Tasia
Teacup Terror
- Local time
- Today 6:38 PM
- Messages
- 25
The first thing she felt was cold metal against her forehead, the ache of her muscles, and a lump in her throat she couldn't seem to swallow. Sirens are shrieking from every corner of the large room, bouncing off the high ceilings and reverberating into their own deafening cacophony until she can't hear anything else. She attempts to squeeze her eyes shut to block out the flashing strobes of red emergency lighting, and realizes that they are already closed and the light is bright enough to penetrate the thin skin of her eyelids. The air against her skin is cold to the point of sending shivers trembling through her, her breath escaping in puffs of white condensation as she pushes herself into a sitting position without yet opening her eyes to take in the sensory overload around her.
A groan of misery issues forth, and she tries to swallow again, this time aware of the way her throat contracts around a slender piece of tubing snaking its way into her body. Though she had been only mildly uncomfortable with the sensation seconds ago, the moment she realizes the invasion, her body sets about rejecting it. Gagging and heaving, her aching body rolls onto her hands and knees to try and expel the tube. Not yet thinking clearly enough to worry whether it might damage her or not, she reaches up to grab the tube with one hand, pulling at it and retching as it slithers back up her throat with sickening slowness.
A few seconds later, though it felt like much longer, the end of the tube slides free of her mouth pouring a sweet smelling liquid from the opening. The cloying smell of whatever had been pumping into her belly was the final straw for her overwhelmed senses. A cold sensation races up her spine, queasiness over taking her as a rush of clear and oddly viscous vomit empties onto the metal grate below. Her back arches and her fingers curl into the small slats which thankfully allow most of the puddle of fluid to disappear somewhere underneath. She is nothing more than a helpless passenger in her body for several minutes, letting the animal part of her brain take over until she was brought back to awareness with painful dry heaves.
Gulping in air as if she could use it to wash the awful acrid taste from her mouth, she finally forces her eyes open to take in her new flashing, screeching reality. Rows upon rows of large metal canisters line the wall in front of her, each with a small porthole window seemingly frosted over. Running her hand along her aching belly, she can feel the oddly rubbery fabric clinging to her form. Not an outfit she would ever have owned, ridged and periodically punctuated by small ports with a wire attached here or there, the outfit is tight without impeding her movement or causing her to feel too constricted. Confusion creases a line between her brows as she turns uncertainly towards the other row of canisters behind her, staring into the blank interior of the single open one with wires still trailing out like vines and connecting with the ports of her clothing.
Nothing looked familiar to her, no helpful logo stood out on the canisters nor on the outfit she wore. Even the sirens sounded unfamiliar, and she is struck by the sudden realization that she can hear no footsteps or conversation, no one who might be coming to investigate the sounds of serious alarm coming from seemingly everywhere within the building. Numbly working off of instinct, she reaches up to disconnect the wires connecting her to the canister like thin umbilicals, surprised when a small screen lights up inside with warning labels she can read. Pushing herself up off the floor, she takes the first of several wobbly, coltish steps towards the canister she can now see is some kind of life support pod. Reaching up to run her fingers over the English letters of the warning screen, startled to find her name and rank clearly stated along with several other pieces of important information underneath the bright red word 'Disconnected'.
In the unholy din of the sirens, she can't even hear herself ask "Where am I...?"
A groan of misery issues forth, and she tries to swallow again, this time aware of the way her throat contracts around a slender piece of tubing snaking its way into her body. Though she had been only mildly uncomfortable with the sensation seconds ago, the moment she realizes the invasion, her body sets about rejecting it. Gagging and heaving, her aching body rolls onto her hands and knees to try and expel the tube. Not yet thinking clearly enough to worry whether it might damage her or not, she reaches up to grab the tube with one hand, pulling at it and retching as it slithers back up her throat with sickening slowness.
A few seconds later, though it felt like much longer, the end of the tube slides free of her mouth pouring a sweet smelling liquid from the opening. The cloying smell of whatever had been pumping into her belly was the final straw for her overwhelmed senses. A cold sensation races up her spine, queasiness over taking her as a rush of clear and oddly viscous vomit empties onto the metal grate below. Her back arches and her fingers curl into the small slats which thankfully allow most of the puddle of fluid to disappear somewhere underneath. She is nothing more than a helpless passenger in her body for several minutes, letting the animal part of her brain take over until she was brought back to awareness with painful dry heaves.
Gulping in air as if she could use it to wash the awful acrid taste from her mouth, she finally forces her eyes open to take in her new flashing, screeching reality. Rows upon rows of large metal canisters line the wall in front of her, each with a small porthole window seemingly frosted over. Running her hand along her aching belly, she can feel the oddly rubbery fabric clinging to her form. Not an outfit she would ever have owned, ridged and periodically punctuated by small ports with a wire attached here or there, the outfit is tight without impeding her movement or causing her to feel too constricted. Confusion creases a line between her brows as she turns uncertainly towards the other row of canisters behind her, staring into the blank interior of the single open one with wires still trailing out like vines and connecting with the ports of her clothing.
Nothing looked familiar to her, no helpful logo stood out on the canisters nor on the outfit she wore. Even the sirens sounded unfamiliar, and she is struck by the sudden realization that she can hear no footsteps or conversation, no one who might be coming to investigate the sounds of serious alarm coming from seemingly everywhere within the building. Numbly working off of instinct, she reaches up to disconnect the wires connecting her to the canister like thin umbilicals, surprised when a small screen lights up inside with warning labels she can read. Pushing herself up off the floor, she takes the first of several wobbly, coltish steps towards the canister she can now see is some kind of life support pod. Reaching up to run her fingers over the English letters of the warning screen, startled to find her name and rank clearly stated along with several other pieces of important information underneath the bright red word 'Disconnected'.
In the unholy din of the sirens, she can't even hear herself ask "Where am I...?"
Last edited: