#( hyroh i loveee youuu i'm sorry i'll. spare you some of the details. maybe )

[tiredassmage]

@jupitcrising | staring back at me

It laces like ice through his chest: this isn’t right. Something’s wrong. Very, very wrong.

The hall’s as familiar as it can be, wreathed in something that rolls like smoke, panels low to the floor and set into the harsh, stone-toned tiles snaking flashes of red and stark white up polished black boots and fitted uniforms. A little slice of Dromund Kaas, wherever you go.

Tyr shifts uneasily in sleep, brow twisting. 

Something’s… not right. It’s familiar… It’s not. Uniforms. A glint of sickly green-tinted light off a metal inlay. That’s…

Sparks at the back of his neck - lightning, but physical this time, and racing down his spine, splitting his lips in a silent, but roaring hiss, teeth flashing white in the slim lighting, stark against the looming black halls, sweeping black robes, the dull gray of a uniform jacket.

Wait. The grip around his arms settles in heavy. Two bodies on each side. At least two more - at least one in front, at least two or three behind. His eyes widen. His heels can’t dig against the pristine floors. The resistance is stronger in the durasteel grip tightening around his arms. His grimace turns into a snarl, draws his lips back farther over his teeth, masks for a moment the fear in a bloody kind of defiance.

“Keep him still.” He twists, writhes, tries to throw a shoulder to throw off the way he’s being all but herded, dragged along.

Restless eyes underneath closed lids. Uneasy grip adjusting around the pillows. A sharp jerk of an arm. Twist. Turn. Try to wrench away from the pain.

“Get off,” he finds his voice. A sharp stop, a gloved hand thrown squarely back at him. Heat, a sharp pain, a metallic tang floods his mouth. The restraining hands steady his shoulders from the way his head snaps with the blow and then fingers twist into his hair. The pull’s not gentle. Instinctively, he throws that snarl back across his split lips.

“Spirited this time, are you?” A faceless mask, but he can hear the threat of a smile prowling over the words like a vine cat in the jungle. Robes on this one. Black, red lacing through, long fabric sweeping down shoulders and adding to a solid silhouette still half-shadowed by the lights.

Not for much longer. From smoke and shadow to almost blinding, sterile light.

Three days. Approved for limited use.

“I said, let go of me!” His feet feel solid against the floor this time when he throws his weight back against the push of his would-be captors.

“You were busier than expected, agent. You’ve become quite the liability. Did you think we wouldn't notice your new... alliances?” It doesn’t stop them. There’s too many of them. Resistance hurts, sends fire down his spine, metal biting at the back of his neck until he nearly falters in their hold.

And once he’s down, there’s nowhere else to go.

“Stay the fuck away from me! What are you doing?!” He hates it - the desperation that starts to leak into the words. The restraints bite back at his arms when he pulls. Flared nostrils. Wide eyes. They fix on the threat of a needle glinting in the lab light.

“Settle down. It’s faster if you don’t fight it.”

“Back off! You can’t-!”

“Welcome home, Cipher Nine. Codeword-”

The mere threat is enough to lock up his muscles, the next breath stuttering in his lungs. “Don’t you-! You can't- Not again! Not again!”

It’ll light up like fire in his veins, if they-

Where is he? Where are they? Where is he? If he wasn’t alone. If he wasn’t-

“STAY AWAY-!”

Pressure. Something - another hand? - trying to hold him down. Again. Again?!

Tyr’s eyes fly open, throat aching around the incoherent rage. Void-shrouded faces and blinding lab lights block out his vision. He claws at the first shape he can settle on - technician? Overseer? Inquisitor? Merely the restraints? “I’m not going back! I’m not-!”

They can't take him. He can't take it. Not again.