The man didn't return by the time he woke up the next day, so Pierce decided to take inventory of his injuries. He blanched when he realized the extent of the damage, now that he wasn't too exhausted to deal with it.

He had several broken ribs, a broken arm, broken fingers, a twisted wrist, a reset dislocated shoulder, a possible broken ankle, and a concussion. His back has a series of gashes that could too easily become infected, and he didn't want to consider the possible brain damage from being hit in the head so much. He was still so underfed that he couldn't move without assistance, which just got him beaten more when he leaned on the man leading him.

Just testing all of his injuries to examine their severity left him light-headed and nauseous. An hour later, when his captor walked in, he didn't get up on command. The man leaned down and forced his head up.

Pierce's head rolled back slightly and his eyes were glazed over.

The man snorted, left him, and returned with two loaves of bread. Hawkeye eyed them but didn't move, waiting for his captor to speak.

"You're wasting away, doc. Eat."

Hawkeye glanced up at him and shook his head.

The man bristled. "What?"

"Why? What do I have to keep my strength up for? So you can twist me into a tool for sadistic surgery, then kill me?"

His torturer cornered him. "You'll do what I say because you surrendered to me."

"But, what does that mean? I gave up, but nothing changed. There's nothing here for me to live for."

Those calloused hands grabbed his shoulders and dragged him to the center of the room. The man retrieved the whip and ordered Pierce to get into position. He did, exhausted. At the first lash, he screamed. He made it to the twenty-sixth lash before passing out, but he was just awoken by suffocation again. Ten more lashes and he was out again, his voice long gone. After being strangled and jolting awake the next time, he could barely hold himself up. Two lashes in and he collapsed, tears falling silently as he struggled to breathe.

"Get back into position."

"I c-can't."

The lash he received then caught him off-guard, but all he could do was grunt loudly, unable to scream without further tearing his throat.

"You are to do what I say until you drop dead. There is no 'I can't', because the only time you can't is when you're dead. Get up. NOW."

Pierce slowly lifted himself, painstakingly. When he made it, he was struck again, but he held.

"If you fall again before I'm through, you'll get another dozen, conscious or not." He received ten more lashes. The leather whip fell to the ground with a thud, drenched in blood. Pierce was shaking so severely that his entire frame was moving. The man admired the shredded span of his captive's back, but with the lanky man unable to obey much longer, he sighed and told him that he may relax. Hawkeye fell to the ground, panting and sobbing. His back was so shredded that it looked like a beast had clawed away at it like a mutt behind a door.

"Fifty lashes for disobeying. Every time."

Hawkeye was nearly unconscious. "P-please... may I..."

"No," The man sighed, "I don't think you get it. You don't get to escape, even in your mind. No sleep tonight. I'll be watching you. Remember, 50 lashes."

He left Hawkeye to lie in overwhelming agony, regret, and exhaustion.

At least he had the bread.