Good Enough

(IMPORTANT: Okay, the last story I wrote had the same genre listing (romance/angst), but I'm here to warn you guys that the angst element is going to be much higher in this story. I'm also about to start taking Miles way out of character, but it's for a good reason. Just figure I would let you guys know so you're not too surprised. Anyway, I hope you still continue to enjoy this!)

Chapter 8

Phoenix's long red hair flew out behind her as she strode along the empty wing to Medical, the sound of the heels of her black boots upon the polished, off-white linoleum reverberating off the bare walls in the enclosed area. Her head was held high and her black eyes were focused on the doorway ahead; she walked with a purpose and no one was about to interrupt her.

She pushed the door open to come face-to-face with one of the doctors, who looked a bit surprised at her sudden entrance. "Ah, hello, Agent Tilea. I assume you're here to speak with Miss von Karma."

"Correct," she replied. "Is she awake?"

The man nodded. "She's just finished eating. She's looking much better now; I don't see much of a reason to keep her for more than a few days longer."

"Me either," Phoenix agreed, walking briskly past him and into the section of the ward where Franziska could be found.

Franziska looked up as she heard the curtain that separated this little area from the rest of the room drawn back, and became excited when she recognized who had entered. "Phoenix," she said, sitting up. "Is there… any news?"

"Apparently, yes," Tilea answered, taking a seat beside Franziska's bed. "However, I think we're going to need your help to get it."

The German woman stared at her in confusion. "Why would you need my help?"

Phoenix sighed heavily. It had been a month since she and Ares had been forbidden to join the search; however, they hadn't told Franziska about it for fear of her losing hope. But now it was time to reveal the truth to her, and hopefully gain a new confidante in their secret operation. "Ares and I… Well, let's just say we're being denied access to any information regarding your father or his whereabouts."

"Wh-what?" Franziska knew that—whatever this meant—it wasn't a good thing..

"Because Ares and I have a personal connection with you and Miles, the agency heads don't think it's wise to allow us to be involved at all. However, where there's a will, there's a way, and that's why I was hoping you could give us a hand."

Franziska stared at the other woman, barely able to believe what she was hearing. "You and Ares… are going rogue?"

Phoenix put a finger to her lips. "Listen, if this is handled by anyone else, there's little to no chance of Miles making it out of this alive. Ares and I both know it, and so does everyone else here. Unfortunately, no one else here cares enough about that one life to bother taking any risks to save him. That's why we're doing this; there's no other way."

Franziska lowered her gaze to her hands, which were clasped on the blanket over her lap. What those two were doing would be considered a federal offense, but…

"Just tell me what I need to do," she said, looking back up at Phoenix. "If I can help save Miles… I don't care what happens to me…"

Phoenix watched her carefully. "If you decide to help us, I can't guarantee your protection from the law as well as we could guarantee the protection of those we brought along to save you. I just want you to know that this is dangerous; there is no room for error."

Franziska lowered her head again, pausing for a long time before giving her response. "I was raised with the expectation of perfection. Thus, I've always been aware of the consequences of making a mistake." She looked back up one more time. "Just tell me what I need to do."

There was another moment of silence during which Phoenix observed Franziska very closely, and then she spoke. "First, I need to know if you're okay to walk."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Miles failed to restrain a small cry as the knife penetrated his skin again, his entire body tensing as the pain surged through him. The blade was dragged excruciatingly slowly from his shoulder down his back, and he couldn't stop himself from whimpering as it traveled. His red suit jacket and lace cravat were nowhere to be found, and the black dress shirt he was wearing was currently being sliced apart along with his flesh.

Miles lay on his stomach as Manfred knelt over him, large butcher's knife in hand. He was carving what had become a rather intricate design in the younger man's back, and smirked with enjoyment at each reaction he received. It gave him a sick pleasure to see that his captive's tolerance and resistance of pain had decreased considerably since his arrival. At first, Miles had refused to give him the satisfaction of a cry or a scream, but now it seemed he couldn't manage it anymore. He was nearly broken, which made things that much easier.

As the knife neared the lower part of Miles' right side, von Karma saw his body give a particularly violent jerk. Curious, he looked more closely at the point of the blade, seeing now a vivid scar across the young man's side. He recognized it immediately, for he himself had a scar just like it on his right shoulder. "A bullet wound, hm?" he inquired, pressing the tip of his knife against it.

With a sharp intake of breath, Miles squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. That scar had stopped hurting a while ago; it wasn't even painful upon being touched, but apparently the spot was still very vulnerable when it came to sharp objects.

"Well, Boy?" von Karma prompted him. "Perhaps if you'd like to share with me the story behind this, we'll take a little break."

At first, the prospect of a reprieve sounded more than inviting. However, upon further consideration, he realized how little he really wanted to have any sort of conversation with this man. Such a story was not something one usually shared with their tormentor, and as he thought back to that event, he was shocked to find how fuzzy and unclear it seemed. Therefore, he chose his response and gave it, his voice broken, strained, and muffled, for he had his face resting in his arms.

"Go to Hell…"

A sinister laugh sounded from above him. "Very well then…"

Miles cried out as the knife penetrated the scarred area and began to dig deeper. The pain seared the entire right side of his body as if hundreds of knives had just been stabbed into him. He was certain there had to be a nerve there; it shouldn't have hurt like this. Still the wound deepened and his body writhed, tensing so that he lifted his head back and raised himself up on his elbows, as if he was preparing to try and crawl away. However, he didn't have the strength for that anymore.

Once he felt that any further damage might cause a fatal injury, von Karma wrenched the knife out and watched the blood gush freely. As he took the weapon back, Miles went almost completely limp, his breathing heavy and ragged as if he had just run a great distance.

Unfortunately, von Karma was not finished yet. He stood and walked off a short ways, picking up a cylindrical container he had brought down with him. He strode back over and tipped the canister, pouring the liquid contents over Miles. The strong smell of gasoline filled the musty air, and then he began to scream.

Miles felt as if his skin was on fire as the petroleum seeped into his open gashes. It seemed as if powerful shock waves were surging through him now and he had soon rolled over onto his back, revealing his face, which shined with sweat and tears in the firelight. His screams soon died down to groans and whimpers as he lay there staring up at the man watching him. His breathing was heavier now and forced, and his throat was painfully dry, making the task of breathing even more difficult. He couldn't hide the look of fear in his gray eyes that pleaded for this to end.

At first, the laugh was quiet and mostly in his throat, but it soon grew in volume until it became triumphant and overpowering. Von Karma threw his head back, driving his heel into Miles' chest. "Finally!" he shouted. "There is the fear I've been longing to see for so many years!" He continued to laugh as Miles struggled beneath his weight, blood now rising up into his mouth again.

Finally, von Karma stepped off, picking up the canister and still smirking. "I must commend you, Boy. You've been much braver than anyone I've ever faced, but in the end… you weren't really that hard to break." And with that, he walked away, flipping off the torches just before ascending the stairs to leave.

Miles choked on blood as a sob rattled his broken body. It was true; he had finally lost his will. He didn't care anymore and he felt he had no reason to. He was beginning to forget what the sun felt like, and for some reason the faces of those he lived for were becoming blurred and distorted in his memory. He had no idea how long he had been there. There was no way of telling time and no reason to. This torment was damaging him far beyond the physical plane; he was losing touch with his own thoughts and forgetting the world outside of this living tomb. As the recollection of the things he cherished left him, so did his desire to survive.

There was no need to chain him up or restrain him anymore, for he could hardly move at all. He could drag himself across the floor if need be, but getting up the stairs and escaping without being noticed was an impossible prospect. He had considered suicide, but there was still one thing keeping him from carrying out his ideas, and it was the same as the last time he had been staring over the edge. He could feel something pulling him back, though now he could barely remember what he had left behind him. He had lost himself, but he was still hanging on by a thread that he couldn't see.