George is the son to parents that own a multi-million dollar eco friendly car company. Cars have never been George's favorite subject. He knows which are the most expensive on the market because of his father but he's never understood the hype.
Aft...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Burned too bright, now the fire's gone, watch it all fall down..." Babylon 5 Seconds of Summer
Water choked his lungs and gave the burning impression of drowning. Slow and torturous. Hospital-grade soap seeped into the corners of his eyes and stung the raw skin on George's wrist. They were washing him. Stripped down to his boxers George didn't have any energy to fight back.
The teenagers from the van were assistants for the workers that didn't speak English. It sounded like quick babbling, chipped words, unclear syllables. That was until George realized it was Japanese and fuck him why did he start learning French in high school instead of the latter. He felt like a tribute to a sacrifice.
Tommy handed a masked person a towel. Uneasy and full of jitters, his tuff guy act was washed away like the blood on George's lip.
This felt like something from a movie, being kidnapped. It was all jokes before. He'd seen the plot lines and how everything played out, but it was a thousand times worse to live it George decided. He was getting sick, the shivering was enough of a sign. The cold water was only progressing the situation. Things ached. The wrist he'd broken a few months ago was experiencing stabbing pains from being cuffed so tightly. Aggressive gloved hands wretched him this way and that, it was sure to leave bruises.
Exhaustion was the hardest part of it all. Both eyes threatened to droop every second, pull him under. Sleep was scarce the night before his wedding and getting knocked out wasn't healing. George had never gone through so much distress. He was fine mentally but some part of him knew this would come back to haunt him in his dreams. Hands. Alcohol soap. Technoblade. Scared kids. Aching contusions. God that was such a great picking for his nightmares.
"Move."
Herd out of a shower room like cattle, George followed sluggishly to a lavish room with ceiling-high windows. It had expensive settees and chairs. Something Quackity was love, obnoxious and flashy. George figured the color must've been black and red by the ugly undertones he registered. A fully stocked bar was set up and empty of employees to the left. The three teenagers were shoved in behind him carrying bags, then the door shut and bolted eerily. Freedom had always been metaphorical to George, now it was concrete. He was captured and bound.
When Letting his shoulders drop he felt his knees give out with them. Tubbo, although in vain, ran to catch him. George hit the ground.
"You alright?"
George lied to save face, "yes. Just need to sit down."
Tommy hid his worry by digging through the bag. Clothes around George's size presented themselves between Tommy's nimble fingers.
"What do they expect us to do," Tommy scoffed. "Be your personal stylist?"
George forced himself to remain present, now wasn't the time to panic. It would set off a chain reaction for the rest of them, it wouldn't help their situation, and it would only spiral his own thoughts. He clenched his jaw and held out a limp hand from the couch Tubbo dragged him to, "just let me see."
