Hall 17

20 : Blackmail

There's a fine line between consciousness and rest, yet Trophy managed to linger right on it. He wasn't aware of anything going on around him, not bothering to move at all. There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears, but other than that, he couldn't feel anything. He wasn't exactly thinking either, not doing anything as his thoughts desperately tried to gather themselves together so he could wake up.

He slowly opened his eyes, a dim light that barely reached the ceiling entering his vision. It was easy to adjust to. Then it became apparent to him. The floor beneath him, the ringing fading away as his body left the air-like state it had been in before, exchanging itself for something much more uncomfortable.

Trophy groaned as he sat up. Or at least, tried to. The moment he did, his handle panged, the pain flooding back all too suddenly. Now that he was aware it was there, however, it wasn't too much of a struggle to sit up again.

By the looks of it, he was in an empty room with nothing but a door and a camera on the ceiling. Well this wasn't what he normally woke up to. What was.... Oh.

The last of his thoughts collected themselves, pulling him into complete wake. Trying to break into the lab, and everything that happened afterwards. Technically speaking, he broke in successfully. It was that one door... that one door he had let his guard down for. He had made a mistake, he let himself get adjusted to everything going on. He should've stopped swinging with such little caution.

He stood up. No, beating himself up mentally over it wouldn't fix anything. He'd just need to find a way to do it again. The doors weren't the strongest anyways, even if they were metal. He was metal too, he could break down a couple doors until he found something else to break them with, right?

Trophy looked around. The room was fairly spacious, but that was most likely due to the lack of... anything. There was some yellow-toned grey carpet and cream colored walls, but overall nothing. The door itself was also metal, and when Trophy tested it, it was locked. Great. He could try breaking down the door later, when his limbs didn't ache from the failed attempt yesterday.

There was also a red stain where he had been lying down before. It didn't take a genius to figure out it was blood, but he didn't care. He knew he wasn't in the best state anyways.

He stood with his back to one of the walls, wincing when one of his handles, particularly the one that hurt more than the other, hit the wall. He shook it off. It was just a bit of pain, nothing he couldn't deal with. It didn't feel like it was in good condition though.

Trophy didn't know much about medic stuff, but he did hear something about 'applying pressure to the wound', or something along the lines of that. He was pretty sure that was for open wounds, but his handles might've not healed properly. Besides, how much time had passed since he was caught?

He reached one of his hands to the handle, though decided against it when the pain worsened as soon as his hand made contact with it, retracting it with a grimace. Well that didn't do anything.

He stood around for a while, leaning against the wall as he procrastinated on trying to break the door down, arms still complaining from destroying so much last night. Was everybody else being kept in these obsolete rooms? And... why was Lightbulb so... Trophy's mind failed at finding a word to describe her.

He let his mind wander off, wondering how everyone else was doing, but his expression was unwavering. He let his eyes close again, just trying to rest so he could get out of this room eventually.

The only thing that snapped him out of reality was a sudden twinge of pain snapping through his handle. While the pain lessened after a moment, it still stung an ungodly amount afterwards, earning a reaction from Trophy.