The Captain stands his ground as the Soldier stalks right past him over to the shelf — then pops open the lid of the case he’s chosen, pulls out its contents, and whirls on him, pain blossoming predictably in his kneecap where a foot connects without hesitation.
This is how it always is, he thinks vaguely. He doesn’t know why he thinks it, the words spring to his mind, unbidden. But it’s true, he can feel it. The Soldier takes the first blow, and the Captain lets him, because there’s no better way to size up your enemy than to let them strike out at you and show their hand.
(It would be a tactically poor choice for nearly anyone — except the Captain, who can take whatever he’s given. He will take it until he can’t. And then he will get up again anyway.)
He takes a step back when the Soldier kicks at his knee, shifting his weight to the other; he doesn’t go down but it’s still enough for the Soldier to press him with the cuffs. No one but the Soldier would be able to tell, and he might not be able to comprehend, but there’s a flash almost like amusement in the Captain’s eyes, as they flick to the cuffs and then up again. What do you think those are going to do?
The Soldier presses again, and the Captain doesn’t so much retreat another step as twist out of the way — but it turns out that’s exactly what the Soldier wants and, lightning-fast, the metal snicks shut around one of the Captain’s wrists and then the metal frame at the foot of the bed.
It’s barely enough to slow him down — an inconvenience, at most — but it is enough time for the Soldier to dart back to the case. And just as the Captain’s snapping the metal links on the cuffs with a sharp jerk of one arm, he turns back and the Soldier is coming at him again with the mask, the vial clearly visible, catching the harsh light. And the Captain’s entire awareness zeroes in on it. He knows what vials mean. He knows what they are, what they do to him — except when he doesn’t, like what they’d given to him earlier is doing to him now. He doesn’t understand, and there’s an animal panic in his gut as he realizes that the Soldier is trying to drug him.
The Captain desperately does not want to be drugged.
There’s a reason the improved regimen involves shocking him first and drugging him second. Now, something in him snaps and he lashes out with a fast, fierce kick that catches the Soldier in the gut. He follows up with a shoulder in the solar plexus, rushing him like a linebacker, toppling both of them to the floor and crushing the mask, the vial, in between him, spilling the entirety of its sharp, sickly-sweet contents largely into the Soldier’s face, with only a few wisps sliding through the air the Captain’s breathing in.
Still, the Captain flinches away — his handlers take note, techs scribble down assessments, he’ll be punished and conditioned later, again and again until vials and drugs don’t make him flinch, because it’s a clear weakness — and for now it’s enough of an opening for the Soldier to weasel his way out of his grip, if he can pull through the haze of the drugs to take it.
no subject
This is how it always is, he thinks vaguely. He doesn’t know why he thinks it, the words spring to his mind, unbidden. But it’s true, he can feel it. The Soldier takes the first blow, and the Captain lets him, because there’s no better way to size up your enemy than to let them strike out at you and show their hand.
(It would be a tactically poor choice for nearly anyone — except the Captain, who can take whatever he’s given. He will take it until he can’t. And then he will get up again anyway.)
He takes a step back when the Soldier kicks at his knee, shifting his weight to the other; he doesn’t go down but it’s still enough for the Soldier to press him with the cuffs. No one but the Soldier would be able to tell, and he might not be able to comprehend, but there’s a flash almost like amusement in the Captain’s eyes, as they flick to the cuffs and then up again. What do you think those are going to do?
The Soldier presses again, and the Captain doesn’t so much retreat another step as twist out of the way — but it turns out that’s exactly what the Soldier wants and, lightning-fast, the metal snicks shut around one of the Captain’s wrists and then the metal frame at the foot of the bed.
It’s barely enough to slow him down — an inconvenience, at most — but it is enough time for the Soldier to dart back to the case. And just as the Captain’s snapping the metal links on the cuffs with a sharp jerk of one arm, he turns back and the Soldier is coming at him again with the mask, the vial clearly visible, catching the harsh light. And the Captain’s entire awareness zeroes in on it. He knows what vials mean. He knows what they are, what they do to him — except when he doesn’t, like what they’d given to him earlier is doing to him now. He doesn’t understand, and there’s an animal panic in his gut as he realizes that the Soldier is trying to drug him.
The Captain desperately does not want to be drugged.
There’s a reason the improved regimen involves shocking him first and drugging him second. Now, something in him snaps and he lashes out with a fast, fierce kick that catches the Soldier in the gut. He follows up with a shoulder in the solar plexus, rushing him like a linebacker, toppling both of them to the floor and crushing the mask, the vial, in between him, spilling the entirety of its sharp, sickly-sweet contents largely into the Soldier’s face, with only a few wisps sliding through the air the Captain’s breathing in.
Still, the Captain flinches away — his handlers take note, techs scribble down assessments, he’ll be punished and conditioned later, again and again until vials and drugs don’t make him flinch, because it’s a clear weakness — and for now it’s enough of an opening for the Soldier to weasel his way out of his grip, if he can pull through the haze of the drugs to take it.