Here is chapter two! Thanks for those of you who have commented and those who have watched and faved.

I would especially like to thank Swing Girl At Heart for being my Beta reader. ^^


January 14th 1:35 AM

[The early morning after Peter's reported disappearance]

Darkness enveloped the room and Peter as he stood with hands bound behind his back. A thick cotton rope pulled his arms toward the top of the wall that was behind him. The upward pull forced him to stand. A large heating and cooling system alternated between the extreme settings of hot and cold. He didn't know how long he had been there. The deep shadows of the chamber and the lack of widows and clocks kept him from knowing the time of day. All he knew and understood was the extreme heat that now filled the space he was standing in. Sweat coursed down his broken half-clad form and stung the open wounds that now littered his exposed flesh. He wasn't sure how much more he could take of this treatment. This wasn't like the time he'd been electrocuted, when vinegar- and gasoline-soaked sponges had been forced up his nose and an electric current run through them and into his head. No, that was a walk in the park compared to this.

He had been standing for hours. Then moment he leaned over to take the pressure off his feet, ankles, and legs the man that held him prisoner had come in and slashed open the front his shoulders. Leaning forward was out of the option and the pain in his lower half was migrating up his body. Standing didn't seem like such a bad thing but once the fourth hour had slowly come around things started to hurt a little more. The bi-polar temperature of the room made things worse.

He shifted his weight and grunted at the shock of pain that coursed up from his weakened right knee. It was the one that had taken a nasty blow during his abduction. He guessed it must have been the one he had fallen on once the chloroform had hit his senses. He shuffled about again wriggling his wrists against the cotton bindings. Waves of hot pain poured out from the slashes on his shoulders as he jerked them about trying to free himself. After a minute or two he gave up, his muscles protesting against his abuse. He knew better than to do more damage to himself than his antagonist already had.

The air conditioner rumbled to life and he sighed. "Not again…" his voice cracked with dehydration. This was the third time the air had come on. He knew the room would drop to temperatures cold enough to freeze the sweat that had acuminated on his body and the blood that was still seeping from his wounds. He shifted painfully and shivered, suddenly and violently, with the air that blew directly down upon him. The room was already several degrees lower than it had been only a minute ago. Just then the door to the room opened wide and light poured in from the outside… wherever that was. A man stepped into the light, his bright blue eyes landed on the grimy mess of his captive. The man was unfazed by the chill of the room as he walked toward his victim.

"Ah… Peter, you're doing much better than I would have anticipated." He said with a smile and took several more steppes toward him. Peter recoiled from the bright light as his eyes slowly adjusted. The gashes on his shoulders throbbed more
painfully as his eyes landed on his abductor. "So, are you going to do what I want?" The man asked, his voice well mannered and polite, completely contradicting the situation. Peter smirked.

"Probably not," he said. It wasn't a smart move but Peter really didn't give a damn. This fool had taken him against his will, strung him up like an animal, tortured him with sensory deprivation, extreme temperatures, forced standing, slashed shoulders, and water denial. If he thought he was going to get any answers he was wrong. Peter Bishop was unique that way. If he didn't want to give out answers he didn't give them out. You'd have to steal them.

Peter shifted his weight again and looked over the man's face. In an instant the blue-eyed man lashed out at the Bishop and landed a hard and solid punch upon one of the slashed shoulders. Blood sprayed forth with the force of the hit and speckled the faces, arms, and chests of both males. Peter threw back his head in pain and a scream boiled up from his gut but was lost somewhere in his throat. The nameless man chuckled a little as he drew back his hand and wiped the crimson liquid onto his pants.

"Willing or not you will do as I have asked," he said and turned to leave the room. He shut the door and the sound of heavy locks sliding home filled the chilling air. Peter sighed and attempted to relax only to fail. His right shoulder felt like it was on fire and he could feel his gut roll with nausea from the white-hot pain. Tears moistened his eyes and suddenly - he wanted nothing more than to cry. It sounded weak and pitiful but he didn't really care. The pain he was filling would not, if even for a moment, relent. The hot and cold that continually renewed its self thanks to the perverse mind of his unknown captor made things throb anew with each change of the temperature. The controlled hot and cold did untold horrors to his wounds and body. Dehydration was setting in and he could feel his mouth start to become dry and tacky even as he shivered violently in the sudden piercing cold. The same unnatural cold that was brought on by the quiet hum of a large fan and a cooling component somewhere above his head.

A thin sheet of ice had started to form on his back and the freshly flowing blood from his right shoulder was starting to freeze. His teeth chattered and his beaten frame shivered and shook in a vain attempt to warm itself. He knew the heat would turn on soon and melt away the ice on his weak physique and the blood would drip a little faster before it began to dry up. His body would burn with the parched air that would beat down on him much like the white-knuckled fist of his captor. After all that, he felt he had a right to cry since he knew he could end his suffering with the simple compliance to the sick mans request. However, he knew he could never risk Agent Dunham's life for the sake of his own – nor any others.

A sighed passed his nose once more and the door again was opened to let in the blinding light from somewhere beyond the room. Peter recoiled from it and blinked rapidly. The stranger stepped forth once more toward Peter with a tattered piece of cloth in his hand. The man reached forward and wrapped the material around Peter's eyes and tied it tight to his head. Peter grunted with the unexpected force his captor exerted to knot the blindfold in place. The man stepped away from Peter and the sound of large industrial lights coming on made the Bishop flinch though it was barely notice for all the shivering he was doing. "Now," the man spoke and turned back to Peter, "let's get this show started… shall we?" The man said and Peter could feel his heart race with a renewed fear. Show? Thousands of possibilities ran through his head and each made him sick to his stomach. The man turned to the camera he had set up and started counting, "0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21…" he continued onward but with each enunciation of each of the numbers Peter could feel his heart and gut sink and his ears become numb to the sounds.

The heat roared to life.