#peacemaker & reader

“Hello, Chris. Long time no see, huh?” You coo with a sickly-sweet sing-songy voice. “Honestly, I’m surprised to see you at all. I was told they killed your sorry ass back where you killed my Rick.” You reach out and lightly run your fingers over the bullet scar on his neck. “The thought of your body laying under all that rubble same as his was the only thing that kept me together. Then to find out you were still alive…” You stare at him intensely for a moment before spinning on your heels and walking to the other side of the room.

“Yeah, well, I’m surprised to see you too. Shouldn’t you be back in Belle Reve where you belong?” Chris calls out.

You whirl around, a crazed grin on your face. “Oh, didn’t you hear? We leveraged that drive you cared so much for and bought our freedom.” Your face drops some, but Chris can see a fiery rage burning behind your eyes. “Well, they leveraged it. Included me in the deal even though I want nothing more on this planet to release it to the public. The world should know what he died for. What you killed him for.” The last part came out as a hiss as you glare daggers at him. But in a second, the deranged grin is back on your face. “But I was outvoted, so freedom it is.”

You grab an audio recorder from that side of the room and walk back over to him. Setting it up next to Chris’s face, you pull out the knife once more. “But now that I’m free and you’re free, now we’re free to have some fun!” You place the tip of the knife on the back of his hand and begin trailing it lazily up his arm, though it was light enough it didn’t break the skin. “Come on. Why don’t you sing for me? I haven’t had someone sing to me in quite some time.”

Chris tries to jerk away from you, but it just drives the blade deeper into his arm, causing him to wince as the first drops of blood bubble to the surface of his skin.

You tsk at the sight. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You might make me nick something important and I would hate to end our fun this soon.”

Chris is just starting to realize how much trouble he is really in. That this isn’t a joke or some sort of game. You mean to hurt him and hurt him good. “You bitch. Why are you doing this?”

“You know why.” You gently place your hand on his face, and he tries to recoil in disgust. But it seems as if you didn’t appreciate that. Grabbing both sides of his cheeks between your fingers, you squeeze them painfully tight and force him to look you in the eyes. “You’ve known since the moment you opened your eyes and saw me standing over you. This is what you deserve. You took away the one person who mattered to me in this world, and for that, you have to pay.”

“I was doing my job.” Chris tries to reason to you through his pinched cheeks though he can see in your eyes it won’t do much good. “Flag was going to release information that would have threatened the peace of our nation. I did what I had to in order to keep that peace.”

“Yeah, and now I am doing what I have to do to keep my peace of mind.” You dig the tip of the blade into his arm, drawing more blood. He flinches more visibly this time. You smile as you trail the blade back down his arm, leaving a bloody line as it goes. You continue your rant. “Did you know he used to sing to me when I was scared or hurt or would wake up screaming in terror in the middle of the night because of all the things I have seen? All the things I have done? Before I met him and that happened, I used to be inconsolable. Yet somehow, his horrible, off-key crooning managed to calm me down. I finally had peace for the first time in years. And you took that away from me. You took him away from me. So now, I have to find another sound to soothe my fears. And I think you will do nicely.”

So, that’s your game. You want him to scream and cry and beg for mercy. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. As you drive the tip of the blade deep into the muscle of his arm, Chris bites his tongue to remain silent. He refuses to give you the satisfaction of even a murmur of pain.

Your grin drops into a slight scowl as you remove the knife. “Still nothing? Not a whimper, a groan, a grunt of pain? Come on now, Chris,” you trail your fingers down his cheek once more, pressing down painfully hard. “Why won’t you sing for me? Your screams are music to my ears and I so long to hear music again.”

Chris puts as much fury and anger into his voice as he can as he growls, “Fuck you!”

The smile is back as you scoff and say, “Yeah, you wish.”

He watches you turn and lay the knife on the table, just to instantly whirl around and backhand him across the face with a surprising amount of strength. His head snaps back painfully as he feels blood welling up between his lips. As he rights himself, you reach out and wipe away the blood that has spilled down his face. Chris wants nothing more than to try and bite your fingers off, but he knows if he misses, the consequences will be severe.

You smile as if you could read his mind and you give him a small nod. Then, you grab a thick set of pliers off the table behind you. Chris’s eyes grow wide at the sight and he struggles against his chains even as he knows it is useless. But he has seen tools like that cut straight through bone with one snap. Hell, he’s used tools like that on others for this same torture.

“I was doing my job.” He protests. “Flag was going to release information that would have threatened the peace of our nation. I did what I had to in order to keep that peace.”

“Yeah, and now I am doing what I have to do to keep my peace of mind.” You dig the knife deeper into his arm, breaking the skin this time. He flinches but doesn’t make a sound. You smile as you once again trail the blade down his arm, this time creating a thin red line in its wake. “Did you know he used to sing to me when I was scared or hurt or would wake up screaming in terror in the middle of the night because of all the things I have seen? All the things I have done? Before I met him and that happened, I used to be inconsolable. Yet somehow, his horrible, off-key crooning managed to calm me down. I finally had peace for the first time in years. And you took that away from me. You took him away from me. So now, I have to find another sound to soothe my fears. And I think you will do nicely.” You tip the blade up, driving the point into his arm, deep into the muscle, but still, he didn’t make a sound. You scowl slightly but remove the knife.

“Still nothing? Not a whimper, a groan, a grunt of pain? Come on now, Chris,” you trail your fingers down his cheek once more as you pout. “Why won’t you sing for me? Your screams are music to my ears and I so long to hear music again.”

“Fuck you,” he growls.

You scoff softly. “Yeah, you wish.”

You turn to lay the knife back on the table before whirling around and backhanding the enormous man across the face. His head snaps back, blood blossoming from between his lips. You smile gently as you wipe away the crimson line dripping down his chin. Then you pick up the thick set of pliers that are laying on the table. His eyes grow wide and he pulls desperately at the chains as you trail them up his thigh.

“Hello, Chris. Long time no see, huh?” You coo with a sickly-sweet sing-songy voice. “Honestly, I’m surprised to see you at all. I was told they killed your sorry ass back where you killed my Rick.” You reach out and lightly run your fingers over the bullet scar on his neck. “The thought of your body laying under all that rubble same as his was the only thing that kept me together. Then to find out you were still alive…” You stare at him intensely for a moment before spinning on your heels and walking to the other side of the room.

“Yeah, well, I’m surprised to see you too. Shouldn’t you be back in Belle Reve where you belong?” Chris calls out.

You whirl around, a crazed grin on your face. “Oh, didn’t you hear? We leveraged that drive you cared so much for and bought our freedom.” Your face drops some, but Chris can see a fiery rage burning behind your eyes. “Well, they leveraged it. Included me in the deal even though I want nothing more on this planet to release it to the public. The world should know what he died for. What you killed him for.” The last part came out as a hiss as you glare daggers at him. But in a second, the deranged grin is back on your face. “But I was outvoted, so freedom it is.”

You grab an audio recorder from that side of the room and walk back over to him. Setting it up next to Chris’s face, you pull out the knife once more. “But now that I’m free and you’re free, now we’re free to have some fun!” You place the tip of the knife on the back of his hand and begin trailing it lazily up his arm, though it was light enough it didn’t break the skin. “Come on. Why don’t you sing for me? I haven’t had someone sing to me in quite some time.”

Chris tries to jerk away from you, but it just drives the blade deeper into his arm, causing him to wince as the first drops of blood bubble to the surface of his skin.

You tsk at the sight. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You might make me nick something important and I would hate to end our fun this soon.”

Chris is just starting to realize how much trouble he is really in. That this isn’t a joke or some sort of game. You mean to hurt him and hurt him good. “You bitch. Why are you doing this?”

“You know why.” You gently place your hand on his face, and he tries to recoil in disgust. But it seems as if you didn’t appreciate that. Grabbing both sides of his cheeks between your fingers, you squeeze them painfully tight and force him to look you in the eyes. “You’ve known since the moment you opened your eyes and saw me standing over you. This is what you deserve. You took away the one person who mattered to me in this world, and for that, you have to pay.”

“I was doing my job.” Chris tries to reason to you through his pinched cheeks though he can see in your eyes it won’t do much good. “Flag was going to release information that would have threatened the peace of our nation. I did what I had to in order to keep that peace.”

“Yeah, and now I am doing what I have to do to keep my peace of mind.” You dig the tip of the blade into his arm, drawing more blood. He flinches more visibly this time. You smile as you trail the blade back down his arm, leaving a bloody line as it goes. You continue your rant. “Did you know he used to sing to me when I was scared or hurt or would wake up screaming in terror in the middle of the night because of all the things I have seen? All the things I have done? Before I met him and that happened, I used to be inconsolable. Yet somehow, his horrible, off-key crooning managed to calm me down. I finally had peace for the first time in years. And you took that away from me. You took him away from me. So now, I have to find another sound to soothe my fears. And I think you will do nicely.”

So, that’s your game. You want him to scream and cry and beg for mercy. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. As you drive the tip of the blade deep into the muscle of his arm, Chris bites his tongue to remain silent. He refuses to give you the satisfaction of even a murmur of pain.

Your grin drops into a slight scowl as you remove the knife. “Still nothing? Not a whimper, a groan, a grunt of pain? Come on now, Chris,” you trail your fingers down his cheek once more, pressing down painfully hard. “Why won’t you sing for me? Your screams are music to my ears and I so long to hear music again.”

Chris puts as much fury and anger into his voice as he can as he growls, “Fuck you!”

The smile is back as you scoff and say, “Yeah, you wish.”

He watches you turn and lay the knife on the table, just to instantly whirl around and backhand him across the face with a surprising amount of strength. His head snaps back painfully as he feels blood welling up between his lips. As he rights himself, you reach out and wipe away the blood that has spilled down his face. Chris wants nothing more than to try and bite your fingers off, but he knows if he misses, the consequences will be severe.

You smile as if you could read his mind and you give him a small nod. Then, you grab a thick set of pliers off the table behind you. Chris’s eyes grow wide at the sight and he struggles against his chains even as he knows it is useless. But he has seen tools like that cut straight through bone with one snap. Hell, he’s used tools like that on others for this same torture.

When you approach him and trail your fingers up his thigh, his blood runs cold and the last ember of hope within him is snuffed out as you say, “Maybe it’s time to change things up. Maybe we will turn this baritone into a soprano.”