{Hello again everyone! For those of you who have been on my fanfic's bandwaggon from the beginning, I've switched some stuff up and re-edited the first chapter. I've changed this to a modern day AU, but don't panic! There's an explanation in the Authors Note at the beginning of the first chapter. I only decided this while writing the third chapter, so if you find any inconsistencies in this chapter regarding the time warp please let me know.~ A big thanks for my lovely beta DemonVampire13 who was wonderful enough to type this for me, and thanks for all the favorites and a special thanks to Li the Twilight Knight, promocat, and MyChemicalDarkness for reviewing!}

Ciel trembles and wheezes from his position on the rough cement, his blood having long since dried to his bare flesh. He had pulled within his own consciousness, his mind not registering any coherent thoughts, not what had happened, not the pain wracking his body. This had never happened before, his worse fears—though he would never admit to being afraid of anything—had been realized. Sebastian had not come for him. That accursed group had done as they pleased, took what they wanted.

'I want to die'

That is the first thought that ghosts itself into his head. As soon as the apparition solidifies in this thoughts, his coherency flood back with it. The first thing Ciel does is chastise himself for his craving for the end. He couldn't afford such thoughts until his vengeance was exacted.

Then, his memory is mauled with thoughts of the previous events. The sharp pains and aching are quick to claim his body. Never before had he been subjected to this torture. He had met many with the intent, but Sebastian had always saved his ass (literally) before anyone got very far. Ciel is awestruck when he realizes exactly how many times he could have experienced this horrible type of assault had it not been for his butler.

He finds himself now craving Sebastian's presence, the security that accompanies it. Now, he has nothing. He is bare, utterly exposed and broken, crumpled in a bloody pool on the floor. He wishes to liquefy, to mix among his spilled life fluid and to become untouchable, to travel down a drain and be elsewhere.

A broken sob erupts from the aching cavity of his chest. He is angered; he had not consented to that action, that blatant sign of weakness. Despite his frantic and frustrated attempts to contain his own actions, his body detaches from his will. He is no longer in control, he realizes, as a strangled sob wracks through him.

He has no control of anything.

He has no influence over his position, his captors.

He has no say in the actions of his body.

He is at the mercy of his captors and his own subconscious.

This sense of being completely overpowered repulses Ciel. He was the one with the power; making others hopeless pawns was his job. He was the king on the chess board. He had fallen, for sure, but was this checkmate?

No, certainly not.

There were things he'd yet to do, things that had been guaranteed via contract. He would not, could not lose!

And someone wasn't doing a very good job at upholding their part of the deal.

Ciel feels the god forsaken blindfold scratching on his swollen eyes, instantly directing his anger towards it. He pushes his face against the floor, dragging the cloth up at his temple. The fabric is pushed up high enough to reveal his entire contracted eye and half of the other before Ciel can't remove it any further due to his position. He feels a little relief at the unveiling o his contract. He can't fathom anything that would disrupt it in such a way, and he can't help the panic and dread growing in the pit of his stomach.

He can't pull himself up, he can't even move, not merely due to the remaining restraints or the physical injuries he had sustained. No, he was motionless for an entirely different reason. His pride had been damaged, run through by a saw mill and stripped into pieces. He may be able to be stitched together again, but the marks would never leave. These wounds would scar his pride for the rest of his damned existence.

With these thoughts in mind, he pools all of his energy, his hatred and fear, into one desperate and demanding call through his contract. An ultimatum that would not be ignored. If this failed, he would have no other option but to forfeit his life. He could not escape this alone and couldn't deal with this form of treatment. His pride, no matter how damaged, refused to let Ciel choose this torment over death.

Five monotonous minutes pass and his doubt had mixed with panic and bubbled to the surface. He squeezes his eyes shut, he held breath pushing and grinding against the walls of his lungs and his cracked ribs. A high pitched, guttural groan of agony slithers past his lips and he begins to contemplate possible ways to end his own life without the use of his hands.

Screaming erupts from somewhere outside his cell (which he had decided was an accurate description after evaluating it for a moment), and he feels relief at the noise despite no knowing the cause. He was either about to be killed or rescued, and those were the only options he felt he needed.

The heavy metal door flies open and slams into the rock, the putrid stench of blood rushing into the room. He's surprised, having thought he had grown accustomed to the odor through his own blood. The figure in the doorway gradually came into focus, his curse tingling and burning at the sight, in recognition.

"Seb-Sebastian…" Ciel whimpers, the figure appearing next to him at an inhuman speed. The blindfold is gruffly removed before solidified fingers are ghosting over exposed flesh. Ciel hears muddled apologies and cursing before his world spirals back into black.