Screams echoed in pure darkness, bouncing off one wall after another until it traveled down the impossibly large hallway, lost in the vents of the pure white, sterilized building. With the end of one scream followed another, the pained sound was enough to make a grown man vomit thinking of the hurt the being that bellowed the sound was in. The screaming stopped, uncontrolled lights flickered, someone was using electricity. It streamed through the cracks between two large swinging doors. Whispers emitted, the world became more clear, although nothing new was learned, knowledge flowed.
The doors opened, inside were human like figures, dressed in white, seeing them ignited a feeling of hate. A small table with shiny interests beside them. One is lifted, a small knife much like a butter knife. It was pristine as it shown in a large and blinding lamp above them that wasn’t there before.
On the table was a blanket, more importantly a blanket with an outline that was familiar. The whispers were talking about said outline, the whispers got louder, nothing is clear, the information they were emitting was unknowable, it sounded like murmurs of nothing, something to fill the air of the white room Their faces were blank, no eyes, no mouths, no distinguishing characteristics like hair or gender, the information there was also lacking.
The outline moves, the knife was closer to it now. Red seeps through the blanket. The outline was organic, an animal?
It’s head moved, the snout recognizable. suddenly knowledge of what, no, who, was under the spread came into the world. The moaning that followed suddenly had a face, a personality, a history, it was more real then the white cloaks that were little more then spot fillers for a story in your mind with limited information.
The sheets lift, somehow what was under the sheet was already known, yet it elicited fear when confirmed. Someone else screams.
Peter Quill jolts up from his slumber, mouth wide and dry as he bellows “Rocket!!!” His mind takes in what he sees, he was back on the Milano, a nightmare, he realizes sodumly. Another one.
as reality comes back to him he rubs his eyes, they stung, were red and dry. He feels hands over his shoulders, rubbing him, “Are you going to be ok?” Gamora’s dry throat forced out with a sad inflection to it, her eyes also red, maybe worse off then his own.
Peter says nothing, his face feels tight again, and desert like eyes water again.
"We will find him Peter.." She says, she didn’t sound like she believed it though.
"I don’t know if I want to"