Hybrids: An Indoraptor Story ✓

Devils & Monsters [Pt. 2]

The deafening hum of fluorescents were first to greet him.

Lying face down upon a spread of smooth white concrete, Click awoke with a groggy start, with only a string of reddened drool tying his busted lip to the ground.  The male groaned; nothing comforted him when he came to -- not a thought, a feeling, or a sound. Just the hum above seemed enough to rouse him, it's intense hiss irritating his soul with complete and utter dread. His senses didn't make things any better. A blur of lifeless colors was all that came to his eyes. Sound didn't seem so promising either -- the hum grew and grew, so he shifted to touch. The ache of his poor body did come as a surprise to him, as if dragged a hundred miles, his skull ringing like a church bell at dawn.

He had to get away from it.

Click started shifting to his claws, dragging each dirt-stained finger against the roughened rock below and pushing upward. It was enough to roll over; the male letting out a gasp as the full intensity of the light above struck his sealed eyes. Another groan left him, he tried turning himself to the leftmost portion of his frame, then pressed a hand aft of himself where a wall supposedly stood. Click couldn't stand yet, his legs still felt like jelly, so he let gravity drag him over to his rear end where he could relax himself against the adjacent wall. His head slumped, chin grazing the base of his torn brown shirt before lifting to the space ahead of him.

Still blurry. Not as bad as before, but enough to gather a picture.

He was in a room of some sort. He could notice three walls: back, left, and right. The space ahead of him flickered with the light; it had to be glass. Click still wasn't so sure. But beyond that was another room, a smaller one, but well lit much to his annoyance. A few chairs lined the front portion of the space, another row just hindering behind that one, then a slew of windows and doors just at the furthest end. The best way to describe it all was a makeshift theater, the kind Click would take his daughters to when they were little.

Click blinked again, pressing a hand against his skull. A massive gash cut through his skull, courtesy of his 'friend' who struck a blow with the end of a rifle. It wasn't bleeding as terribly as before, but the bulging bruise was disgusting to feel. He let out a wordless growl -- a part of him should've known better than to relay all trust to people. Nobody is worthy of praise and honor in such a diluted company like INGEN. A company that puts the needs of their bank accounts over their living merchandise.

And murders humans for the hell of it. How are they not out of business?

Something started moving to his left. Yes, there was someone sitting there, watching him. Studying him. Fiddling with something that looked very much like a bag of Doritos. He couldn't make it out entirely, but his interests were well worth letting loose. Shifting another inch upright, Click peered over to the figure for a second time, trying to make out his body -- he didn't look familiar.

Nor did he sound familiar.

"How are you doing, Tommy?"

Click blinked a sixth time. The picture was clearing up more for him; the person was mid-sized, tall, and much older than he. A white mask covered up his face, so it was hard to tell who it was. But he did see a few things; rectangular glasses hung from his snout, and a faded sideburn leveled up his half-grayed hair. Enough to manage a picture. Click squinted harder, watching the man stand upright and wander toward the front.

"Mm, I left some Advil to your right," he pointed toward a small cup near the right corner of Click, something he hadn't recognized earlier. "Just in case you need it-"

"Where am I?"

The male finally pulled his mask down -- Click saw his face head on, but still didn't know who he was. A smirk came into view; the male drew a red chip to his mouth, crunching on the tip and swallowing once. "Somewhere safe. Trust me."