Post by Warren Worthington III on Mar 5, 2007 12:17:32 GMT -5
True to Alphonse's word, twenty two minutes later Warren found himself being taken from the trunk. He was still unable to cohesively speak. And worse he couldn't stop anything that was happening to him as his body was lifted out of the car and placed onto a gurney. The two men doing the busy work looked foreign to him. With sun darkened skin and exotic dark eyes, Warren took in a sharp breath, his only viable form of protest as they gripped his comparatively pale skin. He wanted to struggle but of course Famine had seen to it that he could not.
The Angel's eyes sought out those he did recognize, only finding the backs of the other Horsemen as preparations were completed on the otherwise nearly vacant landing strip. Distantly he could see other crews and other planes but of course he couldn't scream or call for help in any way. Not only that but, unless the men loading the other planes possessed mutated hearing they would never hear him, and if so...the realization that they were too far away to help him sunk in. Worthington gritted his teeth as he was pushed onto a lift that took him, the motorcycle and who he would learn were followers of Apocalypse into the belly of the jet.
He could hear voices in the area toward the cockpit, his familiarity of planes being put to good use as his mind plotted where the exits would be. He tried moving again and found the effort futile. He growled in frustration then as he was lifted off the gurney, his coat and open shirt removed to reveal the strapped down wings. A shiver ran along his spine between the wings, but he was cold. He was terrified. The two men were joined by another as the two took his shoulders and arms and the unseen helper took up his ankles. He was carried toward the back of the plane.
He closed his eyes...wanting to rail savagely against what was happening. He missed the first sight of the chair that would become his home for the next few hours. It looked almost as if it had been constructed to allow for his special anatomy. It looked like a dentist's chair in most ways. The exception being that the back was in two distinct pieces that rose up into the outline of a V shape. He soon found out why as he was spun around and lowered into the chair. His eyes pleaded with his captors to stop this...to let him go.
The wings fit comfortably into the open space in the high backed chair even as a cap was lowered onto it to not only contain the wings but provide a surprisingly comfortable head rest. Warren's head fit into the form of the head rest perfectly, and snugly. His face was head forward without any other restraints. His arms were fastened to the body of the chair with wide metal bands that closed over them from the wrist to nearly the elbow. Similar shackles snapped closed over his calves as his feet came to rest on the foot rest. Finally, a metal belt was closed over his waist, this one snug enough to not allow him much more than a few inches movement.
Needles, I.V. tubes, and liquids hanging high on stands were rolled into view. Warren opened his mouth to protest and was surprised to hear, "Please...no....I won't run...I promise."
"No!...Don't...," he pleaded as the first needle entered his body below the left bicep. Immediately the drip began, making him feel light headed and whoozy. As the second entered his right arm following the four in his back surrounding the wings, his eyes fought to stay open, "Why?..."
He groaned as his pants were cut away and similar needles were inserted in his thighs. Monitors were attached at his temples and chest. His body's quick metabolism kicked in in an effort to dispel the drugs but the constant drip of was enough to counter them. A heavily drugged mixture of protein, steroids and glucose began to drip now, keeping him from passing out due to exhaustion and preparing his body for what was to come once they landed. Warren felt himself relax completely as the heady cocktail took hold of him.
The in-flight movie began then as the lights in the room went out. His blue eyes focused on the screen as the subliminal messages hidden beneath the images flashing on the screen began his training. While far from complete, the future Horseman's education had begun.
True to his earlier words, Worthington would not run.
He'd been alone now for several hours and he hadn't even realized that the plane had turned out over the ocean heading toward Egypt. In fact the expansive desert sands were visible from the cockpit as the jet cleared the many security measures that protected the secretive encampment below. The film ended as the lights in the room were raised. Wheels touched down on the tarmac as Warren blinked completely oblivious to all that he had begun to 'learn.' He was surprised to feel the landing gear kick in. He shook off the groggy feeling as he said, "Wow...we're already here?"
His heart only raced for a brief moment as more of the drugs were pumped into his system. A comfortable wave of relaxation washed over him making him less worried about where the time had gone. Maybe he had fallen asleep?.. Yes...that was it, he thought unaware that his own inner demons would soon be put to use against him. For Worthington, only minutes had passed since the film began, yet his mood was almost light, expectant.
He wanted to meet Apocalypse.
The Angel's eyes sought out those he did recognize, only finding the backs of the other Horsemen as preparations were completed on the otherwise nearly vacant landing strip. Distantly he could see other crews and other planes but of course he couldn't scream or call for help in any way. Not only that but, unless the men loading the other planes possessed mutated hearing they would never hear him, and if so...the realization that they were too far away to help him sunk in. Worthington gritted his teeth as he was pushed onto a lift that took him, the motorcycle and who he would learn were followers of Apocalypse into the belly of the jet.
He could hear voices in the area toward the cockpit, his familiarity of planes being put to good use as his mind plotted where the exits would be. He tried moving again and found the effort futile. He growled in frustration then as he was lifted off the gurney, his coat and open shirt removed to reveal the strapped down wings. A shiver ran along his spine between the wings, but he was cold. He was terrified. The two men were joined by another as the two took his shoulders and arms and the unseen helper took up his ankles. He was carried toward the back of the plane.
He closed his eyes...wanting to rail savagely against what was happening. He missed the first sight of the chair that would become his home for the next few hours. It looked almost as if it had been constructed to allow for his special anatomy. It looked like a dentist's chair in most ways. The exception being that the back was in two distinct pieces that rose up into the outline of a V shape. He soon found out why as he was spun around and lowered into the chair. His eyes pleaded with his captors to stop this...to let him go.
The wings fit comfortably into the open space in the high backed chair even as a cap was lowered onto it to not only contain the wings but provide a surprisingly comfortable head rest. Warren's head fit into the form of the head rest perfectly, and snugly. His face was head forward without any other restraints. His arms were fastened to the body of the chair with wide metal bands that closed over them from the wrist to nearly the elbow. Similar shackles snapped closed over his calves as his feet came to rest on the foot rest. Finally, a metal belt was closed over his waist, this one snug enough to not allow him much more than a few inches movement.
Needles, I.V. tubes, and liquids hanging high on stands were rolled into view. Warren opened his mouth to protest and was surprised to hear, "Please...no....I won't run...I promise."
"No!...Don't...," he pleaded as the first needle entered his body below the left bicep. Immediately the drip began, making him feel light headed and whoozy. As the second entered his right arm following the four in his back surrounding the wings, his eyes fought to stay open, "Why?..."
He groaned as his pants were cut away and similar needles were inserted in his thighs. Monitors were attached at his temples and chest. His body's quick metabolism kicked in in an effort to dispel the drugs but the constant drip of was enough to counter them. A heavily drugged mixture of protein, steroids and glucose began to drip now, keeping him from passing out due to exhaustion and preparing his body for what was to come once they landed. Warren felt himself relax completely as the heady cocktail took hold of him.
The in-flight movie began then as the lights in the room went out. His blue eyes focused on the screen as the subliminal messages hidden beneath the images flashing on the screen began his training. While far from complete, the future Horseman's education had begun.
True to his earlier words, Worthington would not run.
He'd been alone now for several hours and he hadn't even realized that the plane had turned out over the ocean heading toward Egypt. In fact the expansive desert sands were visible from the cockpit as the jet cleared the many security measures that protected the secretive encampment below. The film ended as the lights in the room were raised. Wheels touched down on the tarmac as Warren blinked completely oblivious to all that he had begun to 'learn.' He was surprised to feel the landing gear kick in. He shook off the groggy feeling as he said, "Wow...we're already here?"
His heart only raced for a brief moment as more of the drugs were pumped into his system. A comfortable wave of relaxation washed over him making him less worried about where the time had gone. Maybe he had fallen asleep?.. Yes...that was it, he thought unaware that his own inner demons would soon be put to use against him. For Worthington, only minutes had passed since the film began, yet his mood was almost light, expectant.
He wanted to meet Apocalypse.
