Surly, angry, and—well, normal, Tori sat in a frustration-laden chair in the common room. Her bicep stung; she didn't know what she'd been injected with, she never did, and that made her even angrier than she usually was. Her hair was quite matted and unkempt; she'd spent the entirety of the night before clawing at bedsheets, restrained with leather straps as chemical-induced hallucinations ripped through her psyche. She had been just conscious enough when it ended to swear at the doctors before she passed out.
So, if anything, Tori was even angrier than usual.
She jabbed at the food in front of her, scowl briefly giving way to a look of concern and confusion: she had absolutely no idea what this was supposed to be. Usually the food was recognizable, if unpleasant looking, but this was some sort of (maybe) meat-based brown mush. Her lip curled up. God, this is disgusting. Guess I'm not eating. She shoved it away, slurping aggressively at a strawed cup. At least the water tasted like water.
From off to the side, she heard a woman's voice: "Now sit down and shut up."
Shifting her focus to the side, she saw a much older man—thirty? Forty? Something like that—being led in by another of the endless orderlies, muttering something she couldn't quite hear. She rolled her eyes. Sit down and shut up indeed. She closed her eyes. Might as well get some kind of sleep before she was called in for the next in the cavalcade of bullshit that they called Paragon.
---
Tori sighed as she fell back on her ratty junkyard couch, rubbing her aching hands slowly together. "Stupid fucking customers," she grunted, ill-tempered. Her voice jumped up into a ridiculous register, pretty much her approximation of a falsetto, and she pinched her fingers together in the mocking "stop talking" gesture. "Oh, hello, I'd like an iced cascara coconut milk latte with chocolate and caramel, but not too much chocolate and an extra pump of caramel, oh, and make sure it's decaf, but not too decaf, and..." Her voice trailed off, punctuated with a grunted "Fucking teenagers."
She popped a flask from out of her back pocket, near-yanking the top off and taking a long pull. And do it all again tomorrow, she thought, punching the couch irritably.
Thunk
Her ears perked up, and she hastily recapped the flask, getting herself into some semblance of decency and, moreover, getting herself ready to fight if she needed to. After all, her neighborhood, to put it lightly, was not the best. She fished into the pocket of her jeans, pulling out a folding knife. Moving carefully over to the door, she put her eye to the peephole, peering through cautiously.
There was a flash of brilliant light through it and she fell back, clutching at her face. The door blasted inwards, revealing four black-clad people who went straight for the disoriented Tori.
The grungy apartment was filled with the sound of a struggle, but it didn't last for long. "What the fuck are you doing?" she managed to choke out, feeling a collar clasping around her neck.
There was no response, and a hypodermic needle passed into her half-blinded line of sight. She desperately bucked, trying to escape, but she was firmly held, offering no real resistance to the syringe. A few seconds later, she blinked blearily, swore with a deeply slurred voice, then crumpled to the ground.
---
Choking with panic, Tori bolted upright, barely stopping herself from screaming. She was covered in cold sweat, and her back ached from the uncomfortable chair she'd been sleeping in. Dropping her head into one hand, she grit her teeth together.
"I swear to God, I'm going to fucking murder them all," she hissed. After a few moments to recover from her nightmare, she looked around, seeing the older man from before sitting a little ways away. The ubiquitous collar was clasped around his neck, and she fingered her own. If anything, she was even worse-tempered now that she'd woken up than she was before.