> arrival (cw: going hard in loss of autonomy, vague references to past trauma)
[ The way Amos sees it - in the limited scope he's capable of at the moment - he has two options: fight like hell, kill as many of these fuckers as he can before either escaping or going down himself; or just let them keep doing what they're doing.
He opts for the first one.
He realizes he can't, his brain only flirting with long-ingrained instinct his body and dulled mind can't properly keep up with. He has to go with the second one.
That is, maybe, when he starts to freak out.
The IV being ripped out of his arm is welcome - a jolt of feeling, mild pain, but it's violent and he's familiar with that - but the armed soldiers are not. He doesn't care what they're saying; all he knows is they're in control of him, overpowering him, and he wants nothing more than to take one of their guns and let whatever happens after happen.
Except he can't.
He feels the flip flops on his feet more than anything. It's strange, not having boots on. It's also incredibly inconvenient, because trying to fight someone in flimsy footwear really isn't an option, and he doesn't want to take them off and step on something on the ground that's just going to inhibit him--
Now listen to us catches his attention, and everything thereafter - especially when he starts walking, completely out of his control.
His heartbeat spikes and his vision tunnels. He maybe gets a second to twist his head around, look up into the sky as whoever the fuck kidnapped and drugged him just leaves. He barely notices the others around him. He can hear the blood rushing through him as fight or flight kicks in except he's never known flight and he has no options and he's equal parts heading to whatever this bar is, ready to commit mass fucking murder if only he could get his hands on the right people the right weapon, and his brain filling with ever-darkening static as he mentally falls deeper and deeper and deeper into a place he does not want to go was never going to go to again went there for a moment on Ilus Holden pulled him out Holden isn't here he's bigger now he's stronger this should not be happening he was not going to let it happen ever again it is happening again he is completely fucking powerless again--
His nostrils flare, his breathing heavy, his fists clench and unclench rhythmically at least he still has those as he walks. ]
> red wings
[ His head clears. Slightly. As he steps inside, stops walking, realizes he has control over his own legs again. He takes in the new sights and sounds, vision gradually clearing, static dissipating as he realizes that despite the number of people here, they don't seem to be like the ones who brought him here. Nobody is armed. Nobody is doing anything to him (or making him do something).
He doesn't relax - he's still tense all over, he's still ready to commit homicide at a moment's notice - but he's maybe pulled back up from the depths.
And then the echo of a voice he has now committed to memory wants to rip out their larynx reverberates in his skull: ask about the glow.
What the fuck is the glow?
And who the fuck is he supposed to ask?
A notion comes to him: if someone speaks to him here, will they be able to control him? His heartbeat picks up again. He's thankful he doesn't know who he's supposed to ask because he knows if he did he would.
Amos looks over his shoulder. Is there anything just stopping him from leaving? He takes an experimental step forward. Nope.
But he's also in flip flops, with no idea of what's outside, and what's in here seems relatively low threat for now.
He finds himself drifting to a corner, a little away from the crowds, where at least he's pretty sure nobody will sneak up behind him. He can at least establish that much security for himself. And then he watches, waiting and tensed for something else to happen. ]
> safehouse
[ When he's asked to pick his bed, he forcefully goes to one in the corner. He's still stressed out about having to blindly obey, but at least he had a choice here, and two walls are better than none.
He does not move from it, disregarding the other items he's been given, and eventually, blessedly, falls asleep.
When he wakes up again he feels free in a way he hadn't known he'd been missing and prays that means that shit is over with.
Right, down to business then.
He quickly learns he's trapped down here.
Underground.
In an unknown, dark location.
Great.
But nothing is actually happening to him now, so maybe - maybe - this time, he'll be okay.
Amos settles in as best he can, which mostly consists of sitting on the edge of his cot, watching everyone else around him with a vaguely threatening aura that fades the more time passes and the more nothing actually happens. He's not going to relax - not here - but now that he isn't being forced anywhere or to do anything against his will, he's significantly less stressed.
Except for, well. ]
Hey. [ His voice is soft; his words are hard. ] Do you know when we're getting the fuck out of here?
> wildcard
[ Amos is, unfortunately, deeply traumatized and more reactive than proactive in this situation. But I'm open to literally anything if you want to try something else out! Hit me up on Discord at arii#6412 or PM me on this account. ]
amos burton | the expanse | ota
(cw: going hard in loss of autonomy, vague references to past trauma)
[ The way Amos sees it - in the limited scope he's capable of at the moment - he has two options: fight like hell, kill as many of these fuckers as he can before either escaping or going down himself; or just let them keep doing what they're doing.
He opts for the first one.
He realizes he can't, his brain only flirting with long-ingrained instinct his body and dulled mind can't properly keep up with. He has to go with the second one.
That is, maybe, when he starts to freak out.
The IV being ripped out of his arm is welcome - a jolt of feeling, mild pain, but it's violent and he's familiar with that - but the armed soldiers are not. He doesn't care what they're saying; all he knows is they're in control of him, overpowering him, and he wants nothing more than to take one of their guns and let whatever happens after happen.
Except he can't.
He feels the flip flops on his feet more than anything. It's strange, not having boots on. It's also incredibly inconvenient, because trying to fight someone in flimsy footwear really isn't an option, and he doesn't want to take them off and step on something on the ground that's just going to inhibit him--
Now listen to us catches his attention, and everything thereafter - especially when he starts walking, completely out of his control.
His heartbeat spikes and his vision tunnels. He maybe gets a second to twist his head around, look up into the sky as whoever the fuck kidnapped and drugged him just leaves. He barely notices the others around him. He can hear the blood rushing through him as fight or flight kicks in except he's never known flight and he has no options and he's equal parts heading to whatever this bar is, ready to commit mass fucking murder if only he could get his hands on the right people the right weapon, and his brain filling with ever-darkening static as he mentally falls deeper and deeper and deeper into a place he does not want to go was never going to go to again went there for a moment on Ilus Holden pulled him out Holden isn't here he's bigger now he's stronger this should not be happening he was not going to let it happen ever again it is happening again he is completely fucking powerless again--
His nostrils flare, his breathing heavy, his fists clench and unclench rhythmically at least he still has those as he walks. ]
> red wings
[ His head clears. Slightly. As he steps inside, stops walking, realizes he has control over his own legs again. He takes in the new sights and sounds, vision gradually clearing, static dissipating as he realizes that despite the number of people here, they don't seem to be like the ones who brought him here. Nobody is armed. Nobody is doing anything to him (or making him do something).
He doesn't relax - he's still tense all over, he's still ready to commit homicide at a moment's notice - but he's maybe pulled back up from the depths.
And then the echo of a voice he has now committed to memory wants to rip out their larynx reverberates in his skull: ask about the glow.
What the fuck is the glow?
And who the fuck is he supposed to ask?
A notion comes to him: if someone speaks to him here, will they be able to control him? His heartbeat picks up again. He's thankful he doesn't know who he's supposed to ask because he knows if he did he would.
Amos looks over his shoulder. Is there anything just stopping him from leaving? He takes an experimental step forward. Nope.
But he's also in flip flops, with no idea of what's outside, and what's in here seems relatively low threat for now.
He finds himself drifting to a corner, a little away from the crowds, where at least he's pretty sure nobody will sneak up behind him. He can at least establish that much security for himself. And then he watches, waiting and tensed for something else to happen. ]
> safehouse
[ When he's asked to pick his bed, he forcefully goes to one in the corner. He's still stressed out about having to blindly obey, but at least he had a choice here, and two walls are better than none.
He does not move from it, disregarding the other items he's been given, and eventually, blessedly, falls asleep.
When he wakes up again he feels free in a way he hadn't known he'd been missing and prays that means that shit is over with.
Right, down to business then.
He quickly learns he's trapped down here.
Underground.
In an unknown, dark location.
Great.
But nothing is actually happening to him now, so maybe - maybe - this time, he'll be okay.
Amos settles in as best he can, which mostly consists of sitting on the edge of his cot, watching everyone else around him with a vaguely threatening aura that fades the more time passes and the more nothing actually happens. He's not going to relax - not here - but now that he isn't being forced anywhere or to do anything against his will, he's significantly less stressed.
Except for, well. ]
Hey. [ His voice is soft; his words are hard. ] Do you know when we're getting the fuck out of here?
> wildcard
[ Amos is, unfortunately, deeply traumatized and more reactive than proactive in this situation. But I'm open to literally anything if you want to try something else out! Hit me up on Discord at arii#6412 or PM me on this account. ]