Warning! This chapter contains torture, NC sex, slavery, and violence. Do not read if this offends you.

Chapter 3
His New Life

Wufei felt defeated as he searched amongst the remains of the battle, seeking each body he found for Quatre's face. Praying like he never had before, he whispered repeatedly his wishes to the heavens for him to still be alive. Or if not, then to at least let them find something of him to bury. Give him more than the fates had given him with Meiran. Heart pounding, he felt the all too familiar sting of emotion in his eyes, pushing from body to body, wreckage to wreckage, in the black void of space, but to no avail.

"Anyone have anything?" he directed into his com, voice forcibly steady. One by one, the four pilots, Hilde, Noin, and Une replied with a negative. How could there be nothing left?

Heero felt exhausted. Hours had already passed, and he was sure they had gone through the mass six times over. The Japanese man felt empty and tired, the futile hunt serving to pour salt into the open wound his mind hadn't fully registered even existed yet. He needed to get out of there. Pushing himself off, not bothering to inform the others, he headed wordlessly back to the scavenger ship, emotions still numb. The entirety of the situation and its meaning had yet to set in. It all seemed so surreal…and by the time he made it to the entry chamber and the gravity and pressure of the regular world was equaled out with his suit, he convinced himself that his lover and his blond friend would be sitting inside, waiting safely for him and laughing to each other. Hope filled him…that was it. This was a bad dream…

Dazed, he opened the door...and was greeted with silence. Swallowing hard, he felt a sudden wave of muted sorrow wash through him, still refusing to admit it to himself that his husband was gone.

Pulling off his suit, he tossed it carelessly aside, not even bother to note where it landed as he stumbled aimlessly away. Gone…Duo was gone…. Cobalt blue eyes began to fog over and he rubbed weakly at them. He was surprised when it pulled away to find it damp, and idly he touched at his cheeks, feeling the swiftly flowing tears he didn't even realize had formed.

"I need to get out of here," he murmured to himself. He had no idea to where, all he knew was that he just needed to be alone. His legs moved automatically, his motions mechanical as he sniffled, each step causing him to break down a little more as his mind continued to repeat the horrifying truth which became truer with each passing moment.

Gone…Duo was gone…Walking down the hallway, he pushed himself into the small bathroom and shut the door behind with a definitive "click", checking to make sure it had locked. For a moment, he leaned against the heavy metal barricade and just stared at the handle, mind swirling with a million things that he couldn't grasp onto. Later, a therapist would tell him he was in a state of shock, but at that moment, all he knew was that he hurt. Slowly, not even realizing his own movements, he slid down the door with an agonized whine. Even if he had wanted to, he couldn't hold himself up anymore.

"Duo," he whispered as knees made hard contact with the ground. Shaking limbs wrapped around himself, and he felt a biting sensation over his forearms. The cross…that was right. Duo always gave it to him to hold when he went on a mission. Stifling a sob as best he could, he lifted it off of his neck and held it tightly in his grip, thumb trailing over the engraved signature in the back of the nun his lover had adored so. The metal felt cold and lonely, as if it even somehow knew that it's owner would no longer wear it again…

Pain suddenly tore through his stomach—both emotional and physical—and he found himself dropped forward, head on the tile floor and crying out with a rough, tear filled voice. How could this have happened? How? Every instant of the battle replayed through his head as understanding dawned on him, leaving him horrified. Why couldn't this be a dream? How could he have died? Duo…dead…. Where had his body gone? Had it been such a bad explosion that he was just pieces of flesh and fabric floating through space? The image made his stomach churn, his mind graphically envisioning the jet exploding and shoving his lover forward through the shattering glass as shrapnel ripped through him, cutting him to shreds. Before he knew it, he was hunched over the toilet, spilling the contents of his meal into the porcelain bowl.

An eternity seemed to pass, reducing him to hiccoughing sobs, cheek resting on the seat as he continued to dry heave. Shakily, he grabbed a tissue to rub at his lips, throwing that in and flushing, still clinging to the cross as his body continued to be wracked by violent cries. Oddly enough, he could smell Duo on the chain. That certain spice cologne he always wore that made Heero either calm or mad with lust depending on their mood. It was hard to realize, hard to even imagine, that he would never see his Duo again. Never hold him. Never touch him. Never hear his laugh or teasing voice. Feel his hair or lips on his neck. Never again feel the weight of his body against his…

What Heero thought was impossible happened. Death was dead. Another hard wave of grief crashed inside of him, and he shattered even more, the small pieces of himself turning to dust, unable to ever be repaired. Curling up into a fetal position, he lost himself in his emotions, feeling his mind slip away. Feeling everything he had lived for wither and die, and him along with it.

oOoOo

Wufei had finally been dragged back in, tears streaming down his cheeks, unable to accept what had happened.

"He's not dead," he murmured repeatedly. He should have listened to Meiran! But why, then, didn't he feel the presence of Quatre? Why couldn't he feel him as he had felt Meiran, comforting him? Pacing back and forth as the others stripped out of their recon suits, the red-eyed crew watched him as burned a path in the metal where he walked. Back and forth, back and forth, stripped down to the jeans and tank top he had worn underneath. Back and forth, back and forth… Trowa, finally having enough, snagged his wrist with long fingers and pulled him back against him forcefully in an attempt to stop the incessant movement before he drove them all mad.

Wufei struggled from his hold, crying harder, letting himself get buried in his denial.

"He's alive! He's not dead!" he yelled. Zechs covered his face to hide his own grief, Hilde grabbing onto his arm for support. Une took Noin's hand, slowly leading her out so the two females could mourn in private. Seeing them leave, Wufei grew desperate, wanting to go back out and not give up till they found a hint. "We can't end this yet!" he pleaded. "Trowa, we can't!" Struggling harder, he planted his feet in the ground and tried to pull away, before Trowa spun him around and delivered a hard smack across his face that sent him stumbling. Catching him before he could fall, the European immediately pulled him back into his arms, holding him tight.

"Wufei…you're hysterical. You're going to drive yourself crazy and take us with you!" Trowa whispered, and Wufei knew it was true. Burying his face into his shoulder, he let his emotions out, the liquid sin falling freely from his eyes again. Trowa picked him up, gently carrying him out of the room to find a more appropriate place.

Zechs looked down to the violet haired girl who slowly pulled away from him, rubbing at her eyes. Lightly brushing his thumb across the wet trails down her face, he ushered her to look up to him.

"Don't be sad, little one. I know he was your best friend, but you know he only would have wanted you to smile," he whispered, his own throat catching at the statement. "It's all he ever tried to make you do, no?" Slowly, she nodded, pulling away and swiping at damp lashes with her forearm.

"I'm gonna go check up on Noin and them," she whispered, sniffling meekly. Zechs just nodded as she made her exit, finally able to turn his attention on what had been bothering him. Heero's whereabouts.

Rummaging through the discarded suits, he was relieved to find that all were there and accounted for, including Heero's. The ex pilot of Wing probably came in earlier than the others. Worry filtered through him as he stood. In no way, shape, or form did he trust the boy by himself at the moment, and feared that he may do the worst. After all, this was the same person who seemed to have more suicidal tendencies than an angsty teen at a razor blade convention. He needed to find him.

With that thought in mind, he stood, assessing the situation. There were three possible areas he could have gone—one led into the small eating room on the salvage ship, where one cook always resided. The other led to the flight room, where the others most likely made their retreat, and the last down a small hallway to the janitor's closet and the one person bathroom. It was pretty easy to deduct where he was after that, knowing that if Heero were to show any emotions, it would be in a place no one else would be.

Into the small alcove he went, listening closely for any noise, pausing before the bathroom door and hesitantly testing the handle. Locked. He pushed his ear against the metal and could hear the shaky sound of sobbing, his own heart breaking. Never had he known the man to cry.

"Heero," he called quietly. "Will you let me in?" As expected, no response was forthcoming. Instead, a small stifled wail could be heard, followed by a low growl. "Heero!" he asked again, but this time, everything went silent.

Frozen, face buried into his knees, Heero sat quiet and motionless, biting the insides of his cheeks bloody in order to prevent even a breath from escaping him, as if hoping Zechs would forget him and go away. "Damn it, Heero! I'm coming in!" Zechs yelled, slamming his fist against the door as panic tinged the white haired mans demeanor. Pulling out the skeleton key, he quickly did away with the lock and entered, scared that the dumb boy would have already done something stupid.

Heero sat, curled up in the corner, crying like a small child and holding the cross tightly to his chest. Seeing this, Zechs forced himself to move slower and calmer, gently closing the door behind and locking it once again. Kneeling down in front of his friend, he kept a respectful distance, but still close enough so he could feel the heat radiating from the grief stricken youth.

"Heero," he whispered, trying to grab his attention. But when the boy's eyes snapped open, it was as if he just then realized Zechs was there. Fire flared in them. Rage at the injustice, mixed in with his pain caused Heero to lash out. Never had he felt a grief this distinct, and he had no clue on how to control it. Launching forward at him, he swung as if to hit him, half wanting him to leave and half just needing some way to work through all of this. Having already guessed that was coming, Zechs just caught his fist, using the leverage to pull him fully from the corner and into his arms, wrapping himself around him protectively. "Heero…I'm not here to hurt you," he swore against the mess of dark chocolate hair. "I'm your friend. I'm here for you." Heero gave a small struggle, not really putting much into it. Hitting his chest weakly a few times, the Japanese boy crumbled in the hold, burying his face into him and taking the strength that was offered.

oOoOo

Harsh light awoke Quatre, the normal soft feel of his silken pillows under his face and the warm bodies of his lovers replaced by the feel of a hard wood floor with rough carpets that scratched and irritated his skin. Blinking his eyes open, he felt like he could barely lift his weary lids, staring at a metal door that looked to be firmly locked. A soft groan escaped his lips and he let his head loll in the other direction, wincing as a pang of a headache formed in the back of his skull. Where was he? To the other side, he saw three steps that went across the expanse of the room, leading up to a long, raised platform against the wall. The salmon colored flooring looked well used and stained in something that was a frighteningly familiar shade of reddish brown, and he swallowed hard.

It looks like an old, private party room, he thought to himself. In front of him, slightly to the right, he saw a wooden door, ornately carved with a golden handle that led to god-knows-where.

"Where am I…?" he wondered in a scratchily, voice parched and dry. Lips splintered, he ran his tongue over them to lessen the pain as best he could, tasting something sour and salty, a little wet, at the corner of his mouth. His blood ran cold as his heart gave a jump. That was an undeniable taste that he knew well from when he had pleasured both Trowa and Wufei…. Did someone do something to him in his sleep? Is that why his throat felt so sore?

Deciding he needed to find his way out of here, and fast, he forced himself up as quickly as he could into a sitting position. Oh…bad idea! Hissing, pain washed over him and caused his vision to blur a moment. His body ached, muscles screaming as wounds that were haphazardly wrapped ripped back open and caused him to release a gasp. That explosion must have really done a number on him…so why was he alive? Banishing those thoughts and his tears, he grit his teeth. Something wasn't right about this place, and he knew he had to find his way out before Mr. Sleep Molester returned. This was no time for weakness. Shoving his discomfort into the back of his mind, he lifted himself to his feet and looked around.

It was an empty structure, the colored walls a shade of grayish pink and contrasting horrendously with the carpet. Above him, florescent lights shot their artificial glow down upon him, almost blindingly bright. A few air vents were placed on the high up ceilings, but in addition to being screwed in, were padlocked on all four sides despite the less than one square foot opening they gave. To his left, where the raised part of the room was, large red curtains were draped and pulled tight over what he hoped were windows.

Deciding they were his best bet, he made his way to them as best he could, limping slightly at a sharp pain in his ankle. Somehow, he must have sprained it. Pulling aside the drapes, he felt his hopes shatter as he came into contact with thick layers of wood covering up the view outside. Not even the slightest touch of light managed to break through, and he grimaced his annoyance.

"Of course," he mumbled to himself, more for comfort than anything. "The windows can never be open. That would just be easy." Sighing, he came to the conclusion that trying couldn't hurt—at least not figuratively, because he had a feeling it would sure as hell hurt physically. Hooking his hands onto the wood, he began to pull, feeling his aching back strain as he gave out a growl with his effort. Feet planting up against the wall, he put all his weight into it, arms giving harsh spasms. Each individual laceration screamed, and he glanced down to see blood blooming from bandages wrapped around his legs, only to realize…

…he was naked.

Taken aback by that, his grip slipped and he landed hard on his tail bone, giving out a cry as his body fell back. A choked whimper caught in his throat, and he forced himself to roll over onto his knees, hissing as he once again stood. He couldn't give up this easily. Once again, he grabbed on, hooking his bare feet on either side of the window for leverage, pulling against the splintering wood with all his might. A crack sounded, followed by another, hope swelling in him as he watched the nails tug and strain. Then, with a loud "CRACK!" he was sent flying back a good foot, a piece of the wood in his hand as he skidded across the carpet and rolled down the steps. Adrenaline now was pushing aside any other feeling but hope as he stumbled back up the steps to look out into what he hoped would be freedom…

…only to come into contact with bricks.

Someone had filled the windows in with bricks.

His mouth went dry with fear, the futility of his situation beginning to drawn on him. He made his way distraught down the steps, trying hard to soothe himself. Wherever he was, he needed to take in his surroundings and come up with a tactic to get out. First, he tried the metal door, confirming his suspicion that it was locked. It was thick and solid, most likely sound proofed, which could be either a good thing or a bad thing for him, depending on whether or not he got a chance to surprise his captor.

Deciding to explore the last room, he stumbled slightly as he hobbled over, a sting starting to form in his feet. Leaning against the wall, he pulled splinters out from the sensitive flesh that must have gotten lodged during his escape attempt, before once again continuing. His body yelled with every step that he shouldn't be moving, and he knew that in better circumstances, he wouldn't even try. Shoulders felt pulled, if not bordering on dislocation, legs bleeding and lower back cut as well. Bruises marred his chest, and it hurt each time he took a breath. Pressing delicately over the sensitive spot, he felt a sickening shift of a broken rib.

Gratefully, he collapsed against the wooden door, taking a breather.

"Please Allah," he whispered, hand resting on the golden handle. "Let this be an exit…" Pressing down, he once again felt his heart beat fast with hope as he found it unlocked, and he hesitantly made his way in, afraid of seeing another gaudy, barren "cell"…

…only to reveal a paradise.

It reminded him of a rainforest, filled with exotic plants climbing the walls—huge leafy things with fragrant flowers growing tall, some of the petals as large as his hand. They outlined the room, vines wrapping around the entrance to another open door that, from what he could see, looked to be a small toilet room. A large bed of black silks and gauze drapes lay across the large expanse, but what caught his attention was that in the middle of all of this…was a pool. It was like the kind that he had seen in pictures of Mayan temples, a gentle trickling sound letting one know it was constantly running, pouring in new water and drawing out the old. About the size of the average one's he had seen in people's backyards, it was an impressive structure, surrounded by tiled depicting pictorial stories. Moving to get a closer look, he saw what appeared to be a battle between forces of heaven and hell, and a great conquest of demon's over angels. His face paled at one which stood out the largest—a huge painting by the entrance steps which made his stomach churn.

Done in graphic detail, spanning about seven feet in length and two feet wide across the short side of the rectangular pool, was the final scene of the story. Angels were portrayed being tortured, wings being ripped off as they were raped by the demonic armies. Dismembered limbs of the pure creatures lay scattered about in the scene of blood and carnage. Staring in horror, unable to turn his eyes away, he was too entranced by the hedonistic scene that he didn't hear the metal door of his prison slowly open, nor the steps that slowly came up behind him.

"Hello, Angel," came a smooth, soft whisper, seeming to disappear into the air like fairies in the surreal environment of this hellish paradise. Quatre jumped, spinning to find the source, surprised when he met up with deep green eyes almost perfect in shade to Trowa's. Except these eyes were cruel, piercing into his soul and pinning him to the spot, sending a chill of fear down his spine. Dark brown hair, almost the color of Heero's, was tied in a knot at the back of his neck. Black slacks hung well on sharp hips, a white, crisp business shirt slightly unbuttoned at the collar with the sleeves rolled up. He was slick, dark, and he was tempting…but more than that, he scared Quatre more than all of Oz ever did.

"Who are you?" the Arabian demanded, trying hard to keep the tremor from his voice as his hands moved to cover his nakedness. The man smiled.

"I am Master, and you are my new pet," he explained, stepping closer to the blond. Quatre's eyes went wide, taking a step back in an attempt to make distance between himself and this dominating figure, but the Master was unrepentant.

"Nobody owns me," the blond snapped, rage lighting his blue eyes. The man laughed.

"Oh, but you're wrong Angel. You see…I own you. Mind, body, and soul…you belong to me now." And with that, the man launched at him, sending Quatre reeling back in hopes to escape the attack. Dodging under the arm that swung out to grab him, the petite boy spun around to take off running, energy pounding through his veins and making him forget his injuries long enough to make an attempt to get out. Though, his injuries weren't the only things his panic blinded him too, but the layout of the room as well. Foot slipping on the slick tile, he found himself falling helplessly into the pool before he could even make his first step.

Floundering, he tried to pull himself up, but the man was already behind him in the cold water, pinning his arms to his side with one of his own. The other moved by Quatre's ass, and he could feel as his attacker began to undo his slacks. Choking back a sob, he let out a loud scream, trying hard to pull away, but the hold was vise around him, leaving him to thrash helplessly as the Master quickly pulled himself out from his pants. Never had the blond been raped before. Even through out the wars he had managed to avoid such a frightening experience, and even though thought of it was enough to make his blood run cold.

Master grabbed Quatre's wrists with one large hand, wrenching them back and forcing him forward. Trying to use the leverage against him, he attempted once more to pull away but to no avail. The Master had him back against him seconds, grinding his erection against him hard, causing Quatre to shudder in disgust as he shook his head in denial, body freezing up in a form of comatose panic as the man did it again.

"Please, no," Quatre whispered. The Master only laughed, shoving the Arabian forward more, grabbing onto his hair and shoving his face forward and under the water. Quatre's eyes went wide, his struggles renewing to get away and get back up for air, but that was forgotten as he felt something pressing against his entrance. Kicking, he swung out to try and strike him, but the man just pulled his hair harder and twisted his arms, tugging him up above the water long enough for the boy to gasp a sweet breath of much needed air.

"Stay still or I'll fucking kill you, whore!" the Master snapped, then shoved him back under. This time, when he felt the intrusion, he had no time to pull away. In it went, slamming in dry and hard, ripping through him as he screamed. It was larger than either of his lovers, and hurt beyond belief. Shuddering, the Master began to pound into him violently, making Quatre feel for certain that he was going to rip in half. The lack of air started to get to him, his ears buzzing with the strain as his vision began to darken. A more vicious stroke caused him to scream and inadvertently release the last precious bits of oxygen. His lungs fought violently to get back taking in large amounts of water as they convulsed and tried to breathe. His body tingled with pain of deprivation, his ears filled with the swooshing sound of his own blood. Still, the man continued his relentless assault, not bothering to lift him up, even as the small blonde's struggles lessened, before visibly going unconscious.

He didn't know how long he was out, but when Quatre awoke again, he found himself bent over an odd device that he only realized after some curious observation was a gymnastic horse. Slowly, he looked around, a sharp pang splintering through back of his skull and sending sparks into his eyes. He winced, taking steadying breaths, stomach churning. A dry heave wrenched his body forward, the emptiness in his stomach leaving nothing to come out.

"Nng…ow," he whimpered, lifting his head up as best he could to prevent any more blood from rushing to it. When he finally began to steady himself more, he started to take in his surroundings, squirming against the binds. The room was stone, vaguely reminding him of a medieval dungeon—torture devices and all. A large, X shaped contraption with bands for the arms and legs rested against one wall, surrounded by various shapes and sizes of whips, cuffs, collars, face masks, and various other bondage devices, hanging from hooks and spread out on tables like tools in a shed. A few he recognized from his own experiments. Whips, riding crops, paddles, dildos, vibrators…but what scared him of those the most were the spike lined ones, the sharp protrusions coming in all shapes, lengths, and widths. Swallowing hard, he vaguely registered the way his body trembled from fear and pain, tears welling in his eyes as he only imagined what was going to be done to him. Hissing, he shifted to try to get more comfortable, his gut feeling bruised and ass feeling sore from the earlier rough treatment.

Chains hung from the ceiling that he could barely see, a few piercing guns and various sizes of rings hanging on another wall, flanked by other toys that Quatre's mind had never even imagined existed. He tried to study them more closely, but his neck quickly tired, causing his head to drop forward once again.

"Allah, please," he whispered, "let this end…"

"Oh, but it hasn't even begun, my Angel," came the familiar voice that Quatre had already grown to fear. Body stiffening, his shaking became more violent as he opened his eyes to see the shiny black boots and black clad legs of Master behind him. "Trust me…I won't be done with you for a very, very long time." Had the circumstances been different, the sweet tone would have been comforting, as well as the hand that gently stroked across the edges of a gash on his lower back, which he registered as now being stitched up. Did he receive that in the explosion? Or did this man do it to him while he was out? Just how much had he slept through this time? The sound of metal on metal sounded as the Master set something down, causing the blond to jerk. Pure, unadulterated terror filled the boy to the breaking point. Never before had he been so helpless or exposed as he was now, legs spread out and stretched painfully. So opened to a man who had already raped him, and it now seemed, planned on doing worse as well.

"Please," Quatre whimpered. "Please don't do this…" He was ashamed at his own weakness, but he had the feeling that being strong would it make it worse for him. That resistance would make the pain only come that much worse. If he shut down a bit, didn't try to be strong...if he just went along with things, then maybe he could wait it out until Trowa, Wufei, and the others came for him. It wouldn't be long after all. He knew that, because they promised they would never leave him behind. They had to come and rescue him soon….

"I have to do this, Angel," the Master said softly, almost regretfully, the sound of hard bristles of a brush swirling through liquid against the metal sides of a bowl causing Quatre to cringe. "You are a new slave, and new slaves must be broken. You must be punished for breaking that piece of wood and trying to escape, as well as having such a bad mouth. But it's okay." With that, the Master tapped the edge of the bowl, and Quatre heard small droplets landing on a table. "Soon, you'll know you're nothing more than a slave who has no value to anyone. After all, they abandoned you to me. Nobody is going to come for you, Angel. You're mine to do with as I please." Master chuckled as if amused. "Mine forever…"

Quatre watched from between his legs as the man moved up behind him, feeling the hard edges of a tapered, round brush rubbing over his torn entrance. A bit of cold liquid leaked over his skin from the stiff, plastic bristles, and when it came into contact with the broken flesh, the open wounds stung violently, causing him to cry out. "But first…first we must clean you up. As you can probably tell, this is pure rubbing alcohol. And this…well my angel, you probably know what a round brush is."

"NO!" Quatre suddenly screamed, unable to stop himself anymore as he was overtaken with sobs, the prospect of the pain too much handle. "Someone! Please, help," he pleaded, crying hopelessly.

"We need to shut you up," the master stated calmly, if only slightly annoyed. A steel toed boot hit suddenly between the blonde's legs, the kick smashing into his sensitive balls with a bruising force. Quatre screamed again, mouth opening just enough for a large, rubber ball gag to be shoved between his lips, effectively silencing him as he tied it behind his head. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he sobbed, shaking his head back and forth, trying to beg for him to not hurt him anymore. The gag kept him quiet though. Lips stretched and cracking, the intruding ball forced his tongue back into his throat, giving him a feeling of suffocating as he once again gagged. Satisfied, the Master gave a boyish giggle, shoving the scouring brush covered in alcohol into his new slave, enjoying the symphony of screams from his new slave. Before the night was through, all this would seem like child's play.

"Don't worry," he practically sang, cheerful voice reflecting his happy features. "You'll endure. I'll show just how pain the human body really can endure! After all, pet…we use the electro shock next…"