Chapter Text
You drift into consciousness and wash up on its shores like a castaway. You barely remember what it feels like; of late your dreams have been so very vivid, your time asleep lasting a confusing lifetime. You wait until you feel you can open your eyes without being beset by dizziness. You open them, and you take your first breath.
You cannot make it seem less than desperate. It almost seizes in your chest. It does not take long to forget what air feels like. Your eyes tear involuntarily. A few more breaths shudder in and out of your chest, and you hang your head and wait to regain control of your body.
"I'm sorry," comes a soft voice in your ear. You do not turn to look. You focus on where your limbs are. Hands are behind the chair, enveloped in something that does not allow much movement. It seems to be bonded to the chair somehow. It's not rope or handcuffs, you know. Legs take longer. When you open your eyes again you're staring at them, so you know they're both present, but you can't feel them, and you take a minute just to realize your ankles are adhered to the chair with a similar (compound?) as your wrists.
You hope, in your daze, that it doesn't stain your suit.
Your captor slips around in front of you, a wisp blown in by the wind. "My apologies, Detective," he says. His expression is wistful, apologetic, honest. "Thirteen seconds under current, too long." He kneels in front of you and reaches for your throat. You are not yet fully awake, you feel, and you react belatedly and instinctively. You pull away.
You wish instantly that you hadn't done that. A frown crosses his face. "If you please," he says crossly, "I would like to remove the nodes. Unless of course you want me to try again. Five seconds should be more than enough at this point."
You calm yourself inwardly and force yourself to take regular breaths. Your shirt is open at the collar, several buttons loose and grating against your sense of decorum. Your tie hangs loose around your sternum. His fingers slip past your shirt and peel something from above your heart, something at the base of your neck. His fingers dwell on your skin.
He pulls out something with wires and patches of medical tape. "Lovely," says Pernicious Innovator, evil genius and scourge of the city you strive to protect. "I knew we could be reasonable about it."