rosenshyne
He wakes up with the scream still on his lips, but the sound freezes in his lungs. Mouth open, chest straining, and he can hear his panting, hear the harsh wet puffs from his chest but the sound. He yells, on impulse, and feels his throat contract around it, feels his tongue move and teeth clench, and there is no sound. He has no voice, in this fresh hell he has woken to, his arms are bound tight behind him, not as they do back home, but wrenched upwards and in, his forearms nearly flat against his spine side by side and the torque is a dull burn, now that he's paying attention. Naked, from his toes to his collarbone, and not alone. He shuffles violently back until he comes up against solidity, feet flat to the floor and knees pressed as close to his chest as he can manage, reducing vunerability, threat, where the fuck am i, where is my crew, where!
"...just what you're looking for, my friend, a new shipment this morning, and the spirit coming off this particular beast even in Dreaming! Perfect, my friend."