So I'd like to start by saying - sorry I've been away a while, I've had some personal problems. I would have told you all, but they came upon me rather suddenly. This has since, been a long time promised, but it is finally here!
Enjoy wouldn't exactly be the right word for this particular deviation into my mind, but I do hope you want to read more. Either way, this fic will get dark, very dark - and probably disturbing, if you don't like that sort of stuff, get out now.
Rated M for language, graphicness, and because this fic will get worse in the future.
On a side note: thanks to everyone who sent PMs these last couple of months, I think I've replied to all of you, but I'll double-check in a moment.
- Takeshi
The emaciated figure hung listless, inches from the grimy floor. Head dropped, scarred back arched with suffering, the only audible noise in the small, dingy chamber the ragged pant of his searingly painful breaths.
Wrists suspended by thick, rusted chains connected to a distant ceiling, piled more pressure on his thin chest, such that even breathing was a desperate fight for survival.
I'm still... alive? Or is this, hell?
The captive man raised his pounding head gingerly, revealing haunted, hollow eyes and sallow cheeks. But there was nothing to be detected in the darkness that enveloped him, even as his eyes searched desperately; for even the faintest resemblance of light. If he looked hard enough, searched long enough, he could find it. He grit his teeth tightly to bite back the nausea rising in his parched, sore throat.
How long have I been down here? It must be months...
Months.
Long wretched months filled with more agony than he had ever experienced in his entire fucking life put together.
Months where he had been little more than an inconsequential test subject for their scientific experiments; where he had been interrogated about things that had not happened, forced into giving answers he did not believe, telling them what he knew they wanted to hear in a last-ditch attempt to make the pain they so willingly inflicted on him stop.
How much longer will this continue? How much longer... can I go on?
He shifted imperceptibly, feebly attempting to alleviate the unbearable stress on his raw wrists and shoulders, almost crying out in agony. He was stiff from protracted hours spent strung up like this, waiting, hoping for them to let him down, to turn on the lights... to question him. Anything that would give his frail arms a moment of welcomed relief from bearing the entire weight of his thin body.
But, despite this unendurable torture, despite the multitudes of torments and wounds they had inflicted upon him, he would not give them the satisfaction of knowing they had hurt him. He would not give them the satisfaction of knowing that he could break. He needed to be unbreakable.
If they break me - then I am nothing to them, I will be disposed of immediately.
And yet, what was there to live for, in such a savage world? There was nothing worthwhile for him here - no hope, no joy, no chance of escape. Life had slowly been sucked out of this infernal place, leaving it hate-filled and hungry.
But he would not bow to this injustice. He would not join those that had departed this world gladly before him. And so, while he might be rendered essentially blind, his bony hands bound, he kept his ears open, and in the dark squalor he was forced to survive in, he heard more than anyone could have imagined.
He brutally honed himself to detect even the faintest noise; to never rest, to always be aware of his surroundings and... them, those that watched. For they often waited until he was asleep to strike, dragging him disorientated from blissful rest into pain that had become so familiar. And so he slept fitfully, snatching scarce minutes at a time, and only when he knew he was comparatively safe.
He would take no chances here.
And so, he continued to exist, beyond all imagining. He knew himself that he should have died long, long ago - that he still remained alive was testament to his own indeterminable usefulness. They needed him for something, and so he resolved to remain utterly silent until he was sure he could find some way of escape, some way to run.
He held this grim thought in his head through everything inflicted upon him, desperately searching within himself for what they wanted. Growing more and more frustrated as time dragged ever slowly onwards, wielding no results.
They can't kill me. They need me alive.
They can burn me, drown me, bury me alive... but they need me alive, so they won't kill me. I believe that. I have no choice, but to believe that.
The heavy metal door shrieked open, banishing all thoughts from his mind as he prepared himself for yet another round of barbaric beatings.
They have to keep me alive. They have to keep me alive. They have to keep me alive.
Nothing they did would make him break.
Cold lights flickered on, searing his eyes. Ducking his head to shield them, a pale hand closed painfully tight around his upper arm. He felt as frail as glass, clasped in that iron grip. Completely defenceless to those who held him prisoner. He shivered as chill fear rushed through him.
Fuck.
The cold needle pushed past the brief resistance of his sun-deprived, ashen skin, cool liquid momentarily pooling in the area surrounding it, as whatever it was, was forced into his veins.
Only sheer force of will gave him the ability to remain stationary. Shrinking away would only imply he was afraid of them. He could not afford that admission, could not suggest that they held even meagre power over him.
"Subject sixty-two is experiencing a rise in heart rate without the drug taking effect." the monotonous voice, devoid of emotion filled the room. He kept his head down, terrified and intrigued in equal measures by that blank, detached tone, so out of place in this dirty world.
His eyes flicked to the disappearing figure of his musings walking out the door, and he was alone again.
And them obviously, but they were always there. Right now, he knew, they were sitting somewhere above him, observing his every action through the small surveillance cameras located in the corners of the room - out of his reach. He heard footsteps above him, and waited for the inevitable voice that now haunted even his infrequent dreams.
Closing bloodshot eyes, he let his head fall forward until his chin rested against his chest, hiding his face from view. And he braced himself for the inevitable, biting pain that accompanied all of this.
He waited.
Nothing happened.
Frowning in bewilderment he almost looked up, they had never been late.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Then it happened - the voice spoke, but this time there was no pain. A cold sweat settled over head, making his scared, racing heart beat impossibly faster.
"Shuuhei Hisagi," drawled the mellifluous tones, partly disguised by the feedback of the audio system in his cell. "What you are about to live through will be the most unpleasant experience of your life."
They can't do anything to me that they haven't already.
"It is quite possible - no, it is certain that you will die." the voice paused. "The drug we have administered is a poison. It acts slowly enough that it will take you a full week to die. During this week you will experience pain more acute than anything you have ever felt. If you think anything that what we have inflicted on you is bad, then you cannot even imagine the pain of such a thing.
"I am telling you this, not for my own amusement value, but to give you a choice. I have told you how I prize honesty and loyalty above all else, how those who act in concordance with such beautiful concepts are rewarded highly.
"There is nothing between us that cannot be forgotten easily, and I am prepared to do so if you answer the questions that we ask you."
So fucking calm, does he even realise-? 'course he does.
Shuuhei deliberated, the manacles cutting painfully into his wrists, drawing fresh blood that ran slickly down trembling arms. "What the hell's in it for me?" Why are you even saying that? You aren't here to bargain, if you die refusing to do so, so be it.
He heard the sneer in the voice almost before it spoke. "For you? You get to live. You see, Hisagi, I happen to be in possession of an antidote to the particular poison that has been administered to you. Once I get the answers, I am more than happy to allow its free usage."
Shuuhei breathed heavily. "How th'fuck do I know you're not lying?" he retorted, playing for time.
"I suppose you won't, the problem is - it's your life you're about to gamble, is it worth it? What will you do if your cards just don't win this hand?"
No fucking way. Absolutely no fucking way. This isn't a fucking game. I don't fucking believe this. He wants to fucking kill me-
What the fuck you doing, panicking? If you want to get out of here then you have to be calm, be rational - otherwise you're no use to anyone, and you've got to make him think you are.
Shuuhei stopped and forced his breathing into a slower rhythm. He looked defiantly straight at one of the cameras. "I don't know anything. So, you'll just have to kill me.
"And if you thought I would buy my own life back by selling information - I don't have - then I'm afraid you haven't done your research, because I would die first. To live after betraying your allies is not a life, it is an existence.
"Looks like you'll just have to kill me." He grinned sardonically before dropping his gaze and letting his head sink once more back onto his chest, his heart racing.
I hope to fucking hell I'm still alive at the end of this week.
"Six days, Shuuhei Hisagi."
The microphone turned off with a hiss and snap, a red digital timer appearing on the wall in front of him.
144:00:00
143:59:59
143:59:58
You sick fuck.
Shuuhei could not suppress the cold shiver of fear that crawled slowly across his skin. Seeing his imminent death, displayed so detachedly was... wrong. He could not fathom the mind of a being that would do this.
What if I was wrong? What if-
Stop it. You made your fucking decision, and it was the right one, whatever the outcome. You're going to see it through to the end, whatever it takes. Your death is inconsequential, you are expendable. You will not alter anything by dying. By dying, you will have proven your loyalty.
You will be given peace, an endless sleep.
I will not die, I will survive - I am stronger than that. I have to be. I have no choice. This is the path I was destined to walk. I must accept it.
He was plunged once more into darkness, the ever-present nausea returning with it. He detected a small movement in his peripheral vision, snapping his head round fast, the motion sending him immediately into a dizzying free-fall. He retched, there was nothing in his stomach to throw up.
Frowning, he remained resolutely motionless in an attempt to stop the black world from spinning sickeningly around him. He retched again, his chest heaving, unable to wipe his lips.
Th'fuck have they given me?
An echo of a distant memory flickered through his mind, slipping between his fingers before he could properly focus on it. What the hell was this doing to him? Before him he saw thousands and thousands of people, fading in and out of focus, some disappearing entirely. He recognised some distantly, faint signs of recognition evident on his face - though no one would have seen it, trapped as he was in the oppressive darkness.
Faces he had long forgotten, childhood friends, old bullies, teachers... and others that were more familiar, though he could still not place names. But some, some were entirely alien, disfigured and horrifically scarred. Shuuhei shuddered and tried to drag his eyes away, but found himself fixated. Blind eyes stared back at him, unseeing but somehow aware of his presence. White orbs slowly dissipated into a dense fog that filled his entire vision.
Shuuhei shook his head, attempting to shake off what could only be a hallucination, but stopped when he felt the nausea rise again. He saw destruction, that somehow he felt responsible for. Fire, and hatred raged over a desolate world, colouring it black, leaving nothing living behind.
It switched and innumerable trees spread out in front of him, fading into the distance still unbroken, green and powerful against a bright, sunny sky. Sweet laughter reached his ears and he turned-
He stood sword in hand at the top of a derelict building, debating something, though the possibilities and the choice were not made clear to him, but he saw sadness and a grim regret in his own eyes as he walked towards the edge and-
He was trapped inside a room, smoke stinging his eyes and stealing his breath as hungry orange fire licked at the walls and floor, and all he could feel was heat and pain, all he could taste was ash as the acrid smell of burning filled his lungs. He ran to the window, his arms outstretched as the glass splintered easily under the force of his weight as he plummeted-
And the river was a welcome cold as he dipped tired feet into the gentle current, easing away the satisfying ache of his muscles after his exertion of training. He watched as two songbirds flitted daintily through the leaves above him, perching delicately on the frailest of branches, swaying contentedly. Footsteps brushed the long grass behind him and he-
Distant voices, whispering to each other reached his hears, as he left the bar, more than a little worse for wear. He stumbled along the streets, heading in the general direction of home, using the lampposts and nearby cars for support, if only those dreaded sirens would turn themselves off. He pushed himself up and walked unsteadily in the middle of the pavement, before catching his foot on nothing and falling-
Tired strength invaded his muscles as he forced himself to block yet another attack. A thousand small cuts and bruises littered his body, covering his hands in red blood and coating his forehead and chest in slick sweat. This exhilaration, at fighting with-
Tiredness. Bone-shattering, insomnia tiredness. A distant recall of the horrors that the dark and night and sleep brought, of the nightmares that existed not only in his waking moments but now too in his sleep. There was no escape. And he forced himself into the kitchen, grabbing at a knife-
Rough hands on his body. A caressing touch, so tender and impossibly gentle. Warm mouth capturing his, drawing sounds from him that he did not know he could make. A welcome understanding; of everything, pain, loneliness, the need for someone, for comfort. The warmth of an embrace, a smile. He ran fingertips lightly over beloved features, brushing-
Pain. Pain that could not be healed with drugs and time. Pain that ran so deep it was impossible to ever fully heal. He wept, unashamed tears of heart-rending sorrow, no longer able to contain the feelings of loss. Of what he had lost, of-
Hanging suspended from the ceiling, sharp metal digging into his wrists, darkness around him. A scuttling in the corner of the room that informed him that the rats had returned, that he'd better be prepared to fight back, that-
Shuuhei realised that somehow he'd managed to struggle back to the present. His head spun painfully, his mind still reeling from the shock of seeing things that he could not even remember, they could not all be his memories, it was impossible. He retched again, his stomach churning and moaned inaudibly. His head felt like it was being beaten with iron hammers, such was his headache.
What the fuck have they given me? What the fuck should I do?
He gasped raggedly for breath, wincing as his chest protested painfully at each breath. Being held like this was not good for circulation, or breathing - it placed far too much pressure on his chest. They knew that, they probably thought it could get him to talk.
Amateurs.
There was nothing they could do to him that hadn't already been done.
Sweat that had covered him during his visions turned cold, making him shiver involuntarily. There was no heating in the cell, and some nights, or possibly days, it was perishingly cold. He wondered if that were intentional.
Shuuhei's head snapped up when he heard the distinct hum of the thing he dreaded most, and prepared himself in the few seconds he had left for the inevitable pain.
There was a crack, and then, suddenly, blue lightning filled the cell, travelling impossibly fast down the chains to meet him...
And Shuuhei tasted blood in his mouth after the convulsions had passed and the pain had decreased in intensity enough for him to think clearly. It was not the end, and he waited again, helpless to stop it, for the second blast. But it did not come. He retched again, steeling himself against this torment.
And found his head spinning again, plunging into the depths of this distorted world...