ext_201934 (
31st-of-china.livejournal.com) wrote in
damned_institute2008-10-28 09:13 am
Entry tags:
Nightshift 36 - ??????????
A void, no sounds, no light, the air chilled and closed in around him...
No air.... no air---
Sanzo's eyes flew open (he couldn't fucking see) with a gasp, right before his lungs desperately tried to suck in oxygen.
It was too much, too soon. The ice-cold air dragged like knives down his throat and he started to choke, coughing raggedly even as he struggled to breathe. The monk's chest was heaving from the effort it took to draw in air, fingers digging into his palms. For several minutes, all he could do was try to suck in desperate breaths, and not pass out again. Convulsion after convulsion wracked his body, before finally slowing.
"Shit....." it sounded weak, hoarse. He tried to swallow, something to push down the irritation in his throat. It didn't work. Another explosive coughing fit. At this rate, he'd be surprised if he didn't just hack his lungs right out.
Reflexively, Sanzo rolled onto his side, started to curl into a ball to try and stop the choking--
---Only to have his head abruptly bang into something hard.
The priest froze, the next gasp dying down into a wheeze. What the hell...?
The last thing he remembered was that "game" in the arena... and the lightsaber buried in his stomach, followed by sheer pain and a numbness rapidly spreading out from his spine. Goku's face...
He must've passed out after that, but that didn't explain where this was. He couldn't see still. Sanzo forced himself to push down the uneasiness. He didn't know if he was blind yet. He was not going to piss himself like the others might've.
Sanzo reached out (for fuck's sake, it felt like his limbs were made of lead), and touched the surface he'd struck. Cool metal, nearly as cold as the air. Definitely not the coliseum. He let his hands roam, feeling out behind him, above him, what he was lying on. The same metal, only a few inches' clearance from his body on each side. A wall of it behind his head. The monk slowly wormed his body down - surpressing another cough - until a heel came in contact with a similar surface.
He was trapped.
Buried alive?, he couldn't help thinking. Now that Sanzo was getting his bearings, it was starting to feel like it. That ugly feeling, the rare panic that he'd prided himself on almost never feeling was starting to come up again. It was one thing to go against assassins, to survive on his own, another to be thrown underground with six feet of dirt over it, a limited air supply---
Sanzo drew in another tiny gasp for breath, focused on the pain that came with it. He couldn't afford to lose it. He wouldn't lose it. He needed to see what else he could find about this place, and then how to get out. He was not the fucking monkey.
A shaky breath in and out. Steadier than before. Still hurt like a bitch.
This couldn't be underground. It wouldn't account for the temperature, or even the metal. A metal coffin wasn't useful to anyone, not if it was needed for equipment, or weapons. Dirt would've made it warmer than this.
Sanzo pushed at the metal above him as hard as he could, weakened muscles straining. It didn't give. He tried again, with the same result. Next came the metal on either side of him. They didn't budge. The monk placed a foot flat against the end of the box, started to lift the other to give it a kick....
...when the "flooring" below him slid a little from the shift. He froze. Nearly-numbed fingers slid down below him and felt around. His fingers brushed up against what felt like a small ravine on each side, and below the apparent platform, tracks. Sanzo struggled to roll onto his front, shoulder and head brushing against the metal sides. At that shift, there was a warning throb from his stomach. Sanzo's jaw clenched.
In the darkness, he groped about, trying to find the edge of the flooring and the tracks again. It took a few tries to find it at this awkward angle, but finally he was able to get a grip. He tried to pull. It didn't come off, or even lift up slightly, instead just rolling the platform he was lying on slightly forwards and backwards.
If this didn't come out or push down, that meant it was supposed to slide either forwards or back towards his feet. That in itself implied...
Either of these ends has to open.
Both hadn't exactly opened when he'd touched them earlier, so he'd have to try with more force.
Once he'd found out which end. Sanzo lashed out with a foot, the sole crashing against the metal with a dull crash. Several more blows, and the thing still wasn't showing any signs of opening. He had to stop. Sanzo's head hung, forehead pressed against the chilly platform, drawing in shaky breaths. Exhaustion was starting to creep up on him again, from both the cold and the effort. His eyes felt heavy. It was taking more and more effort to make his limbs respond. He wanted nothing more than to just rest his cheek against the metal and close his eyes again, stop thinking just how much everything hurt, how hard it was to breath still---
With a sharp hiss, Sanzo lifted his head. Stubbornly, he reached out and pushed at the wall his head had been facing, muscles protesting. The metal indented a little under his fingers, remained firm....he kept pushing.
Something gave. He couldn't see any light but he'd felt it move an inch, right before it caught on something (a latch?).
The monk chewed at his bottom lip for a moment. If it was latched on the outside, he'd have to force it open somehow. The metal behind him was solid and...
Sanzo braced himself against the metal under his feet, then shoved off, the platform sliding forward,. The monk hunched his shoulder just before he slammed against the metal door. There was only a loud ring of steel. The priest gathered himself, tried again. The door shook. Several more tries, with only the sound of the tracks sliding and the thud of his body filling the small container, and his harsh breaths. Sanzo's shoulders were starting to go stiff, probably bruised.
He kept trying.
Sanzo's shoulders and legs were starting to lock up when the door finally gave, with a loud creak and snap of metal. The platform suddenly failed. The tracks jammed as it came against the door, dumping the priest into a heap on the floor.
[to here]
No air.... no air---
Sanzo's eyes flew open (he couldn't fucking see) with a gasp, right before his lungs desperately tried to suck in oxygen.
It was too much, too soon. The ice-cold air dragged like knives down his throat and he started to choke, coughing raggedly even as he struggled to breathe. The monk's chest was heaving from the effort it took to draw in air, fingers digging into his palms. For several minutes, all he could do was try to suck in desperate breaths, and not pass out again. Convulsion after convulsion wracked his body, before finally slowing.
"Shit....." it sounded weak, hoarse. He tried to swallow, something to push down the irritation in his throat. It didn't work. Another explosive coughing fit. At this rate, he'd be surprised if he didn't just hack his lungs right out.
Reflexively, Sanzo rolled onto his side, started to curl into a ball to try and stop the choking--
---Only to have his head abruptly bang into something hard.
The priest froze, the next gasp dying down into a wheeze. What the hell...?
The last thing he remembered was that "game" in the arena... and the lightsaber buried in his stomach, followed by sheer pain and a numbness rapidly spreading out from his spine. Goku's face...
He must've passed out after that, but that didn't explain where this was. He couldn't see still. Sanzo forced himself to push down the uneasiness. He didn't know if he was blind yet. He was not going to piss himself like the others might've.
Sanzo reached out (for fuck's sake, it felt like his limbs were made of lead), and touched the surface he'd struck. Cool metal, nearly as cold as the air. Definitely not the coliseum. He let his hands roam, feeling out behind him, above him, what he was lying on. The same metal, only a few inches' clearance from his body on each side. A wall of it behind his head. The monk slowly wormed his body down - surpressing another cough - until a heel came in contact with a similar surface.
He was trapped.
Buried alive?, he couldn't help thinking. Now that Sanzo was getting his bearings, it was starting to feel like it. That ugly feeling, the rare panic that he'd prided himself on almost never feeling was starting to come up again. It was one thing to go against assassins, to survive on his own, another to be thrown underground with six feet of dirt over it, a limited air supply---
Sanzo drew in another tiny gasp for breath, focused on the pain that came with it. He couldn't afford to lose it. He wouldn't lose it. He needed to see what else he could find about this place, and then how to get out. He was not the fucking monkey.
A shaky breath in and out. Steadier than before. Still hurt like a bitch.
This couldn't be underground. It wouldn't account for the temperature, or even the metal. A metal coffin wasn't useful to anyone, not if it was needed for equipment, or weapons. Dirt would've made it warmer than this.
Sanzo pushed at the metal above him as hard as he could, weakened muscles straining. It didn't give. He tried again, with the same result. Next came the metal on either side of him. They didn't budge. The monk placed a foot flat against the end of the box, started to lift the other to give it a kick....
...when the "flooring" below him slid a little from the shift. He froze. Nearly-numbed fingers slid down below him and felt around. His fingers brushed up against what felt like a small ravine on each side, and below the apparent platform, tracks. Sanzo struggled to roll onto his front, shoulder and head brushing against the metal sides. At that shift, there was a warning throb from his stomach. Sanzo's jaw clenched.
In the darkness, he groped about, trying to find the edge of the flooring and the tracks again. It took a few tries to find it at this awkward angle, but finally he was able to get a grip. He tried to pull. It didn't come off, or even lift up slightly, instead just rolling the platform he was lying on slightly forwards and backwards.
If this didn't come out or push down, that meant it was supposed to slide either forwards or back towards his feet. That in itself implied...
Either of these ends has to open.
Both hadn't exactly opened when he'd touched them earlier, so he'd have to try with more force.
Once he'd found out which end. Sanzo lashed out with a foot, the sole crashing against the metal with a dull crash. Several more blows, and the thing still wasn't showing any signs of opening. He had to stop. Sanzo's head hung, forehead pressed against the chilly platform, drawing in shaky breaths. Exhaustion was starting to creep up on him again, from both the cold and the effort. His eyes felt heavy. It was taking more and more effort to make his limbs respond. He wanted nothing more than to just rest his cheek against the metal and close his eyes again, stop thinking just how much everything hurt, how hard it was to breath still---
With a sharp hiss, Sanzo lifted his head. Stubbornly, he reached out and pushed at the wall his head had been facing, muscles protesting. The metal indented a little under his fingers, remained firm....he kept pushing.
Something gave. He couldn't see any light but he'd felt it move an inch, right before it caught on something (a latch?).
The monk chewed at his bottom lip for a moment. If it was latched on the outside, he'd have to force it open somehow. The metal behind him was solid and...
Sanzo braced himself against the metal under his feet, then shoved off, the platform sliding forward,
He kept trying.
Sanzo's shoulders and legs were starting to lock up when the door finally gave, with a loud creak and snap of metal. The platform suddenly failed. The tracks jammed as it came against the door, dumping the priest into a heap on the floor.
[to here]
