[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/vcyTlTu.png[/img][/center][center][img]http://i.imgur.com/3R5vYYi.png?2[/img][/center][hr][center][color=silver]π•Šπ•–π•‘π•₯. πŸ›, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / β„‚π•£π•šπ•žπ•–π•Ÿ ℂ𝕦𝕝𝕑𝕒𝕖 πŸ™ / / 𝕆𝕦π•₯π•€π•œπ•šπ•£π•₯𝕀 / / πŸ˜πŸ™πŸ˜πŸ˜[/color][/center][hr] Cold. It was cold when he woke up. Christmas struggled to open his eyes as he felt the motion of something vibrating all around him. Was this the afterlife? Just a lot of weird sounds and movement and darkness? He shivered and finally managed to creak his eyelids open, deciding on a half-lidded compromise as lights bled into view through a haze of blurred vision and sleep exhaustion. How long had he been out? The memories slipped back into his mind one by one as he continued waking up. The liquor store at three in the morning. The terrified owner. The tranquilizer needle. He had actually done it. He'd actually gotten himself arrested despite everything his parents had tried to do to prevent anyone from finding out that he was a subnatural. And he had done it to-- The reasoning slid out of his grasp and he inhaled a deeper breath just as his mind processed that he had been leaning heavily on someone nearby while he had been asleep. It took more strength than he thought it would to move his body off the person's shoulder, and Christmas's vision finally focused enough to catch a pale youth with brown hair, sitting in deep thought, apparently unconcerned that Christmas had woken up. He debated saying something to the guy, but refrained, rubbing his eyes instead to clear the last vestiges of sleep from his face as best he could. A hand strayed to his head and groped for the blue ribbon he always tied in his hair. Still there. A small comfort. No sooner had he roused himself sufficiently when a large laser shot through the sky, quickly followed by the unmistakable glow of Sparrow's magic. And the second glow had to be Prism, whom Sparrow was sharing her flight with. Precursors. Here. Christmas shrank back against the strange material of the truck he was in, realizing only now as the fear forcibly kicked his mind back into gear that he was cuffed and chained to roughly 20 other people by both his wrists and ankles. Then he noticed the transparent trucks as Sparrow's light briefly flew over the caravan of vehicles. He was being carted off to one of the USARILNs. It took him that much longer to grasp that he would be at USARILN East, from where they had captured him. His heart was jackhammering a hole in his chest as the nerves and panic set in upon the emergence of Dreamcatcher's monsters--or something that looked like a cheap copy of Dreamcatcher's monsters. The details were all slightly off, and they didn't have the wicked intelligence that all of Dreamcatcher's creatures now seemed to share. It was obvious who it had to be, but Christmas refused to think through the conclusion, instead bending over and wrapping his arms around himself, the chains on his ankles too taut for him to pull his legs up to his chest. He remained like this, breathing deeply as the cars that had stopped on Sparrow's and Prism's arrival finally began moving again. [center][img]http://i.imgur.com/3R5vYYi.png?2[/img][/center] [hr][center][color=silver]π•Šπ•–π•‘π•₯. πŸ›, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / π•Œπ•Šπ”Έβ„π•€π•ƒβ„• 𝔼𝕒𝕀π•₯ / / β„‚π• π•Ÿπ•₯π•’π•šπ•Ÿπ•žπ•–π•Ÿπ•₯ β„‚π•™π•’π•žπ•“π•–π•£ πŸšπŸ› / / πŸ˜πŸ›πŸ™πŸ[/color][/center][hr] By the time they reached the underground complex below USARILN East, Christmas had managed only a paltry semblance of calm, arms still tightly gripping his elbows like he just wanted to fold in on himself and disappear. That wouldn't be entirely false. The Director, her speech, the reactions--everything sailed over his head, most of the information unable to penetrate the clamor of fear ringing through his mind. [color=8493ca][i]We're going to die. We're going to die. We're going to die.[/i][/color] He instinctively drew his light jacket closer to himself, almost wishing he was back home in his warm bed instead of here, at this place where nothing but fear and death reigned supreme. But a part of him didn't want to go back there--to that other prison with bars of happiness and locks of forced optimism and saccharine smiles. His cheeks sometimes hurt from smiling so much at home. His mind dragged a slowly analyzed thought to the forefront, struggling against his shuddering panic. Ankle cuffs would be easier. He wouldn't have to consistently smile at the ankle cuffs to make sure they were happy. That was fine. That was fine. [color=8493ca]"I-I'll..."[/color] his mouth struggled to move properly through the quivering of his lips as he spoke softly without looking directly at anyone, [color=8493ca]"w-wear the ankle cuff. P-please don't k-kill me."[/color]