These next several chapters contain graphic images of Vaughn's torture. If you don't with to read about those topics, I would suggest not reading these next chapters.
Chapter 165: SNAP
"Wild animals never kill for sport. Man is the only one to whom the torture and death of his fellow creatures is amusing in itself." – James Froude
"Torment, for some men, is a need, an appetite, and an accomplishment." – E. M. Cioran
"Man torturing man is a fiend beyond description. You turn a corner in the dark and there he is. You congeal into a bundle of inanimate fear. You become the very soul of anesthesia. But there is no escaping him. It is your turn now..." – Henry Miller
"Power is not a means, it is an end. One does not establish a dictatorship in order to safeguard a revolution; one makes the revolution in order to establish the dictatorship. The object of persecution is persecution. The object of torture is torture. The object of power is power." – George Orwell
"Sloane liked the cigars…that was one of the only things he'd participate in…but…he liked those…I suppose that's why I have so many scars from that…"
He took a long breath, his brow furrowing, "He added more…everyday…like built it up…"
Flashback
Vaughn was kicked in the stomach for his wake up call. The bread and water on the floor already; the same thug bringing it in and repeating the '10 minute' message from the day before.
Vaughn knew he'd passed out, but he couldn't remember actual sleep. He was tired and in an enormous amount of pain.
The goon came back like clockwork with his fellow thug and they walked Vaughn to the room from the day before. He was mildly surprised he could walk on his own power, but he was happy he could do so.
Sloane sat in the desk chair, Sark standing by the fireplace again, a fire blazing already.
"Good Morning Mr. Vaughn…" Sloane said happily, "Ready for another round today?"
"Fuck you," Vaughn said distinctly.
Sloane smiled menacingly, "You'll lose that attitude eventually boy…you'll beg…you will…only a matter of time…"
Vaughn stared him down, "Fuck you," he said calmly.
Sloane shook his head, "You make this so easy Mr. Vaughn…" He nodded to the goons who sat him in the chair with the straps. They removed the shards of his shirt and strapped him down, his wrists and ankles secured tightly to the chair frame. One last strap held his chest to the chair.
Sloane smiled, "Nikolai is going to take over from here for a bit…he has many talents…"
Thug #whatever, because Vaughn couldn't keep them straight anymore, approached him and took the seat that Sloane had vacated. He wheeled himself closer to Vaughn and grinned.
Sloane voiced over, "Nikolai was trained by the KGB and Russian army…his mentor was a man named Gordei Volkov. He was trained not only to withstand the most extreme of torture, but to administer it as well…and he's very good at what he does.
"You're really scaring me here…" Vaughn said cockily.
Nikolai smiled, "What would you like me to do Mr. Sloane?"
Sloane looked at Vaughn, "Are you right handed or left handed?"
Vaughn debated for a moment, whether he wanted to tell the truth or not. He decided he could do this one of two ways. He could lie, and say he was right handed and they might believe him and damage his right hand. Or, they might think he was lying and decide to damage the left. If he told the truth, they might still not believe him…
"Mr. Vaughn?" Sloane asked again.
"Left," Vaughn decided.
Sloane looked off into the darkness in the far corner of the room, "Well? Is he telling the truth?"
A voice Vaughn knew all too well said, "Yes, he is."
Sloane nodded, "Good…Nikolai…break his finger…you can pick…right hand first…"
Nikolai seemed filled with glee, "My pleasure," he said, holding Vaughn's right hand still and grasping the pinky in the correct manner. He took one look at Vaughn's face and jerked the finger back at an impossible angle. Vaughn pulled against the restraints that kept him locked to the chair as a scream echoed through the room.
Nikolai looked to Sloane as Vaughn slowly regained some semblance of composure.
"Should I break another?" he asked excitedly.
"Yes, but move to the left hand…"
Nikolai did as instructed, breaking the pinky of the left hand as well. Vaughn yelped in agony again as the bones in his fingers splintered and shattered under Nikolai's disgusting 'talent.'
"Excellent form," the voice from the corner said as the person slowly merged into the light, features slowly becoming more distinct.
Vaughn looked up at Sydney's mother in agony, his body reeling and racked with pain as the straps bit against his sensitive and bruised skin and muscles.
Vaughn would have laughed if the pain weren't so bad. He managed a snort, "Figures…" He shook his head until it made him rather dizzy.
Irina smiled as she looked down at him, "Well what did you expect Mr. Vaughn?"
"Well, I can say I expected better, but truly, I'm not surprised," Vaughn said in reply.
Nikolai didn't seem to like Vaughn's response, so he pulled on the left pinky that he had just broken.
Vaughn yelped in surprised pain and waited for the throbbing in his finger to stop.
He didn't have to wait long, the throbbing lessened, but then he got a whole new sensation to add; Nikolai pulled on the other finger. This time, more sickening snaps came from Vaughn's finger.
Sloane smiled, getting a deranged sense of enjoyment out of the sound of Vaughn's bones breaking under Nikolai's scrutiny. "Nikolai?" he said.
Nikolai turned to look at him, "Yes Mr. Sloane?"
"What other tricks do you know?"
"I know many Mr. Sloane…"
"Well…I trust your judgment, why don't you demonstrate some other form of punishment…"
Nikolai's mouth twisted into a threatening and sinister grin, "I would be happy to Mr. Sloane." He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a small black case. He set it on the table and opened it slowly, his eyes widening in happiness and awe at the contents.
Vaughn watched as he removed a straight razor from the case and a few other implements that also held razor blades. They looked like they could have been old box cutters, but his attention was more drawn to the straight razor that Nikolai held in his hand. He opened it with precision and a psychotic kind of wonder; like this was the first time he'd ever opened one.
Nikolai looked over at Vaughn, their eyes met, and Nikolai smiled cruelly as he looked back at the blade of the razor. "These are very old…in case you haven't noticed that…this particular razor dates back to 1905. It belonged to a barber in Chicago…My father killed him…and he took the razor. It's sort of a family heirloom…it's very dull now of course, but that's the point…" he said looking back at Vaughn again.
He moved the razor very slowly towards Vaughn's chest. Time seemed to slow and the pain that erupted when Nikolai pressed the end in was excruciating.
Vaughn let out a howl as Nikolai brutally slid the dull razor across his chest. He pressed harder into Vaughn's skin, blood slowly oozing out of the open wound. He stopped and moved to Vaughn's arm, sliding the edge along his bicep before turning the blade down and pressing it in his arm.
It was like someone was taking a jagged piece of cardboard and trying to slice his skin. He could feel the blade as it slowly and inefficiently cut through various layers. It kept an erratic staccato beat as Nikolai kept the blade dragging across various parts of his body, leaving rough and notched wounds in its wake.
Sloane loved the chorus of screams that were emanating from the man in the chair; he couldn't contain his glee at the whole scene. He smiled over at Sark, who watched the scene with a rather impassive stare. He seemed bored.
Irina did a good job of masking her emotions on the subject, but inside, she felt like vomiting. The man that her daughter loved was being tortured in front of her eyes, the will of this sadistic man that had played them all coming to a sick culmination. She was powerless to stop it however, no matter how much she wanted Vaughn's suffering to end. If she wanted to help him, she'd have to keep silent. She prayed that the fate of the father would not fall to the son in this case.
Finally, it seemed Sloane had enough fun for one day, and with a demented giggle, he ordered Nikolai to stop. "I think that's enough for one day…we don't want it over too soon…I like the build-up."
He motioned for the goons to take Vaughn back to the cell.
He smiled sweetly at Irina, "Would you like to have dinner?"
She returned the smile, "Of course…" he looked over at Vaughn, "It was nice to see you again…I'm sure we'll have time to chat later."
They turned and walked out of the room. Sark watched the goons drag Vaughn out and then turned back to he fireplace. This line of work is getting old…he thought as he stared at the flames.
End Flashback
Vaughn took a deep breath, "I wasn't surprised to see Derevko there…I knew then what she did to my father…and I thought it was sort of ironic that she would play a part in my torture too…I wondered if they did the same thing to my dad…I had lots of time to think…so yeah, I wondered that…what really floored me was her lack of emotion. I mean I didn't give a shit what she thought of me, if she cared at all or not, but I would have thought that any mother would have some sort of shred of decency…I'm not saying she should have like taken a stand and busted me out, but I mean…if she loved Sydney at all…I just…yeah…"
He paused, "After that torture, I blacked out…I really don't know how long…the next time I woke up, I wasn't in the cell…I was back in the other room…and I was on the table…restrained."
Flashback
Vaughn jerked awake, his body reacting to an incandescent light blazing down on him. He tried to move his hand to shield his eyes, but his wrists here bound tightly. He looked to the side and could see he was on the restraint table. The metal was warm on his skin, so he must have been lying there for some time. He realized that he was only wearing his boxers though, his pants now discarded somewhere along the way.
"Ah! He's awake!" a gruff, German-accented voice said.
"Excellent!" Sloane said happily, "Let's begin!"
Vaughn saw the ugly face of Arvin Sloane hover above him, and then the face of a different man, a man he'd never seen before on the other side of him.
"Mr. Vaughn…this is Adolf," Sloane said with a smile. "You might deduce from his accent that he's German, and I found it oddly fitting for what he's about to do to you…" Sloane giggled fiendishly.
Adolf leered down at Vaughn and then moved away from the table, out of his line of view. It was unfortunate…but all he could do was wait…and wait he did. He was starting to wonder what was going on, because neither Sloane nor Adolf reappeared for what felt like hours. The light was making him very uncomfortable. Not only was it too much for his eyes, but it was also making him hot, the heat from the lamp pounding down on him, his body covered by a fine sheen of sweat…
