Kidnapped

                                    

                                          
Scar pov 
When I finally came to, the world was a blur of red and shadow, my head pounding like someone had rewired my brain with Redstone dust. My arms were pinned, bound tightly behind me, and my legs were secured to the chair I was slumped against. It didn't take long to realize who was behind this—Dr. 77. The mad scientist obsessed with Redstone and chaos.
As my vision cleared, I could see the intricate setup around me. Wires, glowing Redstone torches, and contraptions I couldn't even begin to understand lined the room. Dr. 77 was at a workstation nearby, muttering to himself as he tinkered with a particularly complicated mechanism. His wild hair stuck out in all directions, and his lab coat looked like it had seen one too many explosions.
"Ah, you're awake," he said without looking at me, his voice dripping with unhinged glee. "Perfect timing. You'll get to witness my greatest creation yet!"
I groaned, my head spinning. "Couldn't you have just sent an invitation? Kidnapping's a bit excessive, don't you think?"
Dr. 77 finally turned to face me, his goggles reflecting the eerie red glow of his workshop. "Oh, Hot Guy, always with the quips. But this time, you won't be cracking jokes when you see what I've planned for the city. They'll finally understand the brilliance of Redstone!"
I tugged against the bindings, but they didn't budge. "You know, you really ought to invest in some therapy instead of trying to blow up the city."
He ignored me, turning back to his machine. "This is no mere explosion. It's art! A chain reaction that will bring the entire city to its knees!"
Great. Another day, another villain with a god complex and too much time on their hands.
I scanned the room, looking for any possible way out. But it was hard to focus; the effects of whatever knocked me out were still lingering. My communicator was gone, and there was no sign of anyone coming to help.
For the first time in a long while, I wished CG was here. His unpredictability, his chaotic energy—he would've found a way to turn this whole situation upside down. But he wasn't here, and I was on my own.
"Let's see," Dr. 77 muttered, fiddling with a lever. "Just a few more adjustments, and everything will be ready."
I had to think fast. If I didn't find a way out soon, the city was going to pay the price for this maniac's obsession.
Dr. 77 turned to a monitor and began typing furiously, muttering something about "theatrical flair" as he connected to a live broadcast feed. Within moments, every screen in the city, from televisions to billboards, displayed the scene: me, tied up, bruised, and bloodied, as if I were some kind of prop in his twisted performance.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the city," his voice boomed through the speakers, "welcome to the unveiling of my masterpiece! Behold your so-called hero, reduced to nothing more than a powerless spectator!"
The camera zoomed in on me, and I glared at it, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me afraid. "This city's seen worse than you," I said, spitting out blood. "You're just another man with a power trip and bad taste in fashion."
Dr. 77 laughed, the kind of laugh only someone truly unhinged could muster. "Oh, Hot Guy, your humor will make this all the more entertaining. Soon, the world will see the brilliance of my Redstone ingenuity! And you'll have the honor of being the first to witness it."
He turned to the camera, spreading his arms dramatically. "Citizens, in one hour, my chain reaction will begin, and your city will be transformed into a testament to my genius. Resist, and your beloved hero won't live to see another day."