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Today was maybe the first good day Mark had had in over a year, and honestly, probably longer. But as everything has always shown, the world had it written in its code that it could never truly be a good day for Mark Winters.
Cold shackles roughly slammed against his wrists on the battlefield of Deadwood.
“Ey! What the fuck are you doing?!” he shouted, jerking his shoulders and moving his hands away from each other. The action felt like instinct at this point.
“Just protecting the people.”
So this was just a stupid fucking cop.
“Get your damn hands off me,” Mark yelled, “I didn’t do shit!”
He could see his son on the ground. His god damn son. His hair was knotted to high hell and charred at its ends, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed. As long as he wasn’t trapped in a fucking cell, it could be fixed.
The cop grabbed higher up on his arm and pulled it closer to the center of his back. This man had power behind his movements. It definitely felt like some kind of super strength. Not the strongest he’s had to deal with, but not easy either. The officer grasped his arms tightly, forcing them into an uncomfortable position. What would usually be enough quick movement to at least loosen someone’s grip did absolutely nothing against this pig.
“Don’t you need to say what you’re arresting me for or whatever?” Mark hissed. Yet another tug did nothing.
“What haven’t you done.”
“A lot of shit, dumbass,” Mark flatly remarked, “Wanna list?”
He felt the hands pinning his arms to his back. It was rough, but he knew the whole song and dance and had seen it a hundred times. Felt it dozens. But he knew he was in deep shit the very second he heard those series of clicks locking his hands together.
“I think the fellas down at the station have a pretty hefty list of what you have done, Wavelength.”
He rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
“Don't get snippy with me,” the officer admonished, like he was his dad or something. This kid barely looked 20.
“I’ll get snippy with whoever the fuck I want.”
The handcuffs tightened even further, making him feel even stiffer.
“I wouldn’t try that if I were you,” Officer Piglet knowingly said. Mocking him. Alright, this was officially one of the most annoying arrests he's ever been involved in.
“Yeah, sure, and I’m supposed to take your word for shit, why?” Mark deadpanned.
He could damn near hear the grin in the officer’s next words.
“Wrong answer.”
He felt a jolt run up the length of his arms, stronger than the current constantly charging him. It tore a short yelp from his mouth as his knees buckled, but managed to remain standing.
His arms were burning from the inside. It was as if boiling water was poured down his arms as he was made to lay on the hot New Haven concrete in the middle of summer. He tensed his head, looking down to avoid any extra input. He did not need sunlight to make his eyes ache when his arms were already ablaze.
The burning migrated up his arms and into his shoulders. It flared and stung. He’s dealt with electricity. He’s dealt with it for years, even before he realized he could wield it with a bit of mechanical finesse. He’s shocked himself more times than he could count. But this wasn't normal electricity. Not fucking close.
This burned hotter than anything he’s ever felt. Magma was a prick, but at least he pulled his punches when dealing with people who weren’t gonna kill him. His vision began to spin and sway, and he knew he wasn’t moving with how tightly he was held by the damn cop. He wasn’t too sure if he was going to be able to stay conscious for all that long.
He almost wished his skin would bubble from the heat just so he could see the source of the pain, but the only visual sign was a barely visible redness. Maybe it would split his skin open soon and leave him with lightning scars up the length of his whole arm. Just another scar to add to the gallery. Couldn’t even say it was from something cool.
Mark drew in a seething breath, trying to keep his eyes from drifting shut.
“Can’t say I didn't warn you, Wavelength.”
He choked out, “Piece of shit,” before getting too overwhelmed by the pain.
The piglet just laughed at him. Of course he takes joy in seeing criminals’ pain. Probably loves seeing the thieves with a record crumbling.
The searing pain creeped to his spine, shaking him to his core. He felt the need to scream, but chose to bite his tongue. Hard. He didn't think that his face had strayed from being a contorted grimace this whole time.
Mark’s back spasmed from the current running through it. He involuntarily jerked his shoulders and arms with his back, making the pain so much worse.
“Woulda thought you’d be down by now,” the cop snidely remarked, “Color me impressed.”
“Go fuck-” the pain intensified again, this time actually pulling a shout from him. The pain pulsed through his whole body at this point. If not for the cop holding him up, he would be face planted on the ground. The pig was obviously waiting for him to pass out to drag him to the wagon. Can't even handle pushing him along while both cuffed and in near-delirious amounts of pain.
The burning sensation in his wrist and lower arms faded slightly, only to be replaced by a sharp, pin-prick sort of pain. Needles jabbed into him, his nerves on overdrive from getting shocked for minutes on end.
His vision began to blur at the edges. He wouldn't be able to stay up for much longer. Tearing his eyes from the ground, he took another look at Ashe. He was still down, but Tide's boys got a jacket under his head now. They looked like they were trying to talk to him.
He would get out soon enough. There was no way in hell that he was missing his son waking up. He would break out of the jail cell before they could even write down that he was there. He would kill a guard for their keys before letting himself sit behind bars, no bail to speak of, his son waking up without him. Might sound cruel, but he has his priorities in line. Some random guard that thinks he’s the scum of the Earth for daring to survive meant nothing compared to his kid. If someone thinks that some guy’s life was worth more than seeing his kid wake up after a fucking year, then they don't even know half the shit he's been through.
The blur at the edges grew to encompass the vast majority of his vision. Blackness creeped in at the edges. He could barely think anymore. One of the boys, he couldn’t tell who, was grabbing Ashe's hand.
That should have been him.
But here he was, getting taken in for who knows what. Going to be knocked out for who knows how long. Taken to a city jail who knows where. Definitely not New Haven, and probably not Deadwood. No where close to where his boy would be taken. That's if his kid even gets taken to New Haven’s hospital in the first place. Who knows where either of them are gonna end up.
His vision faded to nothingness, but he was still barely awake. He heard nothing. He saw nothing. He felt so much. He felt the needles prick up the entire length of his arms, digging so deeply that he couldn’t think of anything else. He wished he could just pass out. His body was in agony, and it just felt normal. Agonizing, but normal. He wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn't able to move right for a long while after this.
And soon enough, he was nothing.