#The Correct Spelling Is “Straitjacket” Of Course

[arcadiaberger]

If only this item were still available , , , ,

#Memories #Premium Item #Mad Magazine #Straight Jacket #Actually Just A Sweater #The Correct Spelling Is "Straitjacket", Of Course

[stephenstrange-sorcerersupreme]

Incarceration | One-shot

Stephen’s stitches came out after another two weeks, around the same time that he could stand for more than a few seconds without vomiting. The IV followed soon after, at which time The Raft’s medical team declared him healthy enough for the prison to implement a full security lock down.

Until that point he’d only been wearing specialized gloves; they held his fingers tightly against his palms, forcing his hands into fists. The stress they caused on the damaged muscles there was painful, but manageable.  Now that he was no longer receiving medical treatment, however, these were none too gently replaced with a straitjacket, and some sort of thick metallic collar that made turning his head somewhat difficult.  

The metallic collar, he found out, was actually designed to deliver painful electrical shocks to the wearer. Like a disobedient dog, the sorcerer was punished every time he opened his mouth or tried to speak. It didn’t matter for what reason, or for how long; the pain was the same every time.

The straitjacket, however, was worse. He felt like an infant, with his arms pinned to his chest. At least before he had been able to perform basic tasks, or pick things up if he were particularly careful. Now, he could barely sit up on his own without something to brace against.

There were daily periods of freedom, if he could call it that: Three times a day, for ten minutes, a small squadron of armed guards would enter his cell and release a single arm from the jacket. Only there, under their watchful gaze, could he eat, drink or relieve himself. He rarely accomplished all three.  The aching pain in his hands that he’d long since grown accustomed to had only worsened from disuse, as did the tremors. Eating anything, especially with only one free arm, was a slow and difficult process. The guards didn’t offer any assistance, only snickered when he spilled his already meager rations [which was often].

The shock collar seemed to be their favourite tool; they used it if he moved too quickly, or if his free hand didn’t remain visible at all times. Sometimes they’d berate or push him until he made some sort of sound, and then punished him for it. Oftentimes, he’d spill food all over himself as a result.

This routine became his clock, as it was the only way for him to track the days from inside the prison. There was little variation as days turned into weeks into months, but even the slightest change in this schedule left him feeling agitated.  

He was bored, but more importantly, he was lonely. There was nothing to look at except for stark white walls, and no one to interact with unless he wanted to get shocked.  He had always been an introvert at heart, but even he had his limits when it came to complete and total isolation.

He missed magic, and everything that came with it. The energy flowing around him, the way it twisted and moved as he shaped it into spells. How colourful and whimsical the world could be, full of sprites and fairies and strange creatures, instead of the cold, dark tomb he was now trapped in.

He missed Wong.

He missed Clea.

---Months later ----

His usual routine as he’d come to know it had been disrupted shortly after his second meal, when a second armada of guards pulled him from his cell and into a waiting elevator.  It was the first time he’d been out of his cell since he was incarcerated, and that was cause for concern; why would they bother moving him now, after he’d been in his original cell for months now? And more importantly, why did they seem to be taking him deeper into the facility?

The doors opened into a massive room with pure white walls, the glare temporary blinding Stephen as they dragged him roughly from the elevator. When his vision cleared he realized he was being taken through a winding maze of laboratories, though their exact purpose was unknown to him.

His destination was end the end of a particularly long hallway; the door there opened up into a laboratory space not unlike those he has just seen, but he was taken off to the side and into a connecting chamber that was clearly sealed with some sort of airlock on both ends.  The hallway sized space branched off on the right, while the left hand wall sported a few empty hooks and benches. They moved straight ahead, past the second airlock and into a small room that featured some nondescript medical equipment and a chair that looked like it belonged in a dentist’s office.

While half of his escorts kept their weapons trained on his head, the others efficiently removed the straitjacket and secured his arms and legs to the chair instead. His hands were still bound, this time using some sort of tightly fitted mitten that attached to the arm rest, but it was certainly less restrictive than the jacket had been.

“You can go.”

Out of the corner of his eye, the sorcerer spotted a man in a white lab coat that he hadn’t noticed before. He looked comical compared to the guards that filled the room, with his glasses and skinny frame, but his voice carried the commanding tone of someone who was used to having others do as they said. The sorcerer watched, bemused, as the guards immediately began to file out of the room. As the air lock sealed menacingly behind them, Stephen began flexing against his bonds.

The scientist carried on whatever it was he was doing outside the sorcerer’s line of sight, not particularly concerned about being alone with a high level prisoner. That in and of itself was enough to worry Stephen; why was he so confident, despite being alone and seemingly unarmed?

A gloved hand on his shoulder and sudden burning sensation in his neck pulled him out of his thoughts as he gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. He didn’t get a chance to see what pricked him- a needle? - Before the scientist moved back out view.

The man returned a few moments later, following some sort of rustling sound. He stiffened as the gloved hands began moving purposely across his body, this time placing a series of electrodes onto the exposed flesh of his arms, neck and chest. Once satisfied, the scientist stepped away to retrieve some sort of tablet, taking a moment to flick through whatever documents were on the screen.

 “Stephen Vincent Strange, Born November 18th, 1930 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Is that correct?” He spoke casually; as if he were a normal doctor and this were some kind of scheduled checkup.  The sorcerer raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond.

The man seemed to take it as a positive affirmation, and continued.

“Mr. Strange-“

“Doctor.” Stephen hissed out forcefully. He regretted opening his mouth and tensed in preparation for the inevitable shocks that followed, but none came.

The scientist just chuckled, looking amused. The sorcerer couldn’t tell if it was from the way he’d flinched, or his comment.

“Well, not anymore really? At least, not with the state your hands are in…”                

Stephen gritted his teeth to keep from responding. His previous comment hadn’t gotten him shocked, but insulting raft personnel, especially someone as high ranking as this man seemed to be, almost certainly would. He was used to it by now; people would say things to specifically to rile him up like this, then use his response as an excuse to punish him.  He refused to fall for these childish tactics now.

The scientist paused for a moment, as if to waiting for him to speak, before continuing on. “Mister Strange, your medical records show that you are over eighty six years old, and yet you don’t look a day over forty five. How is that?”  

Oh, that was what this was about; his longevity. Of course someone like Ross would be interested in that…

“Look, I’m the one asking you questions. I’m not going to shock you for being compliant.”  His voice sounded slightly irritated, though he didn’t bother looking up from the screen.

His neck was really starting to hurt, Stephen noted.  It had burned following the injection, but now the pain was increasing and starting to spread outward. His throat was starting to feel tight as well, as if it had begun to close in on itself.  This was definitely worrying; whatever this scientist planned to do to him down here, it likely wasn’t good.

“..Thanks, I eat a lot of yogurt.” He replied dryly. He was pushing his luck now and he knew it, even if he had been permitted to answer the questions being asked of him.  It was almost laughable though, that this man thought he’d actually be willing to cooperate.He was living in a dream world if that was the case.

“Cute.” The scientist huffed, but true to his word, he didn’t activate the collar. “I’m assuming it has something to do with your abilities, not that I’ve ever put much stock in the idea of ‘magic; myself…”

Stephen scoffed. It was obvious at this point that the man just wanted to hear himself talk, and that nothing he said would really alter his rant in any meaningful way. He took a moment to shut his eyes while his captor blabbered on, trying to blink away the heavy fog that threatened to engulf his vision.

It didn’t help, and he was starting to have issues breathing.

“…But the cell samples we collected during your surgery three months ago display remarkable properties, despite being completely human. You’re a fascinating subject, really.”

A ‘fascinating subject’? Did this man really view him like some kind of animal he could keep in a cage? Stephen wanted to argue, to fight with him, but he only found himself gasping for air instead. His eyes darted wildly around the room, but he couldn’t make out more than a few blurry details.

The scientist didn’t seem to be concerned about these developments. If anything, he had expected them, the way he now began tapping away excitedly on his tablet.

“Judging by your spike in blood pressure, you should be feeling the effects of the chlorotoxin by now. Any tingling? Numbness?

Chlorotoxin? Was that what he’d injected him with earlier? Stephen tried to struggle against his bonds, but after a few jerky movements he found that he could no longer move anything at all.  His head was swimming from lack of oxygen as he gasped for air, and his heart felt like it was going to pound right out of his chest.

The pain was growing unbearable.

The scientist sounded closer now, but Stephen couldn’t make out where he was anymore; his lab coat had faded into the surrounding walls like a white blur.

“For the last few weeks I’ve been putting trace amounts of arsenic into your food and slowly increasing the dose over time. You didn’t vomit until it was over twice the lethal dose for a human…so testing the effects of stronger chemicals was simply the logical next step.”

The panic began to set in as Stephen realized just how trapped he was. He couldn’t move, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe….The pain had spread everywhere in his body, white hot and agonizing, but he couldn’t do anything to escape it.  

“’…going…to..kill…me…” he managed to rasp out in between laboured gasps for breath. His words were slurred, barely intelligible.

“It won’t, you and I both know that. Your body won’t allow it. I can’t wait to see how it reacts to other things; viruses, bacteria…how do you feel about malaria? We can increase the lethality from there….

Stephen made a weak noise in response.

“We’ll be running several tests in the next few hours, before the chemicals naturally clear your system. They won’t be pleasant, but I’m afraid I can’t give you anything for the pain. It’ll only interfere with my results…”