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Day three. I think. There aren't exactly windows so it's a little hard to tell time, but the lights in here have been shut off twice.
Not like I could sleep any.
Found this notebook in the desk drawer. Dunno why I'm doing this. Maybe just in case... in case I die in here, so someone can find it and tell Aunt Cass and my friends and Professor Granville and everyone else that I'm sorry. If they're even...
Hiro stopped, his pencil scratching to a halt, his fingers and chest tight. The breath shuddered out of him, rattling all through his body.
He dropped the pencil and pushed back from the desk, out of his seat and pacing again as the familiar gut-churning panic and fear coiled in his stomach. His shoes tapped softly on the metal floor as he paced from end to end of the small room—the small cell, his brain unhelpfully reminded him—trying to work though the clenching tightness squeezing his diaphragm.
He couldn't think about that. Don't think about it, he told himself, scoldingly. Don't think about everyone and everything being gone, wiped out by the invention he helped make.
After a long four minutes his insides finally loosened. He stopped walking, pressing hands up against his face, dragging his fingers through his messy hair.
He returned to the desk and grabbed up the pencil, biting his lip to hold back the heat stinging his eyes.
I can't get out. I've tried. Bruised up my whole arm bashing against the door.
I don't know what happened. I think my friends managed to stop Obake's device. There was a loud rumble and I could hear a lot of shouting. Obake sounded pissed. I haven't seen him at all since he locked me in here.
He won't tell me what's going on.
That was the worst part, Hiro thought, feeling acutely again the cold shallow pool of dread that was now a permanent fixture in his stomach. The silence. The not knowing. Not even the echoes of Noodle Burger Boy's bright chipper voice gave any clue or hint as to what was happening outside his prison.
His left hand drifted up to gingerly touch his sore right shoulder, tender from his fight with the door.
He sighed and scratched out a final, miserable line.
I miss Baymax.
Getting up again he crossed over to the flat cot that served as the bed, both arms crossed now, fingers curling tight into the folds of his blue jacket. He sat and scooted back to the wall, knees up by his chest, angling his head to look towards the door and the single porthole that was his only view outside. He watched for a long hour for a flash of shadow, a flicker of movement, something, anything.
But there was nothing.
-BH6-
Day four. Obake must have a camera in here somewhere, watching me. Swear I only drifted off for ten minutes but when I woke up there was a food tray waiting for me on the desk. Don't understand why he waited 'til I was asleep; he couldn't stop talking my ear off before. I'd almost take that, right now. The quiet is killing me.
Hiro stared down trepidatiously at the plate of food sitting there on the metal surface of the desk.
He should eat. He should. Starving himself wasn't going to help.
But the spit tasted like ash in his mouth and his stomach rolled over, queasily.
Swallowing thickly, Hiro stepped back away from the desk, wandering to each of the far corners of the room in turn.
-BH6-
Day four still. It's late, I think, but the lights haven't been shut off yet. Finally ate a few things off the tray. I feel fine so I guess it's not poisoned or drugged.
Worked at the door again for a while, but the wheel doesn't budge, and I can't access the lock from this side.
Checked the bars on the air vent, no luck there either.
If he was just a little bit scrawnier he might've been able to slip through the narrow gaps between the bars, assuming he could pull himself up high enough. Hiro stared at the vent, wondering if the dresser would be tall enough to reach if he shoved it up against the wall underneath.
His ears pricked at the sound of footsteps in the hall and then he jolted as the metal bolt in the door scraped back.
Hiro whirled around, tingles of fear pricking around his head, buzzing his ears. He felt very cornered as he looked towards the opening door.
A long silhouette stood there. Obake stepped into the room and Hiro swallowed. This had been what he wanted—a break from the oppressive silence, a chance to confront Obake and demand to know what had become of San Fransokyo and his aunt and friends—but now that he had it... he wasn't sure he wanted it anymore. His heart raced with cloying fear and his throat was so tight he couldn't make himself speak. He trembled as he gaped at the villain, who looked back at him with impassive, eerie calm.
Hiro forced his voice past the claws tearing at his lungs. "What—" he attempted, words hitching in his throat. "What happened to the city? Are my friends—?"
"The city remains standing and your friends are making a nuisance of themselves," Obake interrupted, turning his gaze clinically towards the desk. He stepped into the room and placed something on it—the broken pieces of Hiro's energy amplifier. "For now," he said. He stepped back again, hands clasping behind him. "I need you to rebuild it," he ordered, a terse edge in his voice.
Hiro shuddered with a small sense of relief, then firmed his eyes and glared as he crossed his arms.
"There is... no way I'm doing that," he emphasized.
Obake's mouth twitched, the hints of a creepy smile playing at his lips. "We'll see," he said simply. "I'd like to point out, I can make your stay here very unpleasant if I have to, Hiro, though I'd much prefer not to. Do try to be cooperative," he said, patronizingly, putting a hand on the door's edge as he stepped back across the threshold.
Belatedly, Hiro lunged for the door, tramping across the room only for it to slam in his face, the lock clicking back solidly into place. His fists thumped against the solid metal block, his heart sinking, the weight of his guilt and despair dragging down his head.
Hiro inhaled shakily as he looked at the floor, then pushed up from the door.
He pointedly ignored the broken parts on the desk as he went back to the cot, curling up on its meager cushion.
-BH6-
Day five. The lights weren't turned off last night. Obake waited until I was right about to fall asleep and then he pumped a FREAKING ALARM into my room. It's been going off for hours now.
Hiro groaned miserably, clenching hands over his ears as the shrill screech of the alarm echoed in his tiny cell. His eyes blinked blearily. Every limb was tired. But the sterile white light and the blaring ring wouldn't just let him close his eyes and drift away.
He blinked back tears. The lack of sleep was getting to him. Clenching his hands tighter around his ears he grit his teeth and tried to endure.
How early was it now? 1AM? 3? He couldn't tell; the alarm had been going for an eternity it felt like, and he didn't exactly have a watch.
Feeling a scream building up in his chest, Hiro stood from the chair, journal entry forgotten, trying to block out as much of the horrible sound as he could with his hands.
The alarm continued, unceasing. Uncaring.
"Stop it..." he muttered. Louder, he cried, "Stop it!" He stumbled back, thighs hitting the cot. "Make it stop! Make it stop!" he begged.
The alarm didn't stop, but a squeal of feedback sounded in hidden speakers before Obake's voice piped in.
"You know what I want, dear boy," the villain said pleasantly, disturbingly cheerful.
Hiro clenched his teeth, glaring at the pieces of the energy amplifier on his desk. Defiantly, he took his hands off his ears, grabbed one of the pieces and hurled it into the closest wall, bouncing it off the side and shattering flakes off.
"Suit yourself," the voice in the speakers said, and the alarms seemed to grow even louder, pounding inside his head with painful pressure.
Hiro's face screwed. His eyes squeezed tight, mouth firming until he couldn't feel it.
He sank to the floor and scooted up under the cot, trying to escape the awful noise.
-BH6-
Day five six?
I caved. He threatened Aunt Cass. I'm sorry, Tadashi, I can't... I can't lose anyone else.
Hiro blinked hard, willing away the threatening blur tearing at his eyes. His hands shook on the grip of the screwdriver as he tried very hard to twist back in a bolt.
He hadn't been given many tools. Obake had apologized for what was on hand, promising to give him whatever he needed, sounding uncharacteristically concerned.
Hiro couldn't think about that. He couldn't think about anything.
He focused on the ringing still reverberating through his ears and the meticulous motions of his hands as he tried to piece back together the broken parts of the amplifier, the pinch and click of metal the only sounds in the now-silent room.
-BH6-
Day ????
Amplifier's almost fixed. I don't remember when Obake was in last, but he sounded pleased with my progress.
Ears finally stopped ringing.
This is all my fault. I'm sorry, Tadashi, I'm so, SO—
Trembling fingers dropped the pencil, and Hiro covered his face, sobbing through his hands harshly.
-BH6-
The journal lay open and unupdated on the desk, next to the nearly-repaired amplifier. Hiro stared morosely at it from the cot across the room, ear pressed to the pillow, too depressed to move.
Maybe if he sat here long enough, Obake would just get fed up and kill him.
Emotion welling up his throat, he turned and pressed his face against the thin pillow, holding back the tears that wanted to steal from him.
He hated being here. Hated this cell. Hated himself.
His clothes were starting to stink. He wanted to hurt himself, force Obake to let Baymax in to see him.
He couldn't bear to lift a finger. He just sat there.
Unmoving. Unblinking.
In the utter silence.
-BH6-
There was a noise at the door.
Hiro lifted his head groggily, confused, pulling out of some fitful sleep. There seemed to be voices, frantic and worried, out in the hallway.
Blue light stabbed suddenly through the door and Hiro yanked upright, sleep falling rapidly off him. His heart lodged straight in his throat, windpipe threatening to crush itself from the strain in his neck as he stared in guarded, fearful hope at the plasma laser blade slicing through the metal.
Great pieces and chunks of the door fell away, and Hiro flung himself up, stumbling on shaky feet until he hit Wasabi's chest and flung arms around his middle, openly sobbing into his friend's stomach.
Wasabi was frozen for a moment, plasma blades held up awkwardly as he glanced towards the others, all wide-eyed with worry and pinched with concern.
He dispelled the blades, dropping arms around the quivering, shaking shoulders of the fourteen-year-old and squeezing tight, ignoring his own quibbles about open PDA and how rank and disheveled Hiro was.
"Hey, it's okay," he reassured the boy, hugging harder. "We've got you."
The others crowded in, arms joining the embrace and holding the youngest member of their team with fervent emotion.
"We've got you," came the whispered repetition, echoing around the group.
Hiro just cried in relief.