Day 58: Intercom, Dawn
Dawn broke with the hustle and bustle of staff, uniformed men and women moving to and fro to wake patients from their slumber. Those who managed to slip through their watchful eyes and gain an extra minute or two of shuteye were soon rudely awakened by a rather enthusiastic man with a Western accent
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Last time he'd been bullied into following along with a crowd of armed men, it was mostly due to the fact that he was at home in his own apartment and the landlady would be fuckin' pissed if he messed up the place. Not that he expected to get his deposit back. But here? He didn't even know where the hell 'here' was. No reason why you should care if we get a little wild then... Gouge out the eyes of that chubby bastard on the right with the pen you found, tear the limbs right off the fucker trying to tell you what to do. Maybe we should make him choke on that hat. See how far you can get your fist down his throat before something breaks...
He could always play nice instead. See where it got him. Probably some new mafioso thinking he was hot shit and looking for new recruits for his band of poorly-named thugs. Just clearly and assertively tell them no. And when they laugh, tear their fuckin' faces off.
Calm diplomacy be damned, he was not wearing that lame-ass hat. With a snort, he threw the cap back, not caring where it landed, so long as the thing was far from him. Another moment and he flipped the leading soldier a casual finger, a feral grin on his lips.
"Just fuckin' try it."
Heine wasn't entirely sure how it'd happened, but minutes later he was facedown on the floor, cheek pressed into the questionably clean tile as a handful of soldiers pinned him. Normally he'd be able to throw them off without trouble; they weren't that heavy. But all he could manage was a weak attempt. And while he could care less if they broke his arms or tried to kill him or whatever else it was they were trying to do, more than anything he was confused as hell about how they'd managed to do it. Not even the wild dog in the back of his mind could explain it. Usually his strength was enough to break free of any restraint. They hadn't even used any guns for fuck's sake!
"Keep it up and you'll be watching everyone else eat breakfast," the same soldier that seemed to speak for all of them announced.
Rather than answer, he jerked and twisted and tried to get even one hand free. One hand and he'd rip the throat right out of that bastard and choke the rest with his intestines. He could feel a knee grind harder into his back, wrists twisting behind him as his face was pressed harder to the floor. He could do without working arms, the animal in him reasoned. Broken bones knit, torn away limbs grew back. Pain was temporary. He started leaning into the twist, putting more pressure on it himself.
"You're forcing my hand Lindemann," the man continued as another soldier bent to help hold him down without injuring himself, "we'll have to put you on report. No meals today and you'll spend the rest of the day standing with an armed escort if you don't calm the hell down."
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