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Tintin couldn’t remember exactly how he got where he was, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t had a very good idea of what had been happening to him. He was far too familiar with being kidnapped to not do so.
But this might’ve been slightly more new than usual. Even through the rushing luminescent blur of colour in his vision and the thick fog inside his throbbing head, he felt a physical feeling of pressure encircling his upper body, feet just about skidding on a slippery floor. He was being dragged somewhere, keenly aware of how his shallow breathing and thudding heart beat felt like he could feel them inside his head. Even trying to swallow felt like a painful echo, and trying to kick and lash out was near impossible with how heavy and uncontrollable his limbs were.
Voices and sounds were drowned out, but the smell of disinfectant and clean linen was far too recognisable to his nose to ever be taken away from him. Naturally though, despite being in hospital practically a million times in his life, his current predicament made him know that this was not a place he’d be treated for the better.
He’d be much more external with his panic with his general dislike of hospitals, especially since it was associated with a great deal of pain, and more so, vulnerability that he’d ended up there countless times. Whether he was there to be treated for his injuries or be a guinea pig for medical experimentation, none of it was something he wanted to be a part of for long. It was usually such a big deal for him that sedation either way had to be done to get him to remotely tolerate what was happening to him.
What passed next was a haze, still barely able to register voices around him, or any recognisable faces. At least then he could have someone to pin this on, as he was dragged through a door where there was clearly no shortage of intense cold white lighting. His eyes were unfocused, even when he felt the clear indication of being pulled properly to his feet, the icy feel of something metallic behind him.
The panic was rising through his chest, feeling like he would break a rib from the constriction around it in his need to hyperventilate, even more so when his limp body was picked up by his feet and under his arms, of which the latter were hanging uselessly underneath him.
The feel of what was plainly a metal table that had been behind him as he was placed onto it made him feel like his chest was on fire. He could handle most kidnappings to an extent, but he was becoming more dreadfully aware of the position he was in. Despite this, even trying to look at his captors or the room he was in rendered nothing that didn’t look like a painted blur of lights and colour, head lolling to the side with half-lidded eyes as he started to feel the restriction of something leathery around his wrists and ankles.
Time seemed to pass immeasurably as he was left here in this room on this table, eyes closing for what felt like a minute and then waking up to nothing but this new buzzing in his ears, the room empty and a little more lucidity as the sedative began to wear away for the time being. Had he been left here for hours?
He had barely been able to move his head, realising that these were more difficult restraints than he thought. The straps had not only been put around his ankles and wrists, but even his neck and torso. He could just about breathe, but the pressure on his neck as he found himself more able to hyperventilate just made him panic more.
He couldn’t see any windows, which explained the idea that he was most definitely underground, the place lit by the blinding luminescence of artificial white lighting. Whilst he could barely move his head, at an angle, his eyes caught a glimpse of what looked like sharp, needle-like objects on a silver table.
He felt like his whole stomach had dropped dramatically, heart now at a rapid pace against his chest.
He always felt like he had so much to hide, and for good reason, but he couldn’t grasp at the idea of trying to hide anything right now. Out of many things, needles just brought out the worst in him, but no amount of straining at his restraints could free him from the inevitable. He hoped for the love of God he could just pass out, get it over and done with, he already felt like he was on the verge of hysterics---
He didn’t notice anyone come into the room until he flinched at a touch on his arm before it evolved into some strange soothing motion along it. He looked up, and though he could very obviously tell exactly who it was, making the mistake of making eye contact with this rich bastard aristocrat made his blood run hot and cold.
This man always seemed to have a very lingering and unsettling presence in his life no matter what, ever since he thought he’d finished with him after the whole event with the scrolls to the Unicorn, but he always seemed to find a way out because of his unfortunate status and connections – getting arrested clearly did nothing to ruin his place in society.
His own face took on a sneer of frustration, unable to hide his distaste despite his terror. “Oh, it had to be you, didn’t it? It’s always you. What are you not involved in?”
Sakharine laughed darkly and mockingly in response. “You’d be surprised, my dear boy,” he drawled, a tone of bragging evident in his voice, “and I’d say exactly the same thing about you.”