… And to say that you panic would be putting it lightly.
Trapped. Completely, utterly trapped. A cage of cruel metal straps bite into your feathers, pinning your wings tight to your body. Your legs, your tail … you can't lift your head, or open your jaw. You've been muzzled so thoroughly you can't get your mouth open, and there's something over your eyes. You think you might be in some kind of vehicle — and it has to be a big one, to hold you at your full size.
You try to thrash. It gets you nowhere. You try to call upon your magic. It doesn't answer.
You can't breathe.
You barely recognise the sounds you're making.
"It's awake!" … But you do recognise the sound of human voices around you, through the veil of rage and fear and terror and no no no no. A hand pets your flank, fingers combing through feathers. You jerk against your restraints, snarling thunderously. The hand flinches back … but not for long.
They laugh, exhilarated. "McKenzie, prep another sedative. The other one metabolised too quickly."
"On it!"
Footsteps. The hand trails up along your wings, its owner cooing over your plumage, the strength in your muscles. "I can't wait to get a proper look at you. You're a marvel — a real beauty." You want to curse them, or maybe just rip them apart limb by limb.
More footsteps — a different set, and the other voice returns. "This one should last us until we get it into the facility. Uh ..." The footsteps pause a few feet away.
"What, are you that much of a chicken?" The first voice is impatient, "It can't hurt you."
You're going to shred them-
"Who the fuck are you calling a chicken, dickhead-"
More hands. You feel a cold, sharp stab as you're injected and struggle harder than ever, hard enough that it hurts, until the sedative takes hold and drags you under.
24
… And to say that you panic would be putting it lightly.
Trapped. Completely, utterly trapped. A cage of cruel metal straps bite into your feathers, pinning your wings tight to your body. Your legs, your tail … you can't lift your head, or open your jaw. You've been muzzled so thoroughly you can't get your mouth open, and there's something over your eyes. You think you might be in some kind of vehicle — and it has to be a big one, to hold you at your full size.
You try to thrash. It gets you nowhere. You try to call upon your magic. It doesn't answer.
You can't breathe.
You barely recognise the sounds you're making.
"It's awake!" … But you do recognise the sound of human voices around you, through the veil of rage and fear and terror and no no no no. A hand pets your flank, fingers combing through feathers. You jerk against your restraints, snarling thunderously. The hand flinches back … but not for long.
They laugh, exhilarated. "McKenzie, prep another sedative. The other one metabolised too quickly."
"On it!"
Footsteps. The hand trails up along your wings, its owner cooing over your plumage, the strength in your muscles. "I can't wait to get a proper look at you. You're a marvel — a real beauty." You want to curse them, or maybe just rip them apart limb by limb.
More footsteps — a different set, and the other voice returns. "This one should last us until we get it into the facility. Uh ..." The footsteps pause a few feet away.
"What, are you that much of a chicken?" The first voice is impatient, "It can't hurt you."
You're going to shred them-
"Who the fuck are you calling a chicken, dickhead-"
More hands. You feel a cold, sharp stab as you're injected and struggle harder than ever, hard enough that it hurts, until the sedative takes hold and drags you under.