Locus was unpredictable. He did not terrify Wash, but it made him feel powerless. Fear would sit inside of his chest like a stone as Wash waited to see what would be his fate that day. Sometimes Locus did not come to his cell for days. The only person who visited Wash and Sarge then was the solider who gave them food and water. Sometimes Wash would slowly bleed out onto the cell floor as he watched Sarge get tortured in front of his cell. Locus always made sure the manual two way window was always turned on for both of them when Locus came for his "sessions" (that is what he called them). Then the window would be turned off and they would be left to look at the same four walls covered in blood and grime.
Locus made sure they stayed alive. It was ironic, how the man that tortured him again and again also wanted them alive. So after each session, he would send in a doctor to bandage their wounds and set their bones back into place. It was always a different doctor each time. They never spoke when Wash tried to speak with them. He tried to ask them what Locus was doing with Sarge if he was not in the cell across from his. He tried to ask them about the rebels, and if they had heard any news about Tucker or Caboose. He assumed Sarge would ask about Grif and Simmons.
The door opened behind Wash. Even without looking, he knew that it was Locus. He grabbed Wash by the neck and turned him around. He was holding a small object in his hand. When he came closer, Wash saw it was a camera. Nothing high tech, something only for recording and viewing. The video was already playing, and Wash could see blue and red on the screen. Caboose. Simmons.
"Keep looking." Locus growled as he put the camera in front of Wash. As if he would look away. This would probably be the last time he got to see them alive. Caboose and Simmons began to speak, but Wash could not make out what they were saying. The video did not look as if it had been prerecorded.
Oh God no. No. It was live. The video feed was being sent from a live sniper.
"No." It hurt his throat to speak. He did not sound like himself. Wash swallowed. "No, stop." It still hurt.
Locus did not say anything as the video continued. The sniper zoomed in onto Caboose. Wash heard a crackling noise, and it faded away.
"Do I take the shot?" a voice asked.
No, no, no. "Stop. Stop. No, stop." Wash pleaded. But his pleas did not do anything. Locus raised the volume on video as he pressed down hard on his neck. There were several wounds where Locus had cut deep enough to bleed, but not enough to kill.
"Do it."
"NO!" Wash screamed. He heard the gunshot, and for a moment, Wash thought Caboose was fine. He was still standing, still looking at Simmons. Then he fell backwards onto the ground. He saw Simmons kneel next to him, and heard his voice raise in panic.
"Caboose! Caboose!" Simmons exclaimed.
"What about the red one?" a voice asked.
"Shoot him."
There was another gunshot, and then Simmons crumpled on the ground. Then the screen turned black; Locus had turned the camera off.
"You son of a bitch." Wash whispered. He tried to punch Locus in the face, but pain lanced up his arm from a gunshot wound from yesterday. He tried to punch him again, this time making contact. But Locus seemed unfazed. "You son of a bitch, when I am through with you, you're going to wish you were never born."
Locus squeezed his hand tighter around Wash's neck, and Wash was too weak to claw at the hand. "You're too late. You couldn't save him. How does that make you feel?"
"I am going to kill you with my bare hands." Wash managed to gasp out. "I'm going to-"
Locus only squeezed harder, cutting off Wash's sentence. "I am going to do it to the others. I'll show you the soldiers, the mercenary, and Vanessa Kimball. Until it's just you and the other one." Locus released Wash's neck and pushed him onto the floor. Wash stared numbly at his hands as Locus left the room and walked to Sarge's cell. The window was not turned on, and the walls were not sound proof.
Wash could not move. He could not feel his legs, his arms. He was on the tipping point of rage, insanity, and overwhelming grief. He could feel a scream growing inside his chest, a swirling mass of hate and rage. Wash stood up, nearly falling with his hands in his hair. He let out a small whimper, and then a groan, and then a yell. Then he was screaming. Screaming for Caboose, Tucker, Simmons, Grif. At Locus and at the world. He screamed because he was on the tipping point of insanity and rage, the point where he thought he could claw his way out of the cell.
He fell to his knees against the wall, his hands clenched into fists. He was going to kill him. Locus and whoever was in charge of him. He was going to make sure they were alive for every single moment of pain he inflicted upon them. There was no way anyone was going to go free.
One thing Wash had learned from Locus was that he was unpredictable. He was also an expert at breaking people. This he had learned.
When you get broken, you've got to know how the pieces fell apart. That's the only way you can rebuild yourself.
He was going to break every single one of them.
Fin.