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You didn’t know where you were.
You didn’t know how long it had been.
Everything was dark. You could barely move; thick strips of metal curled around your wrists and ankles, connected to heavy chains that weighed down your tired body. Blood crusted around your nose and mouth, stiffening your skin. It covered your limbs, leaking from wounds left open. The stone floor was damp beneath you, and you could occasionally feel water dripping down the wall around where you were propped up against it.
There was no way to discern the passage of time. You sat there (if it could be called sitting), just waiting for something to happen to measure the distance between the last thing that happened. If you were fortunate enough, the Thing would be as simple as a rivulet of water coming down the wall and into your hair, providing you with a brief relieving, cooling sensation that quickly turned unpleasant and freezing. More often than not, though, time was marked by the arrival of them.
They wanted something from you, but you didn’t know what they were talking about. They had been interrogating you brutally for what felt like years, but must have been months. Maybe you were being dramatic and it was just weeks.
A distant clang echoed through the space. You jumped. That was the sound of one of two doors that led to the room you were kept in. They were coming. You heard several sets of heavy footsteps thudding closer, then the metallic scrape of the latch being lifted from the second door. You tensed, preparing for what was to come. The door creaked open, and they stomped inside.
“Hey, pretty,” came a sinister voice you had come to know well. Someone came to your side, boot tips hitting your leg. You flinched as a hand came down on your head and tore off the ragged strip of fabric covering your eyes. At first it was still dark, but someone hit the light switch on the side of the wall and an incandescent light bulb on a chain flickered to life above you. You blinked rapidly, bloodshot eyes protesting to the light, though it was dim.
You were roughly hoisted to your feet by the chain attached to your manacles being pulled. You bit back a cry of pain as your shoulder dislocated. It had been half in the socket since the last time they came, and your arm now hung oddly limply away from your body.
“We have a lot planned for you today,” your captor announced breezily, pulling the metal cart of instruments out of the corner. When you were first captured, you would have a visceral reaction to the cart and its contents. That was before you learned that reacting made it worse. They liked it when you cried.
You didn’t know why the four of them came. Only the one ever did or said anything. The others seemed to get off on the process, circling in the corner with sharklike expressions on their faces. Even their eyes resembled those of sharks; pitch black to the very edges.
A corkscrew-like device was selected from the cart and lined up with your thigh. “Let’s start, shall we, sweetheart? Now, you know the question. Are you willing to answer today?”
They asked the same thing every day, and it was not something you knew the answer to. They seemed to have mistaken you for someone else, and yet were so completely sure of themselves that even you were beginning to doubt how sure you were about your own identity. You recalled a short period of time which you had lost, and were suspicious that it must have to do with your current situation. Had you developed some kind of temporary split personality disorder and become involved in organized crime? You couldn’t think of any other explanation.
The tip of the corkscrew pressed into your split flesh, accompanied by a warning growl.
“I don’t know,” you said weakly, hurriedly. “Please, I really don’t-” your words rushed out and rose into a scream as the corkscrew was finally twisted into your thigh.
“You know, I’m getting really tired of your bullshit, angel,” he snarled in your ear, spit flying onto your cheek. His bared teeth were inches from your face. Hot angry huffs of breath blew into your neck, their condensation joining the sweat running down your skin.
“Please,” you tried again, knowing it would be hopeless. He flicked the corkscrew sticking out of your leg, and you groaned harshly.
“You can pretend you’re just a vessel all you want,” he hissed. “But I know you’re still in there somewhere. Didn’t see the light leave.”
Something was different today. He seemed more fed up than usual. The language was changing.
A swift backhand was delivered to your cheek, sending your head flying to the side. Your eyes watered from the sting, mouth hanging open in shock. You tasted blood.
Your chin was grabbed roughly as your face was directed up again. Your captor stared into your eyes. The look was more dangerous now, like he was nearing the end of his patience and you might not live much longer. Then his hand darted out and squeezed your neck, pushing you up the wall. You choked and spluttered weakly, hands batting at his chest, unable to lift all the way to the hand of your would-be killer.
It crossed your mind that if there was ever a time to be religious, it would be now. You wondered if you should pray as your vision began fading.
You must have started hallucinating from lack of oxygen, because you thought you heard the distant clang of the outside door again, followed by footsteps hammering down the hallway. But then why were they suddenly alarmed, running out of the room? Why did it sound like they were fighting?
The inside door banged open, and you were dropped to the floor. You blinked slowly, flirting with unconsciousness. A fiery light filled the room, and it was enough to send you into darkness.