Little bit of this, Little bit of that

[SOTF_Help]

((Mark Little, B031, start))

When Mark Little awoke, he was unsure of where he was or how he had gotten there. His body felt cramped, aching in places that he was unlikely to pay attention to until they started hurting. He was paying attention to nearly the entirety of his body, to the exclusion of everything else. His knees were tucked unbelievably close to his chest in a cramped position that did nothing for his massive frame. Any attempt to move was met with a sudden rush of dizziness washing over him, and only when he laid still did the color leave his eyes.

He searched for a coherent train of thought, something to join up the memories. Nothing was coming. He would be dismayed, if it would occur to him just what 'dismay' was and how it felt. He struggled for something, grasping at a straw of light in a dark room until a sole epiphany arrived.

I was... drugged?

That was right. He was put to sleep in one form or another, but it felt like he was out for days. Had the drugs reacted poorly with his body? Well... more than usual? No no, this wasn't good... he needed to move his body and let the life return to his limbs. Escape from this box he was tucked in. There had to be a way out, Mark could feel dim evening light touch his eyes. Maybe it was just cloudy, who knows. It didn't feel very bright, though.

Another head rush resulted in not only the usual display of colors, but a thunderous noise, like a busy highway. Mark stopped moving to allow it to die down, but while the colors faded, the noise persisted. It grew louder and louder... clickity-clickity-clickity it went, growing.

"Wh-"

At that moment, the thunder compacted into a deafening crack, and Mark's world rocked sharply. He felt a moment of weightlessness thereafter, then a rush in the bottom of his stomach.

Mark Little never managed to escape his prison that was a spare cart on the coaster's track before it plummeted to the ground, with him inside.

Mark Little, B031: DECEASED