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The time scale is under my direction, Maximillian. Deliver the necessary orders. I will keep you informed.

*Heading down towards quarantine, Bane had an appointment with Cora, who was currently being punsihed for his indiscretions*

It started with a dull, thumping headache. He didn't know why, he just knew he'd drilled the b***h with her own handgun, then been bodily tackled by far too many men to be less than humorous.

Now, he had a bright light searing his eyes. It wasn't the sun..he wasn't feeling like a fire was crisping his face.

Then something disgusting shifted in his stomach. With eyes wide open, he looked down to see the scientists.

WHAT THE ******** DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!

It was the first thing his mind registered. THe pain came shortly AFTER he started straining against all that held him down. The violence involved in his thrashing was disturbing...one could hear bones creaking, verging on cracking. But there was no chance of breaking free; there was too much holding him down, and his blood would not answer him. He was powerless to do anything but stare in unadulterated horror at the process unfolding.

...No. HELL no. ******** no.

The amber eyed doctors that were ringing his form would have quite the issue in holding the thrashing back. There was wild eyed terror in his eyes as he fought tooth and nail to not be held still. But it was an inevitability that saw him pinned to the table, and the last thing he heard before the agony kicked in was the question.

One to ten? ******** you. ******** you all.

The struggling did not stop. He was thrashing and shouting in rage and helpless anger through all of the procedure. The room would best be soundproofed...he was howling like a banshee.

There wasn't enough strength left in his limbs to walk afterwards...he had started pulverizing the bones in his wrists and ankles pulling against the restraints. There was nothing for it, he could not just rip free like he normally did. This left him unceremoniously dumped in his cell, to suffer the onset. Hours passed, and slowly he recovered enough to sit upright and stare at the ceiling. He wanted to believe he was going to get out, that it would be fine. But he was completely cut off now, and every time he strained against the chains, nothing happened. Whatever they had stuck him with, his blood would not answer him.

The onset was beyond unpleasant. It started with the headache from the operation. That headache just grew worse, and worse, and worse, until he was curled up against the wall, clutching his head and whimpering. Those were the first signs...the others were far more subtle. He did not display them, except that he quaked like a leaf from the chills. It had been a long, long time since he had been feverish. THe experience was a nightmare to him.

It didn't help. If he felt any reassurance, there was no sign. At the time, all he could do was shiver and cringe. And since the disease had nothing to hold it back, so it would remain until the scientists saw fit to administer their touch on him again.

There was no fighting when he was returned. His limbs were limp, mostly because moving just made it hurt worse. His head was pained in the most murderous of ways. Every light, every sound made a sudden knife of agony. There just was no escaping it. He couldn't even scream...he'd long since run out of the stamina to do even that.

All he could do was watch and know that in some corner of his head, he was painfully aware. When the physical pain wore off, he'd feel worse, knowing more was to come. Until then, he could only hand limp.

In the morning, for the first time all night, his head would lift. His gaze fell upon his visitor...why did she hate him so much? Regardless...

Y'know, gimme the gun and I'll shoot 'em for ya. Mebbe we can tag team it, y'know? Lovely little ******** in this sort of dire situation, he still couldn't stop himself; he had to give his captors a piece of his mind.