Prologue
The pain is like nothing he has felt before. Not even close to anything he has felt before.
The mental torture is worse than the physical, though not by much.
McCoy sees Jim being ripped to shreds in a reckless attempt to play the hero, Spock losing his brilliant Vulcan mind, going insane.
He sees himself being sucked into the endless vacuum of space...
He sees Joanna being taken away from him forever. And it all seems so real.
McCoy can always hear himself screaming during the periods of torture he undergoes, but the noise is distant in his ears, and he is so disoriented that he can hardly feel his own body, he can only see Jim dying, Spock going crazy, space, endless space sucking in around him.
It only got worse, more sinister, when Jim would turn on him, stunning him to the ground, or when Spock would back him into something and press hot, pale finger tips to his face, entering his mind... He can't stand these ones. He can't stand any of them.
He can vaguely hear them asking him questions, or at least it sounds like, but he can't understand a damn thing they say. It doesn't even sound like a language to him.
During the occasions that they allow him to recuperate from the stress on his mind or body, McCoy lays curled up on his cell floor, staring blankly at the wall, flinching at sounds that he is only imagining. His blue eyes have become unfocused and glassy, so far from their usual sharp awareness.
He doesn't even remember beaming down to this godforsaken planet or being abducted from his landing party, all he can remember, all he can think of are the horrible mind games.
It hurts so much, to cling onto his own sanity by the skin of his teeth every breath that he takes. He doesn't even know how long he has been here, but it feels like years when he knows it has only been days.
McCoy knows that his sanity is one thing that he can't allow himself to let go of. He can only wait and hope that this will end, very soon.