(no subject)
WHO: bedeviledspider and Various Rescuers (Cass, Danny, etc... Tag Yourselves In!)
WHERE: The Warehouse
WHEN: Saturday night, after this
WARNINGS: Post-torture trauma, to be updated as needed
SUMMARY: Darkdevil wakes up after his warehouse adventure with his new best friend.
FORMAT: Paragraph
Darkdevil had been tortured before. It still gave him nightmares, sometimes, the memory of electric currents running through his body. Strapped down. Unable to even teleport to safety. But he had never been tortured like this.
"Make it stop," he found himself mumbling, too out of it to realize that it had stopped, that there was no sick clown turning his powers on and off. "Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop..."
His head was pounding. Spider-senses screaming at him, frying his already strained synapses, still doing their best to warn him of something he couldn't prevent. It took everything not to scream in pain as he opened his eyes -- the sight of the bodies mercifully blurred by smoke, tears, and blood. Dripping down from all of the fresh scars covering his body. Not caused by any weaponry, but from his body's own inherit instability, from repeatedly being pushed to the point of degeneration. Being goaded on to break itself down, tear itself apart.
Still, he tugged futilely at his binds. The building was burning. Had to get the survivors out.
He'd find the strength. He had to.
WHERE: The Warehouse
WHEN: Saturday night, after this
WARNINGS: Post-torture trauma, to be updated as needed
SUMMARY: Darkdevil wakes up after his warehouse adventure with his new best friend.
FORMAT: Paragraph
Darkdevil had been tortured before. It still gave him nightmares, sometimes, the memory of electric currents running through his body. Strapped down. Unable to even teleport to safety. But he had never been tortured like this.
"Make it stop," he found himself mumbling, too out of it to realize that it had stopped, that there was no sick clown turning his powers on and off. "Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop..."
His head was pounding. Spider-senses screaming at him, frying his already strained synapses, still doing their best to warn him of something he couldn't prevent. It took everything not to scream in pain as he opened his eyes -- the sight of the bodies mercifully blurred by smoke, tears, and blood. Dripping down from all of the fresh scars covering his body. Not caused by any weaponry, but from his body's own inherit instability, from repeatedly being pushed to the point of degeneration. Being goaded on to break itself down, tear itself apart.
Still, he tugged futilely at his binds. The building was burning. Had to get the survivors out.
He'd find the strength. He had to.