(no subject)
Glitch was already up and about when sunrise came along, and had found himself a good spot to watch the sun peek out from behind the ocean and start climbing. When the sun was moving overhead, so was Glitch, already heading towards the compound for another book as the light stretched his shadow against the path.
Remove the brain slowly.
He froze mid-step, eyes going wide, breath coming sharp and fast. He knew that voice. He'd heard that voice, dreamed about that voice, he hated and feared that voice-
Count back from 100.
His head hurt more than he could ever remember it hurting, but he remembered he didn't remember much that he didn't remember and that was probably one of those things, the early pain, the first pain. He dropped to the ground, panting and gouging holes into the packed dirt. It burned, and he bit his lip so hard it bled as he tried to cope with it. He couldn't yell, because who knew what or who would hear him if he shouted. Gods, it felt like lightning and ice all at once.
99. 98.
Something was wrong and there was someone who could help but they weren't there and there was nothing but pain and fear and nothing but pain and fear and what was this place where was everyone who wouldn't be remembered and who was he and his eyes glazed over as he gave in and screamed and collapsed with his eyes wide and empty.
97.
The bald man had been counting backwards. Every breath he let out sent a small puff of dirt into the air. He'd been strapped down and begging and utterly broken, and he was still broken. There was sunlight, and birds in the air, and a light breeze he could feel against his skin.
96.
With wide eyes, Ambrose let out a gasp and coughed, lungs burning nearly as bad as his head. Everything hurt, but he wasn't strapped down or trapped in a jail cell. He struggled to get to his feet, finally managing when he used a nearby tree. Everything was strange, and it almost looked like he was on a tropical island of all things. Ambrose shook out his legs, frowning when he noticed the tattered remains of his pants, and then sighed as he noticed the rest of his clothing was just as tattered. He found himself wondering how some parts avoided completely falling off.
Ambrose looked around, finally catching sight of a building nearby. Considering most buildings had inhabitants, he could probably find out whether this was where you ended up after dying or if this was some twisted illusion from Azkadellia's even more twisted mind. While he walked, his head hurt less and moving became more fluid, everything feeling easier than it had in years. He supposed spending most of his time cramped in a lab or looking over papers would do that to your body.
The building was strange, but he managed to find his way into what looked like a gathering place. Ambrose sat down in a comfortable chair, waiting for practically anything, be it fire and brimstone or the next part of the illusion. He sighed, hand absently going into his hair and froze, shaking, when he felt the metal. Frantic fingers ran over it almost disbelievingly, but there it was, a zipper, metal teeth and all, placed right in his scalp and skull.
Was this an illusion? Death? Ambrose moved his hands away from the zipper, eyes wide and scared. "Oh gods," he whispered. "I'm a headcase."
[Glitch's item = full brain in his head for a day! Ambrose thinks he's either dead or this is a very elaborate and strange form of torture. st/lt welcome.]
Remove the brain slowly.
He froze mid-step, eyes going wide, breath coming sharp and fast. He knew that voice. He'd heard that voice, dreamed about that voice, he hated and feared that voice-
Count back from 100.
His head hurt more than he could ever remember it hurting, but he remembered he didn't remember much that he didn't remember and that was probably one of those things, the early pain, the first pain. He dropped to the ground, panting and gouging holes into the packed dirt. It burned, and he bit his lip so hard it bled as he tried to cope with it. He couldn't yell, because who knew what or who would hear him if he shouted. Gods, it felt like lightning and ice all at once.
99. 98.
Something was wrong and there was someone who could help but they weren't there and there was nothing but pain and fear and nothing but pain and fear and what was this place where was everyone who wouldn't be remembered and who was he and his eyes glazed over as he gave in and screamed and collapsed with his eyes wide and empty.
97.
The bald man had been counting backwards. Every breath he let out sent a small puff of dirt into the air. He'd been strapped down and begging and utterly broken, and he was still broken. There was sunlight, and birds in the air, and a light breeze he could feel against his skin.
96.
With wide eyes, Ambrose let out a gasp and coughed, lungs burning nearly as bad as his head. Everything hurt, but he wasn't strapped down or trapped in a jail cell. He struggled to get to his feet, finally managing when he used a nearby tree. Everything was strange, and it almost looked like he was on a tropical island of all things. Ambrose shook out his legs, frowning when he noticed the tattered remains of his pants, and then sighed as he noticed the rest of his clothing was just as tattered. He found himself wondering how some parts avoided completely falling off.
Ambrose looked around, finally catching sight of a building nearby. Considering most buildings had inhabitants, he could probably find out whether this was where you ended up after dying or if this was some twisted illusion from Azkadellia's even more twisted mind. While he walked, his head hurt less and moving became more fluid, everything feeling easier than it had in years. He supposed spending most of his time cramped in a lab or looking over papers would do that to your body.
The building was strange, but he managed to find his way into what looked like a gathering place. Ambrose sat down in a comfortable chair, waiting for practically anything, be it fire and brimstone or the next part of the illusion. He sighed, hand absently going into his hair and froze, shaking, when he felt the metal. Frantic fingers ran over it almost disbelievingly, but there it was, a zipper, metal teeth and all, placed right in his scalp and skull.
Was this an illusion? Death? Ambrose moved his hands away from the zipper, eyes wide and scared. "Oh gods," he whispered. "I'm a headcase."
[Glitch's item = full brain in his head for a day! Ambrose thinks he's either dead or this is a very elaborate and strange form of torture. st/lt welcome.]