Shaun felt pathetically dirty, succumbing to his venomous words.
His heart was beating with a hardened agony inside his chest and his stomach was churning, making him feel completely uneasy. A blindfold was tied tightly around his head, blinding him from his surroundings, leaving him to see a world of a cruel black. Painfully, he could feel the knot digging into the back of his head and it felt as if it was going to leave a permanent indent. As he sucked in a breath, he could feel the cool air fill his tired lungs; tired from screaming, breathing heavily, and crying. The ragged rope was digging into his wrists, which were growing thin from the lack of nutrients, and it seemed as if his fingers were nonexistent. His feet shuffled across the concrete ground and his ears picked up the sounds of unknown multiple footsteps – but he knew whose hand was on his arm.
Biting back a scream, he heard a small exchange of whispered words in Italian, and though he couldn't make them out, he could hear that Warren Vidic also wasn't exactly fluent in the foreign language. He was a pure American, perhaps with faint traces back to Europe somewhere, like almost everyone else in the building. Hearing the door slide shut behind him, he suddenly felt alone with only one pair of eyes on him.
The floor was cold. As he was shoved down, he fell on his side, uttering the tiniest whimper. Shaun Hastings did not whimper. Nor did he beg. But now, it was completely a different story.
"Mr. Hastings – what are we going to do with you?" Vidic asked curiously, crouching down to Shaun's body. He yanked off the blindfold and Shaun cringed from the immediate flash of light, closing his eyes in a heartbeat. Slowly, he opened them to see Vidic peering over him, eyes narrowed at his disillusioned state.
"Why haven't you killed me?" Shaun spoke softer than he intended – he had meant it to be a scream of hatred, but instead, it came out in the exact opposite format.
"Such a deep question, though isn't the answer quite obvious? You had answers we needed Shaun, and we got them. Now is a completely different story than it was an hour ago," Vidic smiled coldly and all of a sudden, uncalled warmth spread through Shaun's aching chest.
"Thank you..." he murmured, trying not to fall back into unconsciousness like after numerous times with the Animus. He was, in a way, safe in Abstergo; away from all the dangers on the outside of the glass building.
"Excuse me, Mr. Hastings?" He sounded surprised as Shaun shut his eyes shamelessly once again, trying to move his sore arms to grab where his glasses had fallen. Instead, he heard Vidic's hand scrape them up off the cold, concrete flooring and set them gently on his face. Shaun opened his eyes once again to find that the blurred images were gone, replaced by sharp corners and glaring, ice cold eyes. He stared into the eyes he had woken up to every single morning for the past month, standing above him. Or year. Shaun had lost track of time – it had seemed so useless to him as he spent most of his years in the Animus, skipping through irrelevant scenes for his malicious and relentless researchers.
"I said... Piss off, you pathetic wanker," finally, his tongue obeyed him as he lolled his head around, trying to find something to focus on. It was a blank room, only with a single hanging light glaring above them and four grey walls with a door that seemed to fade into the colourless paint. But the words felt wrong to him. That wasn't what he truly felt like saying.
"Well that wasn't very nice," Vidic sighed, pulling out a syringe from his pocket, smiling subtly. Shaun eyed the blue liquid inside of the needle dubiously, tranquillity washing over him. He was going to take all of Shaun's pain away, and put him back into the peaceful state that he longed for.
"Please... Please make it go away," Shaun whispered, wondering what his personality had deteriorated to. He still felt the hatred for Desmond bloody Miles; the man had escaped in the middle of night, leaving him all alone to his petrifying nightmares and the devastating Bleeding Effect. Sometimes, he felt distant to his body – as if he was back in his ancestor's state of mind. But when he was fully aware of whom he was, the fire built up and all he wanted to do was to tear Subject Seventeen apart.
"Make what go away, Shaun?" Vidic's eyes sparkled as he watched Shaun beg with his eyes, the way his body twisted as he tried to move closer to the needle that contained his sanity. This man was a doctor, someone who could heal him from his broken condition. Cold fingers touched his exposed neck, a sudden heat flushing his face.
"Keep me safe..." He had no idea what he was saying anymore, but he didn't care. He wanted to close his eyes and rest, wait for the next morning so he could reside in his comfort zone. The Templars were protecting him, there was no way they would harm him. Softly, Vidic's long, thin fingers touched his jaw, tracing a line up to his cheek bone before he placed his palm against his cheek, causing Shaun to sigh in content. Shaun moved his head, causing Vidic's thumb to gently brush against his dry lips, shuddering at the pleasing touch.
"Oh don't you worry, Shaun," there was a sudden lurch in his stomach as the doctor said his name. "We'll keep you safe from all the bad people trying to take you from us. No one will hurt you." If only Shaun had looked past the words, he would have found the sarcasm in his voice. He might have snapped out of his pretty little dream world and come to his senses. But instead, with hands behind his back, he curled in towards the doctor, pleading to him protect what was left of him.
Vidic's hand tentatively reached out and stroked his hair, smirking when Shaun let out a shaky breath, almost a small pant. With his free hand, he slowly lined up the needle's point with his jugular and, ignoring the small gasp below him, he plunged the needle in and released the liquid which would run its course through his blood stream in a matter of seconds. Over all his years of capturing Assassins and teaching them their life lesson, with a scar or loss as a small souvenir, he had never run into one quite like Shaun Hastings – their precious Subject Eighteen.
This was one he could manipulate against his fellow comrades, only because of his unexplainable - yet severe - case of Stockholm Syndrome.
A\N: Well, this is quite interesting. It just kind of wrote itself, though I do love writing abuse with authority. And besides, I find Stockholm Syndrome is quite fascinating - what with the hostages feeling kindness and security towards their captors. Anyways, remember...
Review, please! If you never noticed, I haven't been updating quite frequently... and I haven't been getting many reviews. I'm sure you can link the two together. *smile*