She doesn't know how long it's been since the warwolves last took a bite out of her except that whoever was going to be here next was going to hate this more than she had. The floor had gone from grimy and disgusting to having far, far more blood on there that Madelyne could deal with. And it had looked like a horror movie when they’d thrown her in.
The warwolves had enjoyed her maybe too much, and had only backed off for a moment; she had one corner to herself, knees pulled up, tasting blood in her mouth, barely able to feel the right side of her body. Time passing in here didn't seem to matter or feel real; it was just this: taking in breath after breath, trying to survive from one moment to the next. It wasn't all that unfamiliar in some ways: stumbling through Genosha, running in a war zone with the X-Men when she had no powers, walking in the dream desert--
The last part makes bile reach the back of her throat. Being tricked into accepting the Goblyn Force wasn't something she ever wanted to think about again if she could help it.
The memories weren’t going to help her survive here. Not with warwolves watching her, waiting for her to move. She’d been too still for them, and they all know it, as she swallows up her pants of anger and terror, heart pounding in her chest.
Her body aches, almost locks up from the effort to keep quiet. For all the jubilation last month had brought of having a real body, one that could feel pleasure, one that could exist in a way she’d never had before, this month had been a reminder of all that a body could deliver in terms of pain. Her back sends up a wave of pain, her shoulder joining in before it radiates to her neck and shoulders. She tries as hard as she can, tries to be as stubborn as she usually could be.
Time wins, as always, when she shifts her leg, attempting to be more comfortable than before. That’s all the warwolves need: they lunge. Her arm goes up on instinct.
By the time they're finished, she's dragged out with more blood sticking to her than what she ever thought possible. Normally, she would have sought out someone else; Jean or Renae or Hank. It's just everyone's too hurt or being dragged out now for Maddie to do anything but drop her head against the floor where they had discarded her, uncaring of the grunt of pain she’d given when her side hit the floor. She couldn’t even fold her arm for the painful sensation rushing into her. Someone might have said or done something; but Maddie can’t be sure if she had replied or pushed them off.
She curls up, warms wrapping around her, taking breath after breath. There's fresh slop -- or as fresh as slop can be -- not far from her. For as much as she asked everyone else to eat it, and had tried to coach away their understandable revulsion for it, ingesting herself seemed just as repulsive now. Repulsive, and necessary; there wasn’t anything else.Her head feels too heavy to pry off the floor and her stomach feels too delicate to even digest the garbage they were feeding them.
Still, she reaches out her arm as far as she can, to scoop some up. It's grimy against her fingers, pushing it inside of her mouth, trying not to taste it. It mixes uncomfortably with the blood -- a flash of Molly comes up: the memory of walking home after a moshpit gone wrong, nose bleeding profusely, mixing with cigarette ash in her mouth -- and goes down hard. Sticks in her throat, and the water is hardly any better. Maddie gets three scoops in before her stomach threatens to force it back up.
Time to go back to sleep. No more Genosha: Time to dream of Anchorage and a house that was empty too soon. Of watching the screen, tears down her face, Nathan crying in her arms. Time to dream of Karen's face when she wakes up, with no baby to show for it. Time to dream of sleeping in the back of a car that she doesn't remember climbing into, going into the deep of night, bad music blaring from the speakers. Every turn of the dream, every dip into the memories intertwining them is worse than before. Her body tosses and turns; she thinks she asks for her aunt, for Adam, for Lainey, for her mother, for Jean, for Arthur, in her sleep. Maybe even for Nathan.
Not a one is concrete. Her sleep isn’t the least bit restful, or comforting. By the time the guards force her awake, Maddie can hardly drag herself up. That’s what the collars and prods are for anyway, her bleary eyes forced open, her body made to move.
Another fight, another bilndfold, pushing her out the doors and into the arena.
The feeling of her powers waking up inside of her doesn't excite her as much as it had the first day. That had been exhilaration, that had been the first time she’d felt like herself, until she realized what it really was. This time she understands that there's no chance for escape. Just a good show.
The lackeys scream, the lights are too bright in her eyes. She can see Carol Danvers opposite her, steeling herself up.
Maddie is so tired of fighting. But there isn't anything to do except ro make sure that she and Molly both could live through this. However long this lasted, however much longer it would take to be found. Even if it wasn’t for any longer than the time it took to crawl back into the room and see everyone else there.
Carol runs towards her, face contorted with determination. Maddie swallows the blood in her mouth and braces for impact. She can do this: survive.