Pain:
(What even is this?)
There's a river of blood flowing down his face. There's a sea of bruises decorating his body. His hair is stained red, soon to be a rusted brown. His hands are raw from the useless punching he's been doing.
The man, no the creature, who stands over him smiles. It tears his heart out of his soul and tramples it.
He knows that smile.
The hand is back in his hair. The fingers curl around it, tightening as they pull him to his feet. He lets out a grunt of pain that he couldn't smother.
The eyes that are next to his own are cold. Unwelcoming. Joyless. Lonely. Cruel. Completely insane.
The voice stabs into him like a million knives. He knows that voice. He called this man out for who he is. He ruined his plans.
"I warned you. Don't call me that." At the last word his head is slammed against the cold metal. He almost expects the skin to peel off, sticking to it.
That metallic taste in his mouth is stronger. His tongue has a deep hole, directly in the middle of it, that gushes those thick globs of life that course through his veins.
"Like it... or not," he pants. "He's still... you. You're still... him."
The fingers leave his hair and he crumbles to the ground, lifeless. He pants for air, a feeble attempt to drag anything into his lungs.
"So, so pathetic. Weren't you supposed to be the stronger one? Or," The voice carves him until he's hollow. It won't (I) stop. (IE) "Was that a game?"
There's a boot on his face now, pressing down with all its weight. He rolls over in a feeble attempt to escape the pressure. It's a failed attempt.
"D-Do-" He curls in on himself as the other boot implants itself into the soft of his stomach.
"I said, you don't call me that!" Each word is delivered with a swift kick to his head. He can't find the energy to even try to escape them anymore. It makes it all too easy for his captor.
"I'm... sorry." He can barely breath in this position. He can barely breath in any position.
"What is my name?" The voice asks again. He wants to scream. He wants to run and escape and never look back. He wants to find his Doctor and never leave his side again, just so he'll be protected.
He wants to go to his TARDIS and curl up inside and just cry. This is too much.
He's overwhelmed.
It's funny. It only took 13 hours of torture to completely break the master of the art.
He sobs into the cold steel ground. This TARDIS is so metallic now. As cold as it's owner.
"It doesn't matter. Just give me the Matrix key, and I'll be off. Simple as that, and I'll let you go." The man that used to be his friend says.
"N-no."
"Shall we continue, then?"
No response.
A knife is torn out of his shoulder. He screams, a blood curdling yell. His vision is blurry through involuntary tears. More liquid clumps force their way out of his wounds. How much more before it's not enough?
"Alright. You c-could have asked... nicely,... you know." He says.
"Where?"
"My ship... Above the door."
The face is split by a cruel grin.
Then, he's granted the sweet release of unconsciousness.
