#murkywater

We were talking about shiny style palette changes!

Sammy swimming in murky water

Bain had lost his composure only once before - when his eye was taken, because that was a lifelong debilitation he could have done without - and he was close to losing it again there and then. The only indication he even acknowledged what was going on was the slight tightening of his fingertips, curled around the end of the armrests of the chair he was strapped into.

The Murkies - Kento, and another senior commander he'd neglected to learn the name of - pushed a rumpled, bloodied Dallas to the floor in front of him. To his horror Dallas let it happen, groaning as he smacked into the unforgiving concrete.

This was not good.

The Dentist kept them waiting, like he always did. The man was well-versed in psychological warfare - he knew that anticipation and dread were a low-effort, effective way to further torment his prisoners. So he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing directly into the camera pointing directly at the scene inside the cell - away from where Bain sat helplessly in his chair, with Dallas curled slightly into himself on the ground.

"What a wonderful day for a reunion," The Dentist turned to face them at last. He paused to peer at Dallas' prone figure, impressed that he had the wherewithal to not try and attack - he had enough sense to know that, at least.

When his eyes flicked up to meet Bain's single remaining eye, the sight of the man's practised neutrality made his lip curl.

"I have a proposition for you," he sneered, letting his anger subside and coalesce into something calculated and all-knowing - he knew exactly how the next five minutes were going to pan out, and that knowledge was utterly delicious to him.

"I will release both of you from this place. I"ll even have someone clean both your wounds before you leave. You will leave here in excellent health."

Both men knew there was an as-of-yet unspoken 'but' - they were just waiting for it. It didn't make sense to drag Dallas all the way here, to have him see Bain's face just to let them go. No, there was something more to this.

Bain was, for the moment however, distracted.

He tried as surreptitiously as he knew how to crane his neck, wanting a glimpse at the man still sprawled near his feet. As luck would have it, Dallas turned just enough so Bain could see his face - even luckier was how he swallowed down the wince that threatened to escape from his throat at the sight of him.

What was once a charmingly handsome face was streaked with blood. Bruises the colour of violence itself bloomed on his temple and brow bone. Clumps of hair had glued themselves to his forehead, held in place by the blood drying there. His eyes had the fuzzy look of someone teetering on the brink of concussion - but they sharpened when they made eye contact with Bain. Bain said nothing, watching as Dallas' eyes - somehow unblemished despite the fight he'd obviously put up - took him in.

He knew he looked a complete mess. His hair was lank, in places a knotted mess. The wound indicating where his eye had once been was weeping, wouldn't stop weeping, his body too weakened and malnourished to heal properly - Bain could feel how the dressing covering it was stiff and putrid with bodily fluids.