Author's Note: The challenge was cruelty
His breath is harsh in his own ears. He is distantly aware that at least three of his arms are broken, and probably one of his legs. A more immediate thought is that he can't feel the comfortable weight of his hitai-ate tied to his forehead, if only because that is a more uncommon occurrence than a couple of snapped limbs. It is likely that he is only aware of those because his arms are bound behind them, and his vision blackens every time he shifts and a spurt of pain runs through his shoulders and along his spine. He is grateful for the pain. The promise of unconsciousness, there for the taking if he so chose, is comforting. Mostly because the roaring noise that accompanies it is the only thing that can drown out the sound of his breathing, and the relentless drone of the scarred behemoth before him.
"Tell me the location of Sound Village."
It is times like this that Kidoumaru wishes life was more like a VCR, complete with the ability to rewind. Or at least that it included a TV remote. He sure wouldn't mind a mute button right now.
The situation isn't at all funny. But Kidoumaru never has been able to hold back a smile at one of his own lame jokes. Even if it never leaves the vicinity of his own head.
The sight of his current victim grinning, however briefly, is enough to throw the interrogator off. "You find something amusing?"
Kidoumaru shakes his head. The interrogator continues on, accepting the grin as a temporary deviation in his victim's behavior. "In return for giving us information, we will provide you with..."
Kidoumaru pulls at the bindings on his arms, and the new wave of pain is kind enough to help him ignore whatever the scarred jounin is going to say next. He has been given enough training on the process of torture to know what strategy the interrogator is using. False hope. Emotional manipulation. Konoha is supposedly the most humane of all the shinobi villages, but that obviously does not apply when dealing with the enemy. With them, they are as cruel as they need to be.
He will not leave here alive. He knows that if he tells them what they want to know, he will die. It would still probably be a kinder fate than what they have in store for him if he continues to remain silent.
For a moment, Kidoumaru is tempted. But only for a moment.
His mind takes several minutes to recover from the agony of yanking at his broken arms, and by the time he is coherent again, the interrogator is gone, and Kidoumaru is alone again. The room is dark, and cold.
Somewhere, there is water dripping.
