He coughed.
Though it did not come easily and was heavily taxed, his throat feeling as though a thousand razors were scraping across his flesh as the shifting of the muscles occured. The man rolled over, finding the polished floor almost comfortable, had it not been soaked in his own blood.
The hits had become nothing to him. They'd been just quick smashes to the rib cage now, he no longer cared what snapped, what broke, or what tore. It was all the same to him.
"I'll ask again," the bigger man said with all confidence in himself, "why are you here?"
How many times did the guy have to ask? He'd been here for six months already and they only asked him why he was there, they had beat him otherwise and fed him to the very minimum, he truly thought sometimes he was just going to keel over and starve to death.
Maybe that was plausible to what he felt now?
Perhaps...
Though the constant kicks and punches were enough to drive any thoughts or desires of death from his mind when he could only focus on that durasteel-toed boot grinding its way into his belly.
He had been isolated, kept from the other inmates, he had had no social interaction, little food, and almost no light except for that in the halls. Everything was darkness, and his eyes had adapted more or less.
When he wasn't thinking about the boot against the various parts of his body he was thinking about Raven. He would never see her again, and that was the worst torture.
Who knew who's arms she had thrown herself into? Who's bed she had woken up in time and time again in his absence?
Daren would be no more than a memory to her, and that drove him to near madness.
Thinking of her now, and of what she was probably doing with another man made his skin tingle with sadistic rage. His mind was consumed with thoughts of violence and anger.
The torturer kicked again, though this time the pilot caught the man's foot and twisted violently. He heard a crack; good. The ex-commander was on his feet in an instant and in a flash of blind rage and spraying blood the guard lay dead at Daren's feet.
He looked down, feeling no guilt, no compassion, and grabbed the man's keys and pistol and was off.
Though it did not come easily and was heavily taxed, his throat feeling as though a thousand razors were scraping across his flesh as the shifting of the muscles occured. The man rolled over, finding the polished floor almost comfortable, had it not been soaked in his own blood.
The hits had become nothing to him. They'd been just quick smashes to the rib cage now, he no longer cared what snapped, what broke, or what tore. It was all the same to him.
"I'll ask again," the bigger man said with all confidence in himself, "why are you here?"
How many times did the guy have to ask? He'd been here for six months already and they only asked him why he was there, they had beat him otherwise and fed him to the very minimum, he truly thought sometimes he was just going to keel over and starve to death.
Maybe that was plausible to what he felt now?
Perhaps...
Though the constant kicks and punches were enough to drive any thoughts or desires of death from his mind when he could only focus on that durasteel-toed boot grinding its way into his belly.
He had been isolated, kept from the other inmates, he had had no social interaction, little food, and almost no light except for that in the halls. Everything was darkness, and his eyes had adapted more or less.
When he wasn't thinking about the boot against the various parts of his body he was thinking about Raven. He would never see her again, and that was the worst torture.
Who knew who's arms she had thrown herself into? Who's bed she had woken up in time and time again in his absence?
Daren would be no more than a memory to her, and that drove him to near madness.
Thinking of her now, and of what she was probably doing with another man made his skin tingle with sadistic rage. His mind was consumed with thoughts of violence and anger.
The torturer kicked again, though this time the pilot caught the man's foot and twisted violently. He heard a crack; good. The ex-commander was on his feet in an instant and in a flash of blind rage and spraying blood the guard lay dead at Daren's feet.
He looked down, feeling no guilt, no compassion, and grabbed the man's keys and pistol and was off.