Prisoner 836

[untilyousubmit]

The Spire pulsed. Not audibly, though he perceived it as something like sound. A humming that rose and fell, unchanging and unending. It was as familiar to him as his own heartbeat. It pulsed, and the shards embedded within him pulsed in time with its power.

Not today. Lucien's searing anger had knocked him out of time--no, revealed how imperfect he had been. The pulsing in his head was fitful now, still sparking with pain. He had begged for mercy, but they both knew how meaningless those words were. His contrition was total, as was expected of him. There could be no other way. He would do everything that was necessary to correct his mistake.

And he would not show how much he hurt, as he made his way to the cell. Prisoner #836 was kept isolated from the prison proper. In the other cells, there were many others, restrained for many reasons. Dangerous but valuable individuals, who posed a threat to the Spire but could not yet be killed. Disobedient guards, left to wonder when they would next be dragged to the torture chamber by the more compliant ones. For some, he did not know the reason why they languished there, only that Lucien wished it.

And then there was Prisoner #836. 836 should have been so simple--he had captured many others like him. He knew something, and retrieving the information should have been simple. All the others had broken without the collar ever activating once.

But 836 was stubborn. At first, it simply seemed like insolence. So many claimed to not remember. He had left the matter to the torturers. He had so much else to attend to.

That had been a mistake. A careless one. Whatever slow progress had been made in retrieving 836's memories had been obliterated in an instant, when the man had been found outside his cell. 836 had been dragged to a new, isolated ward, but the damage was done. A failure he now suffered for.

The ward guards straightened up as he approached. "The new prisoner. Where is he?" If they heard how raw his voice was beneath the deep distortion, they showed no sign of it.

"This way, sir." Guard 427 led him through the twisting passages in silence toward... an open cell door.

He grabbed the 427 by the collar, blank white eyes staring into terrified blue. "Sound the alarm. Find him. And when you have done so--lock yourselves in empty cells. I will deal with you later." He gave the collar one last yank as he let go, sending the man tumbling to his knees. He was already striding away, the sharp sting of his failure burning deeper into him. He had to find 836. In this moment, nothing else mattered.

Comments

[circuitcontrol]

Luca flinched, and quickly shut his mouth. It was always the same - always having to thank someone for hurting him. And he was so exhausted already. But he refused to give the Commandant the satisfaction, at least this quickly, because one thing they hadn’t managed to erase from his mind was his pride. And they’d definitely tried.

His mouth was dry anyway, so talking was a waste of effort. He looked away, scared but stubborn, trying to brace himself when he knew he’d eventually break. It wasn’t a convincing facade.

[untilyousubmit]

He drew back and began again, striking across the thighs. The first few blows were carefully laid separately across the skin. It would hurt, he made sure of that, but he was holding back. Waiting. Watching the prisoner's reaction.

[circuitcontrol]

Luca kept his head turned as much to the side as his restraints allowed, though he was watching the crop out of the corner of his eye, bracing himself, wincing right before it hit, every time. He was trying not to scream again, knowing he would eventually, but wanting to make this bastard work for it. He was grunting, yelping, but he wasn't too loud. Mostly. The only thing he still had was his pride.

It didn't take long for his thighs to start burning. He wasn't sure if he was grateful that the strikes didn't overlap, or if it wouldn't have been easier to have just one small area of sharper pain instead. He jerked his legs, tried to shift. He glared harder at nothing, and tried to tell himself he wasn't about to cry.

[untilyousubmit]

He waited for the right moment, watching the prisoner's breathing and twitching, waiting for a moment when he was unfocused, unprepared.

When the came, the next blow cut an angle across the marks he'd left before.

"Thank me for your punishment." It was what he deserved. It would improve him. He should be thankful for this, and he would learn to do so.

[circuitcontrol]

This time Luca screamed. The new blow felt like fire. The old strikes were lighting up with new pain across his legs. He felt tears running down his cheeks now as he turned his head to glare at the Commandant again.

"Even if I don't mean it?" He knew he wasn't supposed to speak unless it was to say what the Commandant wanted to hear, but he couldn't resist. There was a part of him that had to question everything. But it was difficult to keep fighting when everything hurt. He hated pain. He hated discomfort. He just wanted this to be over.

But even if he gave in, the nightmare wouldn't be over. It never would be.

[untilyousubmit]

That was the wrong reply, and it would receive no response in kind. He controlled when the prisoner would have any satisfaction, any relief--and it didn't have to happen today. If 836 continued to resist, he would simply continue the torture until he judged they were approaching a hard limit, some line that could not be crossed without risking the loss of the prisoner. He would halt to allow medical examination and a minimum of recuperation.

Then the process would continue.

The blows continued, each one precise, silently administered. Thank him, and he might consider relenting.