Here We Go Again

15: What Happens When Your World Is Ending?

It's been a while, so here's a nice, long chapter with tons of details for you.

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When Peter woke up, he was still in the wheelchair. The only different now was that he was in what seemed to be a truck. The wheelchair was secured to the floor by quite a few straps and Peter was still strapped to the chair. He tried to stretch his arms but could only move his wrists. The leather cuffs were sliding against his sweaty skin and it became irritating.

It was hot and his hair was sticking to his forehead. His shoulder ached from when Jacob stabbed the needle into it and the bandage was soaked in sweat. He couldn't see clearly and he figured two things could have happened. One, the affects of the a aesthetic he was given could still be wearing off. Two, they took his contacts. After a few minutes, he realized they took his contacts. When he moved his feet he also realized they took his shoes.

He saw a lump in the corner and after a minute of squinting viciously in an attempt to see what it was, he determined it human.

The truck must have went over a bump because Peter flew up and strained against the straps holding him. His head snapped back and he groaned, rolling his neck to lessen the pain. Suddenly he was tilting to the side, then assumed the truck was rounding a corner. The movement stopped and Peter figured they hit a red light.

"Are you alright over there, kiddo?" came a groggy voice from the corner. It wasn't familiar, meaning it wasn't one of the two voices he had come accustomed to in the facility.

"Who the hell are you?" he groaned.

"Name's Freddy. I was just hangin' out, just left my favorite bar, and these dudes jumped me and put me in this van." Peter listened to him talk and how he talked and raised an eyebrow.

"Are you drunk?"

"Hell yeah. You're not?" Peter chuckled.

"Man, I've been in a freakin' cell in a facility for like a week. I haven't had a drink since my boyfriend almost died."

"Woah! Almost died? What happened to 'im?"

"Wrong place, wrong time."

"That sucks. My brother almost died once, ya know. Well, not really. Not really at all actually. He just got really drunk one day and passed out."

"That's not good."

"Well no, not really. Hey, are you stuck?"

"Yeah. I'm tied up, literally. Cuffs on my wrists and ankles, some weird seatbelt type thing on my waist. Hey, wait, aren't you tied up too?" Peter sat up straighter and squinted at the corner. Freddy seemed to be sitting against the wall of the truck, staring at the ceiling.

"Nope. I'm too drunk to friggin' stand, man."

"Shit."

"Sorry, kid. I'd help ya, but I think it's time for me to sleep."

"Thanks anyways. You remind me of my uncle, ya know. And I've got like six."

"Six uncles? Shit, man, that's a lot."

"Not six exactly, but a lot. Same number of aunts too. I have a big family. None of them are actually related to me."

"How'd ya mean?"

"They're all friends of my parents. One of my dad's best friends, my other dad's best friend, some ex-agents of something, a God, and two mutants, but they don't like to be called that."

"Shit, kid, who would?"

"Shut up, you two!" It was a different voice that came from another corner of the truck.