Glare. Shove flop stuff.

He grabs his own sack and moves forward to shove the actual bystander into it, mumbling something about course credits.

To the van! Awkward silence on the drive back to the lab!

He wakes up completely disoriented and much less high.

"Mm...?"

He tries to sit up–

–and just...can't. He's restrained so thoroughly he can't move at all.

Okay. Sitting up, not happening.

He is thoroughly bound and tied down to a metal table in a small room with metallic-looking walls and no visible door. There are occasional noises of activity from outside, and faint peculiar odors. There's a fading pain in his thigh, like someone did it a small but deep injury a few minutes ago.

He can't turn his head, but out of the corner of his eye he can see Tree Guy similarly restrained on another table.

This is...all kinds of really bad.

"Uh. Are you awake."

He tries to speak quietly enough that he won't be heard outside the room, but loudly enough that his unfortunate companion will hear. It's kind of a battle.

Apparently not.

Aw, fuck. This is not how he wanted his Thursday to end.

These restraints are...pretty inescapable, huh?

They appear to have been designed to hold down your average superhero.

Double fuck.

He'll just...wait for something to happen, then.

Will the walls and the ceiling detaching from each other and moving down and up, respectively, do?

Yes, that will definitely fucking do, narration.

"Uh? Hi? Somebody there? Why are you doing this?"

Somebody there sighs slightly.

The walls descend into the floor of a much larger room. Revealed is — well, none of it is immediately recognizable, but for someone who follows supercrime it's pretty obviously some type of mad scientist's lab. Racks of equipment, monitors, whiteboards, stains from old explosions, —

— preservation cylinders, sample handler robot, autoclave, surgical instruments —

— let's make that a mad biologist. Probably that guy over there in the labcoat, who just handed Obviously A Minion a gag.

Nope! Abort! Abort! This is not nearly as hot as he always imagined it would be!

(Although...it still is. He really has very little self-preservation instinct.)

"Uh– I'm guessing you have plans other than negotiating with the kidnapped guy but if I could have a second to just–"

Gag! Robotic arms descending from the ceiling and pointing their business ends at him!

The business ends are not pointy. In fact, they are probably some kind of scanner judging by the pattern they're moving in. Though he feels a little funny in the middle, or is that just his imagination?

Oh, okay. Time for muffled yelling, then. And struggling, although he’s strapped down too tightly for any actual movement.

The weird robot arms only seem to be giving him a spine tingle, though. Yay...?

Labcoat guy studies the monitors, then enters a command.

These ones have scalpels!

They would like to cut and/or stab him all over his body, to varying depths. Oh wait, this one is amputating his little finger, too.

Oh fuck.

He feels the knives go in, and then –

sawing, through his finger–

Uh. This noise is...probably screaming...?

No one here is judging his hobbies, only how fast he regrows his finger and closes wounds.

The most shallow wounds close almost immediately. The deeper ones take a little more time, but it's less than a minute from the removal of the blades to the closing of the cut.

The base of the finger has sealed off, and it's already starting to regrow.

"Mmgph."

Indifferent scientist wheels over a piece of equipment vaguely reminiscent of the scanners but a bit too large to be tucked away in the ceiling and aims it more or less at the less-abused side of his body.

This one's really weird-feeling. Also, slice poke chop.

Everything starts feeling...

slow. Muddled.     Hazy.

    The pain echoes into his awareness    and doesn't stop, quite so quickly as it has been, usually.

   The cuts struggle to seal themselves, and blood pours out from the stump of his finger.

The haziness starts increasing, until he cannot feel anything else, even the pa—wait no here are some feelings that aren't exactly a pain in any identifiable part of his body but are sharp or hard or chaotic.