Once Again

Chapter Nineteen - Calling Out

Filler chapter, anyone?

Calling Out

The sound of metal clanging on metal woke him. Noise groaned and tried to stretch, but the agony that ripped through him prevented him from moving any further - that and the strips of fabric wrapped tightly around his arms and wrists, tying him to a pole of some sort.

Where was he? It was still dark, but he could see slivers of sunlight scattered on the floor, just enough to illuminate the dark room. It looked like a basement apartment or something, with a table and a molding couch in one corner, and a window with thick blinds in the other. There was more off to the left side, but he couldn't turn his head, and that side of his face had swollen too much for him to open his eye all the way.

The longer he sat, the more aware he became. He wiggled a little and confirmed that he was tied up, but his broken wrist had been wrapped with some sort of splint, as had his ankle. He was slumped on the floor, leaning backward, but it hurt too much to sit up straight, so he stayed where he was. There was a horrible sick taste in his mouth, half from the thick cloth tied around his mouth and nose, and half from whatever drug they'd forced him to take to knock him out. He took a deep breath and gagged, lurching and nearly throwing up into the cloth. The jerky movement sent a wave of that agony through him again, making him cry out, but his voice was muffled. For the first time in nearly seven years, he was helpless.

A sudden terror struck him, borrowing in his chest and making him sick again, his stomach turning. He felt a cold sweat trickle down the back of his neck as his heart rate increased and his breathing grew quick and heavy. Everything that happened to him now was completely out of his control. Now it wasn't just orders. He literally had no control over his life from this point on until he was either set free, rescued, or killed. Two of those options seemed very unlikely at the moment.

This couldn't be happening. He was the strong one. He was the one who survived everything, the one who went on impossible missions - and he'd completely blown his chance of taking Rogue's place.

He tried to calm down, but the strange sounds that filled the room haunted him and kept him full of fear. He hated being afraid, but he couldn't help it. No one came in, which Noise thought was strange, and that only make the dark, uneasy feeling grow worse.

He didn't know how long he sat there, alone in the dark, watching the sunlight slivers move across the room, but he determined that now it was somewhere around late afternoon, as he'd watched the sunlight creep up the wall and disappear. He found himself wishing for someone to come in. He didn't care if it was an Alpha or another Raider, or even some monster from a different dimension. He just wanted to make sure he wasn't the only person alive here. 

And then he heard something - voices, carried by the wind. They were far off, but they were familiar and he felt his hopes rise against his will. How would they find him down here? There was no point in getting his hopes up when there was almost no chance of them rescuing him.

"What's this?" Puppet's voice said, drifting toward him. He still sounded far away. What was Puppet doing here in an Alpha camp?

Noise wondered if he could wiggle around enough to loosen the cloth tying him down. If he could, maybe he could get over to the window or the door to get his attention.

"That's Braken's mask," Rogue said, and Noise sighed through his nose.

Just my luck, he though bitterly. The person I hate just happens to be the only one who can save me.

"What was Braken doing here?" Puppet asked.

"Look. Scorch marks. There was a fire here, and ..." Rogue's voice trailed off. "What is that?"