It had been a bumpy ride, but the chopper pilot was apparently experienced in flying under a variety of conditions. They didn't even give him a chance to change his clothes- or check the duffel bag to make sure Federation Corrections Center Prime hadn't helped themselves to some of his belongings.

He was anxious- they didn't tell him much about what they had in mind, just that it was an alternative to what was certainly his fate if he'd stayed in prison. He still suffered the treatment of a maximum security convict; wrists, ankles, and neck secured with interconnected restraints, orange jump suit and armored, armed guards on either side of him, charging their tasers as a warning every time he so much as looked at them. He couldn't stop repeating to himself, [i]Anything is better than this; I don't deserve this.[/i]

Once they'd landed, they were quick to roughly drag him from the helicopter, and practically carried him to the security team that was waiting for them. They were just as rough about removing the restraints, one of them with a weapon leveled on him as the other went about the task.

He was confused for a split second when they didn't leave, only to go wide eyed as the other continued, forcibly removing the jumpsuit! [i]You've got to be kidding- please, this has got to be a bad dream-[/i] They left him shivering in his underwear, and he just tried to cover up the fresh bar code tattoo on the left side of his neck (the mark not only of a convict, but a declared enemy of the Federation). They threw down his duffel bag, and simply said, "He's all yours." before rushing back to the chopper, which couldn't seem to leave fast enough. [i]Dropped like hot garbage.[/i] He thought, as he shivered, and the tattoo stung under his hand, [i]I don't deserve this...[/i]

The security personnel picked up his bag, and were quick to escort him inside; they didn't have anything to cover him with, and didn't seem to have any intention of letting him get dressed again. As they moved down the halls, he couldn't help feeling humiliated at his current state, but still relieved. Despite the anxiety of being in this place (that only seemed marginally better then the prison he'd "escaped"), the uncertainty of what would happen to him here was worlds above the certainty of where he had previously been.

He noticed others, in passing, similarly escorted,[i] Huh. I wonder if they're part of the same experiment?[/i] he also couldn't help but resent he was the only one being handled in such an undignified manner.

The guards stuck around, but backed off once they got him where they were taking him. "Put on the gown, sir." [i]Gown? like, for surgery?.. Wait.[/i] After he complied, they led him into a room that looked prepped for surgery, and a terrible idea dawned on him as he saw someone prepping a needle. He saw the heavy restraints on the table he was clearly meant to lay down, looked at the needle again, and began to tremble as he shook his head. "N-no. No!"

The guards were quick to grab him as he backed away, and proceeded to wrestle him onto the table, kicking and screaming! "You told me I'd get out! Stop, you told me this wouldn't happen! Please, no!" They had no trouble forcing him onto the table and strapping him down securely; he wasn't an especially strong man. "No! No-o-o-o! Please! I don't deserve this!" He screamed and cried as they held the gas mask over his face, but he was going under quickly, still pleading for his life, weakly, certain he was about to die, "I don't deserve this..."

Then everything went black...