TRIGGER WARNING: Rape, sexual assault, violence, gore

PLEASE don't read if you will be triggered by any of these themes because they will exist heavily throughout the story, I do not want anyone suffering emotional or physical harm because of my writing!

That being said I do hope those of you who chose to continue find yourselves pleased with my fic and do feel free to leave me any criticism that could help me to improve my writing.

So without further delay, please enjoy!~

I could feel the sand gritting between my teeth as I lay facedown on the beach, hair sprawled out in all directions and I could taste blood on my mouth. From my view on the ground I could see men in heavy black combat boots moving from one person to the next, shooting one after another and saving few. Grey brain matter, slick and shiny with blood, hit the sand like heavy rain before bodies feel limp and lifeless. The boots, dark and angry, circled each person like a shark, inspecting them and occasionally giving them a nudge before blood spattered across the sand. I tried to look away, tried to bury my face and let the tears flow but I couldn't. It was almost as if everything was happening too fast for my brain to process. The actions taking place around me were at light speed and here I was limping toward them in an attempt to catch up, fruitlessly groping through the darkness of my own confusion and disbelief.

Eventually I managed to close my eyes, squeezing my lids shut even if the sand was scratching at my corneas. It didn't matter: I simply could not watch it any longer. What felt like a thousand gunshots went off before I was yanked upward by my hair. My scalp screamed in pain and I winced as I was brought to my knees, tears brimming on my lashes while two calloused hands smoothed back my dark hair.

"Hello, Sweetheart," a voice chuckled into my face. I could feel hot breath on my mouth and nose, and my eyelashes fluttered open. "Why are you not in a bikini too, hm?" The voice asked, fingers probing at the hem of my jeans. He was referring to all of the other girls on the boat I had been on that were now lying in pools of their own blood, their expensive designer bathing suits dyed bright crimson so brilliant it made me sick to look at. My lips trembled as I attempted to speak, too terrified and stiff to muster up a word as I gaped up at this beast that now so delicately cupped my face in his hands. "You gunna fuckin' answer me?" He whispered, leaning his lips to my ear so his hot breath caught in my hair.

Everything about him was barbaric; his face, hard and mean with heavy circles beneath his eyes, was twisted in a snarl as he glared down at me with his lip raised past his gums. It took a moment before my eyes met his; they were a blue so light and pleasant, but there was something disgusting about those cerulean orbs staring down at me. They were revolting and I coughed out a mixture of phlegm and blood across my lap as I kneeled in the sand before him.

"I'm a photographer," I finally managed to stammer, the bloody mixture bubbling past my lips and dribbling down my chin. "Those are the models, and I'm a photographer, w-we were here for a photo shoot." I had attempted to sound strong and unafraid, but my voice failed me and the noise that left my throat was hardly more than a whisper. The man still squatted in front of me, those pale angry eyes scanning me like a bird of prey as I sat on the backs of my calves in the sand.

"A photographer yeah?" He challenged with a laugh, raising a scarred eyebrow at me. The scar traced not only from his eyebrow but as I got a better look at him I could see that it went back past his ear and over the dome of his skull on the right side of his head. Shaved were both sides but down the middle grew a thick black Mohawk that made him seem even more savage than if he were to have no hair at all. "This one is a photographer!" He called over to one of the other pirates, all of whom resonated in the same wicked laughter he had shown her earlier. "A photographer. You take pretty pictures of pretty places? What about my island? Is she beautiful enough for you, Miss photographer?" He stood up and threw his arms out on either side of him, pointing to all of the green foliage around him in a grand gesture.

I couldn't even answer. I just stared. It wasn't long before he had his hand back on my face only this time it wasn't gentle. His thumb and forefinger gripped on either side of my chin and I could feel a bruise forming beneath his knuckles as he jiggled my head back and forth on my neck as if I were a ragdoll. "Huh? What do you think of it now, yeah?" he growled, pressing his forehead to mine. When I still didn't answer he gripped my jaw and pushed my face to the left, holding up my chin with the same calloused hand. I could feel the color draining from my face as I looked upon all of the bodies laying stiff and disemboweled on the shore. The moving tide washed in and gently swiped their intestines away from them as a new wave of blood came dripping from the mangled corpses. He let go of me and sat cross-legged in the sand, his fingers toying with the gun in his lap and it was all I could stare at when I looked away from the carnage as it hung between his knees. He chuckled with an evil grin, "I asked you a question, you still think my island is beautiful?"

I glanced all around me, at the clear blue waters lapping at the shore and the white beach. All sorts of strange and exotic noises rose elegantly from the canopy in a chorus of songbirds and all I could do was nod. I tried not to think about the cadavers only a few feet away. "Very," I agreed, croaking out my answer.

"What is your name, Chiquita?" he whispered softly into my ear, once again holding my face gently in his rough palms, as if I were a fragile baby bird.

"Sarah," I replied in an equally hushed voice, closing my eyes and hoping everything would just go away and that this was all a dream. The taste of metallic blood on my tongue and the throbbing of my head, however, reminded me that this was no figment of my imagination.

All of the other pirates were calling him "Vaas"; From the way he treated them and the way they responded to his barking voice I could have guessed he was the leader of the bunch, and any question they asked was either met with a crude and snide remark, or an angry snap of harsh words and bitter curses.

The wicked man known as Vaas drew away from me, beaming as he still held onto my face. "Sarah, how beautiful," he grinned. He got to his feet and took me by the arms, standing me up shakily beside him with one arm wrapped around my waist so my shoulders met the center of his chest. "Sarah, you and I are going to become very good friends over the next few weeks. That is, until you die or grow boring and I find myself a new best friend, okay?"

The feeling of his skin touching mine made me squirm, as if a thousand tiny maggots were crawling onto my flesh as he held me and I could feel my body attempting to move away from this repulsive human. I resisted the urge, hoping maybe that if I were on my best behavior I would not get myself in trouble. The maggots writhed against my arms as he drew me in closer and pulled my wrists together behind my back, worming his hands around mine and securing one to the other with a thick nylon rope.

At this point tears were flowing in a steady stream down either side of my face and he spoke softly into my ear, his hot breath hitting my cheek and making my lips tremble. "We gonna take you back to my camp, sweetheart," he whispered softly. He ran his wormy fingers along my jaw line, pushing a strand of wet hair out of my face as goose bumps rose on my skin and I squeezed my eyes shut. "Gonna getchu out of these wet clothes." His voice was like the purring of a cat, soft and rhythmic but it made me nauseous and I could feel bile burning at the back of my throat, threatening to come up at any moment. His fingers went down my spine and tucked beneath the clinging fabric of my blue t-shirt, gliding along the wet skin that lay beneath with a thumb as his lips brushed against my ear. I flinched backward involuntarily and shuddered, gaping at him with terrified eyes as my chest rose and fell with each sporadic breath. It was only an inch or two, but my shoulder rising between his chest and my ear was enough to make the pirate practically snarl. He remained silent for the rest of the walk, guiding me into the jungle with his arm still wrapped around me.