Dygan Siguara
Missing the Mods...
Byrne climbed the hill, certain that he had seen the shadows there, and if a shadow was there, then that meant that Faith must be there too. Atop the hill, Byrne looked down with his good eye, and saw the girl herself and some other person. He tried shouting out, but "Fai-" was as far as he got, for the flat side of a cold, metal broadsword struck him across the nasty wounds of his head, knocking him straight out.
Waking up, Byrne found himself almost naked strapped upon a freezing cold steel table which he recognised all to well. He looked round the small chamber with all its complex equipment and sighed. He knew exactly where he was, but why? A hooded figure stood with his/her back to him. He shot the figure a vicious remark, only to regret it, as they stabbed a syringe into his uncovered chest, sending him once more into unconsciousness.
(ADDED)
A searing pain stabbed through Byrne's chest. It took him a few minutes to remember what had happened. The cold metal table was still firmly in place, but, "what's this?!" he exclaimed, realising the belt strapping him down was no longer anywhere to be seen. Getting up, he noticed a flaw in his excitement. He was not getting up. His legs - his body - had chosen not to obey him, and he lay there, just as active as when he was KOed. The figure slid into the laboratory silently. It was only when he spoke that Byrne noticed his presence. Surprised or not, he had a mouthful of abuse ready for him. Unfortunately, his mouth decided to remain shut. The figure, however hissed at him as though he/she'd heard. "We weren't going to say something spiteful were we?" and with those simple words, proceeded to do what he's probably came into the chamber for. Tests.
"Oh, the irony" thought Byrne, as two sets of needle-like fingers lifted the majority of his limbs up, and into various positions, in all of which they stayed. Next, he was supported firmly and uncaringly off the table to his legs on the floor and suddenly let go. He crumpled to the floor. Six more attempts later, the figure had got the wait and balance just right, and marked down in a journal. Then, Byrne found himself being dressed in his usual gear. Almost. Little, trivial things were wrong, like the colour of the suit, or, right instead of left-handed cutters. Regardless of the small errors, these guys knew him well. And, worse, they were using his lab.
Waking up, Byrne found himself almost naked strapped upon a freezing cold steel table which he recognised all to well. He looked round the small chamber with all its complex equipment and sighed. He knew exactly where he was, but why? A hooded figure stood with his/her back to him. He shot the figure a vicious remark, only to regret it, as they stabbed a syringe into his uncovered chest, sending him once more into unconsciousness.
(ADDED)
A searing pain stabbed through Byrne's chest. It took him a few minutes to remember what had happened. The cold metal table was still firmly in place, but, "what's this?!" he exclaimed, realising the belt strapping him down was no longer anywhere to be seen. Getting up, he noticed a flaw in his excitement. He was not getting up. His legs - his body - had chosen not to obey him, and he lay there, just as active as when he was KOed. The figure slid into the laboratory silently. It was only when he spoke that Byrne noticed his presence. Surprised or not, he had a mouthful of abuse ready for him. Unfortunately, his mouth decided to remain shut. The figure, however hissed at him as though he/she'd heard. "We weren't going to say something spiteful were we?" and with those simple words, proceeded to do what he's probably came into the chamber for. Tests.
"Oh, the irony" thought Byrne, as two sets of needle-like fingers lifted the majority of his limbs up, and into various positions, in all of which they stayed. Next, he was supported firmly and uncaringly off the table to his legs on the floor and suddenly let go. He crumpled to the floor. Six more attempts later, the figure had got the wait and balance just right, and marked down in a journal. Then, Byrne found himself being dressed in his usual gear. Almost. Little, trivial things were wrong, like the colour of the suit, or, right instead of left-handed cutters. Regardless of the small errors, these guys knew him well. And, worse, they were using his lab.
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