It feels like standing on a beach and being pushed over by a wave that draws the sand out from under your feet and pushes you beneath the surface in a rush of choking salt spray. The world drops out from underneath Logan; he follows it down, falling to hands and knees and digging his fingers into the soft earth, trying to find an anchor, a stable point.
As the wave rolls away, Logan hangs his head like a dog and retches up his breakfast, enhanced senses knocked askew by the psychic energy. His whole body is ringing like a struck bell, dizzy, blinded. Ruth -- where is Ruth?
Then the voices start rising from the wall of sound. Voices he knows, snatches of conversation, words shouted next to his ears from invisible throats in a dozen languages. He knows they’re saying words but somehow they don’t make sense, overlapping each other, too loud. They echo through the meat of his soul, triggering memories of floating in tanks, of lying on cold tables, his eyes sewn shut and metal rods embedded in his sinuses to penetrate his brain, skewering his throat, bristling from his back, in every joint, every orifice, aching, burning.
Not again, not again --
“No!” Logan roars, staggering up, clawing at his face, expecting to feel wire threads in his eyelids and finding nothing but normal skin. Redness threatens the black of his vision; the beast, rising. Claws snap out from between his knuckles. He swings at nothingness. “NO!”
what i want to know: where does the time go? - logan - open to anyone there - cw: torture/gore
As the wave rolls away, Logan hangs his head like a dog and retches up his breakfast, enhanced senses knocked askew by the psychic energy. His whole body is ringing like a struck bell, dizzy, blinded. Ruth -- where is Ruth?
Then the voices start rising from the wall of sound. Voices he knows, snatches of conversation, words shouted next to his ears from invisible throats in a dozen languages. He knows they’re saying words but somehow they don’t make sense, overlapping each other, too loud. They echo through the meat of his soul, triggering memories of floating in tanks, of lying on cold tables, his eyes sewn shut and metal rods embedded in his sinuses to penetrate his brain, skewering his throat, bristling from his back, in every joint, every orifice, aching, burning.
Not again, not again --
“No!” Logan roars, staggering up, clawing at his face, expecting to feel wire threads in his eyelids and finding nothing but normal skin. Redness threatens the black of his vision; the beast, rising. Claws snap out from between his knuckles. He swings at nothingness. “NO!”