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Shoutout to that one time his ex-wife thought she was doing something by defibrillating the crazed gunman holding him and almost killing him too. Good times
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Local Anemic Bitch writes about exhaustion, news at 11. Prompts are by @yuckwhump and found here.
This one’s a continuation of my starvation post from day 9, but set both before and after it. (That’s right, more flashbacks. This one’s less violent and more narrative!)
tw: starvation, tw: slavery, tw: trafficking, tw: conditioning, tw: neglect, tw: electrocution, tw: torture, tw: brainwashing (attempted), tw: people as pets (werewolves as pets but like... werewolves are people), tw: collars
*****
Drew sat in his new owner’s lap in just his underwear, freezing cold and leaning into the man for warmth, his master’s arms tight and warm around him.
He could breathe easier, now that he’d had a little water, small sips when his master said he could have some, before it was taken away again because the man didn’t want him being sick.
Before she’d handed the water over, the woman who worked here had wrenched Drew’s chin away from his master’s side, forcing him to look her in the eye. Her eyes had been cold, and she’d told him that if he bit his new master, he’d be going right back into the cell before the paperwork could go through.
He’d shivered, the trembling in his whole body intensifying in a freezing cold flood, but he’d forced himself to nod, even as the motion made his head spin.
It was strange, thinking of this man as his master, after he’d fought so hard against the whole idea. He remembered more now. He remembered talking back, saying he wasn’t an animal, wasn’t a pet, would never let himself become one.
His whole body hurt, and his stomach felt like it was going to churn itself apart trying to get the water in it out to the rest of his limbs. He was too weak to sit on his own, too weak to hold his head up, much too weak to stand, and everything in his world was the slight, slight chance that the man holding him might be better than this place, and he hadn’t understood, before, but now he did. Now he did.
“Very good,” the woman said, “There’s the first set of paperwork done. He’s yours. We’ll still need to finish the other set, liability and such, but we’ll go ahead and get him settled with his complimentary collar and all that, since you’ve already got him here.”
Drew leaned away from the woman, pressing farther into his master’s side, but she didn’t react, and his master didn’t stop her when she pried his head away from its place beneath his master’s chin and wrapped a cold, metal collar around his neck.
His heart skipped a beat when he realized what it was, when he recognized the smaller plates of a different metal settling against his throat.
“No,” he begged, “No, please. Please.” His voice was hoarse and broken, his throat barely wet enough to make a sound, and his master’s arms tightened around him, making him bite his tongue and whine instead.
“What is it? I don’t think I’ve seen one like this.”
“It will administer a mild electric shock. For control. Of course, our hope here is always that you won’t need such a thing, and our premium pets behave themselves with only a cloth collar, or even with none at all. This one - well, it’s better safe than sorry.”
His master’s arm left his side, reaching toward the woman.
“Here’s your remote control,” she said, “You can test it out if you like.”
Another jolt of fear went through Drew and he closed his fingers as best he could in the front of his master’s shirt. “Please,” he gasped, “Please.”
His master ran the other hand all the way up and down his back, stroking along his spine. “That’s alright. I trust you. And anyway, I can already tell he’s gonna be a good boy. Aren’t you, fella?”
“See? If it doesn’t work when I want it, I’ll just come back.”
Drew shivered again, a sob working its way audibly out of his throat and surprising even him. His master held him closer, the side of the remote pressing into his ribs as his master brought that arm up around his body again, and a second sob burst out of him, louder than the first.
“Please sir,” he begged between wracking sobs, “Please.”
“Take it off,” his master said, “I can just get a taser instead.”
Drew retched, vomiting water against his master’s collarbone, but he was actually relieved by the thought of the taser, and the wrongness of that, the wrongness of the feeling he could make sense of but couldn’t stop, turned his empty, weakened stomach inside out.
*****
Drew’s eyes fluttered shut in the chair, and after a few seconds, a jolt of electricity shot through him, the plates of the shock collar burning against his neck as every muscle in his body tensed, wrenching at his bones as the pain rolled jaggedly through him, before stopping again just in time to let him scream.
“I told you not to fall asleep during your lesson,” the trainer said, taking out a remote from his pocket and pressing a button on it, sending a shorter, sharper jolt through him that almost stopped the breath he was still trying to catch.
Drew moaned, keeping his head up to prevent another shock.
The rubber cuffs around his wrists, binding him to the wooden table, wouldn’t let him reach up and wipe away the drool that always seemed to accompany the shocks, so he twisted his shoulder as far as he could to wipe the spit off on it.
He didn’t know how long he’d been here, but he did know, as the audio in his ears started up again, whispering insidious lies, that he couldn’t give them what they wanted. He couldn’t.
The longer the ‘lesson’ went on, the harder it was to stay awake and the more he found himself on the receiving end of the double shocks, the automatic ones from the collar responding to the change in his breathing and heart rate, and the trainer’s shocks growing gradually longer as he followed the automatic shocks up with manual ones.
He’d thought at the start that this seemed like a milder ‘lesson’ than usual, but now it had been hours and hours of the same words pouring through his brain, the same shocks burning through him each time he was asked who he was and he said his name again. Now, he had drool dripping down his face he couldn’t even hope to wipe away, and as he waited for the audio to finish and the trainer to ask him questions again, he wondered if defying them again would actually kill him.
Finally, there was silence, and the trainer came over to the table and wrenched his head up to look into his eyes. “Who are you?”
“A-andrew. Andrew Michael Green.”
The man slapped him hard across the face, and he almost cried with relief because it wasn’t another shock. “Wrong. What are you?”
“I’m a person.”
Another slap, a backhand hard enough to drive his head sideways with it. “You’re a filthy werewolf. Where do you belong?”
Drew gritted his teeth, working up the guts to answer only when the trainer picked up his remote control. “I belong at home, you bastard!”
He wasn’t surprised by the shock, but it still made him feel like the life was being torn away from him, shredded from the inside out. The current went on and on, longer than it ever had before, until he started wondering if his muscles were actually going to tear with the force of the tension on them.
When it stopped, he’d barely managed to gasp in a new breath before the trainer backhanded him again, snapping his head to the side. “We’ll try again tomorrow. The lesson isn’t over until you learn it.”
He’d been dragged away by his arms, too weak from the shocks to stand, but he’d been relieved to get away from the remote control. He’d been a fool.
*****
The woman lifted Drew out of his master’s lap and dropped him callously onto the floor, and Drew felt his side bruise and his bones strain under the force of the landing. She fussed over his master, dabbing at the mess on his chest, and making excuses and offers, one right after the other.
His master waved her off, got up, and knelt over him. He leaned down, whispering right into Drew’s ear. “I’m sorry.” Then he hit Drew in the back of the head, slapping him hard enough to force his head forward, his chin moving toward his chest and his cheek sliding across a little bit of grit on the tile floor.
Drew whimpered.
His master straightened up. “See? He’s not so tough. Take that thing off. I’ll look for a better one over here, yeah? Something more me. Not so utilitarian.”
The woman’s hands weren’t gentle as she removed the shock collar, but Drew sobbed with relief anyway, turning his face into the floor so his master wouldn’t have to look at him, and he wouldn’t have to look at any of this.
*****
Alone in his cell, Drew laid down on his thin mattress and closed his eyes.
The moment he fell asleep, another jolt of electricity ran through him, waking him. It was brief, automated, and weaker now that the trainer wasn’t standing over him turning the power up. He grunted in pain, sitting up.
Fuck.
He wasn’t stupid. He knew what this was, what it meant.
It was still hard to wrap his brain around. They weren’t going to let him sleep. They were going to keep him here, awake, and then drag him back in there, awake, to do it all again, and they were going to do it until he gave in or died, and he was going to be shocked all night, the whole time, and that was - he closed his eyes, sighing. That was something he couldn’t just think his way out of.
There was no convincing himself that they’d get bored with hitting him, bored with the shocks, bored with the insults and the mantras and the whole damned system.
This was a computer, and it didn’t get bored and it didn’t care and he didn’t know how to get the collar off.
By the time the guard made his midnight round, Drew was pinching himself to stay awake, his body warn out from a day of electricity coursing through him, his muscles aching and his nerves frayed.
By the 3 am rounds, he knew he’d tell them anything they wanted to hear, tomorrow. He’d been shocked twice more, in spite of his best efforts, and without sleep, all his other aches and pains were getting worse, instead of better.
Breakfast time came and went, and no one came to his cell to get him. The people in the neighboring cells were lead away, and he was still here, exhausted and waiting.
He fell asleep three times before lunch. 5 before dinner. 6 before lights out. He hummed every song he could think of, pinched his arms in a thousand little places, stood up and wobbled to and fro in his cell, and he still kept falling asleep.
No one came, and he sat back down on the bed as the room went dark with a loud, sudden clunk.
36 hours. It had definitely been at least 36 hours.
Everything hurt. His eyes felt like sandpaper, and his head felt too light, reeling as his body tried to fall asleep and he had to force his own head up. His eyes leaked tears, even as he knew, deep inside himself, that he wasn’t crying. They flowed silently, painlessly, unchecked, pooling against the puffy skin under his eyes before they dripped away. They stuck in his eyelashes when he blinked, glinting in the faint bio-luminescence of the woman in the cell across the way.
By midnight, he was falling asleep with his eyes open, only aware of it when another jolt tore through him. He sobbed quietly in the dark, but all of the prisoners slept heavily, their bodies trying desperately to repair themselves in the night, and he was alone.
The guard walked past. He didn’t know what time it was. He didn’t know how long he’d been awake. He didn’t know how to do the math anymore.
He had thought his body hurt before. Now, every blink felt like it might tear the surface off his eyes, and the pain of the shocks sat over a bone-deep, soul-deep ache that he knew wouldn’t heal, that he knew would just grow and grow and grow until it swallowed him alive, unless he was allowed to sleep.
He kept his eyes open. He was shocked. He was shocked. He was shocked. He tried to cry, but he had no tears left, and no energy left for sound.
The lights came on. 48 hours.
No one came.
He was shocked. Shocked. Shocked. His head reeled, lolled, shot back up, and he knew he was going to die like this.
The others got breakfast. The guards passed his cell like he wasn’t here, and he didn’t have the strength or the voice left to call out to them. He kept seeing faint echoes of the guards when they weren’t there, drifting in front of his eyes with no accompanying sounds of footsteps and vanishing into nothing when he blinked and forced his eyes farther open.
Something was coming. Something. He couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember. Couldn’t think. He tried to pinch his arm, but his fingers didn’t line up right and slid past each other, leaving just an ineffectual scratch.
He kept his eyes open, but even the light did nothing to keep him alert. He was shocked. He was shocked.
His trainer came with lunch, with the remote, and increased the power on the collar before he slid the food through the bottom of the bars. Kyle stared, his eyes dry and blank, and knew staying alive was all that was left to him. He had to stay alive. His body screamed for sleep, the only thing that might keep it whole in the face of the shocks, and he knew he was going to answer the man’s questions the way he wanted them, this time.
*****
Drew’s master picked him up again, scooping him into his arms like he was nothing, like he weighed nothing, and he went willingly, leaning back up against the damp cloth of his master’s shirt and hoping the man could tell he was being compliant.
The man wrapped a strip of something bright green around his neck, a stiff canvas collar that he secured almost loosely, and Drew fought back more tears.
“Thank you, master,” he whispered, “Thank you.”
He had nothing left. Nothing. No flesh, no hope, hardly even a name. But even in the cell where he’d starved in his chains, he’d been able to sleep, to put himself back together in increasingly small increments, to knit together the frazzled nerves even as the rest of his body tried to shut down.
“I’ll be good,” he whispered.
His master ran a hand up and down his back again. “I know. I know.”
The woman gave his master more paperwork, and the man started filling it out.
Drew closed his eyes, tucking his head back under his master’s chin, curling into his side, and trying to be small and out of the way. Maybe, maybe he could still keep that. The sleep. The only thing left to him to make any part of him whole.
Between the forms, his master rocked just slightly back and forth, just enough that Drew could feel it, pressed against him. It was soothing. Reassuring.
Drew breathed. His master rocked, barely perceptibly. He calmed down. His eyes grew heavy. His master didn’t wake him, and the canvas collar sat, inert, against his skin.
By the time his master signed the last page, shook the woman’s hand, and stood up with Drew still cradled against his chest, Drew was almost asleep, and almost convinced that wherever he was going, he might be allowed to heal.
The metal handcuffs dug into his wrists, cutting into the skin. By now he had jerked against them enough to cause deep cuts, blood running down his hands. He’d been blindfolded which just raised his anxiety, he never knew when the next attack was coming and he couldn’t do anything to defend himself. His body tensed up as he heard footsteps approaching him, despite the blindfold he squeezed his eyes shut anyway.
“I’m going to try something different.” He said it like it was a warning, and Angel’s terrified whimper was muffled by the gag that had been forced into his mouth. “If this doesn’t work then it will only get worse for you.” He heard an odd noise, like a handheld torch being turned on, however it didn’t even come near him at first, leaving him to sit there in anxious anticipation. He didn’t even know that was a tool they had. He tried to prepare himself for the worst, whatever that may be. “You know how to make this stop, don’t forget that.” He was reminded, and he nodded slowly despite his fear.
He wasn’t sure what he was in for until he felt the heat approach his bare chest. He gritted his teeth, clenching his fists, but it didn’t matter because when the hot metal touched his skin he screeched. He pulled violently against his restraints, he didn’t care that his wrists were already bloody and damaged. He couldn’t even see the metal rod that had been heated up a burning red, burning a mark all the way across his chest. When he finally pulled it away Angel was still sobbing, taking deep, heaving breaths.
“This doesn’t have to continue.” The man advised him. Reasonably, Angel knew he could make it stop, he knew how to, but he absolutely refused to give in. He didn’t give any kind of response, simply sat there shuddering and sniffling. A hand tangled in his hair, wrenching his head up. He was closer when he spoke this time, right by his ear. “I know how much you hate the stun gun. If you give in now I won’t have to use it.” Angel’s stomach dropped at his words, he was almost hurt really that he’d even threaten it. However, he still shook his head as best he could. He wasn’t going to give up.
He heard the clang of the metal rod as it was dropped, he knew what was coming and he didn’t even bother trying to prepare himself. He knew by now there was nothing that could help. Just hearing the electrical spark from the stun gun made him start to panic, but he didn’t bother struggling because he knew he couldn’t possibly escape. His head was roughly pulled to the side, the stun gun was pressed against his neck and as the electricity surged through his body he shrieked at the top of his lungs.
He was used to quick shocks, warning shocks, something quick to subdue him or teach him a lesson. This wasn’t quick. It felt like a century had passed when really, it was only forty five seconds of him shrieking and convulsing, not even permitted to fall over as he was held up by his hair. Though he was familiar with the pain he never got used to it. He didn’t even have time to catch another breath before he was shocked again. He had no idea how long this one lasted, because he passed almost immediately.
***
There were no handcuffs, no gag and blindfold and he was laying flat on his back when he woke up. He blinked tiredly as he looked up at the fluorescent lights above him, and then- Sylar. Sylar was kneeling over him with a concerned look on his face. He seemed relieved to see Angel had opened his eyes.
“Fuck, Angel I told you to let me know if you needed to stop.” He said seriously. They had worked out a system, if the training got too much, if he really couldn’t handle it, all he had to do was snap his fingers twice. Angel slowly started to sit up, and Sylar carefully helped him. His shirt was still hanging open, he cringed when he looked at the burn mark crossing his chest.
“I know, I know…” He murmured. “I just… couldn’t give in again…” He sighed heavily. Sylar had already gathered a few things, helping him pull his shirt off so he could wrap a bandage over his chest, trying to keep the burn somewhat protected anyway.
“If you keep letting yourself get to a point of passing out it will only have to go on longer.” He told him. “And you… you know I hate doing this to you.” He sighed. He had turned his attention to his wrists, deep cuts from where the handcuffs had bitten into his skin. Angel winced as he poured some kind of disinfectant over the wound, looking away from him as he worked.
“You don’t have to… I can handle it if you get someone else to do it…” He said quietly. “I’ll be okay.”
“Clearly you wouldn’t be.” He said, wrapping bandages around his wrist. “When I tell you that you need to let me know to stop, I mean it. You’ll only be hurt more if you aren’t honest.”
“Okay, I get it.” Angel groaned. As he finished bandaging one wrist he pulled it close to his chest.
“I… you’re my friend, Angel… my closest friend really… I don’t like hurting you…” He sighed. He finished cleaning and bandaging his other wrist, finally sitting back. Things were silent for a long time between them before he spoke up again. “You know we’ll have to do this again tomorrow, right?” Angel visibly tensed up at that, but he didn’t protest it.
“Yeah… I… I’ll be better, I promise, I’ll be honest and everything just… don’t use that stun gun again. Please?” He asked, looking away from him as he spoke. “I just… can’t handle it.” He sighed. Typically, something like that meant Sylar should just use it more. He had trained people before, he knew what he was supposed to do, he knew he should focus on their weaknesses, but he also knew why Angel couldn’t stand that specifically, he knew his history with that kind of thing and he just couldn’t do that to him, despite the job he was given. Angel was different, he already could tell Angel was more than qualified for this kind of job, there was no reason to torture him like this. He only did it because he had to, to keep someone far more cruel than him from hurting him. He hated knowing he’d just have to come back and do it again the next day.
