for Stiles - @lameutedemccall
His head pounded and reality seemed a blur. Body screamed in a stiff agony as life began to fill his muscles and bones once again. He felt like he had been pinned in the same awkward position for an entirety. Lifting his head slowly, rolling his neck to try and stretch out the knots and pain, he couldn’t quite make out his surroundings just yet. His mind was a greyish haze, the room around him didn’t seem like his apartment bedroom - it seemed too bright for that.
Groaning, he went to lift his hands to his head wanting to wipe the sleep from his tired eyes but they were stuck. Really, they were stuck. He tried again, rotating his wrists to try and free himself from his bonds. Nothing. Was he tied? Rope? Nope it was too cold and metallic for that. Cuffs? No, it felt too thick and strong for that. Soon it came to his realisation that his ankles were the same, bound to the legs of his seat.
A smell hit his nostrils and suddenly he felt the need to be sick - metallic, sweet, wrong. Eyes fluttered now, trying to clear his vision. Jeans were stained a dark red, as was his shirt - though a little more patchy. Blood. Now, his mind began to panic. Where was he? What happened? Was he drugged? Hurt? Shocked? He couldn’t make sense. Now, his thoughts and panic began to set in - arms struggling to break free again. His senses then took a turn for overdrive, flooding his body until he passed out again.
Average. That’s what Scott like. Quiet, average, boring life. He had just finished his last shift before the weekend and was already heading down the sidewalk home, blending in with the hussle and bussle of the Hells Kitchen part of New York. He kept himself to himself and that’s the way he needed it to be. Unfortunately, things were not to end this way tonight.
As he took a turn off the main roads, heading down the damp alleyways - something unusual struck his eye tonight. A door to one of the buildings had it’s door left ajar. No car outside, no sound of anyone around - it just seemed odd. Stepping closer, Scott felt the need to address it - Hells Kitchen was far from a safe haven, crime was forever strife. Now he could of just closed the door and left it at that... But no, he craned his head around the door and took a look. It was dark, no lights on - no one appeared to be home. A staircase stood towards his left.
“Hello?” He cooed upwards. Nothing. “Ya know if you keep this door open this long, you’re gonna have a whole load of alley cats moving in.” He tried to be light hearted, but something didn’t feel right as soon as he took a step into the hallway. The smell was the first to hit him. Fresh and metallic. Blood. And it was all over his shoes. “What the fu-” He began to feel sick, unsure what he had gotten himself into. Carefully he began to make his retreat but as he did so, something massive hurtled itself down the stairs - colliding with Scott and knocking him to the floor.
Scurrying in the liquid all over the floor, he managed to get back to his feet but the shadowy figure had disappeared. Confused and startled, Scott backed himself up to the door and slipped out - slamming it shut behind him. Panicked, he turned heel and ran - ran for home as quick as he could, making sure he keep out of the way of anyone oncoming. After all, he was covered in another person's blood. He made it back however, scrambling for the keys in his pocket to unlock the door but...
He woke again in a panic, inhaling sharply - mind racing still. Shit. He was still shackled in place in that shiny bright room but this time when he looked up another sat across from him. Suited, clean cut... Oh Christ, someone had finally caught up with him.
