Despair soon gave way to exhaustion and Ami fell into a fitful sleep. When she awoke later, the headache was a dull muted throb, but her mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. The bitter aftertaste of old bile made her frown distastefully and she instinctively reached her hand toward the cup of water on the bedside table.
The stabbing pain in her head that made her wince was enough to remind her of her incapacitation. The panic returned full-force and Ami forced it back down. Panicking wasn't going to solve anything and it wasn't going to help her. She had to think.
But first she had to clear her head.
Rolling to her side, Ami manually grabbed up the cup, and that was when she noticed the needle taped to the inside of her arm. As she slowly drank the cool, surprisingly clean and clear water, her eyes followed the intravenous line to the pump and the bag. Squinting, and pushing herself a bit further toward the headache she was trying to recover from, Ami made out that the fluid was nothing more than a simple intravenous drip. The small yellow vial that dripped into the stream however was unlabeled. It didn't need to be; Ami had a good idea of what it was.
That small bit of activity exhausted her and Ami collapsed against the pillow again. She let her eyes flutter close until she felt focused again and then gave her "room" a cursory examination. Windowless, with a door that opened outward and painted in that institutional white. There were two surveillance cameras; easy enough to disable if trying to use her abilities wasn't akin to clawing at a slick, glass wall. Behind her a wall of hospital monitors, but the only one engaged was monitoring the IV drip.
The faint flutterings of panic returned and Ami had to take deep, steadying breaths to push them back. (I will not panic. I will not panic.)
She couldn't afford to panic.
Ami continued to scan the room. What else? Hospital gown, but no dresser, no closet and no wash closet or lavatory.
A plan formed, a weak one but at best it would let her know if her friends were here as well; at worst it would simply fail and she'd be no worse off than she was now.
A rising wave of nausea crept up on her and Ami closed her eyes until her stomach settled, relieved when the water actually stayed down. It would be a bit before she could enact her plan – she wasn't even sure she could walk yet. Her passing comfort was knowing that if her captors wanted her dead, she would be dead. They wanted her alive, and that gave her hope – if she didn't find a way out of this herself, she knew that Scott would come for her eventually.
[Ami] Second Awakening
The stabbing pain in her head that made her wince was enough to remind her of her incapacitation. The panic returned full-force and Ami forced it back down. Panicking wasn't going to solve anything and it wasn't going to help her. She had to think.
But first she had to clear her head.
Rolling to her side, Ami manually grabbed up the cup, and that was when she noticed the needle taped to the inside of her arm. As she slowly drank the cool, surprisingly clean and clear water, her eyes followed the intravenous line to the pump and the bag. Squinting, and pushing herself a bit further toward the headache she was trying to recover from, Ami made out that the fluid was nothing more than a simple intravenous drip. The small yellow vial that dripped into the stream however was unlabeled. It didn't need to be; Ami had a good idea of what it was.
That small bit of activity exhausted her and Ami collapsed against the pillow again. She let her eyes flutter close until she felt focused again and then gave her "room" a cursory examination. Windowless, with a door that opened outward and painted in that institutional white. There were two surveillance cameras; easy enough to disable if trying to use her abilities wasn't akin to clawing at a slick, glass wall. Behind her a wall of hospital monitors, but the only one engaged was monitoring the IV drip.
The faint flutterings of panic returned and Ami had to take deep, steadying breaths to push them back. (I will not panic. I will not panic.)
She couldn't afford to panic.
Ami continued to scan the room. What else? Hospital gown, but no dresser, no closet and no wash closet or lavatory.
A plan formed, a weak one but at best it would let her know if her friends were here as well; at worst it would simply fail and she'd be no worse off than she was now.
A rising wave of nausea crept up on her and Ami closed her eyes until her stomach settled, relieved when the water actually stayed down. It would be a bit before she could enact her plan – she wasn't even sure she could walk yet. Her passing comfort was knowing that if her captors wanted her dead, she would be dead. They wanted her alive, and that gave her hope – if she didn't find a way out of this herself, she knew that Scott would come for her eventually.
Nothing in the world would keep them apart.