( this memory wormhole probably looked just like any other, but on the other side is a raging sort of chaos. )
Beg me to stop it. I told you to beg.
I'm begging you —
LOUDER!
Please!
( there is a door to an airlock pretty plainly featured, glowing an ominous sort of red as eight young adults thrash against bondage and asphyxiation within. a low warning alarm blares in the background. two figures stand outside of airlock 5: an adult man, hunched around the shoulders of a young blonde woman, with his arm tight around her neck and a gun digging into the side of her jaw. all you can see are their backs, but might still be able to recognize a voice.
maybe you can strain to hear the younger female choke out — )
Aaron wouldn't want you to do this.
( but no straining necessary to hear the man scream with a guttural sort of rage: ) YOU DON'T SAY HIS NAME!
( then the chaos doubles, and a lot seems to happen at once. the teenagers behind the reinforced glass are growing quiet. the ones standing are sinking down to their knees and just hanging from their restraints; the ones seated are lolling their heads as if fighting off sleep. and clarke griffin is taking advantage of carl emerson's fit of emotion to rear back and hit him hard in the face. he stumbles backwards, drops his gun, and she makes a break for the nearby hanging control box. but he's on her again almost instantly.
gets an arm around her stomach, tosses her to the ground like little more than a rag doll, then falls on his knees to haul her off her stomach and slam her on her back. there's a thump of impact, and a crack of her skull meeting the steel plated floor. the whimper clarke lets out sounds like it hurts as her lungs forcibly let out air. but she gets no chance to scream past that, as emerson straddles her torso, pins her elbows with his knees, and wraps both hands around her neck. looms over her. squeezes. starts roaring loud, unintelligible groans like an animal in pain.
AIRLOCK 5
Beg me to stop it. I told you to beg.
I'm begging you —
LOUDER!
Please!
( there is a door to an airlock pretty plainly featured, glowing an ominous sort of red as eight young adults thrash against bondage and asphyxiation within. a low warning alarm blares in the background. two figures stand outside of airlock 5: an adult man, hunched around the shoulders of a young blonde woman, with his arm tight around her neck and a gun digging into the side of her jaw. all you can see are their backs, but might still be able to recognize a voice.
maybe you can strain to hear the younger female choke out — )
Aaron wouldn't want you to do this.
( but no straining necessary to hear the man scream with a guttural sort of rage: ) YOU DON'T SAY HIS NAME!
( then the chaos doubles, and a lot seems to happen at once. the teenagers behind the reinforced glass are growing quiet. the ones standing are sinking down to their knees and just hanging from their restraints; the ones seated are lolling their heads as if fighting off sleep. and clarke griffin is taking advantage of carl emerson's fit of emotion to rear back and hit him hard in the face. he stumbles backwards, drops his gun, and she makes a break for the nearby hanging control box. but he's on her again almost instantly.
gets an arm around her stomach, tosses her to the ground like little more than a rag doll, then falls on his knees to haul her off her stomach and slam her on her back. there's a thump of impact, and a crack of her skull meeting the steel plated floor. the whimper clarke lets out sounds like it hurts as her lungs forcibly let out air. but she gets no chance to scream past that, as emerson straddles her torso, pins her elbows with his knees, and wraps both hands around her neck. looms over her. squeezes. starts roaring loud, unintelligible groans like an animal in pain.
the alarms continue to drone in the background. )