He’s not exactly sure when he wakes up. After strong hands pick him up, before experiment… and Tim’s not stupid. He knew it wasn’t cops who yanked him off the street, and experiment seals it as a supervillain. Probably seals his fate. News reporters don’t often say “all of the civilians were released without injury.” They don’t say anything like that. They start with warnings like “the following story contains graphic content that viewers may find disturbing.”
There is no successful fighting back, but Tim struggles against the holds anyway - and with increasing panic as he sees more, and more, and more of these extreme metahuman mutations. He’s seen physically changed metahumans before, but these are grotesque. Unnatural. Terrifying and heartbreaking, and Tim’s only thought is to get away because there is something wrong here.
If he could just get loose, he could run. Strong metahumans aren’t always fast, and there has to be a window or a door or something. He doesn’t want to be fed to them or forced to fight them. Whatever the “experiment” is. He wants -
He wants to breathe. Why is he hyperventilating like this when he isn’t even the one running? How’s he going to escape when he’s already panting?
They throw him onto an operating gurney with unnecessary force that knocks the wind out of him. Clamps hold down each limb, and the whole thing is cranked up to bring his body 30 degrees off vertical.
(Why? What disgusting procedure is easier to do at this angle? It hardly seems ergonomic.)
(Please don’t let his last thought be about ergonomics.)
(Or about how badass the ten foot long robotic arm looks ending in a gigantic ray gun.)
“Where’s the mouth guard? You know she gets pissed if teeth break.”
A wide strap of heavy duty vulcanized rubber is brought out. The molded mouthpiece makes it look like electroshock headgear. It’s grungy and chewed up from previous use.
“No, no!” He tries to pull his head away, like there’s anywhere to go.
A hand grips him painfully by the jaw and holds his head steady. “C’mon, kid, don’t make this more painful than it has to be. It’s not like you’re gonna die.”
Tim almost believes him. He doesn’t open his mouth until the hand squeezes and forces him to choose between clenched teeth and a broken jaw, but something sounded honest about it.
As the strap’s shoved into his mouth and cranked tight, the rings on the ray gun begin to light up in sequence. Tim shuts his eyes. ‘Not gonna die’ covers a wide range of outcomes. He doesn’t want to see it.
no subject
He’s not exactly sure when he wakes up. After strong hands pick him up, before experiment… and Tim’s not stupid. He knew it wasn’t cops who yanked him off the street, and experiment seals it as a supervillain. Probably seals his fate. News reporters don’t often say “all of the civilians were released without injury.” They don’t say anything like that. They start with warnings like “the following story contains graphic content that viewers may find disturbing.”
There is no successful fighting back, but Tim struggles against the holds anyway - and with increasing panic as he sees more, and more, and more of these extreme metahuman mutations. He’s seen physically changed metahumans before, but these are grotesque. Unnatural. Terrifying and heartbreaking, and Tim’s only thought is to get away because there is something wrong here.
If he could just get loose, he could run. Strong metahumans aren’t always fast, and there has to be a window or a door or something. He doesn’t want to be fed to them or forced to fight them. Whatever the “experiment” is. He wants -
He wants to breathe. Why is he hyperventilating like this when he isn’t even the one running? How’s he going to escape when he’s already panting?
They throw him onto an operating gurney with unnecessary force that knocks the wind out of him. Clamps hold down each limb, and the whole thing is cranked up to bring his body 30 degrees off vertical.
(Why? What disgusting procedure is easier to do at this angle? It hardly seems ergonomic.)
(Please don’t let his last thought be about ergonomics.)
(Or about how badass the ten foot long robotic arm looks ending in a gigantic ray gun.)
“Where’s the mouth guard? You know she gets pissed if teeth break.”
A wide strap of heavy duty vulcanized rubber is brought out. The molded mouthpiece makes it look like electroshock headgear. It’s grungy and chewed up from previous use.
“No, no!” He tries to pull his head away, like there’s anywhere to go.
A hand grips him painfully by the jaw and holds his head steady. “C’mon, kid, don’t make this more painful than it has to be. It’s not like you’re gonna die.”
Tim almost believes him. He doesn’t open his mouth until the hand squeezes and forces him to choose between clenched teeth and a broken jaw, but something sounded honest about it.
As the strap’s shoved into his mouth and cranked tight, the rings on the ray gun begin to light up in sequence. Tim shuts his eyes. ‘Not gonna die’ covers a wide range of outcomes. He doesn’t want to see it.