Creature Comforts

Part One

The area he had to lie down in was tiny, barely enough room to curl up on one side, his arms pressed hard into the unforgiving bars of the cage. He knew better than to let any part of his body extend beyond the confines of the enclosure, his hands still bearing the cuts from the first time.

He had gone beyond uncomfortable, his bare feet numbly balancing on the thin pieces of metal, the gaps between them too wide for support and not wide enough for escape. His shoulders ached from being hunched into such an unnatural position. In fact every part of his body that could still feel ached.

They had thrown water on him yesterday, laughing as some of the filth washed away, leaving him cold and shivering. Then they had brought their children. The first tentative touches and prods had increased in confidence until he had endured hours of pinches, each reaction from him eliciting gales of laughter. As night fell, and the room was cleared, a parting poke with a stick had connected with his right eye. He still couldn't see out of it.

They had given him a piece of some sort of bread, perhaps as a reward, and left him in the dark.

The other animals had been restless, unfamiliar growls and calls cutting through the silence. Cries of despair.

He hadn't cried out once.

The third day had seen the games begin. The novelty must have worn off, and at first he had been grateful. Fewer visitors meant less humiliation.

He should have known better.

He had some warning when the people started filing in, filling the room, their voices eager with anticipation. None had any pity in their eyes, all they saw was an animal waiting to entertain them. He had tried to crouch, get in some sort of defensive position, but even if he had been able to move his cramped limbs, there was no room. All he could do was wait and try to reason with them, even though he knew it was most likely in vain. From the start it had seemed that all his attempts at communication had done was amuse.

The keeper had been the last to enter, his old worn jacket replaced with one covered in metal beads that shone and glittered in the torch light. He began his speech with a flourish, quieting the crowd immediately. Jack didn't need to understand the language to know he was the main attraction in this little show. A hand signal brought forward two of the burly men who had first manhandled him, half conscious, into his cage. The clank of keys and hiss of chains and the door was open, freedom as far away as ever. He couldn't help the yelp that escaped him as he was grabbed and pulled out, his long legs hanging uselessly, the muscles and tendons shouting their agony. From his one good eye he saw faces staring at him, no pity, no common feeling, just something he recognised as lust. He had seen looks like those before, on the faces of his torturers.

A wooden platform had been set up in the middle of the open area, complete with metal restraints at each corner. He knew what was coming next as soon as he saw it, and it was no surprise when he was placed on it, face up, his legs and arms stretched up and out as far as possible, his wrists and ankles locked into place. For one brief moment he thought of the irony of going from squashed like a pretzel to stretched out like a rubber band about to snap. One brief moment only. Then the feeling of metal on his skin brought his attention back to his surroundings with a start and he knew he had been drifting, three days of no sleep and very little food pushing him to the edge.

The cold air on his skin as his ragged clothes were cut away revived him, the whispers and giggles made him shut his eyes to try and distance himself. The keeper's loud announcement and the clink of coins passing into nearby hands made what happened next almost more unbearable. He held himself in, and, controlling his breathing as much as possible, tried not to react as the hands groped and fondled, stroked and pulled. Some were rough and calloused, others smaller and soft. The most disturbing were the children's hands and he wondered what sick excuse for a civilisation could expose their young to such a thing and make a show out of it. Only once did he open his eyes, blinking away the moisture pooling in the corners. The hand had stroked his hair, gently, and the face had shown compassion and pity, the old wrinkled fingers lingering for a moment as if imparting strength. The moment was soon gone, and he again shut his eyes, enduring what seemed like hours more as the customers continued to pass around him and back to their seats. Just once his body betrayed him, the slight twitch causing even more laughter, enough to put paid to any chance of that happening again, despite the best attempts of those taunting him.

By the time it was over, he was a mass of pain, every touch agonising, making him clench his teeth and bite his lip, the sharp, metallic taste of blood on his tongue.

They poured water into his mouth, forcing it open, holding his nose to make him swallow, then left him there, the night air cold on his sensitised skin, the torches smothered into darkness. Part way through the night he must have slipped into an exhausted sleep, the uncomfortably stretched limbs an improvement on being squashed for so long.

He woke to an involuntary bath, the water splashing down across his face and over his body. By the time he realised his hands and feet were free he was turned, his face forced roughly into the hard wooden surface, a cloth wiped across his buttocks and yet more water poured over. This time he screamed as he was locked into place once more, face down. This time it wasn't just hands. The coins clinked once more.

The only consolation he had was that there did not seem to be any children this time. He didn't think he could have borne that.

Where was his team? He knew he hadn't been left behind. He knew they would come.

One vicious push, god knew what it was, an object – long and blunt – and he felt himself rip and tear into darkness to the accompaniment of annoyed shouts from the keeper.

He didn't know how long he was out, only that he woke to hard slaps around his face. He was on his back again, still held firmly down, still surrounded by spectators. At least he seemed to be have some vision in his injured eye, albeit blurred. Of course the blurring could have been caused by the weakness he felt, the pain that lurked deep within him, the steady loss of the blood that seeped slowly from inside. He had experienced this feeling too many times before to not know what it was, and this time there wasn't the cold of Antarctica to numb the sensation.

A face appeared, leering into his, the man crouching beside him. A nod, a smile, and the keeper came into view, his latest attraction once more alert.

The show must go on.

The crowd seemed even larger than before, the murmuring more excited, the anticipation palatable, and Jack felt his pulse begin to race. Every voice fell silent, only the sound of footsteps approaching the bound figure broke the quiet. He jerked his head, trying to see, to prepare himself.

He couldn't.

The touch of fire on his upper leg broke his resolve and he shouted, writhing, pulling away. A call and hands held him, uncaring where they gripped, holding him still as the torch was run along the entire length of his left leg. A brief moment of reprieve, a repositioning of the hands, and the heat seared his right arm from shoulder to fingertips, only the wrist escaping the burning, raw as it was under the metal cuffs. His chest was next, the smell of burning hair pungent in the air, mixing with the scent of body fluids and the musk of the crowd's arousal. He didn't scream. He cursed, damned them all to hell thrice over, their whole planet with them, wishing them an eternity of pain and sorrow, even their children. He cursed until he sobbed, the flesh withering.

At first he hadn't realised it was over, the burning sensation continuing long after the torch was withdrawn, his pants loud in the still silent room.

Slowly he came to understand something. They hadn't finished. There was something more to come.

He didn't know if he could take any more.

A quick glow of sunlight, quickly gone, and the keeper entered the room, holding the leash of two creatures unlike any Jack had seen before. The closest he could come to anything familiar was monkeys, but that wasn't quite right, their teeth and claws almost catlike, their long fur white and clean, glowing with health and grooming. The keeper smiled proudly and walked the creatures around the room, displaying them to the onlookers like a proud father.

Jack watched warily, noting the orange eyes always turned in his direction, the noses quivering. Finally the keeper lead them over, clipping the larger one's leash to the manacle at Jack's right hand, the other to his left ankle.

A claw on his burnt shoulder, a tongue across his face.

Crap, what now?

A pull on his upper thigh, the sound of crunching, a licking of lips. The crackling of burnt skin being peeled. Of swallowing.

Oh god! Dear god! They were eating him.

He screamed and the crowd cheered.