Thud, thud, thud. Sullivan growled against the sound; it pounded in his head like a drum, straining against his eyes and forcing the seductive tendrils of sleep further and further away from his grasp. Thud, thud, thud. It took Sullivan another minute to realize that the sound was coming from<i>inside</i>his head, from the blood rushing against his skull. As his senses reawakened, one by one, he began to recall where he was and what had happened to him.<br/><br/>A garbled mess of undignified curses catapulted out of his mouth, rattling against the damp stone walls of his cell. He didn't even need to open his eyes to know where he was. He had been caught stealing - not the first time, not the last time - and the humans who had arrested him weren't exactly<i>delicate</i>. Sullivan was used to being rattled around a little, but he hadn't expected being knocked clear into next week.<i>That</i>had never happened before. The law in his city wasn't friendly to shifters, but at least they usually had the sense not to blatantly abuse them in broad daylight.<br/><br/>It took Sullivan a few tries to successfully brace his eyes against the flood of light before he could take in his surroundings. His stomach lurched when he realized he didn't actually recognize this cell. With his (rather compulsive) penchant for theft, he was certainly no stranger to jail cells, but this wasn't one.<br/><br/>"Oi," Sullivan tried his voice, coughing abrasively when it seized up on him. Oh, he didn't feel well. The pigs really did a number on him this time. However, he was nothing if not resilient, and fought against every screaming bone and nerve in his body to get to his knees. The shackles binding his hands behind his back certainly didn't make it any easier.<br/><br/>Once the world was no longer horizontal, he was able to make better sense of his situation. The first thing that stood out to him - other than having no idea where he had been taken - was that he was wearing different clothes. No, you couldn't even call what he was wearing 'clothes'; 'scraps' was more accurate. His plain black clothes had been removed and replaced with gold threads around his neck, and the smallest, tightest shorts he had ever seen. "The fuck?" Sullivan hissed to himself, his stomach lurching again.<br/><br/>The second, and somehow more unsettling, thing that he noticed was that he was completely alone here. There were no other prisoners, and no cops leering at him. A sour taste filled his mouth as the pieces started to come together. This was<i>definitely</i>no fucking jail cell. This was a<i>different</i>kind of holding cell; a much more insidious one.<br/><br/>"Oi," Sullivan called again, louder this time, raspy voice even rougher than normal. Nothing. His voice bounced against the walls, just like the distant<i>drip, drip, drip</i>of some long-forgotten leak. He fought against the nausea, nausea which could have been from either the potential concussion or the dark reality that was slowly dawning on him, and spit once on the ground. Then, after a few quiet moments of panic, he rattled his shackles and roared, "Fuckers!"<br/><br/>It echoed three times before petering out, just like Sullivan's sense of calm.<br/><br/>This was bad. This was really<i>fucking</i>bad. Sullivan would easily take an actual prison sentence over this; apparently the pigs decided they had had enough of him, and this time they were going to<i>sell</i>him. He knew that this happened to shifters - it wasn't exactly a secret - but he never in a million years had thought it would happen to<i>him</i>. He was smart, and thrifty, and slick, and okay, maybe stealing wasn't the<i>brightest</i>thing to do in his shoes, but it wasn't supposed to result in this!<br/><br/>Panic started to rev up in him like the engine of a race car, and he spat once more onto the ground before gagging. He caught himself, thankfully, before actually spewing, because that was the last thing he needed right now. He screamed again, a hysterical little sound, as he tried to get to his feet, but he wasn't able to manage with his balance being so off.<br/><br/>It was as he was pathetically trying to scramble to his feet that the heavy metal door to the holding room squeaked open, and two burly looking henchmen came dragging in an equally-burly-but-outnumbered shifter, laughing about god-knows-what to themselves.<br/><br/>Sullivan immediately bristled. "Oi!" he shouted yet again, forgetting he was shackled and making to lunge for the bars of the cell, resulting in him nearly dislocating his shoulder. He howled, falling flat on his arse, feeling his face heat with humiliation and terror.<br/><br/>He had wanted to look menacing, as menacing as he could in this situation, but in reality his black, fluffy ears were pressed flat against his head, and his tail was tucked between his legs. It didn't help that he was naturally kind of scrawny, and his only strength lied in his tenacity and dexterity - only one of which he maintained in this state. The new guy looked like he could bench press him with one hand. Were they going to make them fight for their amusement? Aw, fuck, why was this happening?<br/><br/>Sullivan couldn't even help himself. He was running on instincts now. As the maggots shoved the other shifter into the cell with him, his fur stood up on end and he actually<i>hissed</i>at the poor git. Hissed, like an actual cat would at an intruder, bared fangs and all.<br/><br/>This made both the pigs laugh as they slammed the cell door shut again, locking the both of them in there.<br/><br/>"Have fun, pretty kitties," one of them cooed, which made Sullivan want to throw up again, all over the motherfucker's face.<br/><br/>"We'll come for you in the morning," the other said, waving with a patronizing wiggle of his fat sausage fingers. Sullivan, once again, hissed, but this time it was at least a little intentional, though not at all intimidating. Panic threatened to swallow him whole as the two men left the room, laughing like idiots the whole way. As soon as the heavy door slammed shut behind them, Sullivan felt his stomach drop to his knees.<br/><br/>He directed sea green eyes to the only other living person in the room with him, and opened his chapped lips to say something, anything, but the only thing that came out was a squeak. Not even a shout. Not even another<i>hiss</i>, a squeak, just like a kitten.<br/><br/>This was bad. This was so, so<i>fucking</i>bad.