Work Text:
RX-3081 came to in a supply closet.
At least he assumed it was a closet. He couldn't see anything. The room was dark and cramped. It smelled faintly of cleaning chemicals and lubricating oil. He could feel the soft scratch of a blindfold over his bare face, the tight tie that held it in place. Yet he knew it was dark, no light filtered through the fabric to his eyes.
Okay.
This was not normal.
The last thing he remembered was the feeling of being watched? He was in the locker room. He'd removed his helmet and tossed it in his locker. Then he knew he wasn't alone. But there was no one there? And then a sharp pain in the back of the head?
That explained the headache. The entire front of his face hurt. It almost distracted from the dull pain in the back of his skull where he must have been struck.
RX-3081 took a deep breath through unobstructed mouth. At least he wasn't gagged. He closed his eyes behind the blindfold and began to take stock of his situation. His armor was missing. He didn't remember taking it off. That fact unnerved him as he continued with his assessment. His shoulders and knees were sore. He shifted around in his closet, found it wasn't much larger than he was. At least it wasn't an airlock. He pulled at his hands, feeling the bite of cord around his wrists.
Oh kriff.
He shifted in the tie. Someone had bound his wrists behind him. The bind was well done and complex, the tight cords looping around his arms over and over and then each loop tied tight in a field lash. He hunched his shoulders and tried to pull his wrists up but felt the tug on his ankles. There wasn't enough room here to try spreading his legs, to get a feel for if his ankles were tied together or individually to his wrists. The way his wrists were tied he couldn't even reach down to feel them directly.
RX-3081 leaned forward and felt his shoulders stretch, his head coming to rest against the bulkhead. Cool metal helped with the pain in his face, and why did his face hurt? He didn't feel like he'd been punched. He would have seen an attacker who came at him from the front.
What to do. What to do...
He tugged on his wrists, pushing up with his knees as though he were trying to stand. He could raise himself up to a kneel but the rope hogtying him forced him to arch back. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. He wasn't just thrown in here to be gotten rid of, this was a message.
But if this was a message, who was the recipient?
It couldn't have been him. He accepted anonymous threats, everyone knew that, and this was far too elaborate to be an anonymous threat. So the recipient must be someone else. Which meant he was expected to be found. But was he supposed to be found alive or dead?
His mouth was free. He wasn't gagged. That meant 'found alive' the most likely plan.
Good.
RX-3081 began to scream.
The noise echoed in the tiny supply closet, the sound stabbing into his already throbbing head. But still he screamed, throwing his entire voice into attempting to get out of this.
If he had to be someone's threatening note, that was fine. But he wasn't going to deliver that message dead.