A/N. So, don't hate me. I really don't know where this came from, I usually don't write dark. And this is... very dark. I'm going to give you the first two chapters tonight because personally I would freak out if I just read the first one. This isn't the kind of thing I really want to give you suspense on.

Serious triggers for rape, abuse, torture, PTSD, and every ugly thing in the universe. This was a tough one to write and it will probably be pretty hard to read. I'm sorry.

Sarah Walker considered herself to be an incredibly strong person. But… no one is that strong.

The first week, she felt that she was just biding her time. She knew he would come. By the end of that week, her situation was starting to take its toll. Her wrists had been rubbed raw by the rusting metal restraints, bound too tightly. By day three her fingers were constantly tingling. At the end of the first week, she couldn't feel them at all, but could see that they were grotesquely swollen, and a nasty shade of purple. At the end of week two, they blocked all forms of light entering her cell so she couldn't even see her hands. She asked them, each time they came to deliver food or water in a bowl for her to drink from like a dog, "why, why are you doing this to me?" They hadn't asked her a single question, they hadn't asked for an ounce of information.

It seemed all they really wanted, was to torture. She was pretty sure they were more interested in torturing Chuck than anything else. She felt certain, when after week two they came in to take a picture of her, that they had sent it to him. She also knew something was wrong. If Chuck knew she was being tortured, and he knew where she was, she knew there was nothing that would stop him from coming to save her. She guessed that they were wrong, and he didn't have what they were looking for, and he had no idea where they were hiding her. Her guesses were usually right.

So yes, she believed, given the fact that for the first three weeks of her incarceration, no one had laid a hand on her, that their intention was not to get anything from her. However, in her experience, these kinds of guys get bored fast. Especially when they're sitting around keeping watch, doing nothing.

Torture didn't particularly scare Sarah. She'd been tortured before, she'd probably be tortured again (if she lived through this one, that is). But by the end of the fourth week, her solitude leaving her completely alone with her thoughts, she was nervous.

From there, it would only get worse. Beautiful monster, one of the guards would call her in Russian every day as he came to taunt her, eventually getting to what she knew would happen in time. He took out a knife, dragging the blade on her jawline, from her ear to her neck, a trail of blood leaking from the path he had cut. She didn't make a sound. With a swift motion, he cut her shirt in half before ripping her bra, soaked in blood and urine and who knows what else, clean in half, exposing her to him. She shut her eyes tightly, and he grabbed her chin. Not so beautiful do you feel now, Monster, eh? She opened her eyes and spat in his face, despite her extraordinarily dry mouth. The man's disgusting smile twisted into a horrifying frown as he wiped his face with the remnants of her shirt. You should not have done that, little monster. She predicted his next move and made an attempt to knock him down with her legs, despite them being restrained. He caught them easily and she was unsurprised when he took his knife to her leggings, ripping them off of her as easily as he had done the shirt. She was weak. She had lost so much muscle in the last month of lying there on the floor, waiting to die.

Never had she ever wanted to die so much as she did that night. He touched her like she was an animal being led to slaughter. She was sure he had fractured her upper arm from gripping her so tightly as he slammed into her, over, and over, and over. He put his hand on her mouth to stop her from begging. She couldn't breathe. Oh yes, she wished that she was dead.

It continued on this same way every day, for month, after month. She lost track of the hours, she lost track of the days, she would go days at a time without stringing together a coherent thought. As time went on, it seemed they had stopped even trying to get what they wanted out of Chuck, and had agreed they had found themselves a nifty little play thing in this beautiful monster. She certainly felt like a monster. He or the others would come when they came, leave when they left, and she did everything she could not to notice the in between. Occasionally, a spark of herself would come back to life, and she would try to fight back. This would always make it worse. Her left eye had been swollen shut for what felt like forever, since every time it would start to heal, she'd be met with a brutal right hook of a man four times her size. She came to acknowledge the only thing she had in her life: the sound of the lock clicking.

Six months come and gone, the only time she would make a noise was when that lock would click. She would let out blood-curdling screams when it signaled entrance, hoping that someone, anyone, would hear her, take pity, and just kill her instead. What was worse to her, was the uncontrollable sobbing as they met their exit. She thought of one thing, and one thing only to calm herself down: him. He was out there, he was searching for her, and he would stop at nothing to find her.

It was a day like any other. Today, she was given a cup of what appeared to be dog food. In a few days, she'd be given a cup of water. As per usual, she refused. She just wanted to die, and didn't care how. If starvation was the way, so be it. But they were on to her, and one man held her down to the ground by the chest as the other forced the food down her throat, choking and retching all the time.

Is it your turn, or mine, Nikolai?

The man pouring food down her throat laughed and looked into her face before spitting on her face, and saying, I could go for a turn with this one. Girl down the hall doesn't seem interested anymore. Sarah winced. If Sarah seemed interested to him, what could it mean if someone else isn't?

I'll get the door for you, sir Mikhail. Nikolai exited the room, and Mikhail turned to face Sarah, lifting her up on his lap. Though they had untied her hands and feets months ago (she was too weak to go anywhere, and they knew it), she was powerless to stop him.

He leaned his head into the caverness crook of her skinny neck, biting her collarbone to the point where she was sure there would be indentations in the bone. She had similar scars along every inch of her body. Mikhail was a biter.

You have no idea what I'm going to do to you, you shit-covered monster. She did know. She didn't need to be imaginative.

She thought she imagined something else, for a moment. A crashing noise, coming from the hallway, off in the distance. Mikhail didn't seem to notice, as he was busy with his pants.

Then, another crash. That's when she heard shouting.