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 167: Wuh-Psh
"The scourge of life, and death's extreme disgrace, the smoke of hell - that monster called Pain." – Philip Sidney
"The weak have one weapon: the errors of those who think they are strong." – George Bidault
"In critical moments even the very powerful have need of the weakest." – Aesop
"To torture a man you have to know his pleasures." – Stanislaw Lem
"I think it was almost worse to be left alone in the cell…because then all I could do was think…and that starts to drive you nuts after while. I tried not to think about the pain, I tried to think about other things, but when they finally came to get me…I was actually relieved. I suppose that's strange…not that I was looking forward to torture, but solitude, at that level with all the pain…"
Flashback
Vaughn was awake when Thug #1 came to get him, "Time for fun…" he said, "Mr. Sloane has a new friend for you to meet…" He hauled Vaughn to his feet painfully, his whole upper body tormented with anguish. He could tell that this whole ordeal was starting to take a terrible toll on his body. He couldn't breathe well at times and he found himself getting weaker and weaker. 'Well duh Mike,' he thought to himself. To him, it seemed like this had been going on forever, but in reality, it probably hadn't been more than a few weeks. He couldn't help but question how the CIA was handling the situation. He'd tried one night to remember other cases where agents had been taken and how long it had been before they were found. He'd racked his brain trying to come up with ones that had ended happily, and he literally couldn't come up with one. That didn't bode well for his morale, but he tried not to think about it. After all, they didn't have Sydney on the other end.
Thug #1 half dragged, half carried Vaughn into the torture room. He found it funny that he called it that, but really, what else was there? He didn't need to sugar coat it for himself, it happened to him in there…
"Mr. Vaughn!" Sloane said happily, "How nice of you to join us…it's been a few days…did you miss us?"
Vaughn was far too tired and far too smart to play Sloane's games anymore.
Sloane seemed disappointed that he didn't get a response from Vaughn, but he pressed on, "Well…at any rate, we're all here for another day of fun. Mr. Sark, Irina…and my friend, Santiago…he's from Valparaiso…"
"Pure bread Chilean…" Santiago said with pride.
"He's quite a wonder, I'm sure you'll agree Mr. Vaughn. He's going to show you his talents…"
Sloane took a seat and Sark and Irina stood on either side; Sark on Sloane's left side, Irina on the right. He folded his hands and rested his chin on them as he waited for the set up for his new game.
"Your name is Vaughn right?" Santiago asked.
Vaughn didn't answer as two of the other thugs tied him to the ceiling again, shackling his wrists and stretching him so he barely touched the ground, his arms burning already as the blood rushed from his arms.
He looked to Sloane who nodded at him. "Well, since you're not in the mood to chat, we'll just have a one-sided conversation. Where I come from, your trade is your life…my father was a cattle rancher, so I was a cattle rancher. However, my talents with a certain tool exceeded that of the trade…so I became something of a freelancer…using my talent and skill for hire…" he reached for something out of Vaughn's line of view. "My talent afforded me a certain freedom…my work being highly specialized, I was commissioned by everyone from my own government to other international governments…and then of course, Mr. Sloane…but I still like to go back to the ranch every now and then…"
Vaughn gritted his teeth, trying to think of what his trade with the cattle ranch was. Sloane had already had his German friend use the cattle prod…so it couldn't be that…Sloane wouldn't repeat himself.
It was then that he heard the undeniable 'crack.' 'Shit,' was the only other word that floated into Vaughn's mind before he felt the first sting of the whip on his back.
There was no way in hell to stop the screams this time; he didn't even try. Sloane smiled in rapture as the whip made distraught marks on Vaughn back and sides, the skin splitting and blood covering his back in a short about of time.
Santiago stopped, out of breath, and walked over to the slumped form, "I should point out…" he said, stopping in front of Vaughn and forcing him to look at the whip. He showed him the end of the whip, "This is a custom whip…I designed it myself…see these little spikes? Those help to make the wounds jagged, won't heal as fast…rips the skin like peeling an orange…" he laughed and let Vaughn slump down again, slowly cleaning the bits of flesh off of the spikes before walking back to his spot.
He kept going, for almost fifteen minutes, diligently keeping a steady pace, a steady flow of splintering blows, laughing and enjoying the jerks that Vaughn's body made on contact.
Sloane ordered Santiago to stop when he knew that Vaughn was close to passing out, "We don't like it when you lose consciousness Mr. Vaughn…" he snarled. He nodded and of the men handed Santiago a round carton. If Vaughn didn't know better, and he was slightly delusional at the moment, he'd have sworn it looked like table salt. His question was once again answered rather quickly when he felt the searing pain of the salt over the new wounds on his back. He lurched forward, trying to get away from the feeling, but it was no use. Santiago just threw more on.
The feeling of the salt eating away at the wounds; burning, festering, infecting the wounds with anguish; he couldn't take any more…he started to cry.
Sloane smiled sadistically, he was starting to break. He approached Vaughn's form, "You're weak…" he said shaking his head, "Pathetic…when we trained operatives at SD-6, they could withstand SO much more…" He paused, "It's really a shame…even your father lasted longer than this…"
Sloane clicked his tongue, "Ugh…take him back to the cell, I don't want to see his pitiful face anymore," he said in a disgusted tone, "and give him something to eat…he's so weak, he'll be dead by morning."
They unstrapped Vaughn and carried him back to the cell. They made a point of dropping him on his newly injured back before walking out talking about what was in store for tomorrow…
End Flashback
"I forgot the salt…" Vaughn said shuddering. "But…that was…that wasn't the worst…not even that…"
"I was just…I started to believe the things they were saying…I was starting to break. They brought food in that morning before the torture…but I wouldn't eat it. I didn't want to eat…and it wasn't like I could anyway. I didn't have the energy left to eat."
Flashback
Vaughn didn't even remember who had brought him to the torture room that morning after the whipping. He found himself being lowered into the chair with the straps, his back hitting the back of the chair with too much force, the nerves crying out in agony.
When he finally gained enough composure to look around him, he saw that Nikolai was back, smiling at him. He couldn't honestly remember what he said to him, but he felt him break another finger. Truthfully, he was so beyond actual realization, that the finger wasn't really all that painful anymore. Nikolai seemed to sense this however, and decided that a more painful tactic was in order.
He approached the chair and removed his left arm from the restraints. He bent the arm backward at dangerous angles until all in the room heard the shoulder POP loudly. Vaughn shouted in anguish, his shoulder no longer in the socket.
He undid the other straps and pulled him up, stringing him to the ceiling again, leaving the badly injured arm to hold his body weight. Vaughn could only scream as his arm felt like it was ripping off of his body. His chest was on fire, the whip marks stinging, the blood running down his back and sides. His lungs refused to inflate with air, he stood awkwardly gasping, sputtering, coughing up large amounts of blood as his captor looked on in rapture.
"Why would Sydney want you now?" Sloane asked slowly, "She never did in the first place…you're weak Mr. Vaughn…WEAK…you're nothing…"
"Don't hurt her…please…don't…I'll…just kill me…leave her alone…please…" he begged as he started to cry again.
Sloane smiled as he watched the younger man fall apart in front of his eyes. He had begged for Sydney's life…he had won, "Bring him down…put him back in the chair…"
Sloane's men unshackled Vaughn and sat him roughly in the chair.
He regarded the man for a moment, "I acquired this from a ex-employee," he said, producing a brown, rectangular box. He traced the edges while saying, "That day…I lost a finger…" he stopped in front of Vaughn and grabbed his finger, breaking it roughly, "I'm sure you remember that day…"
Vaughn grunted at the pain, but his mind was so awash in pain that it registered only minimally.
Sloane opened the box, and removed a cloth, unwrapping several long needles, "These are called 'Needles of Fire,' and according to this employee of mine, they could make you wish you were never born. I had the pleasure of experiencing three myself…and Cole was right about that…"
Sloane proceeded to place needles, one at a time, happily watching the reactions register on Vaughn face. One on the hand…one on the right shoulder…one in the neck…on the forearm…
Pain that Vaughn ever thought possible rippled through his system. Blinding burning pain spiraled out through his whole body, unimaginable pain…it felt like his blood was boiling, surging through his veins, ready to burst through his skin. All he could do was scream…
Sloane watched happily as Sark took over.
Sark sauntered over to a cd player, and pressed play. Coldplay's "God Put a Smile on Your Face," started to slowly permeate the dead gray walls of the room, "Sydney loves this song…I remember her singing in the car once while we were driving in Paris…she would like this…she liked it rough…she liked to scream…and I could make her scream like no other," he said looking off dreamily.
Vaughn struggled against the pain, the song, the voices; it was too much…too much of everything…
"She has such a great body…perfect skin…only hidden scars…like the one on her thigh," he laughed, "From that ass in Tel Aviv…" he shook his head, "Mmm…intoxicating, isn't she? She can pull you in…" he smelled the air, "Strawberries…jasmine…so many different scents…arousal…" he smiled viciously, "Such a pity…I'm sure we could have lots of fun with her here…perhaps…perhaps she would have even joined in the fun of torturing you…I'm sure she would have enjoyed the screams as much as we do…"
The song ended…and it started again, repeat…repeating forever…
End Flashback
"They eventually dumped me back in the cell…I really don't remember…I woke up there…the pain from the needles still there…it was there for a long time…I believe them…after that…I don't know why…I knew Sydney wouldn't do that…I knew it…but I let them make me think it anyway…I was so tired…and it hurt…everywhere…I just wanted it to end…Sloane was right…he was right…and I broke…it was too…" he paused and was silent for a while as he digested everything…
