RED SKY
"Look at you now, Sparrow, a truly pathetic thing."
My how terrible things turned out in the end, always. At least for Captain Jack Sparrow. All of his plans would go so wonderfully smoothly until some little snag always sent things crashing to the ground. Bound and beaten, lying on the deck of the East Indian Company's current flagship, Herald Mark, seemed to be just such a snag. Surrounded by Beckett's loyal lackeys only served to worsen the situation. His left arm, hanging limp with its still fresh and raw looking stab wound, with its occasional flashes of blinding, white hold agony, wasn't helping much either.
Lord Cutler Beckett seemed to appreciate that fact oh so much, with such devilish glee dripping from his voice, it almost made Jack sick, to boot. Beckett teased him so, turning to his crew. "What should we do with our little sparrow, men?"
There came a laugh. "Set him free."
"Ah, but with a broken wing?" Beckett asked of his crew, sending a dark chill through Jack.
"Only fair to balance 'im out!"
Beckett's husky voice crooned in Jack's ear. "Only fair..."
Jack Sparrow closed his eyes, readying for the abuse as best he could. He was a pirate captain; he would never be seen begging for his life, for mercy, least of all at the hands of an East Indian Company stooge.
There were hands upon him, but Jack was too weak to fight. The pirate just clenched his teeth tight, refusing to allow even a whimper out. Someone jerked his right arm, his still good arm, twisting it back with unearthly strength, it seemed. There was a moment, when Jack thought he was in the clear and drew in a soft breath, as the muscles just strained in protest. And, then, there was the crack. That horrific snap of bone. A jolt of pain rocked through Jack.
"Good-bye, Sparrow."