He could barely move when the guards entered his cell; he was stiff all over from the multiple beatings he had endured since his 'meeting' with Chow. It had been five whole days since his meeting with the officer, and he'd made good on his threat to punish him sufficiently for dragging him into the unit to see him. The guards had to wake Jack up for him to hear this, and the beatings had started again soon after. He hadn't been able to stay conscious despite his efforts.
The voices in his head had told him to be grateful they were leaving his foot alone as they had struck him over and over again. The voice in his head telling him to hold on was louder than the sound of the officers laugh, evil and haggard; it could be herd over his own cries of pain before he'd gone back to the world of make believe.
He had been left completely undisturbed the following day. This would have been welcomed but his throat was sore again and he craved a drink - he had been greedy in the shower, it seemed his throat couldn't understand why it was being denied what it wanted so badly.
His clothing was uncomfortable, blood had dried in patches and it clung to him, the smell was vile. It smelt worse then his waste - for it symbolised everything he had experienced in his life, and all that was to come to him until he was set free.
Not that they ever would release him - he had tried to concentrate on the smell of blood rather than the hopeless thoughts which plagued him. He knew if he slipped into despair he wouldn't survive. But did it matter, he had questioned himself, he wasn't going to pull through at this rate anyway.
The next morning two fresh faced guards had dragged him into a semi standing position before knocking him back down to the ground again. The process continued over and over until they allowed him to eat the bread cake they had come to deliver. Once the meal was over a guard had produced the water he was desperate to devour. He had smiled before spitting into it and handing it to Jack; whom they had made stand up again for the effort. Jack had took it with a shaky hand as he had stared into it. His throat was parched and tremendously sore; but it didn't stop him from throwing the contents into the guards face.
He had laughed out loud as the guard looked shock, uncaring of punishment. They would hurt him no matter what he did - he could at least do something which would earn him the pain they were eager to inflict. The laughter had turned into choking as the wet man had grabbed him by the throat, whilst the other, eager to join in, had stomped on his foot. Just the once, but the pain was enough to keep him out until the following morning.
He'd drawn a shaky scratch into the wall before passing out again, barely able to function any more. When he'd came too he was aware that the trembling in his hands was now beyond his control and his foot was hurting constantly, movement or not. He'd drowsily rolled over and curled up, trying in vain to warm himself up. In the end he had given in to the sleep which was trying to take him away - he was always warm in his dreams - even if the pain was beginning to follow him there. There was no escape from the pain anymore.