By the time Kennedy's starting to stir, the motion that would indicate her being transported has long stopped. Instead, she'll find herself bound by hand and foot to a somewhat uncomfortable table, lying prone against the metallic surface. There are no incredibly glaring lights to startle her awake yet, but there is some vague, ambient dim lighting to see by. She's in a smaller room, off-white in wall color and at the moment, alone.
When she comes to, Kennedy's first order of business is to pull at her restraints, she tries to clear her vision to look around, trying to see what she can see of the room. And if there's anyone else around. and then she pulls and struggles some more. Over the link to her pack, her waking is marked by a flare of annoyance, rather than fear, and some grumbling for her bound situation. But, before she can even really form a thought to send to them, that link slips away from her as the rite comes to an end. What timing!
[First Watch] That bout of annoyance gets Nicholas's immediate attention. "Kennedy! Oh god thank god, Ken--" *blip*
Her head doesn't appear to be restrained at the moment, but to either side of it she can spot that there are restraints that could be hooked up to do so. In fact, it all appears much like a set up of a lethal injection table, except without the injections. Just yet. With her pack link slipping away, she can see she's left with just her in the room. There aren't any implements or anything that she can see furniture wise. The door to her 'freedom' lies beyond her feet, tauntingly silent and with just one window from which a square of light shines. Must be a hallway of some sort? Who knows. Her bonds are secure, however. She's not going anywhere anytime soon on her own. If it helps, she's not been gagged either.
It's a bit of a blessing and a curse that the link cuts before she realizes what this table reminds her of. With a gasp, she straightens her head to look upward, eyes widening for a moment. "Shit shit shit /shit/," she mutters to herself, pulling a little harder at those bonds. Hard enough to start to rub her skin raw. But she doesn't call out, too proud.
A shadow interrupts the square of light from the door, and the sounds of the locks being undone from the outside are enough to alert her to the presence of someone entering the room. It's the man from before, sans his sunglasses, the one who happened to punch in her window. "Told you to come with us quietly, but you had to fight. It's alright. They all do," he says stiffly, "I did."
Kennedy stills as that man enters the room and she watches him as he speaks. "You didn't fight hard enough, if you're running around as a gopher now. What the /fuck/ did you do to my car? And my /shoes/, while we're at it. Those were from the new Manolo line. Women have killed for less." Grr, growl, rar!
"Your car's fine, as are your...shoes," the man says dispassionately. A little /too/ flatly, even. "Miss Parker, your name happened to come up amidst a few discussions about some certain phenomena happening around Crystal Springs. And, we happen to believe, you... how should I put this... you're a person of interest."
His words get a lift of her eyebrow, and her eyes narrow. She glances around the room before she looks back at him. "What is this?" She asks warily, a guarded look coming over her. "Who are you?"
"I'm not of any importance," remarks the unnamed man. "But you may as well know..." And here, he comes closer. Close enough that she can see his eyes, which are definitely not of any human appearance. Not with their serpentine pupils and unnatural color. "You're thought to be a Supernatural." And he doesn't explain so much as let her look into his eyes. Those eyes have quite an unnerving tint to them. But honestly, it's not any worse than what else she's seen walking in Nicholas' dreams, right?
Kennedy leeeeans away as he gets closer, but she can't help but stare a bit at those eyes. It's quite possible that she's never seen anything like them, the way she stares. "A /what/?" She asks with a disbelieving laugh. "You're /crazy/, buddy. I mean, it's a great series and all, but there's such thing as taking fandom a little /too/ far, you know?"
The man's eyes disappear for only fleeting moments behind his otherwise normal looking eyelids. And then he leans back up, turning away as he moves to check the room idly. "A supernatural. Actually I'm a little amazed you haven't done any crazy stuff yourself just yet, but maybe you're just keeping it up. The facade, you know. And here, I'm just stalling for time while we wait for the doctor to come." He hooks his hands behind him, glancing briefly back to the woman on the table.
"You're /insane/, seriously /insane/," Kennedy says, her shock certainly coming off as genuine. "I'm not supernatural, I'm... from /Chicago/. Supernatural stuff is /myth/, it's something Hollywood uses to sell movies. You can't... buy into it like this... strapping girls to tables and shit. What is /wrong/ with you!" Of course, she gets a little /more/ worried when he mentions a doctor. "Oh jesus. What are you people? Please, I have a husband and a little step-daughter to go home to..."
The man (a fomor, perhaps?) doesn't seem too moved by her words or her shock. "You seem to be keenly aware of your predicament despite your words, Miss Parker," he says simply. "Give it time." He then looks back to the window looking out into the hall, patiently waiting as if like a guard dog on duty. Eventually, the both of them can hear the sounds of bootsteps coming through the hall and echoing into the room muffledly. There's also some table with a squeaky wheel. The door's locks are gradually unbolted, and said 'doctor' comes in with a table full of not-so-fun looking instruments and electrical hookups involved.
"I'm aware a group of guys kidnapped me, strapped me to a table and told me to wait for the 'doctor', no way that's a good thing." Kennedy closes her eyes at that sound, taking in a few breaths before she opens them to look at the doctor and his table of instruments. Instead of whimpering like one might expect, the sight of the real threat seems to make her more stoic.
"You're going to be fine," remarks the man as if that was going to be reassuring. Yeah, right. The doctor is by all appearances human, though, and he moves his squeaky-wheeled table to a side to start. He takes his time in picking out the instruments of choice... but he first starts with a needle. This one, it seems, is going to be used to draw her blood. It seems the doctor is also taking many sanitary precautions. The needle's clean, he's got gloves on, and he's even got a little rubbing alcohol dispenser to dab cotton balls on. But before he does any skin pricking, he turns to regard Kennedy. "You shouldn't struggle. I'm only going to be taking some of your blood as a sample."
"Oh yeah? Well, you should go fuck yourself," Kennedy says in response, her arms yanking against those straps again. "If you fucking /touch/ me with that stuff, I will beat the /crap/ out of you, /doctor/. Who the hell do you think you are? Grabbing people off the street and doing god know what to them. You're a sick /fuck/, that's what you are."
The straps hold fast, though there is a little bit of give by way of the way they're connected to the table. The doctor frowns. "Hold her," he says after a pregnant pause to the other man present in the room. Stepping back over, the man with the unnerving eyes looks down at the woman and seemingly effortlessly pushes against her to hold her against the table. His hand reaches and grasps onto her arm, also locking it down. For his size, he's really strong. Too strong. After a quick dab of the cotton swab, that needle prick siphons into her vein. And, it appears, the doctor's taking more than just a usual 'sample' of things. There's four vials to fill.
Kennedy grits her teeth as she's held down, taking in deep breaths as they start to draw her blood. It rushes into those vials, with how fast her heart's beating. "Fuck you. I don't know what the /hell/ you guys want, but this is /fucked/ /up/!"
Once the blood is drawn, the vials are carefully stored away. The doctor works fairly quickly, motioning for the man with superior strength to go ahead and, perhaps to Kennedy's dismay, restrain her head with those straps meant to do so. "You, Kennedy Parker. We're interested in you," is all the man says. The doctor busies himself with preparing some of the electronic equipment, to which she can hear the faint buzzing of that electricity coursing from a generator of sort.
Closing her eyes as they strap her head down as well, Kennedy just tries to take in even breaths, even at the crackle of electricity. "You've got the wrong girl," she says flatly, and through gritted teeth. But what can she do? Lay there and endure seems to be her plan of action for now, until the situation changes. In an effort to calm herself, she hums a soft tune, trying to focus on that instead of what the doctor's prepping.
Well whatever he is planning, it probably doesn't look particularly pleasant. Ah, but first, there's a quick snip of scissors. There goes a small lock of her hair! That too is inserted into a vial. And then comes the small pad-like probe with an off-white circular end. It looks almost straight out of an alien movie, maybe, but it is this instrument that the doctor reaches over to press against her restrained head. The initial feeling of the shock is startling - nothing painful though, almost like getting zapped by a dry static. Then follows the sensation of a prolonged electrical current being applied to her skin. Unsettling, if not quite painful.
"The fuck?" Kennedy frowns at them as they cut her hair, and she growls a little to herself. The indignity. Her eyes follow that probe as much as she can, then her gaze flicks to the doctor. She seems determined not to react as that zap hits her. It's a boon that it isn't all that painful, but she doesn't even blink.
The little pad is moved to the opposite side of her forehead and she's given the same treatment on the other half of her face. Indignity, yes. Her pride is perhaps what suffers the most. But for now, they don't appear to have anything particularly harmful to inflict upon her. After a short period, the electro-probe is retracted and set back into the machine's handy slot holder. A short readout would be visible on the screen, if she could turn her head to see it. But for now, that's all she's given. The doctor clears his throat, and readies a second needle with a clear looking serum. "Well, that should be enough to get us started," he notes. The words serve as the distraction for the next prick of the injection into her. A sedative, and rather fast acting. Mind-numbing and body weakening, she might just be aware enough after a few minutes when she feels and hears her straps being loosened and voices talking. The door opening, and the squeaky wheeled table is being removed, as is she.