[ Joel wakes with a groan, squeezing his eyes shut tighter against the pain. He feels like he'd been beaten and then dumped, left for dead. What he finds, once his head clears and he's able to take in his surroundings, is worse.
It's like a sick, twisted dream. The IV in his arm, which he pulls out without hesitation, dropping the needle to clatter on the ground. The thin hospital mattress. He can practically hear the doctors' voices, screaming in fear, begging him to stop, but of course no one's here. It's just him.
Which is a problem. With a grunt of effort, he sits up and pushes himself off the bed, staggering before he catches himself. The room's a mess, and almost without thinking he grabs the few supplies he can see: medical tape, a scalpel that could be fashioned into a shiv, a bottle of pills. There's no time for a thorough search, not when Ellie's who knows where, but as he heads for the door he catches sight of the file, picking it up to stare at the pictures inside.
It grows all over the brain.
But it had been his own brain, this time, the doctors had cut into. He remembers it now, as clearly as if it had just happened, and he raises a hand in alarm, only to brush against his hair - uncut, unshaven, no bandages or scars or any evidence at all of what he knows had happened.
What the hell.
With a growl, he drops the file and prowls out the door, already calling out in a deep and dangerous bellow. ]
Joel Miller | ota
[ Joel wakes with a groan, squeezing his eyes shut tighter against the pain. He feels like he'd been beaten and then dumped, left for dead. What he finds, once his head clears and he's able to take in his surroundings, is worse.
It's like a sick, twisted dream. The IV in his arm, which he pulls out without hesitation, dropping the needle to clatter on the ground. The thin hospital mattress. He can practically hear the doctors' voices, screaming in fear, begging him to stop, but of course no one's here. It's just him.
Which is a problem. With a grunt of effort, he sits up and pushes himself off the bed, staggering before he catches himself. The room's a mess, and almost without thinking he grabs the few supplies he can see: medical tape, a scalpel that could be fashioned into a shiv, a bottle of pills. There's no time for a thorough search, not when Ellie's who knows where, but as he heads for the door he catches sight of the file, picking it up to stare at the pictures inside.
It grows all over the brain.
But it had been his own brain, this time, the doctors had cut into. He remembers it now, as clearly as if it had just happened, and he raises a hand in alarm, only to brush against his hair - uncut, unshaven, no bandages or scars or any evidence at all of what he knows had happened.
What the hell.
With a growl, he drops the file and prowls out the door, already calling out in a deep and dangerous bellow. ]
Ellie?