#waterboarding whump

[auroragehenna]

AI-less Whumptober

Day 15 - Torture Tuesday (Waterboarding, removing body parts, “Don’t break down on me yet.”)

"Torture-watching stuff-singing" -- Universe

TW/CW: Drowning, (non-lethal), getting pushed underwater, creepy whumper, defiant whumpee, scared whumpee, threat of death, fight or flight, fear of death Word count: 929

I realize that I made Adam capture Lyra in a pool but never really use that. Sooo let's change that.

The floor undeneath Lyra started groaning, the sound that indicated that the depth of it was being adjusted. Lyra was already only wearing her sports underwear so that wouldn't become a problem at least. She reamined sitting in her yoga sit on the floor. Adam never bothered to restrain her during what she called "empty times", the pool was already to deep with the ladders removed and even if she would get out there wasn't really a safe way out.

The water kept rising now, it was already to her ankles. What was he planning? Does he wanna try me or push me to an escape attempt?"

Adam stepped out of the boys changing room, in swim shorts and a T-Shirt. And in his hand a length of chain and a menacle. With all that in his hand he walked around the basin and then jumped in close to Lyra, splashing her in the process. "Hello, hello, Thyma. Do you wanna go for a little swim?", he asked, grinning menicangly.

Lyra started getting up the moment Adam came closer, she didn't like already be at an disadvantage before the actual torture even happened. "What are you going for?" The shackle wasn't good, not in combination with the water at least. Drowning scared her, not because it was unfamiliar, definitely not, but for her voice.

"Why don't you try and find out, hm?", Adam taunted before advancing on his plaything. With the raising water and the malnourishment it wasn't very hard for him to throw her off balance and wrestle her to the floor. Her curles splashed into the water around her like a halo and as he kept her pinned to the floor he got to witness the panic slowly building as the water creeped up her face.

Lyra's head banged against the floor as she got down. "Shit.", she cursed. It was frustrating to always lose even after all these years. But it made sense if the other person was the person teaching you. Yet now the water was creeping up, licking up her troat and chin and she was still pinned to the floor with Adam atop of her!

Adam chuckled and kept Lyra helpless while attaching the menacle to her left ankle and the end of it to the length of chain. The chain that was connected to a heavy weight sat on the floor.

Lyra's breathing was stressed. Not to the point of hyperventilating but definitely anxious. But just as the moving water started covering her face Adam got off of her. She coughed and quickly got up. Well as far as she could...There was no way moving her leg more than the length of chain allowed. The weight was too heavy. What if Adam wants to kill me...?! ... Don't be ridicolous, he wouldn't do that. Right?"

Adam smiles charmingly. "Naw what terrifiying thought just crossed your mind, hm?"

"Oh, please. I just don't like being restrained-as you very well know."

"I do know that, its delightful." Adam starts circeling her through the rising water. "Did you maybe wonder if I was going to kill you?", he asked luringly.

"Oh please, you're way too obsessed with me.", Lyra gave back, if only she could convince her body of that.

Adam waited until the water had risen enough and then the real fun could begin. Still circling her he managed to surprise her and push her underwater.

Lyra barely had enough time to draw in a breath before she was pushed under. Her body instantly started thrasing beyond her control and she desperately tried to regain control over it, push up ad slide past Adam's hands. But the bastard didn't let that happen!

As her trashing got even more erratic, Adam pulled Lyra up again. Hitting her on the back harder than necessary to "assist" with getting the water out of her body.

Lyra coughed and winced at the pain of the beating on her back. By now the water was so high that it just barely stopped unerneath her face. She had to swim all the way until the chain ended to get air while Adam had still plenty of air room and could easily swim. Lyra glared daggers at him.

"Awww, what's wrong? I thought you loved swimming? Lets just hope you're still good at swimming for a long duration of time, am I right?"

"Oh shut the fuck up! You're enjoying this wayy too much!", Lyra fumed, before taking another deep breath.

Adam leered at her during her rant and right as she took her breath he grabbed the chain with his feet and pulled. Watching his plaything dissapear underneath the water again. As she tried to get towards the chain between his feet he managed to kick her away above the armpit. Then he dived dowm himself to hold the chain even further underwater. When Lyra's movements slumped he pushed them both up above the surface.

Lyra coughed and spit out water in Adam's hands, already exhausted from the constant fighting for her life. Already the repetitive pushing underwater mixed with the threat for her life pushed her into fight or flight. Into the old feeling of being hunted for fun. But given Adam's manical joy this would be going on for a lot longer...She tried to get out of Adam's arms but that was pointless so she just uncomfortably squirmed despite herself. Suddenly one of Adam's hands sneaked itself around her throat. Her whole body but her legs who were swimming froze up and and a tiny whimper escaped her.

Adam chuckled darkly at her reaction, he loved the small moments when she showed how scared she really was. It was delicious. And then he choked her additionally before pushing Lyra underwater again.

It was a lot longer before Lyra was finally allowed to lie on the floor again, still shackled. There were still a few centimeters of water covering the floor. A cruel reminder that he could repeat that any time he wanted to.

@ailesswhumptober, @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11, @greatkittencloud, @bisexuawolfsalt

@shattermind-8

[ghost-whump]

Shower Day

CW: kidnapped whumpee, defiant whumpee, sadistic whumper, waterboarding(?), hypothermia (mentioned), nudity (mentioned), let me know if I missed anything!

Whumper entered the basement with loud, clunking steps down the stairs. They flick the light on when they reach the bottom.

“Hh—” Whumpee hissed and covered their eyes, heavy manacles pressing coldly into their cheeks. “Fucking hell.”

“Rise and shine, fuckface.”

With a drawn out groan, Whumpee blinked until the light wasn’t so painful. They scooted farther back into “their” corner of the basement, drawing closer to the wall, as if they could be absorbed into it.

They turned to face the wall, the smallest act of defiance they could express, “Go away.”

“No can do, Whumpee,” Whumper’s footsteps grew closer, “It’s shower day for you.”

That perked them up. A shower? A real, honest-to-god shower? Hot damn, that sounded good! Whumpee managed the barest hint of a smile at the prospect. Their hair, caked with blood and grease and other various substances, grew unbearably thick and disgusting to even think about. And that’s not even mentioning their soiled clothes.

Rubbing at their eyes, Whumpee brought themselves to turn around. And their smile dropped.

Whumper held a hose and a bucket.

At their pained expression, Whumper chuckled, “Oh? You thought you got a real shower?” They put the bucket on the floor and took a step closer, “Sorry for the mislead, Whumpee.”

The water hit them suddenly. Frigid, icy water hit their skin like a jet — definitely enough force to bruise, at least. They cried out, futilely holding their arms out in front of them. The cold water sprayed onto their body like bullets, dousing their hair and clothes all in less than a minute.

Then, the water tapered off.

Whumpee spit some water out of their mouth. It tasted like shit, nothing like the refreshing hose water they’d had as a kid.

“Whoops.” Whumper smiled.

Then it started again. This time, with so much pressure, Whumpee was knocked back into the wall. The hose turned off.

Whumpee heaved, “Fuck yo—ACK!”

Over and over, the water turned on and off, on and off, on and off. Friction burns raised on their arms from where they tried to protect themselves. The chill of the cool, stagnant basement air started to seep into their skin, sending a shiver through their whole body.

“That should be good.” Whumper dropped the hose to the floor (much to Whumpee’s relief) and turned their attention towards the bucket. They pulled out a gray towel and turned back. “Give me your clothes now, Whumpee.”

They stood there, shivering. “What?”

“You heard me — give me your clothes. They’re all soaked now.” Though they spoke pragmatically, their grinning leer said anything but.

“Fuck n-no. I-I’m not getting n-naked in front of you.” Their teeth chattered loudly, telegraphing how cold they really were.

Whumper turned around, picking the bucket back up. “Fine, then. No towel for you, I guess.” They started back towards the stairs, “A shame, really. I had it heated up on the radiator and everything. It’s supposed to be even colder tonight, too. I’d hate to have my poor Whumpee freeze…”

Whumpee remained silent.

“Well, goodnight, Whumpee.” They flipped the lights off.

“W-Wait!”

The lights turned back on as quick as they shut off. Whumper turned, so so slowly. “What do you say?”

“Pl-please?”

this has been sitting in my drafts for SOOO long and i’ve never posted it. since i haven’t written anything in a while, i thought i might as well post it lol

thank for reading!!!

General Tag: @morning-star-whump

[serickswrites]

Charisma

Warnings: restraints, captivity, torture, forced to watch, water torture, waterboarding

"Sit," Whumper ordered Team Leader.

Team Leader's hands were bound tightly behind their back and they avoided glancing over at their team. They couldn't look at their faces. Couldn't bear to see the worry, the pain, and the fear. They had to be strong. For their team.

Team Leader sat on the chair carefully. They turned their gaze to Whumper, letting all the rage and hate they were feeling fill their eyes.

"Your team would follow you blindly anywhere, Team Leader. Such charisma," Whumper scoffed. "Let's see if they will follow your orders now."

"For?"

Whumper smiled. "If they don't make a sound while I do this, I won't hurt them. Heck, I won't let you die. But if they speak? Well, we will play musical chairs."

"Fine." Team Leader wouldn't let Whumper hurt the others. They would take whatever Whumper did.

They finally looked up and over at their team. Smallest Teammate shook in their restraints, though the look on their face made Team Leader think that Smallest Teammate was so rage filled right now, it was a miracle the restraints were holding them back. Teammate One's eyes were filled with tears. And Teammate Two just stared blankly ahead.

"Don't speak. Don't shout. Whatever you do, just please, be quiet. Whumper won't hurt you. And I'll," they swallowed, "I'll be fine."

Whumper kicked Team Leader's chair over backwards. Team Leader hit the ground hard, but didn't cry out. If they didn't cry out, the team wouldn't know they were hurting.

Whumper dropped a filthy, damp towel on Team Leader's face. "This is going to be fun."

And before Team Leader could get a good breath in, Whumper blasted Team Leader's face with cold water from a hose. Team Leader sputtered and choked around the water.

They could hear Smallest Teammate's growls and Teammate One's cries of protest. But they couldn't muster the energy to try and get them to stop. They could only hope that Whumper would keep hurting them and not the rest of their team.

"I was going to let up. But now that Smallest Teammate's sweet dulcet sounds are in my ears, I'll keep going. That's way more fun!" Whumper's voice was barely audible as they increased the water pressure.

It was all Team Leader could do to keep breathing. To keep calm. They had to, though they felt as though they were drowning. Felt as though their world was ending. They had to stay strong for their team.

[whumpitisthen]

Masterlist

Grab your character and shove their head underwater. Keep them pinned until they breathe in the water. Pull them up and let them splutter and cough. Push them under again. Pull them up. Let them use their precious seconds of air to beg. "Ple-Please, please stop — " Push them under again. Feel them squirm. Pull them up sooner; they couldn't hold their breath long enough. Once more for good measure. Don't let them up until they nearly suffocate. Pull them up and throw them to the ground, let them cough up all the water they swallowed. Pull them into your lap. They are shivering, the cold water having seeped deep into their bones. They are crying. They are going to try to pull away. Don't let them. Hush them gently. Card through their hair. Let them relax under your hands. Then drag them back over to the water. Put their nose right above the surface and keep their head right there. Let them imagine how it will feel to be pushed under again, held there, pulled up just so they can drown again. They will fight, they will sob, they will plead and barter and yell. They will be scared. Answer them with an order. "Take a deep breath for me." Watch them struggle to decide if they should. They probably won't be able to take one deep enough if they tried. Push them under. Watch them squirm. Repeat.

[padaleckigifs]

@whumpgifathon | Day 5: "Water" Cordell Walker in Walker 3x01, "World on a String"

[nade2308]

@whumpgifathon | Day 5: Water

Shipwrecked | Drowning | Waterboarding

"CSI: Miami", season 9, episode 10, "Match Made in Hell", Ryan Wolfe

Part 1 || Part 2

@thethistlegirl

[whumpy-wyrms]

whumper accidentally leaving tiny whumpee trapped in their jacket pocket and putting it through the washing machine with them inside

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Augusnippets Day 7: Waterboarding

cw: interrogation/torture, near-drowning, strangulation

previous // next

for the @augusnippets challenge // word count: 493

=~=~=

His lungs screamed, spasming with a panic that took to his veins like liquid fire. No amount of logic could overcome it; there was only pure fear, desperate and animalistic. There was only the water, only the absence of breath.

They let him up.

Kaius sagged against the rim of the basin, too weak to pull himself into a seated position, and choked down all the air he could. They had him in a kneel, ankles and wrists bound behind him. With the desperation to breathe gone, the pain came back, more a roar than a trickle. A shoulder was certainly dislocated, a knee sprained at the least, the rest of him aching and exhausted. His shaky groan turned to a yelp as one of the masked men grabbed him by the hair.

“Tell the truth this time.” He shook him, and Kaius winced as the motion jostled his knee.

“Are you a cop? FBI?”

“No…”

The man struck him. “I told you not to lie. I know you're here to spy on us.”

Yes and no. They'd been sent to locate the smuggling ring. It was rather unfortunate they'd located him first.

“I don't even know who you are,” Kaius protested. It was the truth, by technicality, and apparently the wrong thing to say. His head was shoved underwater before he could snatch much of a breath. Instinct took over before he could stop it, his body thrashing, struggling, wasting precious oxygen in its fear.

His lungs gave out before his captor, sucking in water, shocking his system, making everything worse—

The hand tightened in his hair, hauling him up and throwing him onto his back. Kaius couldn't scream as the full weight on his body landed on his shoulder. He couldn't even breathe.

Somehow he managed to get onto his side, heaving up water; breathing what little he could through his stinging nose. The man rolled him onto his back, boot heavy on his chest.

“You gonna fess up?”

As the room wavered around him, Kaius briefly considered it. Agreeing that he was a cop, he was a spy. But that would only lead to more questions. What did they send you to get? Where is the rest of your team?

He couldn't give them up.

Instead of providing an answer that would only be ignored, Kaius kept silent, glaring up at his captor.

“Answer me.” The pressure increased; his teeth were chattering. Still, he said nothing.

“Little shit.” The man dropped to a kneel, one big hand wrapping around Kaius's throat. “I said, answer me.”

Damn it all. Kaius closed his eyes, willing himself to pass out quickly when the inevitable began.

He thought this might be better than the water. Less burning, less finality, but as fingers dug into the sensitive skin of his throat, another hand joining in to compress and crush the delicate bones, squeezing out any air, he realized how stupid it was to have a preference.

[just-here-for-the-whump]

@whumpgifathon | Day 5: Water

Waterboarding

Arrow 3x13 Canaries

[baughtio]

Whumpee is a royal offspring, taken hostage from the harbour by enemy marine troops as part of a peace treaty. From their loaded ship, the troops eye the harbour from a distance, in case an opportunity arises.

Imagine all the whump…

Whumpee is treated like a cabin boy, bending to the crew’s every whim

The ship is too far offshore that whumpee cannot possibly escape, despite being able to see their castle from the small hole in their closet

Whumpee choking and splashing on water as they’re tagged alongside the boat (for fun), leashed to the deck by coarse ropes

Being dragged out of the sea, water fluttering from whumpee’s eyelashes; they’re a shivering mess

Left collapsed on the deck until dawn. Whumpee blinks at the sky’s pink and orange hues through lidded eyes. Throw in a flying seagull or two to symbolise freedom

“Allies” (whumpee’s guardian, boss, team etc) anger the troops in some way, so they take it out on whumpee. e.g., The sleep-deprived whumpee notices the crew eyeing them weirdly while they’re serving breakfest. They hear rumours of “a turn of events”. Moments later, whumpee is called to the bridge of the ship where the captain awaits. They drag their trembling selves up and kneel before the captain for mercy and a time to explain their allies’ misconduct, but before they can utter a single “please”, the captain shoots their thigh.

Whumpee gasping with tears in their eyes as they bleed out in front of everybody. Another bang and scalding hot pain courses through their shoulder

Whumpee looks up at passing crew members with imploring eyes, but most look away. Some chuckle and even get a few kicks in

Later, whumpee is made to clean the puddle of blood they made. The crew laugh at how they stumble around and try to stand up by leaning on the mop

[crimsons-whump-pile]

nearly FORGOT to do a prompt today, so a quick one before dinner: waterboarding! and its various aftereffects of course, bc what’s better than drowning your whumpee a little at a time as they thrash where they’re tied to the chair? letting the water build up in their lungs until they’re close to drowning even without your interference!

[whumpster-dumpster]

Whumper collects whumpee's sweat and tears, and then waterboards them in it

Ouch, all that salt and bacteria is going to buuurn!

[serickswrites]

Board

Warnings: captivity, restraint, torture, forced to watch, drowning, water torture, waterboarding

Team Leader screamed their frustration as they tugged uselessly on their restraints. They had been trying fruitlessly to break free of the cuffs that kept them standing at the far wall. Whumper had restrained them such that they couldn't sit and that they couldn't turn away from the out of reach center of the room. Turn away from everything they saw. Turn away from Smallest Teammate.

Smallest Teammate was sputtering and gasping from the tilted over chair, their hair just brushing the dirty ground, their face obscured by the filthy towel Whumper had slapped them with. They had initially tolerated the water torture with minimal crying. But all of their hard won strength and courage failed after Whumper had relentlessly continued the torture.

Team Leader had lost track of how long Whumper had been at it with Smallest Teammate. Had lost track of how long they listened to Smallest Teammate choke and gasp around the water being poured on their face. Had lost track of everything because they couldn't break free.

"I think that'll do for now, don't you think?" Whumper said as they let Smallest Teammate's chair drop the last few inches to the floor. Smallest Teammate let out a wordless shriek as they fell. They continued to shriek and sob as Whumper left the room.

"Smallest Teammate," Team Leader called, desperately trying to catch their attention. "Smallest Teammate."

But Smallest Teammate didn't reply. They continued to sob as they lay on the floor.

"You have to help them," Team Leader said hoping that the rest of the team could hear them through the broken communicator. Their headset had long broken, but they hoped that somehow the microphone and ability to transmit hadn't been damaged. Because they needed help. They needed the team to come and help them. They needed the team to come and save Smallest Teammate before Whumper graduated from simulating drowning to actually drowning Smallest Teammate.

"Please," Team Leader begged one more time, "if you can hear me, please come help them. I need you to come help them."

[whumpitisthen]

I think somebody should take whumpee by the hair and drag them into the bathroom... For enrichment purposes

Enrich me and shove that pretty head underwater 👍

[thatsgonnaleaveamark]

this or that - whump tropes (22)

character is up for some fun times with these torture methods

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Identity Pt 4

Part (4) of Identity, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

I owe loads of responses and I'm sorry! I got the writing bug and any spare time I've had in front of a computer, I just wanted to write! Quick answer to the most common question, though: Yeah, the implication is that the contact is her dad - that'll be touched on a bit more later, though, and I'll try to actually be a good tumblr person and respond to everyone's lovely comments this week now that I've purged this chapter out!

Huge preemptive warning before even getting to the real warnings! This is one of those particularly dark chapters that may be too intense for some readers. If that's the case, I'm more than happy to make a summary for continuity's sake; just please take caution to read the tags

Warnings: torture, waterboarding, drowning, interrogation, panic, panic attack, flashbacks, self-blame, giving up, longing for death, temporary insanity, arguably inappropriate use of sedation, guilt, profanity, intense whump

WC: 3,231

Fire tore through my nose and throat, body wrenching forward with violent coughs that sent pain shooting down my side, but the movement stopped short, chest held fast to something behind me – no… beneath me? I couldn’t think beyond the desperate need for air, head shaking as though it might rid my eyes and nose of the liquid still dripping down my face as my jaw gaped around choked gasps. The distorted hum of unfamiliar voices resonated nearby, pausing mere seconds before another torrent of icy water crashed over me, robbing me of what pitiful taste of air I’d fought so hard to gain and sending me back down that spiral of panicked suffocation, diaphragm convulsing uselessly beneath that torturous burn of drowning.

Something locked around my jaw, forcing my gaze toward the blurred colors that surely hid an unknown face and drawing a startled grunt of pain from me. I could almost hear words, confident at least that they were male before my attacker released me harshly enough to slam my already throbbing head against whatever lay beneath it. I’d only just realized my wrists were bound behind me when another frigid wave was thrown at me, again leaving me sputtering for breath.

“… a patient man…” That voice growled, mind finally grasping some meager bit of clarity. “I suggest you answer my questions before things get really unpleasant.” Wheezing, I quickly looked about us for some hint as to what was happening, but the dark cell offered no clues toward who he was or where he’d taken me. I think I was tied to a chair leaning back at a precarious angle, but I couldn’t move enough to check before he grabbed me again, fingers burring into my already bruised jaw.

“Eyes on me, yuh damn rat.” He grumbled. Without conscious thought, I realized some part of me expected to find a grizzled, old man covered in scars, eyes full of enraged contempt, but that’s not who stood beside me. He appeared to barely be in his thirties, white shirt marred with sweat and blood and stains I tried not to look too closely at lest I see something far worse. Years of drinking left is stomach distended and his skin blotchy, and what light may once have filled pale, green eyes had long since abandoned him. There was no anger fueling his actions, no obvious cause for him to seek retribution from long held vendetta. This was his job, and he’d simply lost the will to be bothered by the horrors it forced him to do.

“Ah. Guess yuh weren’t really awake yet, were yuh?” He hummed more to himself than to me, “Concussions can be tricky like that…” With a deep sigh, he stepped back, hand dropping absently away from me. “Let’s start over, then.” The way he rubbed his hand over his face, the weariness dragging against his movements, it felt so painfully displaced against the way my heart raced.

“Who ordered the hit?” Lost, I could only stare at him, thoughts far too muddled beneath fear and confusion to fathom a response. “How about we start with something easier?” He muttered, though he still reached for something behind me. I heard the click of a button followed by the rush of water through pipework overhead, and the terror that gripped me was visceral, body shaking too hard to manage even a broken gasp, limbs wrenching against the shackles about my wrists and ankles.

The vague sensation of pain each movement sent tearing through my left side didn’t matter, nor the growing understanding that there had been an explosion; that everyone near the podium must have been caught in the blast, and I couldn’t begin to guess the extent of my own injuries even as I recalled the horrifying images of those far less fortunate. That knowledge, that pain, none of it mattered in the face of where I now lay: trapped before this stranger who owed me no loyalties and sought only to force answers from me that I could never give.

“Where are yuh from?” I wondered if the hint of a slur in his voice was from mere disinterest, or if he’d already begun numbing himself with some bottle stashed amidst the grime-streaked walls. “Not gonna tell me your name, either, I assume?” My jaw ground shut, gaze turning blindly to the dark ceiling above us. He offered no further warning before clicking another button to unleash the next rush of water. I managed to keep most of it from flooding my mouth, but the pressure forced enough up my nose to send me into another fit of strangled coughs.

“You’re with the Republic, yeah? Some kinda spy or something? What’s that fancy swamp planet…” He seemed to think it over for several seconds before remembering. “Naboo! You from Naboo?” Breath shattering between clattering teeth, I kept my attention turned pointedly away from him, clinging to some distant memory that it was better to remain silent during an interrogation; that even shouted curses yielded more easily to breaking than simply never speaking at all, and then I had to come to terms with that simple fact that that’s exactly what this was: an interrogation.

How long had it been since the gala? Was I still on the same planet? Was I on a planet at all? I didn’t want to acknowledge what the answers to those questions might mean; didn’t want to let myself listen for the rumble of engines or hum or air recyclers. It was easier not to know.

A tsk sounded from the man beside me, and I had to fight not to let my expression crumble beneath that fear.

“A’right.” I wanted to slap him for the disinterest in that breathy sigh, anger drawing my lips into a scowl. Again, there was no warning. A dark sack was pulled roughly over my face. I had just enough time to gasp before that water began to pour down. My chest bucked with violent fits, fighting to force some sliver of air through the endless onslaught, but it wouldn’t stop. Why wouldn’t it stop?

The was a moment when that determination first faltered beneath the weight of a panic no amount of logic could hope to supersede; a fleeting breadth of understanding just how alone I was, how little I meant, and how hopeless even the denial that forbade me from listening for engines truly was, because regardless my dreams and nightmares, regardless the sincerity of my intentions or the purpose I once believed drove me through moments when I wanted nothing more than to shatter, the simple reality was that death didn’t care and all I’d done would amount to nothing. There was no promise of one more chance, no reason swaying whether I lived or died, no thought beyond a bone-deep, primal terror, and not a damn thing I could do to change any of it.

Powerless, I laid beneath the flow of soured water, body thrashing uselessly as the man just stood there, watching; waiting. I couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, the sensation of that sack about my face constricting with each failed gasp overwhelmed every memory I’d ever made, forsook every imagined possibility of a future, dispelled whatever higher knowledge supposedly separated sentience from feral beasts, and I knew he was utterly impartial to all of it as my lungs burned, spine wrenching against restraints that offered no leeway. The weakness that crept up my limbs was a strange thing. I barely noticed it beneath the new form of darkness overtaking me, yet some whisper of frustration balked at how quickly my muscles began to fail, how deafening my heartbeat became as those frantic coughs faded beneath wet gurgles.

Still, there was some futile sense of denial, a disbelief promising me that he wouldn’t actually let me die; that this was merely some sick form of intimidation meant to break me, and I knew exactly how foolish that thought was as the water flooded my lungs.

-

Agony filled my chest, my head. Fire burned my sinuses and left my throat raw as my torso convulsed in violent coughs even as I strained for breath, begging my own body to grant me some small taste of air. It felt like waking; like I’d been asleep for ages, mind hazed beneath that fog of confusion.

“..ere yuh are… Come on back.” Was that voice familiar? I vaguely thought it shouldn’t be despite how my eyes automatically travelled toward it, unable yet to make out anything beyond a blurred shaped. “Can you tell me your name?” Were his words slurring, or was my hearing merely faltering beneath that disorientating weariness eager to drag me back into unconsciousness? I knew that question, though – it had long since become ingrained into my psyche from years of asking. What’s your name? What’s the date? Where are we, right now? Where…

My lips stumbled around an initial attempt at forming an answer but managed only a choked whimper beneath a hurt that left even strangled gasps crippling. That moment of physical hinderance was enough to grant the very beginnings of a clarity that threatened to break me as some distorted mockery of sensation slowly began to return; glimpses of soiled walls, the scent of putrid water, pain lancing through joints held fast about the hard surface beneath me, through flesh left raw and torn from how violently my body had struggled against restraints still binding my wrists and ankles, looped about my chest and stomach, and the fear that stole through me was like nothing I’d ever known.

In an instant, my heart began to race, the rhythm far too quick to not be a danger in itself, but I could spare no thought toward something so mundane as a heart attack as my every muscle began to convulse, the icy obstruction of adrenaline flooding my veins as logic and rationale faltered in the wake of memories.

“Damn… figured it’d figured take longer ‘en that.” He mumbled, and I froze at the bundle of still dripping cloth hanging from his hand, unable to either tear my gaze away nor stomach the sight of it. “‘ere’s how this works,” he started, utterly unmoved by how my body shied from him as he reached toward me with that cursed fabric. “Ain’t gotta go through any of that again if you don’t want to.” The way my every cell screamed against the feeling of that mask being pulled even halfway down my face left me thrashing anew, numb to any damage sustained from how desperately I found myself flailing against my bounds. “Just gotta answer my questions, an’ it all stops.”

There was no thought; no memory even of how to think as the first drops of water danced atop my forehead. My every muscle tightened, body wrenching away with more force than it could take. Something cracked. I didn’t feel it. My teeth ground together even as my jaw strained to open, to drag as much of that precious, stale air into my lungs as I could.

“Who are yuh working with?” Rage. There was no suffocating torrent of liquid. It was barely a splash, but he knew exactly how little work he needed to do to rend me into that hysterical frenzy that so effortlessly robbed me of all but my most ancient, primal instinct, and I loathed him for how quickly it worked, lips wrenching back into a snarl.

The next gush held none of that earlier restraint. Water filled my mouth and flooded my nose, instantly sending me into ragged, gagging coughs, body jerking in an effort to at least lean onto my side that I might rid my airway of that burning, frigid certainty of drowning.

“Who orchestrated the explosion?” I thought of the mercenary as another surge of water poured over me just long enough to leave me gasping.

How do I free him!

“Who was the target?” I don’t know if there were words in whatever scream I felt tearing through my throat, but he waited mere seconds, unmoved by my choked cries.

Tell me.

“Who placed the bombs?” His emotionless voice reverberated through the darkness, lifting the mask just clear of my lips after each question before dragging it back down in the wake of answers that left him wanting, and I could only flail atop that unyielding surface as he unleashed that frigid water again and again.

I thought of the hatred in my brother’s eyes as my mind flickered at the edges of suffocation.

“Who ordered the hit?”

Did I deserve this?

“Who’s behind the assassination attempt?”

Why didn’t he just kill me?

“Tell me who ordered the hit.”

Kill me.

“Who were you sent to kill?”

Kill me kill me kill me

“Who placed the bombs?”

His earlier boredom was beginning to turn impatient. My body barely managed to struggle anymore. Didn’t matter.

“Who ordered the hit?”

I wanted that darkness. Yearned for it… because anything was better than this endless torture, hours and seconds and years of drowning with no hope of it ever stopping, no sense of time, no sense of self.

“Who-”

The sudden flurry of sounds meant nothing. I’d long since lost any grasp on reality, more certain that I was already dead than I was that those harsh, broken wheezes voiced my own, failing attempts at breath. I don’t know when that sack had been removed nor what muttered pleas tumbled listlessly from numb lips. Flashes of grey and white armor held no meaning, nor did whispered words blaring through speakers, though I remembered some fleeting thought toward the futility of whispering into a mic.

Movement. It didn’t feel like that perceived sense of endlessly falling preceding loss of consciousness… It felt like… running? My eyelids bat against the illusion painted atop the black cloth I was so sure awaited me the instant I managed to truly see. It wasn’t until I tried to move that that madness returned. No restraints held my arms trapped behind me. No unyielding board pressed painfully into my back. I was held only by the arms looped beneath my knees and shoulders, and the instant I understood that, I fought with every hint of strength granted to me by that panic-induced insanity.

I couldn’t hear anything above the chorus of sudden shouts, focus trained solely on freeing myself of that near embrace. I’d barely begun to thrash before feeling the floor rise up to meet me, body instantly kicking out to distance myself from my captor until my heels slid useless atop muck-coated stone, doing nothing more than pressing my back more firmly into the wall behind me.

“…” Muffled words lost beneath the pounding of my heart and the rasp of air catching in too-moist lungs fluttering with hyperventilated breaths stolen between wet coughs. I tried to draw my arms between myself and the figure kneeling before me, but could barely convince my hands to twitch, flared fingers trembling mere inches above the ground.

“…! …ack! Come on, kid; come back!” His voice finally broke through that frenzy, and my eyes locked on his, every muscle freezing beyond that persistent shiver I couldn’t begin to quell. He seemed to hold his breath, waiting to see if I’d break again. My brows drew weakly together, thoughts too frantic to more than stare at him for several seconds.

“…W… Wol…” His shoulders sank at my stammered attempt to call his name.

“Right here, kid.” It was such a strange thing to hear the gentleness in his voice, but that lingering sense of wrong drew me further from the shattered recess of my mind, vaguely noting the four figures posted around us, and I didn’t need to see their helms to know who they were, that they had their weapons trained on the corridors stretching out at either side of me, ready to fire at the faintest hint of a threat. They’d found me… This was real… So, why couldn’t I free myself of that relentless fear, that deafening need to run, to find some dark corner and hide?

“I need to get you out of here.” He explained, words purposefully slowed in a way I should have taken offense to. In that moment, however, that slowness was the only reason I could make sense of them. Get out… They were going to get me out of here… but my body revolted from the very thought of letting him touch me again, of letting anyone touch…

“You can hold on to me, or I can carry you, but we can’t stay here.” I wanted to shout at that familiar, cold logic, the silent apology nestled in his hushed statement, frustration spiking at the weakness preventing my hands from clasping over my ears regardless how useless I knew the gesture to be.

“Hey – hey, look at me.” The guilt tainting his command made me want to scream even as my eyes automatically flicked back to his, some distant thought finally realizing he’d forgone protocol in favor of letting me see his face, helmet abandoned on the ground beside him. My name left his lips in a whisper, head ducking slightly to draw my unsteady gaze back toward him.

“We need to move.” My jaw tensed with curses and pleas and senseless shouts, despite my inability to hold enough breath to manage more than a stammered whimper, chest still seizing with half coughs from the phantom sensation of flooded lungs.

“Do you want me to sedate you?” He barely murmured the quiet offer, head ducking toward me. Did I… I thought of that blissful emptiness… that escape from this fear, from the pain of wounds I couldn’t remember sustaining, from the anger wrought by my own inability to force some semblance of control over myself, and, with a sob, I nodded. His expression darkened, but he said nothing as he returned the gesture.

“Close your eyes.” He whispered, and the tremble seizing through me redoubled, terror spiking at the threat of subjecting myself to that darkness. “You’re going to be alright, kid… Just close your eyes.” He promised… I’d never doubted him before… not like this… but how could I possibly believe him? I knew he could see how frightened I was, how lost I was in that fear; I knew he was counting every second wasted trying to guide me through this, how each of those seconds redoubled the risk of being caught, but he said nothing as I struggled to find myself through that panic, and he wasted no time when I finally managed to force my eyes shut.

The instant I felt the prick of needles, my body balked, managing to jump mere inches away, but his touch was already there, hand delicately catching my cheek as those fleeting reserves of strength abandoned me, muscles quickly going limp against him.

“Alright… I’ve got you… I’ve got you.” A final shiver darted down my spine as the warmth of his breath danced across my scalp, barely noting how carefully he eased me back into his arms, but the distant familiarity of finding myself nestled against him, of tasting his scent in my every stammered gasp even as I felt my mind begin to slip away was a comfort I clung to until even that faded.

Next Chapter

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