. Doctors theorized however that her pool of non-instinctive psychic power remained formidable, and could prove as great as her father’s were she provided proper training. For her part, the first two years of her captivity were the most miserable of Cynthia’s life. For her first month, she spent the entirety of her time screaming at the transparent walls of her prison, before breaking down and crying in the center of the room. A pair of specially designed Delta-class androids were assigned to assist her with dressing, washing and medication despite Cynthia’s violent outbursts against her non-human aides. Though given no items to use as a weapon apart from a plastic spoon and her own fingernails, on several occasions she caused numerous cosmetic injuries to the synthskin of the Delta androids, requiring several regrafts to the underlying synthethic muscle used to hold it in place. As the days passed however, she was visited numerous times by an unusual visitor. One of the units responsible for her capture, Paragon. Though initially hostile to him, his warm disposition and the increased effectiveness of her treatments began to allow the two to form a bond. Though not allowed to leave her prison, the two were known to converse extensively, and soon forged a lasting friendship. Soon after, she was deemed stable enough by her doctors to begin therapy. With support from her new friend and continued medication, she began to make surprisingly effective improvements. After two years, Cynthia was transfered from her private holding cell in ARC Tower to the newly constructed Tartarus facility. Here, she was given further treatments and therapy over the course of several years. Paragon remained her only visitor, and the only familiar face apart from her doctors and therapists. Though she had made substantial progress prior to her transfer, it had been decided by her captors that she should spend the rest of her life imprisoned here. However after witnessing the change that had come over her personality and demeanor, it was recommended she be given the chance to reassess and relearn her psionic powers, in the hope of allowing her to use them for the greater good--with her continued treatments of course. She was noted to be quite enthusiastic when told so, and readily vocalized her desire to use her psionic gifts for good, much like her best friend. Her first request was denied, but the second saw more progress, and she was soon given a small stipend to prepare for study at the Academy. Most of her money went towards clothing and course material. Apart from her clothing, her only possession is a holo-picture of her friend Paragon, the android responsible for her captivity.
Cynthia has had little chance to aquire new skills or abilities since her imprisonment. However she has been noted to be a ready hands-on learner, and eagerly spent eighteen hours reading through her coursework the day her Superdrops-approved supplies arrived at the Tartarus Facility. She is noted in particular to have an aptitude for the classical arts. History, astronomy, acting, music and literature are among her fortes.
Three aged suitcases. Apart from a handful of archaic clothes, the only items it contains is a single pill container holding medication to halt Cynthia's rapid brain cell growth, and a holo-picture of what appears to be a ten year old boy with brown hair in a soccer jersey standing outdoors.
Cynthia has been slow to regain control of her powers since she was authorized to cease taking psionic dampeners. As a child however, she was noted to possess a wide variety of psychic abilities, and could perform them at will, to significant effect. Clairvoyance and precognition (even over the course of thousands of miles), telepathy, psychometry, psychohealing, mind control & psychic brainwashing, telekinesis and even psychokinesis have all been attributed to her in the past, to the point where she would rend skyscrapers in half out of fury.
At present, her abilities are quite constrained, though she remains in possession of an advanced healing factor, recovering from injuries in a matter of minutes, and is also capable of telepathy, light telekinesis and clairvoyance (albeit with little control over it). She has yet to show any significant aptitude for her father’s advanced use of his psionic powers or the levels of psychic output she was once purportedly capable of. However it remains a mere eight months since she stopped taking psychic dampeners, and was allowed to have formal instructions in utilizing her psychic energy. It has also been noted by her captors that--though slow to take on outward manifestations--her mind remains a fortress against psychic infiltration, shrugging off efforts of PSI Initiative operatives even when exhausted via psychic dampeners.
Cynthia possesses no inherent weaknesses, apart from the frailty common to humans at her age. Though she seems to lack inherent weaknesses, her doctors have suggested certain sights or scents from her childhood may distract her from whatever tasks are set to her.
The line of dollies stretched in front of her. An entire platoon of young girls, her age, dressed in combat gear. Each and every last one of them looked utterly adorable, a fact Lady Cynthia had no little amount of pride in. Of course, if they hadn’t looked adorable, she would have given her costume-makers to the nice men with guns she’d made friends with.
Each dolly was dressed in a combat uniform, similar in appearance to that of the United States Marine Corps or that of the British Royal Marines--albeit with more ribbons. A camoflauged full-body uniform, complete with a small kevlar vest, polished black boots, and a helmet that was slightly too big for the girls who were wearing them. On the edge of their belts, each wore a plasma pistol, alongside teddy bears, dolls and other toys, a full-sized rifle strapped to their back completing their look. Though little more than children, each stood stock-still, gazing straight ahead with blank expression as a small group walked in front of them. Most of these figures were men, clad in black robes, hoods drawn over their heads. The leader of the group however had no such sinister appearance. Instead, she was a young girl, dressed in a frilly white dress and a silver-plated coronet. The men behind her were silent as she spoke at a breakneck pace, gladly sharing the imaginary lives of each of her new Stormtroopers as she adjusted their bows and smoothed away wrinkles.
“...And this one here’s Violet, she’s in love with Sir Terence! And this one’s Clarisse, she wants to be a princess...” Lady Cynthia’s smile broadened as she came to the leader of the platoon, a girl with white skin, that almost seemed to sparkle in the light. “And this is Wendy! She think’s she’s all grown up!”
Lady Cynthia turned with a flourish, stepping atop a nearby Ottoman, the men in robes standing behind her as she addressed the crowd of young soldiers. “Ladies and gentle dolls, lend me your ears! An angry bunch of men are about to try to break into my secret base and try to steal away all my dollies! I want you to go out there, and show them no one takes anything from Lady Cynthia! Go! And show them no mercy!”
The platoon of girl soldiers saluted, unholstering their weapons as they ran into the hallway towards the base’s entrance. Not one spoke, or glanced about with any expression other than utter obedience. They didn’t need to, after all. They weren’t people. They were dolls, manipulated and controlled by their mistress for her amusement.
The first wave of dolls could see a group of men approaching. U.S. Marines, each equipped with a modified laser rifle. Her dollies knew the type. One blast, and they’d be rendered unconscious. One shot, and they’d be taken away from her.
She wouldn’t let anyone take her dollies.
The first wave of dolls opened fire, sending the marines scurrying for cover. In the sudden wave of fire however, one was isolated down a hallway from his fellows. With a single thought, the platoon leader turned after him, two more dolls following behind as plasma rays and stun bolts surged behind them.
The marine, a tall man with a dark blond buzzcut, ran quickly down the hallway, somehow managing to dodge two laser beams the dollies sent after him before ducking around a corner. The two dollies that had followed Wendy moved first towards the corner--they were less important. The man stepped from around the corner, unloading a stun bolt straight into the first girl’s face. She collapsed to the ground like a sack of potatoes, unconscious but still breathing. The second moved to take aim, but the soldier was too fast. With a lunge, he grabbed her rifle, in an effort to pull it from her hand. The doll followed after the weapon, pulled by the strap over one shoulder, before she crashed into the whitewashed wall of Cynthia’s hideout. The soldier turned, loosing a second bolt into her neck, and she fell much the same as her associate.
A burning sensation seized the soldier as a laser beam barely missed his shoulder, singeing his skin. Platoon Leader Wendy held her weapon aloft, the laser rifle awkward following him in her hands. The man started forward, but Wendy fired again, burning his knee. The man toppled to the ground in front of her. Wendy stepped forward, pulling her plasma pistol from her belt as she neared the man. He looked up at her, teeth gritted in pain. Tears clung at the edge of his eyes as he gazed at Cynthia’s doll, a look of recognition in his pupils.
“Sara, please...” The man spoke, his voice hoarse. The plasma pistol in the girl’s hand seemed to waver. Cynthia frowned, forcing more of her psionic energy into this troublesome doll. “...remember, this isn’t your fault.”
Now, break him...kill him...kill him...
“If you can hear me, just close your eyes. I don’t want you to remember this when you wake up.”
The doll blinked. Cynthia hadn’t told her to do that.
A rush of blood surged through the doll, the measured cocktail of chemicals that had driven her into battle fading as she realized where she was. Her arm was now so unstable Cynthia could barely force her to aim her plasma pistol. A single tear trailed down the doll’s nose, before--for the first time in weeks--she spoke of her own accord.
The sound of one of the metal security doors of the Tartarus facility opening roused Cynthia from her sleep, pinpricks of sweat clinging to her forehead and jumpsuit as she rose from the cot in her cell. She raised her hands to her face, rubbing her eyes as she took in a deep breath. Was that a memory? Or just a nightmare? Her dreams had grown so disturbed recently she wouldn’t doubt she invented this memory just to torture herself. But something deep inside her told her this was no idle invention of her mind. The intercom by the security door buzzed.
“More bad dreams, Prisoner 01?”
It was a moment or two before she found the courage to speak. The thought of what she might have done to that family was too much to ignore in her mind. At last, her hands raised from her face. Pushing herself up from her cot, she moved to the intercom across the room, before pressing the red button.
“Yes, thank you, Doctor Miles, I’ve quite recovered.”
“Good, very good.” The voice on the other end said. “We wouldn’t want you to start today with an extra dose of medicine.”
“Today?” Cynthia asked, blinking. “What’s--”
“Your transfer to the SuperDrops Academy.” Doctor Miles said, interrupting her. The security door to her side hissed, revealing the metallic atrium beyond, a group of security guards waiting for her in front of a second security door, which slowly hissed as it sealed itself. “Now, let’s get you washed and changed. First impressions are vital, in academics as well as the rest of life.”