Slave

From what Fox could tell, the room was dark. Fox never did like the dark. It reminded him of space. Only death occurred in space. It was strange; Fox spent so much time there, yet he hated it.

A blindfold was tied-a bit too tightly, mind you- around Fox's head. He could not see anything, not even light passing through the stitches in the worn out fabric that blocked his vision. He would have to use his other senses.

He inhaled a large amount of the humid air that hung in the empty space before him like the limbs of a weeping willow tree.

Not a good idea, he thought, grimacing. The room smelled of rotting meat, mixed with urine and sweat. Fox then tried to touch things, to feel around the room and try to figure out where he was. He became nervous when he realized he couldn't. His hands, too, were also tied tightly; they sat in a mangled pile behind the broken chair he sat in. He winced as he tried to break free; apparently one of his fingers was broken. What other injuries did he have?

Checking his body for any pains, Fox noticed a particularly strong ache in his groin, as well as two large gashes on his left calf. From what he could tell, they were bandaged.

Someone was caring for him.

Well, in relative terms, anyways. It was clear he wasn't supposed to be dead. Whoever brought him here brought him here for a reason. Fox wondered who it could be. Any non-descript criminal could've gotten the drop on him, he supposed. But that just didn't seem right. If a criminal got a hold of Fox….he was as good as dead. And this seemed too…..well- planned to be the plot of someone of that intelligence. No, clearly a smarter person's plans were unfolding here.

Fox continued to struggle, but his damaged finger did not give him many options. If he tried any harder, he'd only damage it further, and then he'd be in a big spot of trouble. There had to be some way out. Perhaps he could reason with his captors. Not likely, but perhaps worth a shot.

Hold on…where were his clothes?

This isn't really happening. This is all a dream. Or a nightmare. Or a deadly combination of the two. You'll see, Fox. You'll wake up and be in bed and you'll climb out and go to work at the Academy just like you do every boring, monotonous day of your life.

Something broke into his subconscious.

That's not going to happen, Fox. You're going to be here forever.

"AHH!" he exclaimed, kicking his legs, causing the chair to fall over on it's side, with the subdued Fox still sitting in it. "Ohhhh…..Shit…." he groaned. His groin screamed for help now, along with his finger, and his gashes cried for surgeons. He was in worse shape than he thought. Fox now noticed a large bruise on the back of his head. He was lucky he hadn't smashed it against the gravely ground, which had left it's bloody mark on Fox's cheek.

What was that? The voice in his head? To whom did it belong? What did they want with him?

Fox's instincts kicked in, and through the ear that was not planted firmly into the dirt, he could hear a soft creaking sound.

The door to the room was opening.

A person stepped in. Only one. Fox began to breathe heavily. What was going to happen? Fox felt his face pull away from the ground as the other entity in the room picked up the chair, setting it upright.

"Thank you," Fox managed to whisper. Why was he talking to this person? Obviously something was seriously wrong with them.

Suddenly, a large piece of wood came crashing into Fox's thigh, splintering shards of wood into it.

"AHHH! Fuck me! What the hell is wrong with you, you crazy bastard?!" His face contorted with pain as he tried- to no avail- to keep is groans inside of him. A cursed underneath his breath. Had they left yet?

"Do not disrespect me. I own you. You are mine." The voice said. Whoever it was was using a scrambler; it wasn't their real voice. The entity came up behind him, and laid a soft hand on his shoulder.

Clearly a woman. Odd, Fox thought.

Only the hand didn't stop there. It continued over his shoulder, and down the length of his bare chest. Slowly moving lower. Lower….

Oh, fuck no! Fox thought, frantically thinking for a solution. He kicked his legs once more, sending shockwaves of pain throughout his groin. The chair twisted backwards, landing on it's back, crushing Fox's hands. He yelped in pain, but soon noticed that he was not alone. The chair had landed on the woman's feet, smashing into her toes. Fox took every ounce of strength his body had left and centered it in his abdominals. He clenched them, which sent his chair rolling back wards over his body and towards the other person in the room. Fox tucked his legs in, and prepared to kick. With luck, he'd land a direct hit.

He was lucky this day.

His bare foot went crashing into the woman's forehead, knocking her down to the ground. Fox lay there for a moment, panting, and thinking about what had just occurred. The woman didn't seem to be moving.

The entity came into his subconscious again.

We could have been something, you and I. But now look at us. Why?

"Oh my God…." Fox said, attempting to get one look at the other person in the room. He believed he knew who she was.

Fox lay there for hours, frantically trying to break free of the bonds his captor had tied around his wrists. He had to give it to her; they were efficient knots, though annoying. Finally, Fox wrenched his left hand free and began untying all the knots in different spots on his body.

Fox slid the blindfold off of his eyes, blinking them back open. He checked to see if his hypothesis was correct; he was indeed injured on the head, hands, groin, and calf. Badly as well. He'd need to see a doctor, and soon. The gashes on his calf had opened up again, and, although they were bandaged, hadn't been cleaned in quite some time. Fox wouldn't be surprised if he had caught a disease while in here.

After retrieving his clothes, Fox turned his attention towards his captor. He couldn't see her face clearly in the dim lighting of the torture room, and walked over to the light switch near the doorway to remedy this. When he turned around, his worst fears- as well as his greatest dreams- were fulfilled.

In the center of the room, next to the bloody chair, lay a cerulean- colored fox, with a small trickle of blood flowing from the back of her skull. Her teal- colored eyes stared lazily at the ceiling.

Dead, Fox thought, walking over to examine her more closely.

It was indeed the woman he had fallen in love with all those years ago. She wasn't the same. Her fur had turned a darker color; the white patterns which were ingrained in her had become a dark gray. Her face showed signs of age, although Fox knew she was only 38. What had happened to her after her betrayal? Clearly nothing positive. Fox didn't care to know. While he did miss Krystal….he did not miss Kursed. He was glad that she was put out of her misery. It was then that Fox noticed tears flowing from her eyes like the outlets of a sewer. The tears were not clear; they were murky, with a dark black mist lulling around lazily inside each perfectly formed drop.

"It's a shame, your story." Fox said, picking himself up off of his knees and limping over to the door.

I want to give a huge shoutout to Razorblade88 for his influence on the idea for this story.

-ThatWinchieGuy