Silent Revolution:
Authors Notes: I will try to make this quick;
One, my thanks for the reviews and the support. It was awesome to see so many positive reviews .. I was more than a little shocked.
Two, for the person who so bravely reviewed anonymously on gundamwinguniverse, saying that I was just seeking attention and that they had found no flames in the reviews on that site. My I just point out that this is my secondary posting site, fanfiction dot net being my primary, mediaminer dot org being my third. You would have realised this is you had paid attention. In addition to this, reviews on fanfiction dot net, as a few have done – my thanks – can check for themselves for the remaining flames amongst the reviews.
Thirdly, I would like to make this clear; I write what I love, when I like, for myself. If I did not do this, it would be unlikely that I would be applying for a popular fiction writing course for my university course. The main question, however, was whether or not I continued to share my work with people online. In my mind, this fic has long been planned and completed, the sequel already half-done.
I would like to thank reviewers. I know my writing can be odd, it can be dark, it can seem as though it has gone off on a tangent. However, I aim to build a character-their background, their personality, the reason for each of their actions, through the various flashbacks, their reactions to situations, their thoughts, through everything. I cannot express how happy it has made me to learn that my new, improved style is working. Even a quick 'update please' is appreciated, although I admit I love the larger reviews left.
Now that that is done with, I would like to mention; I finally got my laptop! It took a lot of saving, but this means I can now start typing up updates whilst out or away from my main computer. More updates of various fics! Woot xD
More updates – rants happy readers: )
Thank-you again
(any gaiaonline users – feel free to talk to me on there xD Username: ladyshi )
Chapter Eight: No Hope I
CHAPTER WARNING!
FF dot NET READERS: this chapter has been heavily edited for your viewing. Please go to gundam-wing-universe dot net for the full, unedited version
GUNDAMWINGUNIVERSE READERS: This will be R/Nc17 at points. These are clearly indicated. For the edited version, go to fanfiction dot net. The scene that has been labelled as R to Nc17 is due to a potentially graphic rape scene. which may be offensive to people. Please skip this clearly-labelled scene if you may find them offensive or are not of age.
No Hope I:
Six weeks. It had taken six weeks for it to happen. That's forty two days. One thousand and eight hours. Sixty thousand four hundred and eight minutes. Three million six hundred and twenty eight thousand eight hundred seconds. For Duo Maxwell to break.
He had suffered through hell for six weeks. Six. Fucking. Weeks.
His injuries, both those he had obtained before his capture, and those he had acquired during his stay in the wonderful establishment that his oh so hospitable captors had provided for him.
He had been 'acquiring' injuries since shortly before the guards first 'session' with him. They had only decided to give him treatment because he had lost consciousness. Due to blood loss. They would have done nothing at all, which, in retrospect, would have been better for the braided pilot.
Flashback
Tap Tap Tap Tap
Ssssssh
"Put him over here" A voice-male, requested with a sigh.
Two soldiers in full uniform dragged the unconscious teen between them, each holding an arm with a firm, bruising grip. His hands were still firmly secured behind his back.
"And just who have we got here today, gentlemen?" the same man asked.
He could hear him faintly, groggily, as though listening to a conversation in another room whilst underwater.
He was manhandled unceremoniously up onto the examination table. It was cold. He couldn't muster the energy to make the slightest move, twitch the tiniest bit.
"unconfirmed Doctor."
Violet orbs cracked open. He watched through blood encrusted eyelashes as the doctor-young, in his mid to late twenties, of Euroasian decent from what he could see, wearing the typical long white coat over a relatively smart outfit. He had short, messy dark hair and clear, light eyes.
He gave the soldiers a sharp look over small, rectangular wire-rimmed glasses, perched precariously on his nose
"oh?" he asked, tone friendly but clipped, a hint of steel underlying in his soft, melodious voice.
"he was captured in the, ah, incident at our base near L-4 earlier this week, Sir" One of the two soldiers supplied.
One neatly kept eyebrow raised in disbelief as he took a step back from the bed, allowing the guards to continue with their jobs. "and you have yet to discern her-his? Identity?" He peered down at Duo's chest, brushing the fabric to one side in order to confirm his sex. "and how, may I ask, did he acquire so many injuries in such a short space of time? Wait, no- I do not want to know. It's just my job to fix him"
He gave the guards a warm smile, motioning for them to leave, now that the prisoner come patient was securely chained to the bed.
He turned cool, calculated eyes on the prone teenagers' body. "I don't care who you are, or what you do. As long as you can pay for my services."
End of Flashback
When he had been taken, drifting in and out of consciousness, by the soldiers to the nearest medical bay, he had been sporting various injuries.
His shoulder had been dislocated, bullet wounds still having the bullets in them, his ankle was still swollen, dark and resembling a grapefruit in size, his wrist still sending shooting pains continuously up and down through his arms, his hand virtually useless. His chest burned, cracked and broken ribs shifting with each woozy breath in and out, in and out. Infection had started setting in, each of his wounds and grazes oozing and inflamed. He felt thirsty all the time, no doubt suffering from dehydration, and weak, his head pounding with what he would guess was a serious concussion.
The Dear Doctor, after clearing out the medical bay-an easy task, as he was short-handed and the soldiers guarding their favourite little prisoner had no interest in watching too closely, whilst the doctor was around, unable to have their usual fun in his presence, safe in the knowledge that, once cuffed spread-eagled to the metal bed, he would be going nowhere.
He had done the bare minimum to treat him. Pumping enough antibiotics into his system to keep the infection at bay for days, a week at most, to ensure his return. A little support for his ribs-tape, and a quick tug at his wrist. He had found, after much probing, that it had clicked out of place, contributing to its poor condition. The only wounds that had truly been paid much attention to were those on his face.
The guards had been careful when it came to his face, but a nasty gash had still made its way onto his temple, his lips swollen and bruised from repeated, brutal use. The skin was still mottled and grimy. His lips, once full and glossy, now cracked and sore. It was a miracle that all of his teeth had remained undamaged.
The Doctor had, however, expected payment for his services, as he had said. Prisoners, especially those whose identities had yet to be disconcerted, were not exactly allowed access to cash or credit cards. Payment was taken via other means
Flashback –
FANFICTION dot NET READERS – This scene has been edited out for you. Please go to gundam-wing-universe dot net for the unedited version
Warning – M/R/Nc17; Rape Scene. Please go to fanfiction dot net for edited version, or skip down to the 'END OF FLASHBACK' which ends the potential R/Nc17-ness
End of Flashback END OF POTENTIAL R-SCENE
The Doctor had advised the soldiers to bring him in regularly if they were to continue their current activities. They had chosen to listen to his advice.
With up to six sessions a day with anywhere between two to eight guards at a time, they had little choice but to seek medical treatment for him. Add to that interrogation sessions, the usual pure-torture one would expect, with far less food that was needed to aid his recovery, days without sleep, the few stolen hours plagued with nightmares, no warmth to speak of, hardly helped by the long, think shirt-now his only clothing, and only the freezing, metal floor of his cell for comfort.
The Doctor had been forced to put him on a drip during his time in the medbay, to feed and sedate him. It hadn't lasted.
Duo Maxwell, unsurprisingly, was well and truly broken, in body and in mind. He never cried out, never begged, never pleaded, not after that first, unforgiving time.
His gaze became blank, hollow. His eyes, dead. His masks had cracked, had caved in, had crumbled, and this was all that was left.
The guards, at first, thinking that his lack of speech was the last of the boy's defiance shining through, were enraged. They remembered the little hellcat that they had first had so much fun with. They wanted the kicking, the screaming, the begging and the pleading back. It was much more enjoyable when their little fucktoy wasn't playing at being a corpse.
They tried their hardest to force the smallest sob, the quietest whimper, so much as a breathy gasp from his lips. After much grumbling and complaining, they had finally convinced one of their number to approach the good doctor with their complaints.
He had brushed them off, saying it was to be expected whilst he was healing. They should be thankful that he was behaving and quiet, rather than hallucinating and throwing up. That had finally silenced them.
Not once did it occur to them that, with what they were forcing upon him, in order to protect himself, he had blocked it all out, that he had forgotten how, that he was now unable to speak.
They had kept him for six weeks of fruitless questioning, after which they received orders to transfer him to an Earth facility. They still had not a clue as to his name, age, rank, or why he had been at the base.
The doctor had, of course, protested strongly against the movement of his patient, let alone a transfer of such a distance. It could be damaging to his health, to his recovery-to their chances of retrieving the information that they sought. His words had fallen silent quickly. No-one wanted to risk a closer inspection. They could not afford it.
The harsh, sullen words of two soldiers, getting 'what they could whilst they still could' had penetrated his shell.
The slightest spark of hope had re-entered hollow, haunted eyes upon hearing the talk of his transfer. Maybe...maybe the other pilots would come for him then, or, at the very least, perhaps the soldiers and the doctors at the new base would treat him differently.
"Either way...things cannot get worse..."
To Be Continued.