It was dark. So very, very dark. It had been weeks now - well, it had probably been weeks, but with no way of telling, Cecil wasn't sure. The newly formed scabs were beginning to itch already, forming tightly stretched too-pink scars. Cecil was not part of the 53% of Night Vale citizens who were born without pain receptors. By now he knew that only too well.
Cecil had caught glimpses of his surroundings when they opened the door to let StrexCorp employees into his cell: cold and sparse with a straw coated floor. The walls were covered with blood, and not all of it was his. Cecil tried very hard not to think about whose blood it was. That had been his surroundings when he had just arrived, but he hated to think what it looked like now. The ground was covered with excrement, and the straw clumped with dried blood, the pungent smell invaded Cecil's nostrils and made him cough.
The bolted door often opened for yet another persuasion session, or at least, that was what StrexCorp called them. Cecil preferred to call them what they were: manipulation, condemnation, torture. He was in so much pain, but he was the Voice of Night Vale, so never spoke, and never cried out in pain. The condemnation was very effective, though he didn't show it, and with every passing hour Cecil pondered more and more how he had failed the lonely little berg that is, no, was Night Vale. This time the door creaked open, a single figure slipped inside carrying a torch. Cecil felt both pride and humiliation at watching the StrexCorp employee's nose wrinkle at the smell. His lapels were bloodstained, his eyes dark and manic, and his easy smile was too terrible to look at.
"Cecil?" the bright, happy figure asked, "Cecil? Have you thought about my offer?"
The man on the floor pulled his knees impossibly closer to his chest and whimpered fearfully. The man at the door, the Voice of the Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area, crouched down and put one hand on Cecil's head. Fingers tried to card through Cecil's matted locks but to no avail, only succeeding in yanking his hair in a mocking caricature of affection and concern. Cecil flinched away, curling into the wall.
"Shhh," Kevin soothed, "Just tell us where Carlos is and I'll make the pain stop."
Cecil's terrified sobs were muffled by his shaking, bleeding fists, the air tearing with each cry. He stuttered out apology after apology, but they fell on deaf ears.
"You know what needs to be done Cecil, it's not hard..."
Cecil shook his head vehemently; he wouldn't betray his perfectly imperfect scientist. Not when he was likely working hard to save the town that Cecil so heartlessly abandoned. Had he worked harder against StrexCorp when they took over as Station Management, had he openly defied them as opposed to using subtlety and subtext maybe they wouldn't be in this mess now.
"...one of your other..." Kevin paused to think of the appropriate word as Cecil pulled his thoughts back to the task in hand, "Insubordinate friends."
Christ. Cecil hadn't even thought of the others in his town working to oust StrexCorp - Dana, Tamyka, the Erikas, all helping to make Night Vale the town it once was. At least they were fighting back; they weren't useless, not like him.
Kevin coughed slightly, waiting for a response, and when he was met with none he scowled, Cecil cringing at the sight.
"I said, my dear Cecil, you could tell us about some of your other insubordinate friends before we persuade you to talk."
Cecil closed his eyes tight shut and shrank further into the wall, curling in on himself, subconsciously protecting his vital organs from any more harm. He wouldn't tell Strex, not while his friends were still fighting and free.
"I promised them. I promised. I'd never say. A good journalist keeps his promises."
Kevin's hand whipped forward, circling Cecil's throat as he administered the age old sign of Desert Bluffian friendship: a strong pat on the neck. Cecil choked, recoiling, only to smack his head on the cold stone walls and lurch forward with a low moan. Kevin reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin metal tube, stent-like in nature, yanking Cecil's head forward and forcing his mouth open as he did so. Cecil struggled and kicked, but despite his best efforts he was weak with malnutrition and blood loss, making his efforts futile. In one swift motion, the metal piece was forced down Cecil's throat, causing him to gag and choke until it came to rest in his larynx, robbing him of his voice. Kevin stepped back, triumphant, while Cecil's broken form shook with silent sobs.
Kevin smiled widely, but Cecil was too concentrated on the pain in his throat to feel sick at the sight. His voice was gone, he was worth nothing. He couldn't do the job he loved, he couldn't speak to the man he loved, and therefore how could he be loved? He was nothing. Carlos would see that he was nothing, and wouldn't love him. How could he? What was there left to love? Maybe Dana would take him in.
Dana. She was still free, working hard to defeat StrexCorp. Without Cecil even noticing, Kevin slunk away, grinning all the while.
Weeks later, Cecil could still be found in the bloodstained corner he was left in, tightly curled, hands around his neck. Kevin sat in front of him, close enough that they could easily be touching, but with his knees pulled up to his chest so there was no contact. His eyes were bright, triumphant, and his body thrummed with energy. He held a tablet in his hand, the screen illuminating his features, highlighting his piercing eyes, light bouncing off his polished teeth. Kevin lifted Cecil's head by his hair, impassively watching the gaunt face twist with pain. The tablet was thrust in front of Cecil's face, and Cecil stared at it with dull empty eyes. Images of a girl, no, a young woman, no, a human being flashed on the screen. The figure was blood-soaked and screaming, hands bloody and a hand gone from around her neck. Tamyka Flynn, the girl who had looked a librarian right in the place where most creatures have eyes, had been taken. Cecil closed his eyes, not turning away for fear of pain from the metal in his throat; he closed his eyes, and desperately tried to blot out the tinny screams from the tablet speakers. Tamyka couldn't help him. But then again, Cecil reasoned, he was a grown man relying on a child to save him. Was he really deserving of help at all?
Tamyka didn't deserve to be caught by Strex, she was brave, resourceful, clever. She could read. But she had been, and Cecil, as usual in times of disaster, could do nothing. The little solace Cecil had was what was left of his friends: Dana and Carlos were still out there. Carlos would help him. He'd use science and logic, and his beautiful clever hands to help. Cecil's hands were cold and the knuckles weren't straight anymore, but Carlos, dear sweet Carlos had the most beautiful hands of all. Calloused from writing, slightly stained from chemicals, but with deft fingers that Cecil knew could save a town that wasn't deserving of perfect Carlos' help. Hell, Cecil wasn't deserving, not anymore, not like this. And Dana, who could go through anything and still stay strong. Stuck in the desert otherworld with Carlos, she had been in the dog park, she'd climbed a (not real) mountain, and even spoken to the man in the tan jacket. Yes, they were the true saviours of Night Vale, only they were left now. Only, wait, the tinny speaker screams. There were sobs beneath that scream. Two people, not one. Cecil's heart dropped. Who else was hurt? He looked to Kevin, but Kevin just smiled wider: Cecil thought he was going to lose what little food he had.
"We found your friend!" Kevin beamed, "She looked sad, so we thought we'd cheer her up!"
The camera moved slightly, focusing on a figure in a corner. Dana Cardinal had a StrexCorp smile etched on her face. Cecil was no expert, but it looked like the flesh was rotting from the gaping wounds. He choked out apology after grating apology, his throat burning, tears coursing down his cheeks, but he couldn't stop. Not even a certain perfectly imperfect scientist could fix this. Night Vale was lost. Kevin laughed at Cecil's expression, and bounded out the room.
Kevin practically skipped two doors down the corridor and opened a cell on the left hand side of the hall so his favourite trainee could be updated on the progress of Cecil Palmer. The person inside looked up wearily, eyes roving over the tear stains and blood. A cracked voice whispered:
"Why are you doing this?"
"Why?" replied Kevin, "Because Cecil will never make a good Strex employee, he proved that when we took over the station. It's not that he can't learn to be, but not yet. He still believes in perfect imperfections."
Perfectly imperfect Carlos closed his eyes, his worst fears realised. Night Vale, and most importantly Cecil, imperfect, beautiful Cecil was gone forever