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oncoming_storms: Portals
I don't sleep particularly often. Not really because I can't, but because sleep isn't always a necessity. I sleep when I need to, wake when I don't. Time Lord biology makes keeping track of one's sleep schedule fairly easy, so I don't, in general, have to worry about oversleeping or losing track of time in bed.
As it was, when I awoke, I was able to tell immediately that I had slept a very, very long time. My body felt restless, and while relaxed, I knew that it wasn't a natural state of relaxation.
Oh, and I wasn't in my bedroom in the TARDIS. I was in some spherical bed…pod…thing, with a frosted glass covering that slid back as my eyes attempted to adjust to the bright, clinical lights of the room I was in.
A hospital, perhaps? The last thing I remembered was planning to take Martha out for a trip into her future, and then something hit me. A hospital would make sense. There was also a tinny, upbeat song that played from a radio on the table beside my bed. The floor and ceilings were gray tiles, and the walls were glass, with high windows for people to look in. Hospital seemed to be the correct answer…except for the strange feeling of something wrong that kept poking at me.
I gave my head a scratch and took a breath. Where was Martha? What happened here? My suit and shoes were gone, replaced by an orange jumpsuit and a brace-like set of heel springs. I saw them once on Chantal 3 during wartime. They attached with straps to the back of the knee and sat just below the heel so one could walk on them and fall from surprising distances without getting injured. Someone had taken the liberty of strapping me up, preparing me for…well, at the time I wasn't sure at all.
But whatever it was, it wasn't hospital-related.
The room was set up like a cell. Bed, side table with a clock, a toilet, and no door. There was a gray slab of wall on one corner, with a clock, counting down from one minute. One minute until what? Execution? Then why go to the trouble of prepping me for battle?
"Who are you?" I called out, but the sound of my own voice hurt my head. "Where am I?"
The counter hit :40, and an automated female computer voice spoke. As there weren't any speakers in the room, I could only imagine it must've been through the walls. Or maybe in my own head.
( Hello and again. Welcome to the Aperture Science Computer Aided Enrichment Center. )
Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,225
The mun would like to apologize for her obsession with Portal, and omfg but it worked so well with this prompt.
As it was, when I awoke, I was able to tell immediately that I had slept a very, very long time. My body felt restless, and while relaxed, I knew that it wasn't a natural state of relaxation.
Oh, and I wasn't in my bedroom in the TARDIS. I was in some spherical bed…pod…thing, with a frosted glass covering that slid back as my eyes attempted to adjust to the bright, clinical lights of the room I was in.
A hospital, perhaps? The last thing I remembered was planning to take Martha out for a trip into her future, and then something hit me. A hospital would make sense. There was also a tinny, upbeat song that played from a radio on the table beside my bed. The floor and ceilings were gray tiles, and the walls were glass, with high windows for people to look in. Hospital seemed to be the correct answer…except for the strange feeling of something wrong that kept poking at me.
I gave my head a scratch and took a breath. Where was Martha? What happened here? My suit and shoes were gone, replaced by an orange jumpsuit and a brace-like set of heel springs. I saw them once on Chantal 3 during wartime. They attached with straps to the back of the knee and sat just below the heel so one could walk on them and fall from surprising distances without getting injured. Someone had taken the liberty of strapping me up, preparing me for…well, at the time I wasn't sure at all.
But whatever it was, it wasn't hospital-related.
The room was set up like a cell. Bed, side table with a clock, a toilet, and no door. There was a gray slab of wall on one corner, with a clock, counting down from one minute. One minute until what? Execution? Then why go to the trouble of prepping me for battle?
"Who are you?" I called out, but the sound of my own voice hurt my head. "Where am I?"
The counter hit :40, and an automated female computer voice spoke. As there weren't any speakers in the room, I could only imagine it must've been through the walls. Or maybe in my own head.
( Hello and again. Welcome to the Aperture Science Computer Aided Enrichment Center. )
Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,225
The mun would like to apologize for her obsession with Portal, and omfg but it worked so well with this prompt.