Hello, my wonderful readers! I'm sorry for the (sort of?) long wait, but I've created the chapter you've all been waiting for. Just a warning, but mentions of torture in the middle of the chapter and slight schizophrenia at the end, though I shouldn't really be warning you if you've read this far, should i? Well, read at your own risk!
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AngelicRiver:
I know i create exiting chapters; i can't really have a chapter that's not exiting in any way, shape or form. It's just in my nature. Rorke probably isn't happy, knowing him, so the Ghost squad should watch their backs! Even I don't know what Rorke's going to do (ok, that's a lie), but trust me, when it comes along, it'll be epic.
TheChargingRhino:
No worries; I'm having fun talking to ya, BTW. Lots of fun... And thanks! I've kinda stopped everything and started writing this, so it's quite fun!
CoffeeMonsta:
I know that you know that he's not. Nice panic, though. I believe I've updated pretty quick despite what's going so, yeah.
Mairoexpertken:
Maybe...Maybe... But with what's in store now, he might just get wary of his and the rest of the Ghosts again.
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Yeah...Sorry about the quick responses. I just don't have a lot to say.
Speaking of which, I'm kind of at a halt on what to do for the next chapter. I've got ideas, but none that's really 'there!', if you know what i mean. Just give me some ideas, if you want, and I'll consider them. It would really help.
As always, give me some constructive criticism, and have a nice day. ;)
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Summary:
Logan Walker, a man in chains under Rorke's imprisonment, is slowly changing, becoming more hostile, losing precious memories, and only handle his own company. But something sticks, and using this knowledge he somehow manages to escape. Now on the run, Logan has to figure out if he's with the Ghosts or the Federation, before it's chosen for him.
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Chapter 10:
Logan Walker woke to a loud and very quick beeping, confusion rippling through his bones. Shouts of unknown voices echoed around him, and he found that it really hurt him. The pain in his ribs was excruciating, as well as the shoulder bullet wound, but there was something else that was bugging him.
His stomach. It felt like it had been ribbed open, stitched, then ripped back open again.
It didn't take him long to realise he'd gotten a bullet in there.
But how? Where the fuck was he? How the hell did he get a bullet lodged in his stomach? Questions that couldn't be answered were the worst, but he knew he wouldn't get them answered just yet.
So, he let the topic slide.
His shirt had been ripped off earlier, he finally realised, feeling someone pressing something over his stomach's bullet wound. He couldn't help the yell of pain that escaped his lips as it agitated his ribs, feeling like he'd cracked all six of them.
He heard a few gasps as he started fidgeting, trying to find a way out of the pain. He opened his eyes to blinding light, squinting to find out what was happening.
The recognition that they were moving very fast down an unfamiliar hallway settled in quite fast, with the lights flying over his body being more than a hint to it, as well as the distant rumble of the cart he was on. People in masks were holding the edges of the medical cart, Logan finally realisation they were in some sort of hospital.
It only made him more confused.
How long have I been out?
Another question that would have to wait another day.
Logan closed his eyes in pain and stifled another yell as they passed over a bump in the floor, sending a painful jolt up his body.
He growled in effect to the lady pushing a cloth firmly over his wound, feeling blood still trickle down his stomach. The smell of the metallic substance of blood was horrendous, evading his nostrils and definitely stinking up the whole facility.
His blood.
That was not reassuring in any way, shape, or form.
He wanted so badly to get up and run, to make their lives a lot harder, but he knew this was the only way for him to survive.
But when he opened his eyes, the feeling went away in an instant.
Hesh was running along with the doctors, hand on the carts railings, giving him such a worried and panicked look that Logan was sure he would start to have a panic attack.
He arched his back as the nurse yet again pressed harder into his stomach, damn sure that she would kill him if nothing else did. He didn't yell, though.
Because for some reason, he wanted to look strong in front of this man – this Ghost.
And he wanted to know why it mattered so much to him.
The thought didn't last long secured in his brain though, because the nurse pressed harder than ever, and he felt something crack and another thing pop in his stomach.
This time, he couldn't hold in the terrible and almost screech of pain that escaped his mouth. The intense pain was starting to make black spots dance in front of his eyes, and the echoes of all the voices around him just wasn't helping his aching ears.
His fists clenched so hard the knuckles turned white, and the uneven, broken or very long nails dug into his skin, feeling blood start to trickle out of his clenched fists.
He suddenly felt something stick into his arm, and he flashed open his eyes, finding the source immediately.
A needle, and it was getting injected into his blood stream.
Logan felt a sudden tired and exhausted feeling spread though his bones, and panic raced through him.
What the hell was in that? Why am I feeling tired? His questions turned into rage. Don't you fucking do that again, you bastard!
Throughout the pain, Logan gave the doctor that 'needled' him a death glare, a very dangerous snarl planting itself on him lips. But one look at Hesh, being startled and seemingly saying 'no', overruled the whole feeling, and he suddenly felt at peace as he slowly drifted off.
But the question was: why? Why did he feel this way around this guy?
God, he knew the questions were going to plague him for the next few weeks.
And it just made everything worse.
/-0-0-/\-0-0-\\\
Dreams can be weird things. Sometimes they can hold fantasies. Great fantasises. Sometimes they can hold terrible thoughts and possibilities, also known as nightmares. And sometimes, on rare occasions, they can hold memories.
This time, it was a rare occasion.
Too bad almost all of his memories were torture.
/\~/\
Logan woke groggily in a chair, feeling pain like he had been stabbed by a knife a thousand times all over his body, which wouldn't be that far from the truth.
He listened in to his surroundings and, finding it safe, opened his eyes. He was strapped into his usual chair, bloodied from his last confrontation with his interrogator, now known as Sam.
But what he saw was enough to make his face pale.
A whole tray of syringes with various coloured liquids lay perfectly arranged on a tray, which was on the middle of the table, the other chair to the right of him, just out of legs reach.
The last time I as here... He cut the thought off, feeling sick. No, No... Don't think about the horrors to come.
Really, the last time he woke up in the same place as he had fallen unconscious was when he got to play a game of 'have a mystery substance' of needle after needle until he knocked himself unconscious. As terrible as it sounds, he thought of it as a blessing; he really hadn't wanted to continue the experience any longer, and what he had been seeing – hallucinating, he reminded himself – was terrible. Too much for him to even think of.
His head snapped up as he heard the door creak open, Rorke coming through the bloodied door, much to his surprize.
The man organising his torture never came in to do the torture himself, after all.
Rorke smiled up at him as he shut the door behind him, Logan meeting the creepy smile with his death glare, the man not even acknowledging his attempt to look menacing.
"Ah, you're finally awake. Took you long enough; nearly a whole day sleeping is more than enough time to recover from your wounds." Rorke paced in front of him, smirking evilly. "Now, I'm sure you remember this game. I stick needles into you, you squirm and scream, then the game stops when you fall unconscious or until I run out of needles. Ready?" Rorke didn't give him time to reply, grabbing the first needle – one full of a yellow liquid – and stabbed him in the right arm, the arm still recovering from the break he couldn't remember. "Good. Let's start."
Logan cursed when he stabbed him with the needle, and paled when he felt the substance get injected into his bloodstream, tensing as he felt it flow through his body in five seconds flat. He had already started sweating badly, and dread filled him when he realised what was coming.
Seizure, then- Logan gasped, seeing the gleeful eyes of his torturer before he started shaking uncontrollably, unable to breathe properly as his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and back, pain hitting him at all sides so badly that he felt tears gather up behind his seizing eyes. Saliva flung from his mouth, splattering his ripped and dirty clothes, coughing up blood amongst it all in an attempt to breathe. He couldn't pay any attention to Rorke's laughing as agony spread through his body, the chair feeling like it was going to break with all of the wobbling it was doing – or was that his back?
His body suddenly stopped its seizure, and as he opened his very sore eyes, he nearly stopped breathing as he saw a sight none would ever want to see.
His worst nightmare.
He was bound to the same chair as he was before, an open field laying before him. Dead soldiers lay on the bloodied grass; their guts blow out or just killed in the most gruesome way possible. Other soldiers of a different team were walking around with various guns, lightly kicking every person they came across, seeing if they were dead or alive. This team was the Federation.
They had won that war.
He suddenly felt pain in every side of his body, and he looked down, surprized to see he too had been shot multiple times, agony flaring through his stomach area, arms, legs, and chest. Someone was in front of him, and he suddenly found Rorke standing there in all his glory, looking smug.
"We won, Logan. You chose the wrong side to fight with. We were with you at the start, and you just abandoned us! I'm disgusted in you. We were best friends, and now...now I have no place for you in my heart." Rorke took a 44. Magnum from his holster, and pointed it at him, before lowering it, smirking. "You know, we killed the Ghosts. Your so called 'friends' betrayed you, tried to run when we ambushed them. You stayed behind to cover for them, but you can see how that ended up for you. Your nothing, and now, you'll die because of your mistakes." Rorke pointed the gun at his head, while Logan's own mind was going wild.
No... No way! They... They wouldn't have left me. His brain told him otherwise, showing false images. Those...Those bastards! You're all dickheads! Rorke, you killed my farther, and I hate you. The Ghosts are all pieces of shit for leaving me alone. I don't even know how I got here, but what I do know is that they abandoned me, and now I'm going to pay the price.
Logan stared bravery into Rorke's eyes, before feeling a stinging pain in his shoulder. He snapped back into reality, his eyes meeting the man that was about to kill him, pulling back an empty needle. Logan didn't feel the blood rolling down his arm, or the agony in his wrists. He could only feel his quick breathing, the sweat rolling down his face in waves, and see the dark brown eyes of the man that had killed his farther.
Logan let out an enraged scream, still seeing and feeling what wasn't real; the betrayal and the reality of the fake scene still fresh in his mind. It's not real! They betrayed me! It's not real! They left me to die! It's not real! They didn't care about me! It's not real! He argued with himself, the mixed emotions jumping around his brain like a bunny on steroids.
Rorke crouched in front of him, smirking like the bastard he truly is. "Did you have fun in there?" Logan growled like an animal, feeling all traces of humanity fall off him for that moment in time as he snarled, ready to tear the man to shreds. "Well, it looks like that got you hyped up. Let's do some more, shall we?"
In response to Rorke's words, the bastard picked up a needle with pinkish coloured liquid in it, but it wasn't like he was paying much attention to him. His gaze had gone slightly red, and a dangerous snarl escaped his lips.
Kill... Him...Kill him... KILL RORKE!
Before he could try anything, Rorke stabbed him with the needle, which somehow didn't hurt him like last time. He didn't even feel the liquid get injected into his bloodstream like last time. But what he did feel was the deadly rage that had built up in him, and the feeling that he could do anything if this man was gone.
Because he had killed his farther. Because his friends had betrayed him. Because he was going to win the war.
Because what he had done to him was beyond horrendous, and he wouldn't allow him to go any further.
Not that his animalistic self had recognised that. He could only feel the urge to kill like a shark smelling blood.
Logan flung forward in his seat, nearly ripping off his skin, and let himself yell and scream out profanities at the man, still trying to get out of his restraints.
Rorke only smiled at his antics. "Your growling, Logan. You've embraced the animal inside of you. Now, all we have to do is tame it."
As soon as he finished that sentence, agony spread through his body, and he had to close his eyes and hold back a scream, his inner animal leaving him as soon as the pain had started. The pain went on forever all over his body, and he took the last resort to this amount of pain.
He tried to bash his head against the back of the chair, and succeeded, feeling a blistering pain in the back of his head. He didn't care.
Because he needed to get out of the agony. Now.
Logan slammed all of his body against the sides of the chair, his wrists protesting in agony of their broken bones, and his head sending pain rolling down his neck.
All of the pain he was inflicting on himself finally started to take effect, and he realised that there was too much pain for his body to handle.
He excepted the opening to unconsciousness with open arms, willing to do anything to get out of the agony his body was in.
/-0-0-/\-0-0-\\\
Logan woke quickly, feeling the erratic beating of his heart rate pumping into a machine, sending signals to doctors that something was wrong.
Wait... Doctors? Heart machine? His thoughts tumbled into the deep end when he remembered everything that had happened in the dream, and he immediately felt everything on him, ranging from the sweat rolling down his face to the tubes and needles that were connected to various medical equipment and substances.
Needles. He felt himself pale considerably, before he felt a hand brush his right arm, still feeling as if it were broken, and he swore he could still feel the ghost marks of where the needles had been stuck into him so long ago.
But it didn't seem long ago. And all he could think about was that Rorke was still there, still sticking needles into his arms – making him recover so they could do another round when he had recovered enough to do another round.
His eyes snapped open, and his left hand flung into the wrist of the hand, where he quickly twisted so the unidentified person didn't have a chance to retaliate. He heard a pained grunt, and his vision focused in on a man in a dark blue suit with short grey hair and tiny glasses that were perched on the bridge of his nose.
Not Rorke. His thoughts told him, but he didn't care.
He needed answers.
Logan didn't waste any time, using his right hand to grab the man's other hand and quickly pulling him into his bed, the doctor slamming into his bed and, while he was hunched over in pain, let go of his wrists and grabbed the collar of his shirt, keeping his pinned there so he couldn't escape him.
"Who are you, and where the hell am I?" Logan snarled, not meaning to let his anger out on him, but didn't really care about what the man was feeling.
The older doctor raised his hands in surrender, looking him dead in the eye, which was sort of hard considering his chin was nearly resting on Logan's leg. "I'll answer your questions if you would just let me go." The doctor compromised, sounding candid.
Logan gazed at him with calculating eyes, feeling his anger pumping in and out of him in waves. He seems to be being honest, but is he really? He could just be bluffing, and could immediately get someone to restrain me, or just run away. He sighed, not caring what the other man thought. Do what you think is right.
That seemed to get a firm response out of him, because he slowly loosened his grip on the doctor, who was patiently waiting for him to let him go. When Logan had finally let go, the doctor stumbled backward and away from him, his eyes holding slight fear. Huh. I scared him. Does it matter to me? Do I care? Logan rid himself of the pointless thoughts clouding the real questions he needed to know. If this guy runs god help me-
His trail of thought ended when the man started to straighten his standard uniform, giving him a slightly annoyed look, before his calm and collected face came back on, like it was a mask he used every day of his life. Then, finally, the man spoke in a slight American accent.
"Thanks for that, Logan. Now, I'll do as you asked," The man took a deep breath before continuing. "I am Dr. Henry Johnson, and we are currently in a small hospital inside our HQ." Henry seemed to hesitate, before continuing. "Welcome to the other side of the war, Logan Walker."
Logan stared at Henry, yet didn't really stare at him, lost in his own thoughts. Small hospital... HQ... Their side... And Hesh beside my cart... Logan's eyes widened in realisation. Oh... no... no... I can't be here... they may have saved me, yes, but... god, the betrayal is so fresh... so... real...
A hand on his right shoulder broke him out of his troubled thoughts, and he almost did the same move as before, but restrained himself, knowing it was Dr. Johnson that was touching him. Speaking of which, my shoulder should be killing me right now. In response to his thought, Logan looked at said shoulder, finding it wrapped in bandaging.
Painkillers? Maybe... let's see this... Logan pulled off his covers, much to the doctor's distress, thinking he was getting out of bed. He ignored him, staring down at his surprisingly bare chest, finding bandages wrapped around his chest, especially the middle of it. He remembered feeling the most pain coming from there, so he reached a hand down and took off half of the biggest bandage, being in the middle.
As soon as he lifted enough to be able to see the wound clearly, he wasn't surprized to find a bullet wound right the centre of it, fresh stitches covering an inch of his stomach – likely double the size of the bullet itself.
If I can see stitches here, then that means it passed straight through. He summarised, cocking his head to get a slightly better look at it. It doesn't look too great, either. The stitches look fresh, too. Maybe a day old? Logan, ignoring the doctors demands (sorry, requests) and poked the wound, surprized when a fresh wave of pain raced through him, bad enough for him to grit his teeth. Well, looks like it's pretty bad if the painkillers aren't dulling that. Actually, I bet the ribs are amplifying the pain.
He tuned back into what the doctor was saying, only doing so because he wanted another question to be answered. "-that or I will have to get someone else in here that will restrain you. You know that I don't want to do that, so please-" Logan cut him off, anger coursing through his veins.
"Condition?" He asked, using all of his willpower not to lose control of his anger.
If he keeps talking like that, I might as well snap his neck. Logan thought darkly, still feeling the animal at the front mind, ready to pounce if provoked by this somewhat annoying man.
Henry stopped in his requests, giving him a strange look. "What?" The confusion was evident in the man's voice, and Logan would have laughed if he hadn't been in the bitter mood that he had gained from his dream and amplified by the doctor.
You're an idiot, for a doctor. If Logan had been in his right mind, he would have countered and told himself that the man was only surprized by his sudden attention on him. First, you come in to check me up and touch me. Then you start protesting about what I'm doing wrong, when I'm just curious. Then you threaten a very unstable man, which you should have gotten the message when I nearly broke your wrist. Lastly, you have no idea what I'm talking about even when people ask you about the condition of your patients. How the fuck did you become a doctor when you're such a sly bastard? When you don't analyse a patient's emotions? When you threaten an angry patient? When you have no idea what the fuck I'm talking about. Like, what the fuck are you doing as an army doctor?
At least he's an honest fucker. The thought was whisked away in his anger, and he almost (almost) lost his cool when Henry asked him what he meant.
He still has no fucking idea what I'm talking about after one minute? Why the fuck does he think he is? The queen? He's like one of those dumb guys that only know how to steal: they always get what they deserve.
"What do you mean?" The doctor demanded in an angry tone, and this time Logan couldn't hold the wall that was keeping the ocean of anger away from the man.
"I'm asking you – you fucking idiot – what the hell my condition is! People ask you shit like this every fucking day, so why the fuck do you have no bloody clue about what I'm talking about? Who the fuck do you think you are, not knowing shit like this?" He almost roared, fists clenched so hard and anger and annoyance so high that he thought the animal was going to fly into the territory of his perfect mood and live happily there for eternity.
His eyesight had gone slightly dark by now, while the doctor stood there, petrified by his scary movements, even though he had no knowledge on what he was doing.
He felt pain and a large amount of pressure start to well up behind his eyes, and he fought the urge to put a hand to his head and groan, wanting his question answered.
Well, you'll get it if you let me out. You'll get all the information you want out of him, and then he'll die. We've got all the time in the world, you know. Just you – the haunted and good-seeing human, and me – the monster torture created. What do you choose? Getting answers through fear, or the kindness inside? I say for the fear, and I'll keep on demanding it until you let me out. Just let me have some fun, will you? You let me out and kill a couple people holding your 'friends' before, so why not do it again?
The thoughts that weren't his crashed into his skull, feeling like he was getting hit by a terrible headache, despite not showing any form of emotion.
No! I may be annoyed at the man, but he doesn't deserve to die! He's just doing his job! All of the anger from before had been long ago forgotten, the voice of the 'animal' he was harnessing having captured all of his attention. He may not be smart, but I can always find out what's going on. I just need to keep my cool and I'll be fine, and I'll get answers my own way. Not through unnecessary fear and death.
A trembling voice entered ears, but he felt like he was underwater, not really hearing it. "Well... You've got a few cracked ribs, alone with a snapped one that punctured your lung. There's also a-" Henry's scared voice was drowned out by the thundering voice of the animal, the voice much too loud and painful to be ignored.
Look at him, scared shitless from your powerful display. He doesn't deserve to live, not knowing shit about what you're asking when he should know by his years of experience. He's told to be a pro, when really he's just a cowardly man. I say kill him, and if you don't let me, I'll force you to.
You can't do that! Logan argued. You're nothing but a voice in my brain! You won't get what you want, even if I have to go through a world of pain to get it!
His determination to beat the animal by his own game was huge, and he really wanted to show it up.
Yes, go ahead. Play my game. I'm sure you'll fail and kill the man instead! The snarl of the animal inside his head was heard, before agony pierced his brain, and he couldn't help the cry of pain, the immediate motion of his head going in his hands, the closing of his eyes, and clenching of his jaw that jumped through his poker face.
Namely, the poker face was ruined.
You can't win. Yes, I can! I'm stronger than you. No, you're not! You're too soft on man. No, I'm more human then you! This is a battle you cannot win.
Logan, despite being stuck in his thoughts, could hear cries of agony and lots of man's yells and footsteps and...
He realised right there and then that the cries of agony were his own.
He was whisked back into his thoughts not a moment later, the animal inside of him trying in vain to take over.
Let me out! No! Let me kill that worthless man! No! I'll crush you! No, I'll crush you! A newfound determination raced through him, and with a sudden burst of willpower, he felt the presence fall deep into his mind once again.
Nooooooo! He heard the fast-growing distant voice of the animal as it fell deep into his thoughts, but Logan didn't pay it and heed in his attention.
Because he was so tired. So very tired.
He heard the yells and sounds of doctors and equipment being moved around before he left reality, unsure as to what would happen next.
But not before one thought.
God help me before I lose control of myself.