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He awoke to a searing pain in his hands and feet. There was no possible way to be able to see why his hands were in so much pain, due to the fact that his head was in some sort of box that wouldn't move, no matter how much he tried. he could look down and straight. he looked downward first, and immediately realized why his feet hurt. Impaled straight through them both, were thick,rusty nails. He assumed that was the same reason his hands hurt. Any attempt to move them, hands or feet, rendered him immobile due to the pain.
Fireball searched the room frantically for anyone who could help him out of here, and he wasn't really surprised when he found no one. Finally, his eyes fell upon the old TV that was set up across the room from him. As soon as they did, it flickered to life. The face of a puppet appeared on screen, and it spoke in a deep, gravelly voice.
"The trap you are in is one of my personal favorites." it stated. "Your hands and feet are nailed to the machine. You must rip through your bindings to free your limbs, then grab the key on the table on the right of you to free your head." Fireball's eyes widened in horror as the video continued. The puppet brought the camera over to another version of the trap, with a stuffed mannequin in place of him. "This is what will happen if you fail to move fast enough."
The rack turned the legs first, 90 degrees outwards. Not up, but out. The stuffing ripped through the fabric as it was strained, and there was a snapping sound as the plastic dislocated from the body. Little shards of white poked through the fabric. Once it finished with the legs, it moved to the arms and bent them backwards until the seams ripped at the shoulders. Then, the head began to move, and turned the exact same way the legs and arms did. The neck splintered and cracked at a point, and then the head completely detached from the body. Fireball didn't notice his fear stricken tears until they tickled his cheeks. "You have one minute to escape your bindings before this trap becomes your tomb." And then the television blinked off.
There was a buzzer, and the machine made a whirring noise, signaling it's start up. Fireball attempted to free his feet first, and he gagged as firey hot pain invaded his nervous system. He grit his teeth and yanked his right foot flush through the nail. He let out a pained scream as he did so. One free. The other was still turning outward. He yanked once, and twice, and finally, ripped through the other. Blood gushed out the injures, and tears flooded his vision and streamed down his face like waterfalls. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead from the effort. Onto the hands, he decided.
The rack was still turning the slots his legs were in just a few moments before, and the terror of what could've happened if he hadn't gotten out in time gave him a rush of adrenaline. He yanked both hands through the rusty nails, and screamed. His throat was sore from the excessive screaming. He was used to screaming, but not at the top of his lungs like he was now. Pain made his vision darken, and the room spun, even though his head wasn't moving much. Not yet.
In his daze, he remembered what was required to escape the trap fully, and reached his right hand out. The puppet was considerate enough to make the table at an arm's reach, but his arms shook weakly. he felt the key slip from his grasp more than once. he hadn't taken the slipperiness of his hand from the blood into account. The machine's arm slots clunked to ignition, and began to move backwards.
'Terrible,' he thought, a mix of anger and fear prominent. 'Terrible, the morals of some people.' tears continued down his face, and they began to sting. He wiped his hand on his pants, to potentially get a better grip, but the blood hadn't stopped flowing from the hole in his hand, and soaked his fingers again. He resorted to using the tips of his index and thumb to grab the key through the hole. He succeeded, finally, and frantically brought the key to the headlock. His hands trembled as he struggled to fit the key into it's slot, and in the midst of his panic, he dropped the key. It clattered on the floor, the clinking sound of metal against the stone deafening. He froze, the realization of his only chance at escape was feet ahead, and he had no way to get it back not hitting yet. it was only once the arms clunked to stop and the whirring of heavy machinery blared directly in his ears that he began his wails of terror.
His heart pounded painfully in his chest as his head began to involuntarily turn. The tears came flooding out like a dam had just broken, and his cries of terror bounded off the walls and resonated in his ears. He felt so pathetic like this, a sobbing mess and at the mercy of a machine that wasn't even sentient. what would come of his family, his friends? would they ever find a body? would they remember him? His neck began to strain, and memories that were buried deep in his mind came flooding back like a tape recorder. He watched, detached from his body, as his life indeed, flashed before his eyes. Some of the memories hurt to relive, but at the same time, it felt as though they were pulling him in. Fireball stopped trying to break free, and his arms went limp as he accepted his fate. The coldness of the machine was overpowered by the warmth he felt from his past, and he reached out for it.
Skin and flesh began to rip, and he let out a blood-curdling, terror-fueled scream before his death cut his agony short. The sound of the crunching of bones fell on now deaf ears, and the light faded from his eyes. He too, succumbed to the fate of the poor mannequin on the television.
And then he sat up, chest heaving and body drenched in a cold sweat. Without thinking, he gripped his face and screamed at the top of his lungs. The entire hotel was bound to have heard that. Fireball felt his hands, and feet in turn. then they shot up to his neck. He deflated in relief when there was no mound of flesh sticking out abnormally, the cause of it, broken bones. Fireball's body was sore. He looked at his arms and saw fabric imprints, left behind from sleeping on it too hard and too long. He felt stiff and wanted to crack his back and neck, but the terror of his nightmare hadn't faded just yet, and urged him not to.
There was a sudden frantic knocking at his door, and he jolted in surprise. He was hurting too much to get up and open it, but the knocking didn't stop, and it was starting to sound irritating. Finally, he stood from his bed, walked over to his door and opened it. There at the entrance stood Pound, who looked disturbed. Oh right, Fireball screamed at the top of his lungs not too long ago, and probably woke the entire hotel. Pound didn't say anything, but upon seeing the disheveled state that was of Fireball, he walked right in and threw himself on top of him in a hug. Fireball staggered backwards from the sudden weight change, but reciprocated the hug after the initial shock faded.
Now they were sat on that blue bench they hung out near so often. Pound offered to talk in his Fireball's room, but the latter insisted that they talk there since that's where most of their prior talks were held, and he felt the most comfortable in that space. "What's happened that gotten you all shaken up?" Pound asked. Fireball rubbed his arm. "Remember that movie I went to see earlier? I had a nightmare that I was in one of the traps." He wrung his hands together and dragged his feet across the carpet beneath them. "It all felt so real. I can still feel those nails.."
Pound nodded and rubbed Fireball's back through his pj shirt. it was noticeably damp, due to the intense sweat his body worked up in his sleep. Pound, bless his heart, pretended not to notice, and continued his action of comfort. It seemed to be working, just a bit, because Fireball didn't look as distressed as he was when he arrived. "You'll be right, Fireball. I'm 99% positive that even if it was real- which it'a not- the host wouldn't be able to just kidnap you now, especially since you're in the middle of a competition show." Pound made a valid point, and it calmed Fireball down a considerable amount. He still trembled a bit, but he looked much more relaxed and functional. Fireball flashed Pound a small smile, to which he returned with a wider one. "Thanks for helping me get through" that, Fireball said, scratching his head. "Sorry if I woke you up."
"You're fine," Pound replied, waving his hand. "Being truthful, I had a hard time sleeping myself. You gave me an excuse to finally get up and leave my room." Pound slapped a hand over his mouth after a moment, and shook the other one defensively. "-Not saying that the only reason I came to help you was because I was antsy. I promise I actually wanted to help you as well." Fireball laughed, lowering Pound's hand. "Don't worry, I get what you meant." He didn't let go, and his hand rested on top of Pound's for a minute. Pound reached up and squeezed it. "You think you'll be ok going back to sleep?" he asked. Fireball was quiet for a moment, and his smile wavered. "Um. Not by myself, I don't think.."
That's how they ended up asleep on the bench. Fireball's head rested on Pound's shoulder, though it was rather precarious, so he didn't light the other's hair on fire. Or burn his skin. The vending machine acted as a white noise with it's humming, and lulled them to sleep in turn. They were both snorers, surprisingly.
Nothing interrupted their rest this time, and Fireball's nightmare was buried beneath the comfort of his new dream. Of course he'd eventually need to man up and face his fears, but for now, he was fine where he was on that bench. As long as it wasn't breaking any show rules.