The dull ringing eventually wakes him. His head throbs, and he's close to losing consciences again. The ringing subdues into a soft hum of quietness. The steady drip of water echoes in the room he is in. It's enough to make him sleep again, but just shortly after, the blindfold 'round his eyes is removed. His pupils dilate at the lack of lighting, but he could make out a figure clad in a hooded robe. They watch each other in silence. Eventually though, his numbness goes away, and he realizes the position he is in. His wrists are shackled together, attached to the chain linking him to the ceiling. His feet just barely graze the floor, and he notices, with mild shock, that he is in his underwear. He struggles a bit against the chains, the clinking of the metals sharp to his sensitive ears. The figure continues to watch him, not saying anything; though it seems to be contemplating on something. It ambles away towards a table. The scrape of metal against metal ceases every movement to his body. He watches intently as the figure slowly steps away from the table, and back to him. They raise their arm, and the loose sleeve slides down to reveal a scalpel. Catching a lantern's light, it glints with an orange hue from the tip to handle. He finally manages to find his voice, though its rasped. "What are you going to do..?" The figure's only response is raising the scalpel near his face. His heart falters in its pace, but his lips don't stop moving. "Shouldn't you have a reason to be-" His eyes go wide in shock. He feels the blood-seep down his chin and pour into his mouth-before the pain-burning and aching in numbness. A gasp followed by a small cry emitted from his throat. The chains rattled as he shook, panic rushing through his veins. The figure's leather gloved hand gripped his neck. He struggled, kicking his legs into the figure's stomach, but the grip only tightened. He winced as he opened his mouth for air, and soon he felt the slice of the scalpel make its way through his other cheek. He chokes as more blood slides down his throat. His gut churns at the taste of the harsh, metallic liquid. His mouth and jaw go slack from the sick mixture of pain and numbness. The figure leans near his ear, and whispers, in a voice he instantly recognized, "Now you'll have a permanent smile, Yamamoto Takeshi ~" They exit the room, and as the door clicks to a close, he notices the full length mirror, and the person staring at him. His blood runs cold at his lips, grinning bloodily from ear to ear.
Glasgow's Smile.